Golden Dawn

by Hake, Cathy Marie

  Tucker yanked on his coat and scarf, then stood by the door.

  “Tucker, you forgot the food for Mr. Clemment!” Though the scarf covered her brother’s nose and mouth, Meredith could see the ire flash in his eyes. “And take a lantern!”

  “I know the way.”

  “We don’t have a lot of light. If you stay awhile—”

  “I’m not tromping over there to keep that crazy loon company.”

  “I don’t care how ornery you get—I’m going to match you with my stubbornness.”

  Tucker let out an impatient growl as he yanked on his hat.

  “Give my best to Mr. Clemment.” Meredith handed a jar to Tucker. “Tell him to come for New Year’s.”

  “You already told me to do that twice during lunch.”

  “You’re wasting time.” She made a shooing motion.

  “You’re the ones who are wasting time. You haven’t taken a hint. I’m not leaving until the two of you are out on the ice.”

  Mortified that her brother implied they’d do anything improper, Meredith gaped at him.

  “The ice is thick.” Ian carried his bowl over to the dish basin. “You needn’t hold any concern that we’d fall in.”

  Tucker stood by the door. Ian gave him an opportunity to confess he was worried about their welfare instead of their morals, but he didn’t. His silence embarrassed—no, irritated— her. He’d been impossibly grouchy all morning, but this went beyond reason. In a low tone, she demanded, “Apologize for insulting both of us.”

  Tucker didn’t bother to lower his voice. “I won’t apologize. In fact, it would be best if Ian took the food to Clemment.”

  “Well, he’s not. He invited me to go skating, and I accepted. Furthermore, you volunteered to go check on Mr. Clemment. No one’s changing the plan. You men are going to play chess tonight.” Tucker looked ready to say something, so she cut him off. “I’ll just leave the dishes to soak now while we skate.”

  “I’ll help you with your cape.” Ian took it from a peg by the door and draped it over her shoulders. As she buttoned it, he shrugged into his own coat.

  A minute later, they stood outside. Tucker looked at the skates and lanterns Ian held. “You’d better take those down to the river, then come back for Sis.”

  She knew he was trying to get rid of Ian. Meredith didn’t want to listen to another insult or a lecture about keeping the secret. “Nonsense. I can carry a couple of the lanterns.” She grabbed two and started toward the river. Over her shoulder she called, “Tucker, come back in a better mood, or I’m going to hide the coffee.”

  “That would darken his mood more, Merry.”

  “It couldn’t get any uglier than it is already!”

  Nineteen

  The men exchanged a few words, but the wind whipped them away from Meredith. I’m an idiot. I should have stayed there. No telling what Tucker is saying to Ian. Right as she decided to turn back around, from the corner of her eye Meredith spotted her brother walking away.

  Ian joined her on the bridge a few minutes later. “I’ll set out the lanterns first.” He did so, then quickly yanked off his boots and laced on his skates. “Let’s have you sit on the edge, like last time.” He stood on the ice, took her hand, and helped her sit on the edge of the bridge.

  Meredith took a deep breath. “About what my brother implied—”

  “I’ve handled it.” He looked into her eyes, then knelt to help her with her skates.

  Unable to let the matter drop, she asked, “How?”

  He started lacing her right skate. “Your brother’s having a bad day. We’re all bound to have a few. Even so, I told him I’ll not stand for him questioning your honor or my integrity.”

  “I’m sorry, Ian.”

  “Nay, lass. Don’t be. Tucker loves you. His concern was misguided. He needed to be reminded of a few things. There, now. Hand me your other skate.”

  Meredith decided not to ask further questions. Tonight when she and Tucker were alone, she could. Maybe when he got back from Mr. Clemment’s, he’d have reconsidered and repented. That would clear the air.

  “You’ll be more confident today once you realize you’ve learned to balance.” Ian helped her onto the ice.

  “I’m not so sure of that.” She stared downward. “Why are there lines on the ice?”

  “I swept it this morning.”

  “You swept the ice?” She gave him a startled look.

  “Aye. Last night’s wind carried pine needles and such onto the ice. I didn’t want anything to cause you to stumble.” He smiled. “And look at you—skating so well.”

  Her focus shifted. “How did I—ohhh! Ohhh!”

  “Here.” Ian braced her before she fell. His chest vibrated against her as he chuckled. “You were doing fine until you decided to fret. Let’s just have some fun, okay?”

  “All right.”

  Ian stabilized her, but he started holding her hand instead of wrapping his arm around her. When she slid or fell—even when she bowled him down—he never lost patience. “Ian?”

  He lay still and propped his head in his gloved palm as if he lay on ice every day. “Yes?”

  “How long does it take to get good at this?” She pushed against the ice and sat up.

  “To my thinking, you’re already doing everything right.”

  “I fell.” She crooked a brow and stared at him. “And I knocked you down. This is the fifth time.”

  “Sixth, but who’s counting?” The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Falling isn’t what matters. The important things are if you get back up and if you enjoy yourself.”

  “I’m having a wonderful time!” She tried to plot a graceful way to get up. “It’s the other part that’s difficult.”

  With a lithe move, he got up and extended both hands. “Ah, lass, you don’t have to do that alone. Sometimes, ’tis fellowship in the struggle that makes overcoming it all the sweeter.”

  “As long as you don’t mind my struggles.” She accepted his help.

  He held fast to her hands. Even through their gloves, Meredith felt his warmth. “Mind? Not at all.”

  “Sis! I thought you were supposed to be skating.”

  Meredith twisted around. Had Ian not compensated somehow, they both would have fallen again. “Tucker!” She couldn’t believe he was back already.

  “Sitting around on the ice is idiotic—unless you have a purpose.”

  “You’re not one to talk,” Ian called back. “You’re lying on the bridge.”

  “And I have good reason.” Tucker took a hammer and struck the ice.

  “Tucker!” Terror shot through Meredith. “What are you doing?”

  “The ice is too thick for that to cause problems,” Ian told her.

  “I’m going to fish!” Tucker proceeded to take a saw and cut the hole larger.

  All her life, Meredith had loved having a twin. Suddenly, she reconsidered. He had to have run over to Clemment’s cabin and back. He was making a pest of himself.

  Tonight, when we’re alone and under our own roof, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.

  ❧

  Shouting woke Ian. It took a second for him to realize the source. He immediately yanked on clothes and raced out his door. Tucker never raised his voice to Merry, but he was bellowing at her now.

  Ian didn’t bother to knock. He plowed straight into their small cabin. Meredith stood close to the fireplace, as if it would stop her shivering. But Ian knew she wasn’t quivering from cold.

  Tucker scared her.

  Irate, Ian turned to Tucker. Tucker paced a few steps back and forth across the cabin. His speech was garbled. He turned to Ian, pointed, and shouted, “Don’t know. Go ’way.”

  Ian stepped toward him. Just as he drew closer, Tucker spun back around. He took two steps, then crumpled to the floor.

  Twenty

  “He’s burning up.” Ian flopped Tucker into bed and tried to remember what little medical knowledge he’d gathered over the years.<
br />
  “He’s never sick. Never.”

  The panic in Meredith’s voice forced Ian to take charge. “Throw everything you need for a few days onto your bed. I’ll carry them to my place and then come back for him. Put on your cape while I’m gone.”

  There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to what Meredith pitched onto her bed. More than anything, they’d need the bedding. Ian gathered up the corners and ordered, “Be quick, Merry. I’ll be back in just a minute.”

  “All right.”

  He hastened to his cabin, threw another log into the stove, and pulled back the blankets on his own bed. Until that moment, Ian hadn’t realized he was barefoot. After yanking on his boots, he went back to the Smith cabin.

  “Merry?”

  “Come in.”

  He went straight to Tucker. “I’m going to take him over now. I’ll have a better hold if he’s not in the blankets. You follow me with them, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Tucker was limp. Ian told himself that was far better than having to deal with a combatant. Carrying deadweight on a snowy path taxed him, but Ian made every effort to make it look easy so Merry wouldn’t have anything more to worry about. She slid past him and opened the door to his cabin. Ian draped Tucker on the bed and turned back to Merry. “I’ll put him in a nightshirt. Your cots fold, don’t they?”

  “Mine does.”

  “Go back and get it.”

  Moments later, Ian informed her, “He’s got a roaring fever. No rash. That’s a good sign.”

  “What do we do?”

  “I have just a few medicinals.”

  She moistened her lips. “Willow bark is good for fevers.”

  “Excellent.” He cupped her face. “I’ll do everything I can, honey.”

  She nodded, but tears filled her eyes. “That broth powder—I’ll make some.”

  Ian forced a smile. “Only because he’s sick. Tucker would far rather have coffee.”

  Tucker muttered something unintelligible.

  ❧

  “The willow bark isn’t working.” Meredith’s heart twisted as she tried to sponge the heat from her twin’s iron-hot skin.

  “I’ll go see if Abrams has anything.”

  How long Ian was gone, Meredith didn’t know. It felt like forever. A gust of frigid air blasted into the cabin as he returned. She turned with every hope that he’d have a curative. The bleak look on Ian’s face chilled her far more than the cold air.

  “Clemment’s no help at all. Abrams managed to get a good supply of spirits. He’s celebrated the holidays and isn’t in any shape to make a difference.”

  Meredith sank down onto the stool and swallowed hard. She reached over and curled her hand around Tucker’s. The scar on his thumb he’d gotten from building their cabin still puckered. He squeezed—but so weakly, alarm pulsed through her.

  “I’m going to town.”

  It took a minute for Ian’s declaration to sink in. Merry gawked at him. “There’s no path. You’ll get lost. It’s impossible. No one even tries in the winter.”

  “God will help me.” He pulled on the hat she’d knitted him. The scarf, too. Ian came and knelt by the bed. He rested his hand atop hers and Tucker’s. “Heavenly Father, You know the concerns of our hearts. You know what Tucker needs. Please, Lord, help us to help him. Keep him in Your hands and give Merry strength and wisdom, and speed me back to them with something that will cure him. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

  Meredith shivered.

  “Here, honey.” Ian slipped a blanket around her shoulders. He tested her forehead with the backs of his fingers. “You’re not sick. That’s the best news yet. I’m putting another log in the stove.”

  “I’ll keep trying to get him to take the broth.”

  “Good.”

  “Ian? I’m afraid for you to go. And I’m afraid for you not to go.”

  He looked at her, then said quietly, “We’ll make a pact. I’ll pray for you and Tucker. You’ll pray for me and Tucker. I think he needs our prayers most.”

  “Okay.”

  “We’ll trust the Lord to make a way.” Ian reached for his coat. He yanked it on and fastened it. Hanging from the same peg were his skates. He snatched them. “Merry, God’s already made the path.”

  He left, and she tried to watch through the bottle window as he skated away. Both of the men she loved were in danger.

  ❧

  Ian’s hand stung from the cold. He pounded on the doctor’s door anyway. He’d not yet met Doc Killbone, but that didn’t matter. What did matter was that Tucker’s best chance of survival lay with the doctor’s knowledge and skill.

  Thump, thump, thump. Still no answer.

  Finally, the door opened a mere crack. “Doc’s sicker’n a dawg. Can’t help you none.”

  “He can still give me advice and medicine.” Ian pushed his way past a short, squat man. “Where is he?”

  “Asleep.”

  Ian hollered, “Doc? Doc!”

  “He’s sick, I tell you.”

  Ian turned and spotted a gaunt old man in a nightshirt. “Are you Doc Killbone?”

  “Yuuuusss.” The affirmative sounded as weak and drawn out as possible.

  “Tucker Smith’s sick. High fever. Nothing’s making it break. What do we do?”

  “Everybody’s sick.” Doc rubbed his temple. “I’m outta stuff.”

  “The mercantile—what does Socks have that would work?”

  “No telling what he has.” Doc shuffled back toward his bed, but he melted to the floor halfway there. Ian and the man who had answered the door lifted the doc into bed.

  Doc closed his eyes and whispered wearily, “Sorry, son. Can’t help.”

  Ian knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that under normal circumstances this man would have come. But these were not normal circumstances.

  He went to the mercantile. Instead of going to the front door, Ian went to the back room where Socks lived.

  Shoving open the door, Socks groused, “Makin’ ’nuff noise to wake the dead.”

  “Tucker Smith’s sick. High fever. What do you have?”

  “Not a thing. Everyone else got whatever it is.”

  Ian refused to accept that answer. “You’ve got to have something.” He brushed past and went into the mercantile. Most of the shelves were empty—but Wily had told Ian that was normal during the winter. Ian lit a candle, whispered a prayer, and scoured the place. Nothing.

  “No miracles to be had here. You shoulda had those folks send you medicine instead of all that other junk they shipped.”

  Heavyhearted, Ian left the mercantile. He walked about ten yards, then jolted. Wily. He was in Skaguay for the winter—but he owned a place here in Goose Chase. He might have something.

  Typical of Alaskan practicality, the doors to Wily’s home were never locked. Matches and wood sufficient for a fire and food for a meal waited for any desperate wayfarer. Ian bypassed all of that. He rifled through Wily’s other possessions.

  Please, Lord. Please, Lord. Please. A leather satchel hung from a hook on the back of the door. Tucker grabbed it. The chink and tingle of glass hitting glass made his hopes soar. There, inside the bag, rested four small bottles and half a dozen vials. Each was numbered, and a palm-sized black leather book told what was in each numbered bottle and what its purpose was.

  Snow started falling just moments after Ian laced on his skates and started skating up the iced river. With each passing minute, the flurries grew. His muscles tensed and cramped. He wrapped the scarf Merry had made for him over his nose and mouth, but the air was so cold, he felt as if he were inhaling shards of glass. When it became too difficult to see more than a few feet ahead, he kept close to the side of the river. As long as it was on his left, he knew where he was.

  Until he fell.

  ❧

  Meredith heard a sound. She hopped up and ran to the door. “Ian!”

  He staggered in, and she slammed the door shut.

  “You made it!”r />
  He nodded and unlooped a leather strap from around his neck. She shoved him onto a stool and put a mug of coffee into his hands, then took the blanket from her own shoulders and wrapped him in it.

  “Everyone. Town. Sick.”

  “Oh no.”

  He nodded wearily. “Got medicine bag. Wily’s house.”

  “I was worried sick. This is the worst blizzard I’ve seen.”

  Ian’s mouth tilted upward. “Bridge. Hit it. Got me home. God was with me.”

  Meredith set the bag on the table and carefully took out each jar and vial. “Quinine.” She read. “Quinine! I know that’s for fever!” The tiny book gave the proper dosage. Once she spooned it into Tucker, she turned back to Ian. “Your clothes are soaked. You have to change. Now.”

  He looked up at her. Though weariness painted every feature, his eyes still twinkled for a moment. “And you called your brother bossy.”

  Merry kept hopping up to give Ian more coffee and broth. He kept nudging her back onto a stool beside Tucker and draping a blanket over her shoulders. They took turns drizzling fluid into her brother.

  “Merry, it’s not going to do Tucker any good for both of us to be exhausted. We’ll take turns. You lie down awhile.”

  She gave him a puzzled look.

  Ian led her over closer to the stove. The heat radiating there felt so good. He’d set up her cot and had blankets waiting. “Lie down. I’ll wake you if I need to.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She lay down, but rest wouldn’t come. Guilt mounted. Finally, Merry threw off the covers.

  “It’s my fault. Him being sick. It’s my fault. We’ve always had each other. I made a promise to him. I’ve been begging him for months now, but he wouldn’t release me from my word. I told him that I couldn’t keep it anymore. It’s anger. That’s what this is. It’s burning him hollow on the inside. He’s mad that I was going to choose you over him. I am all he has, and I was going to betray him. He told me to go ahead and tell you. He told me I could, and he meant it, but look what it’s doing. It’s killing him. Now he’s going to die, and you’ll never trust me.”

  “Merry, honey, he’s going to get better. I have faith he is. Aye, I think he’s feeling a bit cooler. And he’s not restless like he was.”