Ashes and Ice
Page 29
The men had a fire going in a short time, thanks to Adrik’s knowledge of the outdoors. The rain eventually abated, leaving everything damp and cold. Grace huddled with Leah at the edge of the flames. The warmth felt good but did little to relieve her sorrow. Crispin, too, looked completely devastated. He sat opposite Grace, and from time to time their gaze met across the flames.
He must have loved her, Grace surmised. His expression speaks it. The pain she saw there so clearly reflected her own heart. She tried not to think of Miranda as dead, but there was nothing else to consider. The weather had been too foul, the waves too high, the water too cold. No one could have survived such an accident.
The next day, after Adrik and Jacob made repairs to the scow, they floated the remaining distance to Hootalinqua. Grace faced their arrival at the little community with mixed emotions. The Northwest Mounted Police had a station here, and she would have to go and make a report on Miranda’s accident. It would be important to let the officials know what had happened in case her body washed ashore. Adrik had offered to do the deed, but Grace had insisted she be the one to take care of the matter. After all, she had stated, Miranda was family.
Adrik walked with her to the log building headquarters of the Canadian officials. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take care of this?” he asked.
Grace shook her head and looked up to see his compassionate expression. He was such a kind man. So gentle and caring. “I will be fine. You need to take care of the others.”
She turned away without another word and made her way inside the station. A young man in a red coat that seemed much too small for his broad-shouldered frame looked up in greeting.
“Good morning, ma’am. I’m Sergeant Cooper. What can I do for you?”
“My name is Mrs. Grace Colton. I have come north with a party of my friends.” Her hands began to tremble, and for a moment she felt light-headed.
The officer seemed to understand and quickly came to her side. “You should sit,” he commanded and led her to a chair.
“Thank you. I’ve had quite a shock.” She tried to steady her nerves, but visions of Peter and Amelia and Ephraim kept coming to mind. She saw them in their sorrow and knew the pain they would feel.
“Would you care for a cup of tea?”
She looked up at the man and shook her head. “I must be about my business. My party is anxious to move on.”
“Very well. Why don’t you begin?”
“We were on Lake Laberge yesterday when the storm came up. It was fierce, and our boat was barely able to handle such a storm. We made for shore, but before we arrived, my sister-in-law, Miranda Colton, fell overboard. We tried in vain to rescue her.”
The man took the news in a stoic fashion. “Were you able to recover her . . . well, that is to say . . . did you find her?”
Grace bit her lip to keep from crying. She forced herself to draw a deep breath. “No. We did not find her body.”
“I see. Let me take this down on paper.” He went to his desk and took up his pen. “The name is Colton, correct?”
Grace continued to answer his questions and waited for him to complete his task. When at last he finished writing, he put down the pen and looked up at Grace. “We’ve had some trouble with the telegraph, but as soon as the lines are repaired, I’ll get word of this down to Whitehorse. Should anyone find her, it would be on record for the purpose of identification.”
Grace knew it made sense, but her fear was that Miranda’s parents might learn the truth before she had a chance to write to them herself. “I would like to send a letter to her parents,” she finally said. “It would be unfair for them to receive word of this from strangers.”
“If you care to leave a letter with me, I’ll see to it that it goes out with the next post.”
“Thank you. I’d like that very much.”
The sergeant’s heart went out to the young woman. There were so many tales of loss among these stampeders. They came seeking their fortune and often lost their lives. He looked down at the report he’d just written. Such a waste.
Why, the woman was no older than he, and now, by all reasonable accounts, she was probably dead.
“Sergeant Cooper,” the voice of his superior called from outside the door.
Leaving his desk, Cooper made his way outside. “Sir?”
“I saw a young woman leave the office just now. What was her business?”
Cooper looked down the path to where the woman was making her way back to her party. “That was Mrs. Colton. She came to report the drowning death of her sister-in-law. Seems they were on Lake Laberge when they were caught in yesterday’s storm, and the young woman, a Miss Grace Colton, fell overboard. They were unable to recover her body.”
—[CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE]—
WITH A COLD OCTOBER WIND howling at his back, Peter Colton made his way to Martin Paxton’s store. He had to meet with the man, though it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. Since deciding to follow Christ as his Savior, Peter had known he would have to make this trip. Nevertheless, it was hard. He needed Paxton to tell him where Grace had gone. He needed his adversary to be gracious—merciful.
“What can I do for you?” the clerk asked from behind the counter as Peter came through the door.
Struggling to close the door against the wind, Peter barely heard the question. With the door secured, Peter turned and pulled his scarf from around his face. “I need to see Mr. Paxton. I have business of a personal nature.”
The clerk recognized Peter and shook his head. “I doubt the boss wants to meet with you.”
“I don’t care what he wants,” Peter stated, working hard to keep his anger under control, “I need to see him nevertheless.”
The man stood his ground, staring hard at Peter. “And if I’m not of a mind to disturb him?”
“Then I’ll start tearing this store apart until you are of a mind,” Peter replied calmly.
The man weighed Peter’s words for a moment, then shrugged. “I’ll tell him you’re here, but that don’t mean he’ll see you.”
Peter waited until the man had moved from the front of the store to follow after him. He knew the way without an escort. He waited at the bottom of the stairs while the clerk announced him in the room above.
“Send him up,” Peter heard Paxton say.
The clerk turned and saw Peter standing at the bottom of the stairs. “The boss says he’ll see you.”
Peter took the stairs two at a time and had reached the top before the clerk had so much as attempted to descend. Bounding into the room, he was unprepared for the sight of the once fashionable room. The furniture stood as ghostly images, covered in white sheets. Paxton’s desk and chair were the only pieces not yet hidden away. To one side of the desk sat an open trunk. Paxton apparently had been packing even as Peter had come to call.
“Where are you going?” Peter asked.
“Not that it is any of your business, but I’m headed south. The winter promises to be severe, and I have little desire to find myself here when the snows grow heavy. One winter in Alaska was enough for me.”
“What of Grace?”
“What of her?”
“I want to know where she is,” Peter said firmly. “I don’t intend to leave until you tell me the truth.”
Paxton shook his head. “I have no reason to tell you anything.”
Just then a big burly man stormed into the room. Peter turned, certain the man had come to take him from the premises.
“Boss, I got something you need to see. Just came in on the train about an hour ago. Mayor thought you’d want to see it right away.”
Paxton slammed down the book he’d been holding. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“Yeah, but this is important.”
Paxton eyed the larger man for a moment, then held out his hand. “What is it?”
Peter watched in irritation as the man passed a folded piece of paper to Paxton. Paxton read the missive, then looked up in s
tunned silence. Peter thought perhaps the man might have been having some sort of spell as he moved around behind the desk and fell into his chair.
Paxton looked up at his man. “Are they certain about this?”
“Yeah, boss. Mayor said to tell you it came direct from the police headquarters in Whitehorse.”
“Leave us,” Paxton told the man. The man did as he was told, but not without some hesitation. He paused at the door and looked as if he might question Paxton, but he had no chance. “Go!” Paxton demanded.
Peter stood, uncertain. Would Paxton demand his exit, as well? And if he did, how would Peter ever find out about Grace?
“It would seem I was in error,” Paxton began, his gaze rather glassy and distant. “I told you that I had no reason to tell you anything. It would appear that has now changed.”
“I don’t understand,” Peter said, stepping toward the desk.
Paxton extended the paper. “Your wife, Mr. Colton.”
Peter snatched the letter with great speed. Opening it, he scanned the few lines and let the paper drop to the desk. “No. Grace isn’t dead.”
“The Northwest Mounted Police are, I’m afraid, quite thorough and reasonably qualified at their job. If they’ve declared her dead, she’s dead.”
Peter felt the room spin. His breath refused to come, and he pulled at the scarf around his neck as though it had somehow tightened. “She can’t be dead. She can’t be!”
“It would seem she has eluded us both,” Paxton replied.
“But you told me she was here. You said she was with you.”
“I only let you believe that. I haven’t seen her since she went north to Dawson with your sister and that Pierce woman.”
“No!”
Peter crossed the distance between them and, without warning, reached across the desk and pulled Paxton up by his lapel. Shaking the man hard enough to rattle his teeth, Peter demanded the truth. “You’re only doing this to throw me off track. You’re trying to make me believe she’s dead so you can have her.”
Paxton shook his head. “I’m just as surprised at this news as you are and just as devastated for my own reasons. This is no game, Colton. She’s dead.”
“Stop saying that!” Peter declared, sending his fist into Paxton’s face.
Without realizing what he was doing, Peter hit the man again and again. “She isn’t dead! You’re lying to me!” He felt the aching in his own hand as his knuckles made contact with the unyielding bone of Paxton’s jaw.
“I don’t care what you believe,” Paxton said as he started to fight back. “Now leave me before I call my men.” He slammed his fist into Peter’s nose, causing blood to spurt out across the desk.
Peter, stunned at the blow, let go of Paxton and backed up a pace. “I’ll go to the mayor. I’ll go to the police. I’ll learn the truth.”
“You already know the truth,” Paxton said, nursing his bleeding lip.
————
Hours later, after getting the same reassurance from the mayor, Peter let the realization sink in that what Paxton had said was true. It was no sham. No game to take him away from Grace. Devastated and stunned, Peter collapsed near the docks and gave himself over to his grief.
She can’t be gone, he told himself. She just can’t be gone. We left on such bad terms, and there was so much that I needed to apologize for. Words I can never take back. She must have died hating me—hating me enough to go north into the wilds of the Yukon. He thought of Jonas and of what insight or comfort the man might offer. Then just as quickly, Peter dismissed the idea. He couldn’t bear to see the man and explain that his pride had caused him to be too late to reconcile with Grace. Jonas expected Peter to find his wife and head south to San Francisco and a new life in the Lord. Now that could never be.
Uncertain of how to pray for himself, Peter moaned as he buried his face against his knees. “Oh, God, what am I to do? How am I to face this alone?”
“Peter Colton?”
The voice seemed to call from somewhere out of Peter’s memory. Looking up, he found a childhood friend, a rival in the shipping industry from San Francisco. “Wesley Oakes?”
“Good grief, man, what’s happened to you?” the man reached out to help Peter up from the ground.
“I just got word my wife is dead,” Peter said in an almost mechanical tone. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
The man’s face contorted. “I’m sorry, Peter. I had no idea you were even married.”
“We’ve not even been married a year,” Peter replied, his brain taking on a fogginess that seemed to mute the pain momentarily.
“Where are you headed?” Oakes questioned.
“I don’t know.” Peter looked to the steamers in the harbor. “I should go home. There’s nothing to keep me here now.”
“I leave in two hours. You can have a place on my ship,” Oakes offered. “Get your gear and be back before we leave.”
Peter looked at the man and shook his head. “Everything of value is with me already. I signed off my job with the railroad and bid my friends good-bye this morning.”
“Then come with me now. We’ll find you some private quarters, and I’ll send someone to tend to your nose. It looks as though it might be broken.” Oakes reached out and pulled Peter to his side.
“It doesn’t matter,” Peter said without the will to protest the man’s decision.
True to his word, Wesley Oakes had Peter put in one of the better cabins aboard the steamer Ellsbeth Marie. The ship’s cook, who also doubled as the ship’s doctor, examined Peter’s nose and declared that it was not broken, then cleaned Peter up and left him in the silence of the room. Without the will to go on, Peter crawled into the berth and closed his eyes.
“Let me die, as well, Lord,” he begged. “If she’s dead, I can’t go on.” He felt hot tears on his face. “Just let me die.”
————
Peter slept through the night and might well have slept through the entire following day, but for Wesley Oakes. The captain of the Ellsbeth Marie wasn’t about to leave Peter to his own sorrows.
Bringing a hearty supper of dried beef stew and biscuits, Oakes acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary. “You’ve got to eat,” he announced. “It’s acceptable to miss the morning and noon meal, but I draw the line at missing your supper.”
“I’m not hungry,” Peter said, easing his legs over the side of the bed. He’d never known such exhaustion. His limbs felt like lead.
“I’ve no doubt that’s true,” Wesley said with a compassionate smile, “but nevertheless, you need to keep your strength up.”
Peter realized the man would no doubt stay there to harass him until he yielded. “Very well. I will eat.”
“That’s a good man. Now I need to slip down below and check on my men. You eat up, and we’ll have us a talk tomorrow.”
Peter nodded and sat down at the table where Oakes had placed the tray of food. Picking up a biscuit, he put it to his mouth and bit into it. It tasted like sawdust. Peter said nothing, however, as Wesley took his leave.
Letting the biscuit drop to the plate, Peter stared at the food in disinterest. If a man could will himself to die, then Peter was eager to learn the secret.
He thought of Grace and of the letter reporting her death. It said she drowned in Lake Laberge. He couldn’t help but wonder what had happened. What had been the circumstances? Why her and not Karen Pierce? Not that he would have wished either one dead, but why Grace?
Peter lost track of the time, feeling no interest in his surroundings. He had lost the love of his life. The only woman he would ever love—ever want to spend his days with.
“Why, God?” He shook his head and let out a deep sigh that went all the way to his soul. “Why?”
Boom! Suddenly the entire room rocked with the impact of the explosion. Peter looked up, uncertain of what had just happened. Another explosion followed close behind the first one, and this time Peter got to his feet and went to the d
oor of his cabin. Flames shot up from the deck below as people screamed and ran for safety.
The black water below was illuminated by the fire on the Ellsbeth Marie. Peter tried to make sense of the disaster, but could not.
“Abandon ship!” the call went out. “Abandon ship!”
But to where? Peter wondered, moving stiffly toward the stairs.
It seemed that only moments passed before the entire ship was engulfed in flames. People fought each other for the few lifeboats that were on board. Peter inched down the stairs amidst the panicked passengers. He caught a glimpse of Wesley Oakes. Charred from smoke, Wesley stood as a pillar of stability in the madness.
“Peter!” he called out, “Get off, man! There’s no time to lose. The Seamist is just behind us. She’ll pick up the passengers.”
Peter’s senses seemed to return all at once. He knew he had to get off the ship, but a greater part of his captaining instincts told him to help the other passengers first. He made his way to the flaming deck and, dodging the fire, managed to make his way to where an older woman struggled.
“Here, let me help you,” he said, taking hold of her. He maneuvered the woman to the only lifeboat nearby. Helping her gently, Peter saw her safe, then turned to help the others.
The screams and sounds of panic were terrifying. His own pain seemed insignificant compared to that of a mother who stood screaming for her baby.
“Where is he?” Peter questioned.
The woman pointed down the long deck of flames. “Our cabin—the last one on the right!”
Peter nodded, then darted through the flames and headed in the direction she pointed. He thought only of the child—praying he might not be too late. Thick black smoke bellowed up from the fire, blinding him and stinging his lungs. He coughed and pulled his handkerchief from his pocket. He had to hurry.
The door was locked tight, but Peter would not be stopped. Throwing himself against the door over and over again, he finally felt the wood give way. Gaining entrance to the smoke-filled cabin, Peter tried to see through the illuminated haze. Cautiously feeling his way about the room, he found the cradle. The baby didn’t so much as cry as Peter lifted him from the bed. He tucked the baby into his coat, hoping to shield him from the heat and smoke.