I do, I do, I do

by Maggie Osborne

  "It isn't a reference to Jean Jacques," Clara insisted later when they were on their cots with their stove heating the cramped space inside the tent.

  "Of course it is."

  "No, Clara's right." Juliette lifted on an elbow. "Tom loves you, Zoe. He wants the trip back to be as comfortable as it can be, so he instructed his Indians to treat us like rich people. He used a phrase to help his Chilkats understand what he wants them to do. That's all."

  "I don't want any favors from him," Zoe snapped. She flopped down on her cot and stared at the tent ceiling.

  "Well, I do. I want every favor I can get," Clara said, covering a yawn. "I wonder if Bear paid the Chilkats for this portion of the trip, too."

  Juliette cleared her throat. "I paid our way." Fire burned on her cheeks." Tom didn't say anything about the cost of getting us back to Dyea. But I thought…" She shrugged. "By now Mrs. Eddington will have given him the envelope I left."

  Zoe bolted up on her cot and swore. "Damn it, Juliette! I don't want your charity!"

  "Just say thank you and shut up." Clara lifted her head and scowled.

  "It won't kill you to accept a gift or a favor from Tom and me."

  "Not only are you forcing charity on me, but you're talking in that prissy little voice! I don't know which I hate more!"

  Juliette paused with her brush in her hair. "Did you hear a thank-you in any of that?" she asked Clara.

  "I wasn't listening. I was thinking about the ship and putting up with her dying again." She sighed heavily. "Remember cleaning her up, and scrubbing vomit off the floor, and washing her nightgown in a basin the size of a thimble? Compared to saving her life, making this journey more endurable is hardly worth a thank-you. The way I see it, she'll never be out of our debt so we might as well continue to annoy her with gifts and favors."

  "You're making me sound foolish and ungrateful!"

  "Yes," they shouted in unison.

  Zoe glared and then suddenly burst into laughter. "Oh, lordy, just listen to me. I'm angry at Juliette for paying Tom. I'm furious at Tom for making this awful trek a little easier. That is foolish." Jumping to Juliette's cot, she gave Juliette a fierce hug and then she embraced Clara, careful not to jostle her sling. "Thank you both."

  Clara smiled. "I sure didn't think any of us would be laughing tonight."

  "Or ever again," Juliette added.

  "I wouldn't have laughed if it weren't for you two." Zoe fumbled for her handkerchief. "I'm such a mess. First I'm laughing, and now I'm crying. Is this how it's going to be?"

  It seemed so. Every night for the next four weeks, they tumbled into their sleeping bags at night, exhausted from the day's labor and worn out by conflicting and quickly changing emotions. Sometimes they began conversations with, "Do you remember?…" and ended by laughing until their sides ached. Then someone would sigh, and the tears started.

  At the beginning of their sixth week on the trail, Clara insisted on taking a turn running behind a sled and insisted that they rotate riding. As a consequence of a day of rest every third day, they weren't as bone-weary as they had been traveling in the other direction, and their pace improved on the days Juliette rode in the sled.

  " Luc says we'll cut at least two weeks if the weather holds and we continue the present pace," Zoe remarked, lowering her face over a steaming cup of coffee. They stood near Henry's cookstove, stamping their feet occasionally to warm their toes. The long hours of darkness did nothing to dispel the frigid temperatures. At night the mercury dropped to thirty degrees below zero. The daytime high might rise to fifteen below.

  Clara waved steam at her face. "I'll never forget how beautiful it is up here. The mountains, the snow… It takes my breath away. And the wildlife. Today I saw an eagle and a moose and a wolf."

  "Spring must be lovely," Juliette said through her muffler. Her eyes rolled toward them. "What are we going to do when we get back to Seattle? Are we going to keep looking for Jean Jacques ?"

  "I don't have the stomach to kill him. Not now."

  "I'd like to get my money back, but he probably doesn't have it anymore."

  "I've thought about it, and I'm going to Loma Grande." Juliette nodded to herself. "I don't have anything else to do. So I'm going to find him, and I'm going to spit in his face."

  "Well, mein Gott!" Clara stared. "If you're going to Loma Grande, then I'm going, too!" They looked at Zoe.

  "You know," she said, "I'm getting mad again. Maybe I do have the stomach to shoot Jean Jacques. Because of him, the man I love turned and walked away. I know, I know. I lied to Tom. But I wouldn't have had to lie if it weren't for Jean Jacques." She threw her coffee on the snow. "Yes, I have a few things to say to that rotten bastard. And yes, I'm going with you to Loma Grande!"

  "We'll line up, and we'll all spit on him," Juliette promised. "I can't believe I ever thought I loved that liar and cheat! I didn't know what love really is until Ben."

  That's when they learned that crying outside was not a sensible act. At thirty degrees below zero, tears freeze on a woman's cheek.

  * * *

  Chapter 22

  If anything, the voyage to the States was worse than the three Mmes Villette had dreaded it would be. The first steamer out of Dyea was the White Star, bound for San Francisco. They could leave immediately on the White Star, but Zoe would have to endure an additional week at sea to reach California, or they could wait a month in Dyea to catch a shorter voyage to Seattle. They opted to sail at once on the White Star, and Clara and Juliette dragged Zoe on board, where she became violently ill before the White Star weighed anchor.

  The voyage was as much a nightmare as their first had been, with fierce winter weather tossed in for good measure. The White Star rode the waves like a cork bobbing on giant seas. They all believed Zoe hovered at death's door. Zoe hoped it was true and begged to die and end her torment. Clara and Juliette considered obliging her. They wore themselves to a frazzle tending a patient who cursed them, shouted at them, taxed their nerves, and threw up on their skirts.

  All three wept with relief when the White Star dropped anchor in the San Francisco Bay. And when they set foot on the wharves they wept because they would far rather have been in the frozen Yukon instead of in California where the days were longer and the sun was full and warm. They had left their hearts in the icy north.

  To allow Zoe time to recuperate, they spent a week at the California Astor Hotel where Juliette insisted on taking a suite as a treat for everyone.

  "This beauty cream isn't as effective as lard," Clara complained, examining her cheeks in the sitting-room mirror. "Look at my skin. It's as chapped and raw as if I just came in from seven hours behind a sled."

  Juliette glanced up from the book she was trying to read. "Your skin is beautiful. And your new dress is definitely an improvement. Now if we could only persuade you to do something about those clunky shoes…"

  Zoe edged Clara aside and examined her reflection with a critical eye. "I think my hair is starting to regain some luster. But I'm still too thin." She inspected Juliette in the mirror. "Your hair looks quite elegant today."

  "Well, aren't we being nice and polite." Juliette set her book aside. "This might be a good time to request your advice." Frowning, she gazed at the scrolled tin ceiling. "Since I can't have the future I want, none of us can, I've been thinking about the future I can have."

  Clara and Zoe took facing chairs and gave her their full attention. "Go on," Clara urged. "What future are you considering?"

  "It's occurred to me that I've never enjoyed my inheritance or done anything useful with it. I'd like to change that. I've decided I won't return to Linda Vista because I don't want to deal with small-town gossip and because it would be too easy to fall into old habits and let Aunt Kibble make my decisions." She drew a breath. "I'm thinking of buying a home in a large city. Perhaps Seattle."

  "Seattle? Why not here in San Francisco?" Zoe stopped. "Oh, Ben's bank."

  "I want to get involved in important issues.
" As Ben's late wife had done. Juliette had thought a lot about Helen Dare's involvement in the world around her and had decided she, too, wanted to discover if she was courageous enough to face societal wrongs and fight to right them. Maybe she and her money could make a small difference for the better.

  "What kind of issues?" Clara leaned forward, interested.

  "I don't know yet. Now here's my question. Do you think it's scandalous for a single woman to live alone? And to get involved in issues and maybe travel a little?" She knew she would never marry again. If she couldn't have Ben, she didn't want any man.

  "Not at all," Clara stated firmly. "Especially if you live alone in a big city where attitudes are freer, and especially if you donate enough money to worthy causes."

  Zoe smiled. "After you've stood naked on a beach in front of several hundred men, I wouldn't think gossip or scandal would worry you ever again."

  "You're right," Juliette said, laughing. "Still, there's that little voice on my shoulder…" She returned Zoe's smile. "Have you thought about what you'll do after we confront Jean Jacques?"

  They had talked about the confrontation almost nonstop this week, and they had decided that Zoe would not shoot Jean Jacques. Killing him wasn't worth the penalty Zoe would pay. But they had also decided they could not abandon a search that had now consumed nearly seven months of their lives. They had to see it through to the end. Each wanted Jean Jacques Villette to understand that he had ruined her life and any chance at happiness she might have had. They deserved to speak their piece and deserved to witness any remorse he might feel.

  "This may surprise you," Zoe began. "But after we've found Jean Jacques and had our say, I want to go home to Newcastle. I want to stay with my parents for a few months and look at Newcastle through enlightened eyes. I want to renew my roots and enjoy knowing who I am."

  "Are you hoping that Tom will eventually turn up in Newcastle?" Juliette asked gently.

  "Maybe," Zoe whispered. "It's hard to accept that I can love this deeply and believe I was loved in return—but…"

  "Ja, I know what you mean." Clara sighed heavily. "Me? If I could do what I wanted, I'd follow the gold rush and put up decent hotels that served good home-cooked food. I would make a fortune." She sighed again. "But if I returned to the Yukon, I would inevitably run into Bear, and that would break my heart. So maybe I'll buy a small hotel or a boardinghouse in Seattle."

  Juliette leaned her curls against the back of the chair and closed her eyes. "It's such a shame. I would have made a perfect banker's wife. Zoe, you couldn't possibly find a man more suited to you than Tom. And Clara, you and Bear are so wonderful together, so right."

  "We promised we wouldn't say these things," Zoe said in a choked voice. Standing abruptly, she smoothed down her skirts. "I need to finish packing. Didn't you say the carriage would call for us at seven A.M. tomorrow?" She leveled a forced smile on Juliette. "Thank you for this week in a suite, it was marvelous. And thank you for hiring a carriage to take us to Loma Grande. We'll be more comfortable than we would have been in a stage."

  "You're quite welcome," Juliette said, smiling.

  "Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Clara asked, her eyes twinkling.

  "It's getting easier," Zoe admitted, speaking between her teeth.

  Then they laughed, blinking back tears of affection. Their long journey together was nearing the end, and they knew they would never again share another woman's secrets or know her as intimately as they knew each other.

  There was little about Loma Grande that could be considered grande. Like many California villages, Loma Grande had grown around a Catholic mission built years ago. It was a sleepy, leafy town, a town that roused itself for market day and then slumbered for another week in the pleasant California warmth.

  "It reminds me a little of Linda Vista," Juliette mentioned, looking about after the driver handed her out of the carriage.

  Mature shade trees overhung an unpaved main street. She spotted the post office, a Ladies Emporium, a feed and seed store. She imagined the rest of the town: A few large homes would occupy the streets on either side of Main. Behind them would stand more modest dwellings. Tucked in the low hills curving around Loma Grande would be the fruit and vegetable farms that provided the town a reason to exist.

  Clara slapped down her skirts and considered Loma Grande's sole inn with a judgmental eye. "The veranda needs painting, but the flowers are bright and welcoming."

  "Jean Jacques is here somewhere," Zoe said, wetting her lips. "It's strange to think about."

  "Unless he's left again. Unless he recovered enough to wander off in search of more wives," Clara said sharply. Waving aside the carriage driver, she picked up her bag and strode toward the veranda. The door opened wide, and a tiny smiling woman bade them welcome.

  "I'm Mrs. Wilson," she announced, stepping behind the lobby counter. "Will you ladies be staying long?" she asked, turning the registration book to face Zoe.

  " We'll be here the rest of today and possibly tomorrow."

  After Zoe and Juliette had signed the book, Clara stepped forward and accepted the pen. She gave Mrs. Wilson a comradely smile of one innkeep to another. "As we were driving into town, it occurred to us that we have an acquaintance who lives in this area. His name is Mr. Jean Jacques Villette. Perhaps you could direct us to his residence. We'd like to surprise him."

  Mrs. Wilson's eyes rounded, and her gaze darted over them. "Oh, my, my."

  Clara didn't know how to interpret Mrs. Wilson's drawn-out sigh, but it was clear the woman recognized Jean Jacques's name.

  Suddenly flustered, Mrs. Wilson retrieved the registration book and studied their names. "I don't know anything about this affair, Miss Klaus—"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "But I know someone who does. I'll send for Mr. Glascon at once." She banged her palm on top of a bell, and a man appeared as if he'd been waiting in the wings for his cue. Mrs. Wilson instructed him to take their luggage to their rooms. Then she beamed with the most artificial smile they had ever seen. "You'll have time to freshen up." She waved a hand toward French doors opening off the lobby. "Since dinner won't be served for several hours, you're welcome to use the dining room to speak privately with Mr. Glascon." After giving them another smile, this one laden with sympathy, she lifted her skirts and fled through a door behind the registration counter.

  After a minute Clara frowned at Juliette. "You speak the language of polite nonsense. Can you interpret what she said?"

  "I don't speak the language as well as I once did, but I'd say Mrs. Wilson knows why we're here."

  Zoe shook her head. "That isn't possible."

  "Also, Mrs. Wilson has been instructed as to what she should do and say if someone inquires about Mr. Villette. She has performed as instructed and now wants nothing more to do with us."

  They followed the bellman up a flight of stairs and down a corridor. "We can't be expected," Clara said flatly. "I agree with Zoe. Jean Jacques had no idea that we'd chase after him, so he would have no reason to instruct Mrs. Wilson to do anything."

  "And who is Mr. Glascon?" Zoe asked, before she followed her bags into a clean and pretty room.

  "We'll find out soon," Juliette called from her doorway. "Shall we meet in the dining room in ten minutes?"

  Clara and Zoe leaned into the corridor to stare. "You are not in charge," Clara said. "You have never been in charge."

  "Haven't you noticed? I'm a new woman. I've traveled. I've climbed Chilkoot Pass. I don't like to be in charge, but I can be if I must," Juliette said, smiling. "Ten minutes."

  Mrs. Wilson had laid out a coffee service on a table near a window that overlooked a warm, dusty valley.

  "That's a vineyard, isn't it?" Clara asked.

  Juliette nodded. "Someone tried and failed to grow grapes outside Linda Vista. Maybe the climate is better here."

  Zoe poured from the silver pot and then glared. "How can you talk about scenery! Aren't you nervous? Before we finish drinking th
e coffee in that pot, Mr. Glascon, whoever he is, will have told us where Jean Jacques is." She held out her hands. "Look at me. I'm shaking."

  Sunlight streamed through the window and gleamed along Zoe's silver heart ring. The one-of-a-kind heirloom ring. Juliette looked down at her own hand and the same ring. Sadness surged in her throat and behind her eyes. Once she had seen the ring as beautiful. Now it was merely a circle of tarnished metal.

  The French doors opened, and a slightly breathless man hurried into the dining room, carrying a briefcase at his side. Juliette noticed he was tall, gray haired, distinguished. Kindness softened his gaze when he asked if he might join them.

  "I am Henri Glascon. And you are Miss March." He nodded to Juliette as he sat at the table. "You must be Miss Klaus, and you will be Miss Wilder."

  They stared.

  "I'm not a magician. Mrs. Wilson gave me your names. Having previously heard each of you described, it isn't difficult to place names with faces."

  And there it was. No one could have described them to this man except Jean Jacques Villette. They had finally found him.

  "Where is he?" Clara demanded, breaking a lengthy silence.

  Juliette drew a deep breath. "Am I correct to assume you are Mr. Villette's attorney, Mr. Glascon?"

  "So, I think I understand," Zoe said angrily. "Jean Jacques has sent you to negotiate with us, hasn't he?" She waved a hand. "There is nothing that you or that bastard can offer that could possibly make amends for our ruination!"

  "Ladies." Mr. Glascon's gaze swept their wedding rings. "I am indeed an attorney. And yes, I know who you are and why you're here." The kindness in his gaze deepened as if he understood their plight and personally regretted their circumstances. "Each of you married Mr. Villette believing you were his only wife. Somehow you encountered one another, recognized the rings, and you've come to Loma Grande to confront Mr. Villette."

  "Yes!" They spoke in unison, their eyes fixed on his face.

  "There can be no confrontation," he said gently. "Mr. Villette died shortly after he returned home from the Yukon."