Alaskan Brides: Gold Rush Baby Part 9

"Don't tense up like that. Yes, everyone is fine." Jacob shot him a look, went back to work on the st.i.tches. "The way I heard it, the man was waiting at her cabin when Viola went home after church. Good thing Robert Harris happened along. He chased the fellow off. Seems like Viola could use some protection. You can't count on coincidence saving her every time one of those thugs come around.

"There, I'm finished. You can put your shirt on now."

"What? Oh, right. Thanks, Jacob." Thank You, Lord, for protecting Viola. He slipped his arms into the dangling sleeves of his shirt, pulled the fabric up over his shoulders and b.u.t.toned it, his hands shaking at the thought of what could have happened. Was it the kidnapper's partner? His stomach knotted.

"Do I have to come back?"

"Not unless there's some change to the wound. But if it gets red or swollen or painful, come to see me immediately."

He nodded, stepped aside so the next man in line could take his place, dropped his payment in the bowl on the table by the scales and left the clinic.

The clamor of the waterfront rose above the murmur of voices from the throng of people crowding the board walkway. He frowned, stared out at the boat disgorging men in a steady stream. How many of them would learn about the baby and her gold and become a danger to Viola? Every fiber of his being ached to go see her, to see with his own eyes that she was safe. But it was none of his business.

He scowled, wove his way through the press of people and crossed the road to Tanner's store. A few supplies and he would be on his way home. But he couldn't muster up much enthusiasm for the idea. He glanced again at the harbor, looked up at the darkening sky. A storm was brewing. And late summer storms in this area usually rolled in fast. Most likely, he wouldn't make it to his hut before it hit. He would wait and go tomorrow. He picked up his pace, strode by Tanner's General Store and headed for the sheriff's office. Ed would know if she were in danger.

"Bye-bye, Goldie. We're going to keep you nice and safe." Frankie tickled Goldie under the chin and walked to the door. "I know the exact right pistol for you, Viola. I'll have Mack order you one. Might be they'll have one over in Skaguay. If not, it'll be some time before it gets here. I'll let you know when. And then we'll start shooting lessons. Once word gets around about it, it ought to put a stop to them potwallopers coming around trying to claim Goldie." She opened the door, stopped it with her booted foot when the wind caught it. "Looks like a storm's breaking. I'm going to have to run for it."

"You can stay." Viola braced the door against another gust of wind, peeked out to see Frankie sprinting down the road toward her cabin, leaned against the door and locked it. White light flickered through the room. Thunder rumbled.

Hattie walked over to look out the window. "Peers like this might be a nasty one. It's comin' on dark, right quick. I'll light the lamps."

Lightning sizzled through the air with a loud snap. Thunder crashed. Goldie let out a squall. "Shh, baby girl, there's nothing to be afraid of. I'll keep you safe. I promise." I'll keep us both safe, once I have that gun. "Shh, shh..." Viola kissed Goldie's silky, dark hair and cuddled her close, humming to soothe her. She walked to the rocker, back in its customary place in the living room, and settled herself, pushed against the floor with her feet. The rockers creaked against the wide puncheons, the chair whispered forward and back in an ageless motion of comfort. Goldie stuck her thumb in her mouth, her eyelids drifted closed. Rain tapped against the windows, drummed on the roof.

Hattie came into the room shielding a burning spill with her cupped hand, raised the chimney on the oil lamp on the mantle, lit and adjusted the wick, then turned and lit the lamp on the stand beside the settle. "You nervous 'bout learnin' how to shoot a gun?"

"A little." Viola rested her hand over Goldie's ear to deaden the sound of the storm.

"You figure a gun is gonna keep you and Goldie safe?"

She looked up at Hattie. She knew her well enough by now to know she was heading somewhere with her questions. "It will certainly help to do so, once I learn how to shoot it." Please G.o.d, let it be soon.

"Mmm."

"You sound doubtful."

"Some. Air's coolin' down, gonna get dampish. You want me to light the fire?"

She nodded, watched Hattie touch the burning end of the spill to the tinder beneath the logs piled on the hearth. Flames flickered, grew, set greedy tongues licking at the wood. "Won't you feel safer once I know how to use a pistol?"

Hattie shook her head, the gray wisps of hair sticking out from the bun on the back of her head fluttering. "I figure there's nothin' makes a woman as safe as a good, strong man takin' care of her."

So that was it. Thomas. Viola took a breath and lifted her chin. It was time to stop this nonsense once and for all. "That may be, Hattie. But there is no 'good, strong man' to take care of us in this household. Nor will there ever be. A pistol will have do."

Hattie nodded slowly, plunked down in her favorite chair and picked up her knitting. "Mayhap you're right, Viola. Then again, you could be wrong. None of us knows what the good Lord has in store for us." She looked over at her, firelight deepening the wrinkles of her aged face, a look of knowing brightening her faded blue eyes. "It ain't over yet."

Chapter Twelve.

Viola stepped onto the wide stoop at Tanner's General Store and gave a polite nod to the man who lunged in front of another to open the door for her.

The dim interior buzzed with voices. Customers roamed in front of the shelves that climbed the walls, crowded past one another in the s.p.a.ces between crates and barrels and tables laden with wares, formed a line at the counter to pay for their purchases. The store always put her in mind of an anthill. From morning to night it teemed with activity. She cast a sympathetic look at Danny Whitehorse and Clem Whitmore patiently answering questions while tallying orders, and stepped to the side to clear the way for those entering behind her.

A man, standing at a nearby table holding wool mittens, lined buck mitts, moccasins and heavy, woolen sweaters, looked up. His eyes widened. He gave a low whistle of appreciation, nudged the man beside him and nodded his head in her direction. She turned her back to them, edged by a group of men examining the shovels and picks leaning against the wall, and headed for the shelves that held fabrics and sewing materials. There had been no suitable cording for the hotel drapes the last time she was in, but a supply boat from Skaguay had arrived this morning and- Her skirt snagged. She leaned down, tugged it free of the jagged sliver on a crate and straightened.

Dolph!

Her heart lurched. She stared at the back of the hefty, heavy-shouldered man ahead, who was talking with some stampeders, dropped her gaze to his broad, scarred hands. Her stomach churned. She'd know those hands anywhere. She cast a wild glance around the store, didn't see Karl or any other men who worked for Dengler, looked back at Dolph. Had he come for her? How had he found her? Her pulse throbbed, roared in her ears. If he turned- She forced her frozen body to move, hid herself behind two men looking at a stack of granite buckets, and turned toward the door.

"Better get two of 'em." The taller man grabbed the bails of the two top buckets and yanked. The stack toppled over with a resounding clang. Heads swivelled their way. The men bent to pick up the buckets.

Viola jerked her face from Dolph's direction, stepped over a rolling bucket and walked to the door, feeling as if a target were pinned to her. Had he seen her? Recognized her? She didn't dare look to see if he was coming after her.

The door was pulled open. She nodded to the man holding it for her and stepped out onto the stoop, forcing herself to walk when everything in her was screaming run!

For the first time since coming to Treasure Creek, she was grateful for the mob of stampeders that crowded the waterfront and swarmed in and out of the businesses along the boardwalk.

She stepped into the middle of the milling throng waiting to enter Tanner's, wove her way through them to the corner, then slipped in with those walking up the dirt road. Every step was agony. Had Dolph seen her? Was Karl or Dengler somewhere hidden in the crowd, following? When she reached the hotel, she mingled with those going up the stone walk, felt a rush of relief when the door closed behind them. She would stay until she was sure-Goldie! And Hattie. If Dengler's men learned where she lived...

Bile burned in her stomach, pushed upward to her throat. She rushed down the hallway and out the back door, fear driving her. She ran to the back of the schoolhouse, heard Matthew Powers reciting multiplication tables as she ducked beneath the window. So ordinary a thing. And her life was falling apart-or would soon end.

Don't try to run away again, Viola. The next time it won't be a beating.

She shuddered, pressed back against the building and peeked around the corner toward the road, spotted neither Dolph nor Karl. She s.n.a.t.c.hed up her hems and raced across the open schoolyard to the copse of trees that spilled off the mountain to tower over the cl.u.s.tered cabins. Heedless of broken branches and the p.r.i.c.kly needles of the firs, she ran a weaving path through the ma.s.sive trunks and low-hanging limbs, then broke cover and darted to her cabin.

Her strength gave out when she reached the woodpile by her back door. Her quaking legs folded. She collapsed in a heap on the ground, the tightness clamped around her chest and throat, squeezing the air from her. She tugged at the high collar of her shirtwaist, tried to breathe, felt the darkness coming and was helpless to stop it. The sunlight faded...

She opened her eyes, blinked, stared at bark, wood chips and soil. What- Memory flooded back. She shuddered, pushed herself off the ground and leaned against the woodpile. How long had she been unconscious? She looked down at the dirt and bits of dried leaves clinging to her clothes, the b.l.o.o.d.y scratch on the back of her hand. What was she going to tell Hattie? How could she explain- Goldie. What if Dengler and Dolph and Karl had come while she was unconscious?

She surged to her feet, braced herself against the stacked wood and took a slow breath. She had to be prepared.... Memories streamed. She closed her eyes. Let them be all right, Lord. Please let Goldie and Hattie be all right! But if- Help me face what I must. She tried the door. It was locked. A good sign? She fisted her hand and knocked. Please, Lord. She knocked again, louder. Snagged her lower lip with her teeth to hold back a sob when slow footsteps approached.

"You got business in this house, you can come to the front door and show yerself!"

They were all right! Thank You, Lord. Tears stung her eyes. "Hattie, it's me!"

"Viola?" The metal bar snicked free of the socket. The door opened. She pushed inside, sagged against the wall. "Viola, what- Gracious!" Hattie gaped up at her. "What happened to you?"

"I felt ill, so I cut through the back lots to come home. I-I fell." All true. As far as it went.

"Well, don't stand there, go and sit before you fall down." Hattie stepped back, squinted up at her. "You look awful! Where's your snood?"

She lifted her hand, felt the curls dangling free. "It must have caught on a branch. Lock the door!"

Hattie nodded, flipped the small bar into place. "Must be a branch got your hand, too. You're bleedin'. Set down and I'll clean-"

"No. I'll do it, later. I want to see Goldie." She started for the living room.

"She's nappin'." Hattie's gaze sharpened. "Remember, you put her down before you left for Tanners. It ain't been that long."

It seemed like forever. Another shudder shook her, she couldn't seem to control them. "Is the front door locked?"

"Just like when you left. What's wrong, Viola? And don't say nothin', cause I-"

"No questions, Hattie! I-I have a headache." She rubbed her throbbing temples, felt the grit clinging to her skin. "I'm going to wash, then lie down with a cold cloth." She grabbed the quilted pad she'd made, lifted the iron teakettle off the stove and started for the small bathing room. "Don't let anyone in, Hattie." She turned back, looked at her. "No customers, not anyone! Do you understand?"

Hattie stared up at her, shook her head. "Not a whit, Viola. But I'll do like you say. Any fool can see there's somethin' serious wrong."

Thomas lowered his Bible and looked around the room that formed his home. No matter how much he prayed and asked G.o.d's help, he couldn't seem to concentrate since he'd come back. The cramped quarters of his hut seemed to close in on him. There was no comfort. No warmth or beauty. No comparison to Viola's cabin. He scowled and pushed the memory aside. It might be true, but it wasn't the reason for his dissatisfaction. It was the unrelenting sense of something left undone that stole his peace.

It isn't over yet.

He thrust his fingers through his hair as if he could pull the words out of his head. They haunted him. No matter how many times he asked G.o.d to erase them, there they were, burrowed in like a tic on a dog and sucking off his strength and energy, his enthusiasm for any other task.

He placed his Bible on the pallet where he slept and shoved out of his chair, the only one he owned, b.u.mped his head on the bark ceiling. He couldn't even stand up straight, except right in the center of the room. He checked the fire in the small steel stove, grabbed his jacket out of the crate that held his clothes and ducked through the canvas door.

The weather didn't help his mood. His choices were limited to cramped and stuffy, or wet and windy. At least outside he could move without b.u.mping into something. He pulled his collar up to protect his neck from the cold, misty rain, strode across the small rocky ledge, into the surrounding trees and followed his path to the Chilkoot. He could see fires, small as fireflies, flickering in the distance both above and below him in the areas where stampeders normally camped. This section of the trail, except for his small ledge and another larger but unstable ledge clinging to the mountain farther down on the other side, was too steep for camping. He'd chosen the site for that reason. It both protected him from thieves and gave him the privacy he craved. But not tonight. Tonight he wanted company other than his own. The sound of something more than the rustle of the needles on the wind-tossed branches of the firs.

He hunched his shoulders against the wind and stepped out of the protection of the trees, onto the trail, and started the descent to the stampeders camping below. Maybe one of them needed to hear about the Lord. Maybe- He paused as he rounded the sharp curve, listened to the voices carried on the wind, faint but... Someone was in trouble! He crowded the side of the mountain where the trail was less trod and his boots had more grip, and broke into a trot.

"Halt"-the wind stole words-"break"-another gust blew more words away-"neck!"

Ed Parker. Thomas skidded on some loose stone, caught hold of a boulder to gain his balance and ran on. Two figures stood at the outer edge of the trail, heads bent down. Ed and Mack. He slowed, trotted over to them. "Is there a problem? Can I be of help?"

Ed Parker threw him a sour look. "Not unless you know some way to get sense into a drunken thief bent on getting himself killed. Fool thinks he's a mountain goat."

Thomas moved closer, spotted the man slipping and sliding down the mountainside from boulder to boulder. "You there! Stop! Stay where you are! That ledge below you is unsafe!"

The man shouted something the wind s.n.a.t.c.hed away, kept jumping and sliding from one boulder to another, slid onto the ledge.

Thomas turned back toward the trail. "I'll go get a rope. We're going to need one. Don't try to go onto that ledge to get him, Ed. It's nothing but a clump of soil hanging there, held together by roots."

Mack cupped his hands around his mouth, leaned forward. "Get back from the edge! Get back! It's not safe!"

"You-"

A scream split the night air. The wind whipped it away, left only silence.

Lord, have mercy. Thomas pivoted back, looked over the edge. The outer rim of the ledge had fallen away, become only a dark smudge of soil scattered among the rocks and boulders beneath it. There was no sign of the man...or of his body.

"Another one. How many lives will this l.u.s.t for gold claim?" Mack Tanner shoved his hands in his pockets, hunched his shoulders and turned away. "What a waste. And this one died for gold that isn't even there. Why won't they believe me that I have no gold buried?" He looked back over the rim of the hill. "The poor fool gave his life for a treasure that no longer exists. I used my gold to buy land. Now there is only the deed to that land and the note I wrote in the box. Even so, it's led to more harm than it could ever do good. I wish I'd never buried that treasure in the first place!"

"Don't go taking on blame for that fellow's death, Mack." Ed Parker frowned, stepped back from the edge of the cliff. "It was his thieving ways that killed him. If he wasn't trying to dig up your treasure, it would have been something else."

"Even so..."

"Ed's right, Mack." Thomas laid a hand on Mack's shoulder. "You can't take on the blame for something you can't control. And as for that deed you've buried, some day someone will need that land and the blessing of the note, and with your faith and prayers behind it, I'm sure the Lord will have the right person find it."

Viola stared into the darkness of her bedroom, listening to the normal night sounds. With every creak of a tree branch, every crackle and snap of the fire in the living room, her heart jolted. Sleep was impossible.

She slipped out of bed, shrugged into her robe and pulled on her slippers. Goldie made a soft baby sound, stuck her thumb in her mouth and sucked. She bent down and tucked the blanket more securely around small baby shoulders.

Please take care of her... I know I can trust you.

The knots in her stomach twisted tighter. Whoever Goldie's father was...whatever his reason for writing those words in the note he had left with her, he was wrong. Leaving his baby in her care had placed her in danger. If Dengler...

She swallowed hard, walked into the living room, crossed to the windows and slipped the curtains out of their ties to cover the windows. She wanted no one peering into her home from the dusky August night. She shivered, moved to the fireplace and added wood to the low-burning fire. Flames licked at the new fuel. Firelight flickered through the darkened room.

She rose, wrapped her arms about herself and glanced at the empty settle, listened to Hattie snoring in her bedroom-felt hollow and frightened and sick and alone. She wanted Thomas. Everything in her was crying out for him. She wanted to look into his eyes and see the caring, hear him chuckle, feel the strength of his hand holding hers, the comfort of his presence. She wanted him. But it could never be. Never. She could bear anything but that Thomas learn what she was.

Or that Hattie and Goldie should be harmed because of her.

She sank to her knees on the hearth, hunched her shoulders and buried her face in her hands.

Chapter Thirteen.

Viola hurried up the stone steps to the wide stoop and reached for the doork.n.o.b, paused at the sound of hammering from within. Her lungs emptied in a long sigh. Frankie and her sisters were hard at work. She would not be alone in the church. Thank You, Lord. She glanced around, saw no one following her, arranged her features in a mask that hid her fear and opened the door.

"Watch you don't trip over that pile of lumber on the floor." The end of the board Frankie Tucker was sawing fell off with a thud. She leaned the saw against the sawhorse leg and looked up. A smile warmed her face. "Hey, Viola. Come to pretty up the windows?"

"I'm going to make a start at it. As soon as I can see." She blinked her eyes to adjust to the dimmer light after the sunshine of outdoors. "I'm here to measure the windows." She glanced at Lucy and Margie, busy pounding nails into a board that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. "Will I be in your way?"

Frankie grinned, shook her head. "Nah, if we get close before you're done, we'll either work around you or board you up into the wall." Her sisters laughed. Frankie lifted the board off the sawhorse, swung it around and leaned it against the wall next to where they were working. "Here's your next board."

Viola stared at the three sisters, trying hard not to envy them. They laughed and teased each other-and everyone else-with such raucous abandon. They were so carefree while she... The knots that had become a permanent part of her stomach twisted tighter. She stepped around the pile of lumber and headed for the nearest window, took her measurements, then looked around. "I have to measure the bench and the collections table, too. Where are they?"

"We carried them into the sanctuary, out of our way." Frankie lifted a board from the pile to the sawhorses, measured and marked it. "They're bigger than the windows. You need my measure?"

"No, my sewing tape will work fine." She took a breath, forced a casual tone into her voice. "Have you heard anything about my pistol, Frankie?"

"Danny Whitehorse ordered it from Seattle." The saw bit into the wood, slid down, chattered back and slid forward again. "Says it should be here in a few days." Frankie halted her work and looked up, her eyes agleam with interest. "Is someone giving you trouble, Viola?"

"No." She shook her head, smiled. "I was simply wondering when my shooting lessons would start."

"Quick as the pistol comes in to Tanner's, I'll bring it over and we'll get started."