Ashes and Ice

by Tracie Peterson

  It could still be worse, Karen reminded herself as she began braiding her hair into a single plait. She felt her stomach churn at the mental image of women young and old working in the cribs down by the harbor. Leah would most likely be there herself if not for Karen’s protection. It was only—yes, she had to admit it—the grace of God that had kept them from harm’s way this far.

  “I know I’m acting the fool,” she said softly to the God she’d resolved to turn from. She bowed her head and tied a ribbon around her braid. “It’s just so hard to be here—to endure this life. You have no idea.”

  But of course, she knew that was wrong. Jesus had come to earth to know every part of being human. The insults, the sorrows, the loneliness. And oh, the loneliness was so overwhelming. Karen brushed a tear away and closed her eyes. Her soul cried out for real communion with God, but even as she contemplated surrendering her will, Martin Paxton’s face came to mind once again.

  He had no remorse for the things he’d done. He wanted only to have his own way and to hurt those people who stood against him. Karen balled her hands into fists, fists that she’d love nothing more than to use against Paxton. Her breathing quickened, and she jumped to her feet.

  “How long must I suffer like this? I’m like two different women. Just when I think I can lay this aside and make peace with God, I see that man and know that I cannot leave the matter alone and walk away.”

  She began to pace. “I can’t allow him to ruin my life.”

  She heard the words echoed back to her and stopped short. “But he is ruining my life. My hatred of him is destroying everything. My friendship with Grace . . . my love of God. It’s even wreaking havoc with the potential love of a good man. And for what?”

  She caught her reflection in a small mirror that hung near the door. Her expression reminded her of another person. The anger and bitterness was the same. That expression had belonged to Peter Colton.

  “I have become what I thought impossible to be.” The sorrow of it broke her spirit and left her devoid of hope.

  ————

  Grace had heard of the newly installed telegraph system and had hoped to get a message off to her mother. She had to know what it was that kept Martin Paxton so interested in her. She had to know why he refused to leave her in peace and let her life find some normalcy.

  If it could find normalcy.

  Grace wasn’t at all convinced that anything could ever be right again, much less good. She had come to Alaska to flee one monster, only to find herself married to another. But she loved this beast. He had taken her heart as surely as she had taken his name.

  Walking unescorted to the telegraph office, Grace found the strength to continue only by trusting in the knowledge that God would never leave her nor forsake her. Should everyone else desert her—leave her to die alone, she knew God would be there. Her faith had been strengthened by the adversity she’d endured. Peter’s anger only served to drive her to prayer, where her heavenly Father sent comfort through His Holy Spirit.

  Martin Paxton was a thorn in the flesh, to be sure, but he didn’t frighten Grace half as much as Peter did, perhaps because she loved Peter and cared nothing for Paxton. Perhaps because she knew Martin Paxton could only take her life, but Peter would have her soul if he thought it possible.

  Ignoring the men who eyed her and called to her, Grace quickly sent her telegram, paying the exorbitant sum of five dollars. She hurried back to the hotel, hoping that Peter hadn’t returned and found her missing. He had warned her to stay off the streets of Skagway. Apparently, rumor had it that most of the passes were in perfect condition for pressing north. People were creating a new, smaller stampede from the one they’d left in the lower states. This stampede was leaving the comforts of Skagway to head into the vast unknown territories. Gold lured them forward—called to them. Gold beckoned them to forget their loved ones and face the risk of death.

  But in spite of Peter’s concerns, the town had emptied out onto the trails rather quickly. The stampede was gone, leaving behind those souls who had taken up residence in Skagway, along with stragglers who had lost their caches in games gone bad. Every day, however, new arrivals poured in, the fever glazing over their eyes, keeping them from seeing the truth of the disease that had come to grip them.

  By night, Grace knew the rowdies would be out and about. Skagway’s lawlessness rivaled nothing she had ever known, and Peter’s concerns were well justified. Jefferson “Soapy” Smith and his men were notorious for the trouble they caused. They weren’t alone, however. Scallywags and hoodlums of every sort were to be found in the town. Everyone wanted something from someone, and gold was almost always at the bottom of it.

  In the exodus of gold seekers, Peter had managed to secure a private room next to his parents’ for himself and Grace, and it was in this room that Grace sought her solace. The four bare walls offered no comfort. Gone was the beauty of the rooms she’d known growing up. Even the simplistic charm of the little room she’d once shared with Karen was preferable to these stark confines.

  But as much as she desired the beauty and warmth of her childhood, she needed answers more. Answers to questions that seemed so illogical to even ask. Why did Martin Paxton desire to marry a woman who clearly held him in contempt? Why did he pursue her to the point of ruining lifelong friendships and giving old men heart attacks? Why, when she had nothing left to offer him but her body, did Martin Paxton find the price worth paying?

  Then there were questions about Peter. Why did he so fervently refuse to see God’s part in his life? How could he have no desire for spiritual truth? How had he lost his desire for her?

  He’d not even come back to their room the night before until well into the morning hours. Grace had pretended to be asleep as he fell into the bed beside her. She had thought to herself, If he reaches for me, I will willingly go into his arms.

  But he never reached for her.

  “I love him so much, Father,” she prayed. Picking up her Bible, she held it close for comfort. She didn’t have the energy to read the Scriptures between the covers, but just holding it gave her a sense of peace. Settling into a chair, Grace lost track of the time. She dozed off, weary from the battle she’d been fighting, only to awaken disoriented.

  She wondered at the time, then startled when a loud, insistent knock came at the door. Apparently it had been this that had brought her from her sleep in the first place.

  Peter had already left by the time she’d awakened that morning and she’d not seen him since, so she hoped that it might be him. She put the Bible aside and hurried to the door. Throwing it back, she was surprised to find a boy, no more than twelve or thirteen years old, standing there holding out a telegram.

  “Are you Mrs. Colton?”

  “I’m Mrs. Grace Colton,” she replied.

  “Then this here telegram is for you.” He thrust the paper toward Grace and hurried back down the hall almost before she could take hold of the missive. Apparently he wasn’t concerned with getting a tip.

  Opening the telegram, Grace couldn’t contain her surprise. It was a response from her mother. She scanned the lines quickly and felt all hope drain away. Her mother simply advised her that she should do whatever Mr. Paxton told her. That he could still hurt them both.

  Grace didn’t even remember to close the door. She walked back to her chair and sat down hard. How could this be? Why would her mother direct her to do such a thing when she’d previously been so supportive of Grace remaining free of Martin Paxton?

  “May I come in?” Peter questioned from the door.

  Grace looked up and found him staring at her as if seeing her for the first time. “Of course you may come in. It’s your room as well as mine.”

  Peter crossed the threshold and quietly closed the door. Grace watched him, confused by his gentle nature and uncertainty. “Is something wrong?” she questioned.

  “Yes.” He came to where she sat. “I’ve been unreasonable and owe you a great many apologies.�
�� He knelt beside her. “I never meant to let things get so muddled. I don’t even know who I am anymore or why I act as I do.”

  Grace felt her heart nearly break. He looked so lost. She reached out and took hold of his hand and brought it to her lips. “Oh, Peter, I’m so very sorry for all that you’ve had to endure. Especially for those things you’ve endured on my behalf.”

  “No, it’s not your fault. You have no reason to apologize. Even your faith is not an issue that should divide us. I know that now, but I cannot pretend to believe as you do. I’m sorry I’ve failed you as a husband. I’m a poor leader, both spiritually and physically. I’m responsible for losing my family’s business, and I’ve nearly lost you. Please tell me I’m not too late.”

  Grace got to her feet, the telegram now forgotten. “You could never be too late. Oh, Peter, I love you. I’m sorry I’m not the wife you had hoped me to be. There is still so much we do not know about each other. So much that is yet to be overcome.”

  He held her close and buried his face in her hair. “I know I’m difficult at times. I know I’ve said things that hurt you.” He pulled away and shook his head. “I know, too, that I can never take back those words.”

  He walked away from her and seemed to struggle with his thoughts. Grace stood still, afraid that she might break the fragile peace should she do anything but await his words. Turning to face her again, Peter frowned.

  “I cannot make this right. I cannot hope to see Paxton pay for the harm he’s caused, yet everything in me rises up to demand it. As a woman, you have no idea what it is for a man to face this humiliation. My father lies ill in the next room. My mother and sister have no hope of returning home except at the mercy of the very man who has caused their misery. The man openly covets my wife and sees nothing wrong in tempting her to divorce me and marry him.”

  “He has not tempted me,” Grace said softly.

  Peter stared at her for a moment as if trying to convince himself of her words. It was then he spied the telegram on the floor. “What’s that?”

  Grace looked quickly to where the paper lay. “It’s nothing.” She bent to retrieve the telegram and folded it to put it in her pocket. If she shared the news with Peter, he would know that she’d disobeyed him and had gone alone to the tele- graph office. Furthermore, he would not be pleased by the message.

  “That’s a telegram. I didn’t even realize they’d put a line through. Who is it from?”

  “It’s not important,” Grace replied. “I’d rather hear what you have to say.” Nervously, she warred within her mind. If I tell him he’ll be angry, and if I don’t tell him he’ll feel betrayed. Oh, God, what am I to do?

  “What are you hiding?” Immediately he sounded suspicious. “I demand that you allow me to see that message.”

  He took several steps toward her, and Grace knew she had once again managed to rile the beast. “Peter, it is to our benefit that you forget about this telegram. Please. I want only to sow peace between us.” She looked up to him, hoping he could read the pleading in her eyes.

  “So now you’re making a habit of keeping secrets from me?” he questioned, but his tone made it clear that he’d already determined the answer.

  “Peter, I do not desire to keep things from you. The telegram is unimportant. What is important is that you know you can trust me. I’m not the enemy here.”

  “For all I know you’re in this with him.”

  “You don’t really believe that. You can’t believe that.”

  “Why not?” He shook his head as if he couldn’t quite put the pieces together. “How am I to know what the truth is when you insist on keeping it from me? It seems quite reasonable that you could have formed some sort of alliance with Paxton.”

  “You aren’t speaking rationally,” Grace said. Fear flooded her heart, giving a trembling to her voice. “You . . . can’t . . . say these things.” How could this continue? She was only trying to protect him from her mother’s suggestion that Grace cooperate with Paxton. He would hate her mother for saying such a thing, even as Grace suspected he now hated her for her secrecy.

  “So now you think me mad? You think me incapable of seeing this situation for what it is—a betrayal of our marriage vows? Do you tell Paxton your secrets? Does he know your heart? And here I came to apologize—thinking I was the problem.”

  Grace drew her hand to her mouth to keep from crying aloud, but her muffled sobs were no less evident. He truly believed the worst of her. He thought her a traitor. She struggled to compose herself while Peter watched, eyes raging silent accusations at her.

  “Peter,” she finally managed to speak, “do you love me? Do you trust me at all?”

  “Why do you ask me that now? You speak of words and their importance, yet you bandy them about as though they were halfpenny candy. I had a business and a good life before you came into my world. I should have known the worst would be upon me for disregarding my own misgivings.”

  Grace fought to keep her voice even. The pain was tearing her heart in two. “Then you truly wish we’d never married?”

  “I wish I’d done whatever it would have taken to keep this regretful existence from happening. I wish I had a wife who trusted me enough to share her secrets and respected me enough to keep her faith to herself.” He calmed considerably as he studied her. This calm was even more unnerving than his anger.

  “I can’t live up to your expectations, Grace. I cannot believe as you believe. I cannot provide as a husband should provide. Until I met you, I had thought my life well ordered. Now . . . well, now there’s little hope that we can put this right.”

  Grace felt the tears stream down her cheeks but refused to wipe them away. She thought only of her mother’s words to do as Martin Paxton had asked. She thought she ought to simply show Peter the telegram, but she realized the time for that had passed.

  Peter went to the far end of the small room and took up his trunk. “I’ll leave you to your telegrams and secrets. Perhaps you will find solace in them.”

  She felt ill. Would he really leave her? Divorce her? “Where are you going?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I know I’m not wanted here, and I don’t intend to stick around and watch what I once thought of as love further crumble and die.”

  Grace watched him walk from the room. She crossed to the door and thought to call after him as he made his way down the stairs, but something held her back. Her hand went to the telegram in her pocket, and she knew it would have done little good to call after him.

  “What are you doing out here, Grace?” Miranda questioned as she came from the room next door.

  “Saying good-bye to my heart,” she murmured.

  Miranda came to stand directly in front of her. She took hold of Grace’s arms, forcing her attention. “What are you saying?”

  “Peter’s left me. He’s just now gone away . . . and,” she looked beyond her sister-in-law to the now empty stairs, “I don’t think he’s ever coming back.”

  Part Two

  MAY 1898

  He discovereth deep things out of

  darkness, and bringeth out to light

  the shadow of death.

  Job 12:22

  —[CHAPTER FOURTEEN]—

  KAREN CALLED IT a meeting of grave importance. She had sent a note to Adrik and now sat across the small table from both him and Leah Barringer.

  “It’s been weeks since Jacob left, with no word from him. The town’s abuzz with newcomers and would-be miners in every shape and size. Every day,” Karen continued, “more and more people pour over Chilkoot Pass on their journey north to gold and fame. I can’t sit here and wait and wonder what has happened to Jacob in the midst of that onslaught.”

  Adrik seemed to consider her words as he thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “Well, what do you have in mind?”

  Karen looked at Leah. Only that morning she’d tried to encourage Leah by suggesting they go look for Jacob. It was the first spark of life she’d seen in the child since he’d
disappeared. “I think we should go after him.”

  “To Dawson?” Adrik questioned in disbelief.

  “Yes,” Karen replied. “If that’s what it takes.”

  “And what if we did that? What if we went all that way and still didn’t find him? Then what?”

  Karen hadn’t considered the scenario any further than the idea of going along the same path Jacob would surely have taken. “I don’t honestly know. I suppose we could settle in and put out word that we were there. We could put up posters asking for information. If they have a newspaper, we might even place an advertisement.”

  Adrik nodded. “You’ve thought this all out, I take it.”

  Karen shook her head and looked to the table. “Actually, no. I mentioned the idea to Leah this morning, and she liked it. Other than telling Mrs. Neal that we needed a quiet place to meet this evening, I hadn’t considered anything else.”

  “Well, there’s a great deal more to do with heading to Dawson than deciding it should be so. You have no idea what the trail is like and how demanding the ordeal will be,” Adrik told her. “Not only is this a wilderness with pathways barely mucked out by those who’ve passed before you, but there are very real dangers.”

  Karen felt she had to persuade Adrik. Perhaps in doing so, she might also persuade herself. “I know that, but other women and children have made the trip and lived to tell about it.”

  “And others have died and lay buried alongside the trail in unmarked graves. I’d hate to see that for you or Leah.”

  “I want to find Jacob,” Leah said, speaking for the first time in days without having a direct question posed to her. “I want to know if Pa is really dead. I know it won’t be easy to hike the trail. My pa told us all about it. He’d read up on it. But I still want to go. I want to try.”