The Great Alone

by Janet Dailey

  “Yes.” Glory wasn’t convinced that the woman didn’t suspect the nature of her profession, not when she was so aware how few women there were in Nome. “You seem to be doing quite well for yourself, though.”

  “I am. I never guessed I could make a living for my children at something so simple as making pies. Some of these poor men tell me they haven’t tasted a real homemade pie in years. I had God’s blessing the day I met Mr. Sinclair. There I go, rattling on again. I’ll get your pies.” The young widow moved away, leaving Glory to wonder exactly what Justin had to do with all this. Justin shifted uneasily beside her.

  “Are you on your way into town, Justin?” she asked, fully aware that if he was, he was taking his own sweet time about getting there, since Matty had seen him here almost three hours ago. “I’ll be glad to give you a ride.”

  “No. I … uh … gotta get back to the diggings. I just came to get a pie. Sort of a treat for my partners.”

  “In that case, I’ll drive you back.”

  “That’d be great.” But his reply lacked enthusiasm.

  The young widow returned with the pies. “There you are. Still warm from the oven.”

  “How much do I owe you?” Glory unfastened the gold ornamental latch on her flat folding pocketbook.

  The woman told her, then added, “The first time, I have to charge you for the pie tins. After that, you bring them back and I just charge you for the pie.”

  “Of course.” Glory noticed that the difference in cost was considerably more than a pie tin would cost even at Nome’s inflated prices. The woman was not only making a profit on her pies but also on the pie tins. It was very clever, she thought as she handed over the money.

  She watched while Sarah Porter carefully counted out the change. When the woman switched the money to her other hand to place it in Glory’s palm, Glory was instantly suspicious. Running a business had made her wise to all the sleight-of-hand tricks to shortchange someone, and switching hands was an easy way to palm a coin. Glory glanced at the change in her hand.

  “I believe you still owe me a quarter,” she said.

  “I do?” The surprise and innocence in her voice were very convincing. She recounted the money she’d given Glory. “I just don’t have a head for such things, I guess.” As she started back to the cashbox, she glanced down. “Why, here it is on the ground. I must have dropped it.” She bent down and went through the motions of picking the coin off the ground, but Glory was certain it had been in her hand all the time. “There you are. I’m so sorry.”

  “That’s quite all right.” But Glory was convinced it was all an act—the poor helpless female with two little boys and no head for business—and a very convincing act it was—to anyone but another woman.

  “I’ll take my raisin pie now, Mrs. Porter. It’s time I was getting back to work,” Justin said.

  “Right away.” But when she turned away, it was to call her sons. “Timothy, Andrew. Mr. Sinclair is leaving. Isn’t there something you want to tell him?”

  Both paused to chorus, “Thank you for the candy, Mr. Sinclair.”

  “You’re welcome,” he responded, then said to Glory, “They’re really well-mannered kids. If you wait a second, I’ll help you carry the pies to your buggy.”

  “Of course,” she murmured, aware that he had provided himself with an excuse to leave with her.

  Sarah Porter came back with his pie. Justin paid for it, insisting she keep the change. Glory was seething as he accompanied her to the buggy. She climbed onto the seat without saying a word to him. He stowed the pies away and crawled up beside her. Immediately she slapped the reins, urging the horse into the street.

  An uncomfortable silence reigned as they traveled over the crowded trail to the beach. The scene there defied description as men and machines gouged up the sand, creating a confusing network of gullies and trenches and towering sandhills of tailings. Every bizarre contraption ever invented to extract gold was in evidence. Pumps of every kind, windmills, steam engines, grizzlies, and gigantic dredges that resembled some prehistoric metal monster were operated side by side with the more conventional sluice boxes, rockers, treadmills, and long toms—and almost everything was brightly painted with all the shades of the rainbow, giving the scene the appearance of some freak sideshow.

  “Wait’ll you taste her pies.” Justin finally spoke up, competing with the roar and the clatter of the chugging machines. “They’re really good. She’s an excellent cook. I’ve been telling her that she really should open a restaurant or maybe a boardinghouse.”

  “Have you?” Glory murmured.

  It was obvious to her that Justin had sampled more of the widow’s cooking than just her pies. Silently she listened to more praise of the woman’s food, as if he were trying to convince her that was his only interest in Sarah Porter.

  “You really have to admire her, coming all this way to a strange place to make a new life for herself and her children,” Justin stated.

  “She is an amazing woman. There’s no doubt about that,” Glory declared dryly. “And she seems to be very grateful to you for the help you’ve given her.”

  “I didn’t really do all that much—just loaned her some money to buy a few of the supplies and things she needed to start her business.”

  “How generous of you, Justin.” Exceedingly generous, Glory thought, considering that he had financed the business, bought candy for her sons, and paid for the pies he took; yet in all this time she hadn’t received a single thing from him. It was beginning to look as though Deacon had been right about Justin all along. “I was going to ask you how the beach was paying out, but you must be doing very well if you can afford to loan money to Mrs. Porter. By now, my interest in your claim must amount to a tidy sum of gold.” She had yet to see a single ounce in return for her grubstake the previous summer.

  “Actually, we aren’t taking out as much as we were. We’ve tried several new places, but it’s beginning to look like the sands might be played out. Most of the beach has been worked over pretty good. With all these people here and their crazy contraptions for getting out the gold, there’s hardly an inch of space that isn’t being worked.”

  Although that was a complaint Glory had heard from more than one prospector who had been at it a year like Justin, this time it seemed more an attempt to make it sound as if her share wouldn’t amount to very much. He had gladly taken anything she wanted to give him, and he didn’t seem to think he owed her anything in return—not even his loyalty.

  Deacon had tried to warn her, but she hadn’t wanted to see. She had thought—What had she thought? That Justin loved her? That she loved him? She didn’t know any more. She felt like such a fool. It was a repeat of Skagway, and Justin was about to run out on her again.

  Justin continued to talk, but Glory stopped listening. She resisted the urge to tell him that his poor helpless widow, Sarah Porter, wasn’t as pure and lily-white as he believed her to be. She was hardly able to manage a civil good-bye to him when she dropped him off at his beach claim.

  Back at the Palace, Glory informed the bartender Paddy that if Justin Sinclair ever came in again he was to pay for any food or drink he ordered, and she instructed him to notify everyone else of the change. Deacon stood there listening to every word, but Glory was much too proud to openly admit that he’d been right all along. Instead, she walked past him without saying a word and went straight to her room, not even bothering to look in on Gladys.

  The mail lay on the bed where she’d left it. For a moment Glory stared at the ripped-open envelope from her father, Gabe Blackwood—the man who had used and abused her mother, then taken her money and deserted her, the same way Justin had planned to do with her. It was time men like that were taught a lesson and made to suffer the way her mother had—and the way she had. Glory had never thought she had a vindictive bone in her body, but she did. She vowed to make them pay for what they’d done.

  She picked up the envelope and took out the letter. First s
he skimmed its handwritten contents, then read it again, more slowly.

  My dearest Glory,

  By the time you receive this, I shall probably have set sail for Nome. I have booked passage on the steamship Senator, which should arrive at Nome in the middle of July.

  You have probably heard that Congress has at last passed legislation that allows for the creation of municipal governments in communities with a population of three hundred or more. There were many heated debates over the passage of this amendment which necessitated the delay in my return. But I am pleased to say my lobbying efforts were successful, even though the language of the bill does not contain all that we sought.

  I have much to tell you, but I fear I have neither the time nor the space to write it all. Suffice it to say, I shall be sailing with the newly appointed federal judge for Alaska’s second district, Arthur H. Noyes; the federal district attorney, Joseph K. Wood; and another influential man from North Dakota, Alexander Mackenzie. He is the president of the Alaska Gold Mining Company, and a truly dynamic individual.

  I look forward with eagerness to enjoying the pleasure of your delightful company again. So many exciting things are on the horizon. Soon I will be there to share all the wonderful news with you. Until then, I remain—

  Most sincerely yours,

  G. Blackwood

  Even though he hadn’t received the appointment to the new judgeship that he had coveted, he was riding high, expecting better things in store for him. And that’s just the way Glory wanted it.

  CHAPTER XLIX

  It was bedlam on the beach. Thousands of tons of freight were stacked along the waterfront, stretching from the very edge of the tide-licked sands back to the bench and for two miles along the shoreline. It was all cargo unloaded from the ships anchored in the roadstead several miles off the coast. Machinery of every description was piled on the beach, from printing presses to monstrous gold-extracting contraptions guaranteed by their makers to dredge the gold from the sand or the sea floor. Pianos, bar fixtures, stoves, sewing machines, and buggies intermingled with thousands of board feet of lumber, tons of coal and grain, crates of canned goods, and other provisions and supplies. Adding to the mass of cargo was the luggage—steamer trunks and duffels belonging to the passengers from the ships.

  Once an owner was successful in locating the goods belonging to him, there was still the problem of getting it off the beach. Horse-drawn freight wagons hauled much of it. The lighter loads were pulled by six to twelve dogs harnessed in tandem to a small wagon. The heavier items were usually loaded on lighters—a barge type of conveyance—then towed offshore by steam- or gasoline-driven launches.

  The result was an ear-deafening chaos. Shouts of “Gee!” “Haw!” “Giddy-up thare!” “Whoa!” “Mush!” mingled with the cracking of whips and the cursing of the drivers. Dog fights were constantly erupting to add their snarls and growls and yips to the reigning noise, while the surf continued its battering of the coast. Occasionally, it was all drowned by the chugging roar of a passing launch. Adding to the cacophony were the whistles from the vessels anchored well off the coast. A ship signaled its arrival in Nome with several loud blasts, and every ship in the roadstead responded in kind.

  At the moment, it appeared there was a veritable armada poised off the coast of Nome. That morning the whistles had heralded the arrival of the steamship Senator. As soon as Glory had received word the ship was in port, she had driven the buggy out to the beach to await the disembarking passengers, knowing that Gabe Blackwood would be among them.

  She sat in the shade of the buggy’s roof, out of the broiling sun, and watched the slow approach of the lighter. As always, its flat top was jammed with people. In that crowd, it was impossible to recognize anyone. Carried by the waves, the bargelike vessel drifted toward the shore and ran aground several yards short of the beach. Some of the passengers were fortunate enough to have on rubber boots, but the rest had to wade ashore in their shoes unless an obliging fellow passenger agreed to carry them on his back.

  Glory recognized Gabe Blackwood the instant he hopped into the water. “Oliver.” Leaning forward, she called to the burly ex-fighter standing by the buggy horse’s head. “Mr. Blackwood is coming ashore now. Please tell him I’m here.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He bowed to her, then set off to plow his way through the stream of arriving passengers already ashore.

  From her vantage point atop the buggy seat, Glory was able to observe Oliver meeting Gabe—and the man who appeared to be with him. He was tall—several inches taller than Gabe—and, even at this distance, there was something imposing about him. Glory wondered which of the three men Gabe had mentioned in his letter this one might be. Perhaps, the judge. Gabe looked in her direction and waved. Glory waved back.

  Parting the way for them, Oliver led Gabe and his companion to the buggy. As they approached, Glory noticed the changes in Gabe. There was a stark contrast between the man she saw now and the one she’d met a little over a year ago. His hair and chin beard were whiter. Instead of the shabby, ill-fitting suit, he now had on a single-breasted sack suit of navy wool flannel with alternating stripes of gray and blue. The pearl-gray fedora hat he wore was made from a good quality felt and banded with grosgrain silk two inches wide. But it was more than his outward appearance that signified the change in him. The confidence he exuded now no longer came from a bottle.

  “My dear, what a delightful surprise,” he declared, stepping up to the buggy and taking the gloved hand she extended to him. “I didn’t expect you to be waiting here for me.”

  “You’ve been gone so long, surely you didn’t believe I’d not be here to welcome you back to Nome.”

  “A man of my age does not dare presume such things,” he said, then appeared to remember his companion from the ship, and turned, directing her attention to him. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Alexander Mackenzie, the president and general manager of the Alaska Gold Mining Company, who will be setting up his offices here in Nome. Mr. Mackenzie, Miss Glory St. Clair. She and her partner own the Palace, one of the finer establishments in Nome.”

  The face-to-face meeting reinforced her first impression of the man. Over six feet tall with thick shoulders and a portly build, Alexander Mackenzie had a commanding presence. His dark eyes were hard, but not in the same way that Deacon’s were. With Deacon, it was more an absence of any emotional expression. With Mackenzie, it was a calculating coldness. He was clean-shaven except for the dark, full mustache that virtually concealed his mouth. He carried his head high, with his chin thrust forward as if daring anyone to take a swipe at it. Glory had the distinct feeling that this man was not only aggressively ambitious but that he could also be ruthless.

  “Welcome to Nome, Mr. Mackenzie.”

  “Thank you.” He touched the brim of his hat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss St. Clair.”

  “I wish you luck finding office space here, Mr. Mackenzie,” she said. “When you can find it, it’s at a premium. A closet-sized space will cost you sixty dollars a month, and that’s without heat, light, or a janitor. You’re lucky if the walls are plastered. Nome has become very crowded.”

  “Your counsel is well taken, Miss St. Clair, but I’m sure I’ll find something to suit me.” His confidence was almost scary.

  “I must admit that from the deck of the ship it appeared that the entire beachfront was blanketed with snow,” Gabe said. “When we drew closer to shore, I realized it was tents. We had heard that thousands had come, but the enormity of it didn’t really hit me until now.”

  “The beach is nothing compared to the congestion downtown. It’s packed with people.” Glory paused and let her glance slide to Mackenzie. “I have to confess that when I first saw you with Mr. Blackwood, I thought you might be the new judge. I understood he would be arriving on the Senator.”

  “Judge Noyes was feeling slightly indisposed after the lengthy sea voyage. He decided to remain in his stateroom aboard the ship for a day or two.”

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p; “I’m glad to know he has arrived. I know how anxious Mr. Blackwood has been to bring his many cases before a judge so these disputes over ownership of mining claims can finally be settled.”

  “Yes, Mr. Blackwood and I have discussed the cases of several of his clients,” Mackenzie stated.

  But there had been more than just discussions, Glory learned later that day when she had an opportunity to talk privately with Gabe. He had agreed to turn over his fifty percent contingent fee interest in his claim-jumping cases to Mackenzie in return for stock in the Alaska Gold Mining Company, which had an authorized capital of fifteen million dollars. Another Nome law firm had entered into a similar agreement, Gabe said, then confided that Mackenzie had said he “owned” Judge Noyes and the new federal district attorney. While Glory was skeptical that anyone—even Alexander Mackenzie—had that much power over federal appointees, she didn’t voice her doubts to Gabe.

  A short two days later, she discovered how wrong she was. An attorney from the other law firm went before the new judge and asked for an injunction on behalf of his client against several of the original and richest claims filed by the Scandinavians, illegally according to him. The judge not only granted the injunction against Jafet Lindeberg’s Discovery claim and several other highly productive claims, but he also named the Alaska Gold Mining Company as the receiver until the ownership issue was settled through a litigation process. He further ordered that all personal property on the premises be confiscated, including any recovered gold, and that Mackenzie post a five-thousand-dollar surety bond per mine. And it was all accomplished within minutes—with no opposition from the original claimants or their counsel. It seems someone failed to inform them the request was being brought before the new judge.

  After granting the injunction and appointing the receivership, Judge Noyes adjourned the court. Mackenzie had wagons of men waiting outside. They raced out of Nome and took possession of most of the major mining claims on gold-rich Anvil Creek.