[Yukon Quest 01] - Treasures Of The North

by Tracie Peterson

  She isn’t going to usurp my authority on this ship, pride or no pride. I am in charge here. This is my domain, Peter thought quite seriously. He looked past Grace to Karen Pierce and decided then and there that he would do whatever it took to make her realize she had clearly met her match. He would stand his ground with her, and she would not get the better of him in any manner.

  14

  —[ CHAPTER FOURTEEN ]—

  THE STEAMER Merry Maid sliced through the gray-green waters of Lynn Canal and slowly but persistently transported its passengers ever northward toward Skagway, Alaska. Skagway had become the start of the path to the Yukon, with its sister town of Dyea being the fork in the path. Both towns had their benefit for the gold stampeder, but neither were perfect.

  Skagway had a better harbor, but Dyea was working on the possibility of extended wharfs. Dyea had the shorter Chilkoot Pass, but Skagway offered White Pass, a route that allowed for animals to pack supplies for a good portion of the distance. At least that was the theory. No matter the path, those who found themselves drawn north by the call of gold also found themselves face-to-face with a rugged, austere beauty that defied them at every turn. Some gave up to go home empty-handed and heavyhearted. Others pursued the dream and lost their lives, while a few fortunate souls managed to actually strike it rich.

  Karen thought the stampeders rather amusing and sad at the same time. They were searching for something they’d never had, something they only dreamed of finding. They had risked life and limb to endure the difficult climate and conditions, and all for the remote possibility that they just might find gold.

  Grown men—men who should, for all intents and purposes, be in their right minds—honestly believed the exaggerated stories of their predecessors. They talked of fortunes to be had for the taking—of a land where the biggest effort required of you was to bend over in order to pick the gold up from the ground.

  Of course, Karen reasoned, they would probably think her decision for coming north to be just as crazed. But hers was a journey of purpose and need every bit as much as theirs. She, too, felt called to the desolate lands of Alaska, but the gold she sought came in human form.

  She thought of her father momentarily. Wilmont Pierce was a hero of sorts to his youngest child. Karen knew him to be a wise and fair man, with both feet firmly planted on the ground. When he’d suggested the journey north, Karen had been surprised. It wasn’t like him to go off on a whim. But somewhere along the way, he had read of missions being set up in the north. Missions that with the government’s blessing were starting schools and changing the face of culture and purpose in the Alaskan wilderness. Her father had been appalled to hear that the natives were being stripped of their own ways and imposed with the manners, practices, and speech of the white American. He believed there had to be a way to blend both and still accomplish a positive result. And it was with that dream in mind that he took his wife and independently traveled north.

  She admired her father for his decision. He was an opinionated man, but he was not unwilling to yield his philosophies if someone could make an argument for a better way. Unlike Captain Colton, Karen thought, who seemed only to find value in his own thoughts.

  Still, he had managed to give them a lovely room with a window. Arranged at the bow of the ship, Peter had also quartered off a section of the deck that was to allow for private moments of refreshment for the little family and the trio of proper ladies.

  Karen had figured the captain to be completely indifferent to their needs, but apparently he was not completely indifferent to Grace. The idea that he might well entice Grace with his charms, only to crush her spirits in the end, troubled Karen and made her quite anxious. Men like Colton and Paxton, men of power and knowledge, often believed the world and its people to be their playthings. How different they were from her beloved father.

  Distancing herself from Grace and Doris, Karen spent a quiet morning moment to stand at the rail and study the landscape before her. The canal was not all that wide, but it was glorious. The day before, thick patchy fog had negated any possibility of studying the scenery around them. The captain had briefly shared of glacier ice and its pale blue beauty and dangers, but there was no hope of sight-seeing until the fog lifted. The weather had also slowed Merry Maid considerably, and at one point they barely crawled through the canal, the chugging rhythm of the engines bouncing off the fog to echo back at the passengers. It had been eerie, almost worrisome.

  But that had been yesterday. Today the sun had already burned off the heavy cloud cover and the blue skies overhead promised a pleasing morning. The brisk breeze blew across Karen’s face and body, chilling her thoroughly, but she didn’t mind. It made her feel closer to her parents and the land they came to love.

  It is a cold country, her mother had written. Almost as if it played the part of the inhospitable neighbor.

  Karen had mused at her mother’s poetic description. She called to mind other descriptions, however, that suggested the neighbor had softened enough to embrace and welcome her parents. They had made their home here, and her father had remained even after his beloved wife’s death. That action spoke more than any words he could have written.

  Calling upon her education and love of all things botanical, Karen studied the dark green carpeting of spruce and hemlock. Interspersed nearer the edge of various inlets, Karen made out black cottonwoods with their rough-ridged bark and droplet-shaped leaves. White-trunked aspen set amid lacy-leafed ferns seemed recklessly thrown out among the coastal setting, as if for variety.

  With snow-capped mountains that jutted straight up out of the waters, the canal needed no man-made touch to maintain its course. Peter had told Grace that the waters were deep and cold—that a man overboard ran a bigger risk of freezing to death most times of the year than of drowning. No doubt freezing in this far north region was always a great concern.

  There is a coldness to the interior lands beyond the pass that gives a person cause to wonder if ice would not better suit the tormenting regions of hell rather than fire, her mother had penned. It chills the bones and leaves a body without hope of ever feeling warm again.

  The thought stimulated Karen’s senses, however. She had known cold winters in Chicago. Days when the wind blew in off Lake Michigan and iced the air for weeks at a time. She had also known blazing hot summers that contrasted the winter in extreme opposition. She was ready for a change—ready to see this land her parents had so loved, to know the people her mother had given her life for.

  What have you brought me to, Lord? Karen silently prayed as the glory of God’s handiwork displayed its majesty before her. What would you have of me? How can I best serve?

  Her thoughts went to Grace and her predicament. Karen didn’t trust Martin Paxton and worried that, weakened by his threats, Grace’s parents might well give in to his demands and tell him where their daughter had gone. If that happened, how could Karen hope to keep her young friend safe? She would not yet reach her majority for another four months, and besides that, Karen reasoned, as a woman her options were so limited. Grace was hardly trained to do anything but play hostess to a wealthy man. She could speak French and German fluently, sew beautiful pieces of fancywork, and sing and play the piano and harp as well as those talented souls they had often heard at the opera house.

  But how could those skills possibly keep her alive and independent? Karen fretted, knowing that viable skills were absolutely necessary for survival in the icy north. Her mother had made that quite clear. She had written of chopping her own wood and piecing together fur-lined moccasins for herself and Karen’s father. She had included entire stories in her letters that dealt with the harsh realities of life among such a hard and unyielding land. Alice Pierce had learned to hunt and fish as well as her husband, and in turn had spent a good deal of time smoking the meat to see them through the long winter months—months that could very well extend from September to May.

  ‘‘What have I done?’’ Karen whispered to hers
elf. I should have required Grace to stay on with Willamina. At least in Seattle she might have been safe. But even as Karen allowed the thought, she knew Grace would probably have become discouraged before long. And that in turn would have seen her heading home to Chicago and Martin Paxton’s vicious cruelties.

  Grace had developed into a much different woman than Karen had imagined. When she’d first taken the job as Grace’s governess, Karen had seen the opportunity to mold and make Grace into an image of herself. Independent, intelligent, and completely self-sufficient. And while Grace was intelligent, she was far from independent and self-sufficient. Perhaps my own strength overshadowed her development, Karen thought.

  Shaking her head, Karen tried not to allow her spirits to be overtaken by such thoughts. Surely God had a plan. He had seen them through this far, and with great success. He had given them a safe journey from Chicago to Seattle, and he had allowed for her brother-in-law to book them passage in such a way that they were not long delayed in heading north. Some folks who had booked passage after their arrival would not head north for months.

  We’ve been blessed, she decided. But where do we take ourselves from this point? Her own plan was to find her father. No matter how long it took or how arduous the search, Karen would find him. His absence and lack of communication ate at her like a cancer. She felt with some certainty that he was still alive, but whether or not he was in peril or ill, she had no way of discerning.

  What did worry Karen was that she had no idea how she might go about finding her father once they arrived. Surely with the influx of gold rush hopefuls, the towns of Skagway and Dyea would be flooded with people. It would be rather like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Not only that, but even if she were able to locate locals who knew her father, they would probably only tell her that he’d gone over the mountains into the interior. Could she follow him? Would that be an option? She’d heard from her brother-in-law that already the Canadian government was tightening the reins on the rush into their Yukon. There were certain requirements to be met. No doubt, Karen thought, women are discouraged altogether from the trek.

  ‘‘If Captain Colton had his way, there would be no women in the far north,’’ Karen muttered, turning away from the railing. An image of Grace came to mind. There was one woman he would no doubt allow. Especially if she stayed within his reach. Somehow, Karen reassured herself, somehow there would be a way to keep Colton from hurting Grace. He would hopefully depart Skagway after depositing his passengers and their goods. She had heard him say that even though he was mostly working out of Seattle, his home was in San Francisco. Maybe he would return there and never pester Grace again. Maybe, but not likely.

  Karen felt her irritation with the captain begin to mount. Surely he could see that Grace was special. That he needed to treat her with great care. At least he didn’t stomp and snort at her like he did with his crew and Karen.

  The entire matter made Karen feel very uncomfortable. Why did she feel so protective—so possessive of Grace? Was her anger at Peter Colton truly nothing more than a rivalry for Grace’s affections?

  ‘‘But she’s like my own daughter in so many ways,’’ Karen murmured, shaking her head. Had she grown as overbearing as Grace’s own parents? The thought brought about a resurgence of pride.

  But I am like a parent to her—like a mother. I’ve been her companion since she was ten. I’ve been the one to calm her fears, to hear her prayers. I’ve been there when she’s needed a friend, and I’m the one who taught her about the world and the kind of people who inhabit it.

  And now he comes along thinking to . . . to what? Karen realized she had allowed her imagination to run wild. She had already determined that Peter Colton was up to no good. Had she falsely judged him? Had she assigned him a motive where there had been none?

  The arrogance of her own heart weighed heavily on her mind. She had become a prideful woman, especially where Grace was concerned. Until that moment, Karen had never seen herself as anything more than the voice of reason and love for her young charge.

  ‘‘But she’s not so young anymore, and truly, she is not my charge. She ran away, and my own influence took her from those who were her authority. Oh, God, forgive me if I have erred,’’ she prayed. ‘‘Help me to let go of this bond—to see Grace as the grown woman she is.’’ She sighed and leaned back against the rail, adding, ‘‘And please help me to find my father, Lord. Finding him might well settle everything else, for if I can find contentment under his direction, perhaps the future will not seem so worrisome to me.’’

  Upon their arrival in Skagway, Karen very nearly forgot her prayer, along with the hope and promise she felt for the future. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of people were in residence along the shores of Skagway. Not much to look at, the town seemed mostly to consist of tents and a very few clapboard buildings. All of these meager dwellings were outlined in muddy walkways and roads, if one could call a path still dotted with tree stumps a road.

  ‘‘We’ve come to the end of the world,’’ she muttered.

  ‘‘That’s certainly one way of putting it,’’ Aunt Doris agreed. ‘‘My, but I thought for sure we’d find more civilization than this.’’

  Even as the words were spoken, two parties of nearby stampeders broke into an argument that brought about the hurling of insults and more than a few threats. One man lifted a rifle and fired it into the air, but no one paid him any attention, except to push him backward into the shallow shore waters of Skagway Bay. This event seemed to signal a free-for-all that sent all parties into a full-blown war.

  ‘‘I don’t think civilization has yet arrived in Alaska,’’ Karen replied with a sigh. ‘‘In fact, I seriously doubt they have even heard the word.’’

  Peter found Skagway a little different with each new trip north. As more lumber was cut for buildings, the tent city was rapidly taking on a new shape. Docks were already being considered so that ships like Merry Maid might not have to put down their anchors in the harbor far from land while passengers and freight were ferried into the town. The current arrangement was most annoying to Peter, who had been spoiled by intricately designed harbor piers in his hometown of San Francisco.

  Of course, Dyea had it worse still. The inlet was even more shallow as it approached that tiny town. Tidal flats stretched out far, making it risky and difficult to deliver passengers and their goods. In both places, the use of barges and scows took the people and products from the ships to the drier patches of tidal land where wagons would meet them. Then, for outrageous sums, these entrepreneurs offered to carry the crates to dry land. Early on, many people had protested the extortion and had decided to carry their own goods to shore piece by piece. They were to realize, however, that moving a ton of goods could be a lengthy process. This, coupled with the fact that tides came in with such ferocity and quickness, sometimes bringing thirty feet of water within eighteen to twenty minutes of time, left many a person minus their much-needed equipment. It didn’t take long for word to get around and for most people to pay the money due the freighters.

  All of these arrangements created a strange sense of community, to be sure. The gold rushers needed the shipping companies, the ferriers needed the passengers and goods, who in turn needed the freighters. It was like a society of mad dogs feeding off one another. And now Peter had joined their ranks.

  It didn’t bother him so much as annoy him. There was a good deal of money to be made in Skagway and Dyea. Perhaps in truth, the real gold could be found here rather than across the mountains and north. Passengers often waited months to recover lost supplies, meet up with loved ones, or make enough to equip themselves for the journey north. People like Bill Barringer who had come north with barely enough money for passage and who planned to work at whatever he could turn his hand to.

  Peter thought them all fools. His steady income, although increasing from inflated rates, was a sure thing. After the rush died down, he would simply return to his home and continue the shipping bu
siness. So many of these people, however, would have nothing to return to—if they returned.

  Mucking through the rain-soaked street, Peter made his way to a tent marked Hardware and Stoves. Seeing Martin Paxton profit from the loads brought north by his father, Peter had taken some of his own passenger profit and purchased a variety of items that he thought might suit the northern traveler. He’d tucked the goods amid the passenger supplies, telling no one of his plan. First he wanted to see if a profit could actually be made. Then he’d worry about where to go from there.

  He’d made provision for the load of camp stoves, cots, and canvas tents to be brought ashore by one of the freighting companies. The goods came compliments of an arrangement he’d struck with Sears, Roebuck & Company, the entire package having cost him an investment of some twenty-two hundred dollars. He added in the inflated cost of the freighter, and still he could reap a handsome profit. If not, at least he could break even, and that would be the end of his private scheming.

  ‘‘Welcome, friend,’’ a man called from behind a makeshift counter as Peter made his way inside the tent store.

  Peter eyed the man cautiously. The clerk wore an eye patch over his left eye and had a thick gray scar that started somewhere beneath the patch and ran down the side of his face to blend into his ragged-looking beard. When he smiled, he revealed that at least a half dozen teeth were missing.

  ‘‘What can I do fer ya?’’ the man asked in a lazy drawl.

  ‘‘I’m the captain of the ship Merry Maid. We’ve just put in this morning. I have a load of camp stoves, cots, and other equipment that would no doubt interest those heading north.’’

  ‘‘Cheechakos!’’ the man declared and spit on the dirt floor.

  Peter had never heard the word. ‘‘I beg your pardon?’’