Beside Still Waters

by AnnaLee Conti

  That mama moose seemed to be good at mothering. Violet had had so few years with her own mother. Would she be a good mother?

  “Why the frown?” John asked. “You’ll be a good mother to our children.”

  “You did it again!”

  “What?”

  “Zeroed in on what I was thinking and said just what I needed to hear without me saying a word. I lost my mother so young that I worry about knowing how to be a good one.”

  “I have every confidence in you and your abilities. Trust yourself. Just remember, you can do all things through Christ who strengthens you, to paraphrase the apostle Paul.”

  Violet nodded. “I’ll try.” She leaned back against John’s side to watch the scenery unfold and mull over what John had said.

  The train zipped by more lakes, rivers, canyons, and rapids. Late that afternoon, they paralleled a wide river.

  “The Yukon River.” John sat up straighter so he could see out better. “We’re nearing Whitehorse. Here, the Yukon becomes navigable.” As more of the river came into view, he exclaimed, “Good! The river ice is gone. I’ll be able to get the Belle into the water right away.”

  Violet noticed dozens of sternwheelers lined up on skids along the riverbanks. “Is the Yukon Belle down there?” she asked, pointing that way.

  “Sure is! I’ll take you to see her as soon as I can. If the ice is out downriver, I’ll start the process of putting her in the water tomorrow, and we can take up residence in my quarters.”

  “Why wouldn’t the ice be out downriver when it’s gone here?”

  “This river flows north to Dawson City more than four hundred miles before it meanders west across Alaska to the Bering Sea. Going downriver here means that we are going north across the Arctic Circle.”

  “What a lesson in geography I’ve been getting on this trip!” She giggled. “And I couldn’t ask for a more knowledgeable or handsome tour guide.”

  He touched his hand to his brow in a mock salute. “I aim to please, ma’am!”

  As the train passed by a brickyard, an electric power plant, and numerous warehouses along the waterfront, it slowed. Violet studied the little town that would be her new home. It was situated in the broad river valley, surrounded by three nearby mountains and ringed by snow-capped ranges farther away.

  Whitehorse was much smaller than she’d expected. A medley of tents sat in groupings here and there. Dogs and Indians roamed the frontage street. The setting was beautiful, but dust billowed from the dirt street.

  Trying to hide her disappointment, she said, “It’s smaller than Skagway. Do most of the people here live in tents?”

  “Oh no! Only transients camp along the river—homesteaders and prospectors who live in the bush and come in to buy supplies.” John caught himself and smiled. “Uh-oh! I see by your puzzled expression that I used a North Country colloquialism. ‘Bush’ refers to the back country.”

  She nodded. As the train neared the depot that stood across a dirt street from false-fronted buildings, John said, “See? We do have regular buildings. And most of the residents live in log or clapboard houses.” John pointed toward the window across the aisle. “See those white cliffs? George’s house is up closer to them. It’s a lovely log home, well-built, snug, and well-kept, in a beautiful setting.”

  “What kind of stores?” Not that she was a big shopper.

  “Don’t worry! We can buy most of what we need right here. The railroad brings in everything from Outside—”

  “Outside?”

  John chuckled. “I see I’ve confused you with another one of our Yukon and Alaskan terms. If people here say they’re going ‘Outside,’ they mean they are leaving the North Country for any place south—the United States or the rest of Canada.

  “As to our stores, Whitehorse has several mercantiles, a hardware store, two drug stores, and many little shops, as well as six large hotels, a bank, three churches, and an athletic field. All our goods come from Outside.”

  Violet smirked at his overemphasis of the word.

  “The people are friendly. I think you’ll like it here.”

  The train screeched to a stop in giant puffs of steam. People swarmed the depot platform—mostly men with long-handled moustaches or beards, wearing grubby work clothes; only a few were clean-shaven, sporting waistcoats with prominent watch chains. Several fashionably dressed women showed off broad-brimmed hats with feathers, flowers, and tiny stuffed birds. A couple of Royal Northwest Mounted Police stood nearby, and dozens of huskies, Malemutes, and giant-sized mongrels roamed loose—more dogs than people.

  With an impish grin, John whispered in Violet’s ear. “Stick close to me. Women are scarce in the Yukon. Men meet the trains in hopes of meeting one.”

  Violet’s eyes widened in horror. She grabbed John’s arm, and they hurried across the dusty street to the White Pass Hotel.

  The large lobby of the hotel smelled of wood smoke and was dominated by an enormous sheet-iron stove encircled by chairs occupied by several dejected-looking men. Violet squirmed when they glanced up with interest as she entered.

  John waved to them and took her arm possessively. Head held high, she clung to him. When the men realized she was with him, disappointment flitted across their faces, and she almost felt sorry for them.

  John led Violet to the counter and registered them in a huge book—Mr. and Mrs. John Barston. When he introduced her to the hotel clerk, her heart swelled with pride. She could still hardly believe her good fortune.

  Ascending an open stairway to the second floor, they found their room partway down the narrow hall. John turned the knob and held the door for her. Violet frowned. “There’s no lock?”

  “None of the rooms have locks,” John said. “In fact, even in the private homes, stores, and other public buildings in the Yukon, no one uses keys. Thanks to the Mounties, there’s little crime.” Violet hoped he was right about that.

  The Victorian-style room sported a double bed but no bath. A large bowl and an ewer filled with water stood on the wooden washstand along with clean, white towels. The afternoon sun streaking in through the bare window panes warmed the space. On either side of the window hung heavy black drapes that could be closed to block out the long hours of daylight when the occupants wanted to sleep. The room was warm, so Violet took off her coat and laid it on the bed.

  “You’ll be safe here while I go and arrange for our luggage to be delivered,” John said. “You’ll find a water closet down the hall. Don’t worry about all the men. They know you’re with me. They’ll treat you like a lady.”

  When the door closed behind him, Violet felt strangely bereft. It was the first time she’d been without John since they’d married. She missed his comforting presence. Glancing around, she studied the room. It appeared to be clean. When she spotted the spittoon, she grimaced. They wouldn’t need that! Upon closer inspection, she saw that it had been emptied and cleaned. It stood prominently beside a mahogany dressing table with an upright mirror. On the wall beside it and on the back of the door were pegs for hanging garments. She hung up her coat and hat.

  After she found the bathroom and returned to their room, she sat on the bed to wait for John. It felt a bit lumpy and hard, but the only other place to sit was the vanity bench. It didn’t look any more comfortable.

  She hoped they’d move to John’s quarters on his sternwheeler before too long. Would she be able to make the space homey and comfortable? Would traveling with him all summer be like an extended honeymoon? He’d probably have to spend long hours at the wheel, so she’d better not expect too much private time together. Maybe he had some good books she could read when he was busy. Or she could spend time in the galley with Jonesy and learn how to cook Yukon style. That thought brought a smile to her lips. She did not want to disappoint her new husband with her cooking.

  He was certainly no disappointment to her thus far.

  Chapter 11

  A TAP SOUNDED AT THE door, and Violet jumped up. John and a gan
gly, sunburned teenager with a thatch of unruly black hair entered with their luggage.

  When they had set everything down, John said, “Violet, this is Tom.” John placed four bits in his hand. “Thanks for your help, Tom.”

  “Any time, Mr. Barston.” And Tom darted out the door.

  “Tom hangs around the depot hoping to make a little money helping passengers with their trunks. He’s shy around the ladies, but if you ever need him to carry anything, just give him four bits—two quarters,” John said. He planted a kiss on Violet’s cheek. “Did you miss me?”

  “I sure did!”

  “If you’d like, we could walk down to see the Yukon Belle. We can’t go on board, but at least you can see her. But we need to do it right now. This evening, the mosquitoes and black flies will be so thick that a walk to the river would be miserable. The breeze is brisk enough now to keep them away. Besides, George offered to show us his house after supper, if you want.”

  John helped Violet with her coat, and she pinned her cloche hat in place. “After you, my dear.” John swept his arm out as he opened the door for her.

  The Yukon Belle, like most of the steamers in the shipyard, was painted white. Gingerbread fretwork trimmed the middle deck. The tall, black smokestack stood out against the blue sky, and the paddlewheel at the stern burst out in bright red.

  “She looks like an elongated, three-tiered wedding cake,” Violet said. “What’s that smaller cabin on top?”

  “That’s the pilothouse.”

  Violet continued to study the Belle. “She’s bigger and nicer than I expected.”

  John grinned and nodded. “The sternwheelers are all patterned after the stately Missouri River boats. This one’s two hundred feet long including her paddlewheel.”

  “Do you carry anything besides freight?”

  “Passengers—you’ll often even have a few women passengers to converse with. And on each return trip, we’ll be pushing a barge loaded with tons of silver ore from Mayo. We also carry mail to many stations along the way. These steamers are quite versatile.”

  Violet frowned. “Does Whitehorse have a smelter?”

  “No, the ore goes by train to Skagway to be shipped to smelters in Idaho.” John glanced around. The streets were deserted except for the dogs. “I guess we’d better head back and get some supper. I don’t know about you, but my midday meal at Lake Bennett is long gone.”

  “Actually, I’m hungry too.”

  They turned to see a big, older man, wearing a pea jacket with the collar upturned and a captain’s hat, coming toward them. He had a swarthy complexion and narrow, sleepy eyes.

  “How do, Kid!” John greeted him. “Coming down to check on the Casca?”

  “Yeah! You just get in today?” He spoke in a nasal drawl. Before John could answer, Kid winked at him. “Who’s the young lady?”

  “Kid, meet my new bride.” Violet noted the tone of pride in John’s voice, and she felt her cheeks grow hot.

  Kid swept off his hat and bowed slightly. “How do, Missus Barston.”

  “I’m just fine, thank you, and you?”

  “Mighty fine-lookin’ woman, John.”

  John beamed but quickly interrupted him. “Kid came to the Klondike in the gold rush days while still in his teens. That’s why everyone calls him Kid. His real name is Norman Marion. He’s captain of the Casca.” John pointed to a beautiful sternwheeler already in the water. It had a yellow smokestack.

  “Yeah, can’t wait to get goin’. I’m married to the Yukon.” Pride showed in his tone of voice. “I never get tired of her. Too much goin’ on t’ get bored—sands shifting all the time, river changing about, always new channels, new islands. Can’t tell what you’ll run into next. She’s treacherous, you know.”

  All the time Kid was talking, John kept nodding his head sideways toward Violet, but Kid seemed oblivious to the fact that he was frightening her. Finally, John interrupted him. “Violet is going to travel with me this summer. Don’t scare her away.”

  “Oh! Sorry, ma’am. Didn’t mean t’ scare you. Don’t you worry! Captain Barston here is an expert on the Yukon. You’re in safe hands.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Kid. We’ve got to run now.” John stuck out his hand. “Nice seeing you. We’ll toot as we pass the Casca on the river.”

  The two men shook hands. Kid tipped his hat. “Bye, Missus Barston.” She waved as she and John headed back toward the hotel.

  “As soon as I put the Belle in the water, I can take you on board to see our quarters.”

  “Why do you take the Belle out of the water every winter?” Violet asked.

  “Because the river ice would crush her.”

  “Oh! I never thought of that.”

  John took her hand. “I expect before we sail, you’ll want to make our cabin homier.”

  “I’m allowed to?”

  “Oh, certainly! We’ll go by the mercantile where I have an account. At Captain Paddy Martin’s Grocery and General Store you can buy not only groceries but almost anything else you might need. While I prepare the Belle for the summer, you can shop and refurbish our cabin. You’ll find that prices are more expensive than in Boston, but I’m sure you know how to locate the best bargains.”

  Violet nodded. “I got a lot of experience doing that after Uncle Chester died. I won’t run up a huge tab.”

  “That’s good.” He chuckled. “Credit in stores and restaurants in the Yukon is unlimited, but the Mounties won’t let anyone leave the country if they still owe a debt.”

  “Don’t worry! I can use the linens and fabric I brought with me.”

  “Save your material for dresses.” With a twinkle in his eye, he added, “I bet you brought books too. Your trunk is heavy enough.”

  Moisture suddenly sprang into her eyes. “I brought children’s books for Jenny.” She tried to choke back the emotion, but her voice sounded strangled.

  John paused to face her. “Aw, honey!” He took out his handkerchief, lifted her chin, and dabbed tenderly at the tear that rolled down her cheek. “If we buy George’s house, maybe we can store them there . . . for our children?”

  Violet gave him a tremulous smile. He’d done it again. He’d spoken just the right words. Her heart quickened at the thought of having children with her wonderful new husband.

  Later that evening, they walked to George’s house, swatting at mosquitoes all the way. Sunset would not be for several hours, so Violet was able to appreciate the natural beauty of the honey-hued log house with its wide, open porch, and varnished log support beams, posts, and railings. A tin roof reflected the deepening blue of the sky. Empty window boxes hung off the railing on either side of the stairs. Violet fell in love with it immediately.

  George met them at the door and ushered them into a great room. The natural log walls diffused a golden glow throughout the interior. Handmade rag rugs accented the polished pine plank floors. A picture window faced the street. A fieldstone fireplace dominated an opposite corner. On either side of it were built-in niches and shelves for books and knickknacks. A couch and chairs fashioned artfully from small, varnished pine logs and piled with thick, cotton-covered cushions completed a cozy arrangement in front of the fireplace.

  Several electric lamps made of a light wood with darker, diamond-shaped knots spread soft light into the space. “I’ve never seen anything like those lamps,” Violet said. “They’re beautiful! Did you carve them?”

  “They’re made of diamond willow,” George said. “All I did was peel off the bark and varnish them.”

  A sort of household headquarters with a cookstove, a cabinet for dishes and cooking utensils, and a table for food preparation and dining dominated the other half of the room. George explained how it could be curtained off for the weekly Saturday night baths, and John could use the mirror on the wall near the sink for shaving. “When Jenny was a baby, we even used the kitchen as a nursery during the coldest winter months.”

  Proudly, George pumped cold wate
r into the sink. “Real running water! The house has a well. You won’t have to run to the river—except when it freezes up in the dead of winter.”

  George showed them an attached shed situated through a door off the kitchen that provided storage for the washboard and galvanized iron tub for bathing and laundry as well as folding racks for drying clothes that could be set up in the kitchen on laundry day. “When I brought home game, I butchered it in here and stored it in the root cellar.” He lifted a trap door in the floor. “Down there, everything stays cool in the summer and freezes in the winter.”

  “The house is beautiful!” Violet whispered. “So homey yet so practical! Did you build it yourself?”

  George smiled, but his eyes remained sad. “I had it built to our specifications. Between my semiweekly trips to Skagway in the winter, I made the furniture and lamps. My wife did the decorating.”

  A stairway led to one large and two small bedrooms under the eaves. He pulled aside a tall curtain. “This is . . . I mean, was . . . ” George coughed and shook his head. “ . . . Jenny’s room.” His voice sounded like he was just getting over a bad cold. “I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

  Violet could scarcely see the room for the tears that filled her own eyes. The handcrafted bedstead and vanity were swathed in shades of pink and white. A china doll lay against the ruffled pillow sham on the crazy quilt. Children’s books, rag dolls, and toys lined a small bookcase. “Oh, George, it’s so sweet. I would have loved taking care of Jenny in this room.”

  “I think Jenny would have loved you, Violet. I wish you could have known her.” George took out a white handkerchief and blew his nose. He pulled back another curtain to reveal a similar room with only a bedstead and vanity. “This would have been your room. Let’s go and see the larger bedroom.”

  It too contained hand-carved furniture and hints of a woman’s touch. In one corner sat a treadle sewing machine. Violet thought back to the long hours of sewing at the garment factory in Boston. Now, she could sew for her family. What a pleasure that would be!