An Unexpected Love

by Tracie Peterson

  Fanny sighed. She could imagine Michael and the two rugged mountain men sitting at the breakfast table in a tiny cabin studying the Word of God and praying.

  Sherman says that God is interested in every aspect of our lives. I found that quite interesting. I suppose I have always known that I could take everything to God in prayer, but I am beginning to understand more about the idea of praying without ceasing. Here, where gold is worshiped and men can die for little more than stepping on a man’s claim, it has been my utmost blessing to share my days with Zeb and Sherman.

  I have to tell you about the cabin. Sherman and Zeb were here, you remember, before the rush. Therefore, there were still plenty of trees with which to build. Since then, much of the forest has been cut for the benefit of mining. You wouldn’t believe it, but there are towns along the way north that are completely void of trees. Many were used to build boats to float up to Dawson City. Others were used to create buildings for the towns, and much was needed for fuel. Fuel is most critical, as the nights often drop to forty below zero.

  Fanny put her hand to her mouth. She couldn’t even begin to understand how anyone could live in such temperatures. Why, when it was below freezing in Rochester, she preferred to remain inside, bundled and warm. She turned the page over and found the next line even more shocking.

  Many of the folks up here are living in canvas tents. You will hardly believe this, I’m sure, but people have created entire homes by joining their tents together. They use small stoves inside and live quite nicely. Of course the water and food always freeze, but it’s that way in the cabin, as well. It makes it easy to store our meat supply, however. Zeb killed a large buck elk a month ago, and we are still eating on him. We have a cache, which is a small storage house built upon stilts. We keep the meat there under lock and key to discourage both four-legged and two-legged animals from taking it.

  I’ll try to write more about life here in my next letter. The reason I wanted to get this letter to you before summer was to explain that I won’t be back until late August or maybe even September or October.

  “Why?” Fanny asked, shaking her head. “That’s weeks away.” She had spent most every day hoping to see Michael walk into the house. She longed for that moment when word would come that he was awaiting transportation to the island. She had already made Mr. Atwell promise to take her along on the trip. If Michael didn’t return until September, she’d most likely be back in Rochester. “This is most unfair.”

  She drew a deep breath and looked at the rest of the letter.

  I know that will not please you, but try to understand. Sherman and Zeb would like to make the best of the summer and take out what gold they can, and then sell the claim. They have asked me to stay with them and help them transport their gold back to Seattle. I believe it would be in all of our best interests to travel together. Dangers abound up here, but there’s strength in numbers. Don’t forget what the Bible says about a threefold cord not being quickly broken.

  Fanny smiled, knowing she had just remembered that verse in the course of her time here on the island. She had thought of it as it pertained to her, Amanda, and Sophie and how good they were to support and defend one another. Now Michael was using that thought, as well.

  Now lest I leave you with only sad thoughts, I will relate to you a funny story. When Zeb was in town around Christmas, he found a half-starved mongrel and brought him home to our cabin. He joked about how the dog was a Christmas gift for all of us to share. We called the dog Rusty because his coat was the color of a rusted hinge. Rusty immediately became a part of the family, with a particular liking to me. Zeb was rather puzzled by this, as he was the one who found the dog and fed him first. But Rusty would not relent. He follows me everywhere, even to the privy. The other night when Sherman came back from another trip for supplies in Dawson City, he brought a harmonica. Apparently Zeb had always been pretty talented at playing but had lost his harmonica on the trip north and been unable to buy another. Our supplies here are very limited, as you might have guessed.

  Fanny flipped to the second page of the letter and smiled.

  That night Zeb suggested a concert, and Sherman, being quite capable on the fiddle, agreed he would enjoy that very much. Word soon got out that we were to have a party and folks from up and down the creek came and brought what food and drink they could share. Several benches and chairs were arranged to accommodate the listeners, and to my great surprise, Rusty left my side and went to sit between Zeb and Sherman, as if he were one of the musicians. Zeb commented that perhaps Rusty did care about him as much as he did me and was quite proud that the dog should join them. Soon the music began and a fine celebration was under way. To everyone’s amusement Rusty began to sing. Well, singing is not exactly the word for it. He began to howl. He howled so loud that the music was very nearly drowned out. Everyone began to laugh, and the more we laughed, the more Rusty howled. When Zeb and Sherman finally concluded the song, Rusty stopped, too. The audience applauded, and we thought that to be the end of it because another miner came forward to sing and play a ballad on his guitar. Rusty didn’t so much as utter a peep. In fact, he came back to sit at my feet and seemed not to give Zeb or Sherman so much as a glance. That is until they went forward to play once again. When they took their places, Rusty took his, as well. When the music began, Rusty began to howl his own rendition of “Sweet Betsy From Pike.”

  Fanny giggled at the picture Michael had painted. She could see all the miners gathered and the dog howling to the music.

  Every time Zeb and Sherman played, Rusty would have to join them. No matter how hard I tried to keep Rusty at my side, he would not remain so long as those two were entertaining. It vexed Zeb something fierce, but everyone thought it great fun.

  Now I must close this letter, or I’ll never get it to the post in time. Please tell my folks that I think of them often and miss them very much. I imagine you all there at Broadmoor Island and know there is no place else in the world I’d rather be. I love you, my sweet Fanny. Please don’t fret. September is not that far away. Every day I remind myself of that, and know that warmer weather will soon arrive, my days in the north will be spent, and I will come home to you.

  Fanny clutched the letter close to her heart. Michael had touched these pages, created the words on them. Michael was even now counting the days until he could return to her.

  “I must write to him. I’ll spend whatever it takes to see the letter delivered,” she said as she scrambled to her feet. First, she knew she needed to share the missive with Michael’s parents. They would love hearing from him and knowing that he was safe and well.

  She very nearly ran all the way back to the house and slipped breathlessly into the kitchen, where she found Mr. and Mrs. Atwell waiting for her return. “He’s doing very well and sends his love,” she said, smiling.

  “Oh, what a relief. That is good news,” Mrs. Atwell said.

  Fanny wasn’t certain, but she thought there were tears in the woman’s eyes. She quickly turned away, however, and made a pretense of checking something in the oven.

  Fanny put the letter on the table. “Read it for yourselves. The news is quite good overall. The cold and darkness sound horrible, but Michael himself is in good spirits.”

  Mrs. Atwell came to her husband’s side as he picked up the letter and handed it to her. “You read, Mama. I’m afraid my eyes aren’t as good as they used to be.”

  The woman smiled and took the paper in hand. She sat at the table and began to read. Fanny listened with great pleasure as Michael’s words were once again dancing in her thoughts.

  “September,” Mrs. Atwell murmured, reaching the end of the letter. “That’s just a few short weeks.”

  Fanny laughed. “I thought it sounded like forever, but you clearly have a more optimistic outlook.”

  “Well, she’s right,” Mr. Atwell declared. “It’s already the middle of July. September will be here before we know it.”

  “And my family will be r
eturning to Rochester,” Fanny said softly. Without warning she spoke the thought uppermost on her mind. “I want to stay here. When the family returns to Rochester, I want to stay behind. I must be here when Michael comes home.”

  “But of course you can stay. If your uncle will allow it, you are most welcome to be with us,” Mrs. Atwell said, and her husband nodded in agreement.

  “Uncle Jonas may well not approve, but I am of age now. He cannot keep me from marrying Michael, nor can he put demands upon me that require my residing in Rochester with his family. While it may be more prudent for me to live with them, I would be safe staying here with you.”

  “Of course you would. You needn’t fret one bit about that.”

  “And you needn’t think that I won’t be willing to work and help with the chores. I’m not a woman of leisure to sit and do nothing. I want to learn how to make all of Michael’s favorite foods. I want to hear all the stories you can remember of when he was young.” Fanny smiled. “I want to be a daughter to you both.”

  Mrs. Atwell got up and smothered her in a fierce embrace. “You have always been like a daughter to me, child. Goodness, but I couldn’t be happier that you plan to marry my son.”

  “Say nothing to Uncle Jonas just yet,” Fanny said, pulling away from Mrs. Atwell. “He will make us all quite miserable if he thinks we’re plotting behind his back. When the right time comes, I’ll speak to him.”

  “Very well,” Mrs. Atwell replied. Mr. Atwell nodded once again and got to his feet. “I’d best get back to work. Someone will want to be taken to Clayton or one of the other islands. If they have to come looking for me, I might well hear about it from Mr. Broadmoor. We’d do well to keep that man happy.”

  Fanny knew he was right. Uncle Jonas could be such a bear to live with if he thought for even a second that someone else was in charge or making arrangements without his knowledge.

  Jonas stepped off the DaisyBee and tramped up the path toward the house. He should be in Rochester rather than on the island, but that wouldn’t set well with Victoria. She simply did not understand his need to be in Rochester and take care of business. Of course, she didn’t realize the current state of their affairs, either. Not that he would ever discuss such matters with her. Women were no help when it came to money or business. Victoria could provide no solutions for him, and even the hint of dwindling bank accounts would likely send her into a frenzy that would only add to his current problems.

  He’d been juggling accounts and investments for the past six months and had hoped Wesley Hedrick would prove to be a source of advice. But Sophie had ruined that for him. Women! One could create more havoc with a beguiling smile than a dozen men armed with weapons. Quincy thought the man was nothing more than a fraud, but Jonas couldn’t believe that. No one would have the gall to try to impose such deception upon the Broadmoors. No, Hedrick was well off, no doubt, but he would want nothing to do with the family that had given life to such a wanton young woman as Sophie. Now Jonas would have to figure another way to deal with matters at hand.

  With the final distribution of funds from his father’s estate, he’d been able to realign some of his investments and had paid off a number of debts, but should these new investments fail, there would be no additional Broadmoor money to sustain him. And if the economy took yet another downturn, he could lose everything. He was playing a dangerous game, purchasing stocks while others were selling, yet he believed it would serve him well in the future—if his money held out long enough and the country didn’t plummet into a depression. The economic downturn over the past few years had taken its toll, but investing had become Jonas’s antidote for boredom and was much easier than the responsibility of actually running a business. Much like a gambler who couldn’t stay away from the gaming table, he relished the thrill of investing. He could only hope the stock market wouldn’t prove as fickle as a deck of cards.

  He caught sight of Fanny sitting on the front veranda. As long as he continued to control her money, he could remain afloat and wait for his investments to begin their upward movement. The girl had caught sight of him and was walking toward him with a determined step. She’d been attempting to discuss some financial matter with him since earlier in the month. Thus far, he’d managed to avoid her. Who could guess what she might want to know. And he certainly didn’t want to provide her with an accounting. Like her father before her, Fanny could be headstrong, but so could he—especially when money was involved. He must maintain control of her funds.

  “Good afternoon, Fanny. A lovely day out here on the island.” Jonas continued striding toward the house, and his niece easily kept pace.

  “I need a few minutes of your time, Uncle Jonas. Each time I think we can talk, I discover that you’ve returned to Rochester, or you say you’re otherwise involved.”

  “Could I at least greet your aunt before you insist upon a meeting, Fanny?” He hoped he’d infused her with enough guilt that he could once again escape her questions.

  “Certainly.”

  However, she continued to follow in his wake. Obviously she was not going to be easily dissuaded. Perhaps Victoria would be of some assistance in occupying the girl. He glanced over his shoulder. “Do you know where I might locate your aunt?”

  “I believe she took her needlework to the upper balcony.”

  “Jonas!” His wife descended the stairs and offered him a bright smile. “I saw you coming up the path. I’m pleased you arrived before supper. You do look weary.”

  Relief assailed him. His wife had offered an escape. “I am completely done in, my dear. It has been an extremely trying week. I trust there will be adequate time for me to rest before supper?”

  “Yes, of course. Why don’t you go on upstairs, and I’ll see that you’re not bothered.”

  Before he could respond, Fanny slipped between them. “Not until I have a few moments of your time, Uncle Jonas. This matter will not wait any longer.”

  “Surely there isn’t anything so important that it won’t wait until after supper, Fanny.” His wife stepped closer as if to protect him.

  “I’ve been trying to speak with Uncle Jonas for nearly two weeks now.”

  Jonas patted his wife’s hand. He didn’t want the tension to escalate. “I’ll be fine, my dear. As soon as I speak with Fanny, I’ll go upstairs and rest.” He waved Fanny forward. “Come into the library and tell me what is of such great importance that it can’t wait for another hour or two.” He dropped into one of the leather chairs. “Well?”

  “I need you to transfer money into an account for Paul and Sophie. I am going to purchase a house for them, and I want the funds to be easily accessible when Paul locates one. He’s already begun his search, and I don’t want him to miss an opportunity because I haven’t arranged the funding.” She stared at him a moment while he digested what she’d said. Then with a quick smile, she jumped up from her chair. “That didn’t take long, did it? Now you may go upstairs and rest.”

  “Sit down!” he bellowed. “You want me to transfer funds so that you can purchase a house for Sophie?”

  “And Paul,” she added. “It’s my wedding gift to them.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. If Sophie has need of a home and Paul can’t purchase one, let her father see to it. Quincy inherited as much money as you did. He can well afford to help her.”

  Fanny folded her hands in her lap. “I appreciate your suggestion, Uncle Jonas, but we both know that Uncle Quincy will use every cent of his inheritance on the Home for the Friendless. He would think it a frivolous waste of money that could be better used to help the needy.”

  “As do I,” Jonas boomed.

  “You think I should donate the money to the needy?”

  “No, of course not! But I believe purchasing a house for your cousin is a frivolous waste of money.”

  “Well, I disagree, and it’s my money. Amanda and Sophie are closer to me than anyone else in the world. If I want to do this for Sophie, I don’t see why you should object. I’
ve already told Amanda I will do the same for her when she marries.” Fanny frowned. “Of course, she doesn’t think she will ever marry, but—”

  “I am not interested in discussing Amanda’s marriage prospects. I am certain she will choose a husband who can afford to purchase a house. But we are currently discussing a transfer of funds to benefit Sophie.” He wagged his head. “I think this is a tragic error, and I advise against any such—”

  “The money is mine. I am of age, and I insist the transfer be made. I’ve not pressed the issue until now because there seemed to be no reason to do so, but if you will not handle my money in the manner in which I desire, I will simply take full charge of it.”

  His angry words weren’t having the effect he had hoped for. Why was it men cowered at his feet if Jonas so much as raised his voice, but this snippet of a girl stood her ground with ease? If he wasn’t careful, he would be sinking in quicksand with no means of rescue. “That won’t be necessary, my dear. I’m afraid you just took me by surprise. I’m quite tired and, well, it seemed that your idea was not well thought out. Upon reflection, I see you’ve considered this for some time. If you insist, I will see to it when I return to Rochester on Monday.”

  “And you’ll send word to Paul the moment the account has been set up?”

  He nodded. “I will see to it. What amount do you have in mind?” She told him, and he felt his chest tighten. “Very well.” It was the only thing he could say. To speak further would have sent him into a rage.

  The moment she exited the room, Jonas pushed himself up from the chair and removed a bottle of bourbon from the enclosed cabinet beneath one of the library shelves. He poured an inch of the amber liquid into a glass. Swallowing the contents in one gulp, he held his breath as the burning sensation coursed down his throat and into his belly. Moments later, he exhaled and poured another glass. This time he sat down in his chair and drank slowly, his level of anxiety now somewhat abated by the liquor.