The Alaska Brides Collection Part 23

Braden and Wily worked in silence loading. Wily looked up at Amy and asked, "Ride, little Amaruq?"

Braden tried to figure out just what he'd heard. Amaruq? The man slurred his words like he almost never used his voice, which Braden could believe considering how little he'd spoken so far.

"Until you hit the current." Amy nodded. "Then I'll walk." She climbed in.

Braden noticed the lack of room for him in the umiak. He didn't get a chance to ask where he was supposed to sit before Wily began leading the boat up the bay, away from Goose Chase and civilization.

Amy and Wily were about twenty feet away from him before Braden realized he was walking, no doubt all the way to Ian's camp, over twenty miles away through some of the roughest territory in the world. The steamship had docked early, and they'd walked the miles to Goose Chase as quickly as possible, towing the cart. The trip could be made in one day easily in the normal course of things. Then Braden looked ahead at the big, blue water of the bay. It narrowed in the distance and cut between two mountains that sprang straight up from the water's edge. How were they supposed to walk through that?

A rustling of bushes behind them reminded Braden of the men who had shown interest in accompanying them. It made no sense. The stampeders headed up the Chilkoot Pa.s.s toward Dawson's Creek. Why would a gold-hungry miner want to follow them? Braden had turned down an offer of company from Stucky and that sharp-eyed stranger named Thompson, who'd hovered too close to Amy on the boat. Neither had seemed as interested in the gold as they were in Amy.

Braden had done his best to lose them in the horde at the dock, even though they had to tug along the cart Amy had found. They'd headed out of Skaguay, walking down what looked like a game trail to Goose Chase. He'd thought they'd slipped away unnoticed. Now those rustling bushes made him wonder.

Should he investigate? He studied the undergrowth then looked forward toward the mountain Wily seemed determined to walk over. Braden forgot the bushes and trudged forward, filled with dread.

Filled with wonder, Amy leaned forward, so eager to get through the bay and into the narrow waters of the Skaguay River that she could barely stay seated. Hearing her Tlingit name for the first time in years renewed her spirit. She'd known Wily from her earliest memory.

The beauty was so profound Amy wondered if G.o.d had created Alaska as a drink for a thirsty soul. She longed to get out of Wily's slow-moving umiak and march away from this easy water pa.s.sage and into her wilderness. She stayed put, of course. She was in a hurry to get to Papa. Now wasn't the time to reacquaint herself with her magnificent home. And she knew there'd be no riding when Wily's umiak started sc.r.a.ping along the bottom of the river. They'd need every hand on the ropes. With her ribs still aching, she did the practical thing and saved her energy. Alaska, by dint of trying to kill everyone who came here, taught a person to be practical.

Amy looked at the contents of the umiak behind her and wondered what pile of impractical frippery Braden Rafferty hauled in those crates. It was just more evidence of how illequipped he was for this journey.

Amy had a single change of clothes, her knife, a cloth book of needles, and a small castiron skillet. The indulgence of the skillet nearly shamed her, and Amy hoped Wily never found out about it. He'd shake his head as he had so many times when, as a child, she'd shown fascination with the things Wily hauled. He didn't talk much, but he'd let her know she'd gone soft.

She could easily enough create a pan out of a soaked slab of bark from a cedar tree. Her mother had raised her right. The cedar even added a nice flavor. But a skillet worked better and took less tending. With her sore ribs and aching muscles, she'd been inclined to spoil herself. When she'd sold off her things to pay for the trip home, she found a few coins to spare for a frying pan in case she ended up camping along the trail. But there'd be no camping. Because of the early docking of the ship, she'd be home in a single day.

Of course, some of Braden's things would be supplies. And Amy wasn't innocent of indulging her papa. She'd sent a bit of sugar and a few pounds of flour to him every spring, even though he only asked for traps or tools.

Amy sighed, wondering where Papa had gotten to. Her stomach twisted. Why hadn't he written? He was an old man by her Tlingit people's standards, nearly forty. He might not be tough enough to tackle Alaskan winters and survive all this territory threw at him. She wished suddenly that she'd had the money to bring her papa a few treats. Perhaps she shouldn't fault Braden for toting foolish things over a mountain.

"Can I help pull?" Braden's voice turned her to face the sh.o.r.e. He held out a hand for one of the two ropes Wily had slung over his shoulder. Wordlessly, Wily handed one over. She watched Braden loop the rope until it was a bit shorter. Braden fell in, following a few steps behind Wily. The going was easy now, but the terrain ahead would be rough.

She couldn't wait to get into the mountains. As she drank in their beauty, she realized that away from these mountains she'd only been half alive.

This mountain wanted him dead.

Braden's foot slipped off a rock, and he sank to his ankle in the icy river. The weather was mild, but the water still held the frigidity of winter within it. Wily had given him a pair of waterproof boots. Amy told him they were made of walrus intestines so his feet stayed dry-bitterly cold, but dry. The spring thaw allowed them to pa.s.s, but ice patches still lined the river, and in places, the umiak had to break through a thin sheet of stubborn spring ice. They'd been going at a forced march since they docked at Skaguay this morning, and Amy had a.s.sured him he'd sleep at Ian's tonight.

Enjoying the motion that stretched his muscles, long inactive on the boat, wouldn't have been so bad if his feet weren't frozen lumps.

"Papa's cabin is just ahead." Amy eased the rope off her shoulder and straightened.

Braden watched her for signs of collapse. She'd worked hard once the water got shallow and they'd crossed to the other side of the river, throwing her shoulder into the rope. Braden had protested, sure Amy would collapse within a mile, but Wily and Amy overruled him. Wily handed over the rope to Amy then waded behind the umiak, pushing it over the sand when it bottomed out. Braden had insisted on taking the lead rope, pulling for all he was worth to keep Amy's work to a minimum.

They'd started as quickly as they could get off the ship and get to Goose Chase and had been dragging this blasted umiak-or whatever Amy called it-for hours.

Braden's shoulder ached. The fabric of his shirt was tattered. He'd shed his coat long ago.

Amy sighed so loudly Braden stopped. He looked back to see if she was in danger and saw a huge grin on her normally somber face. Her white teeth flashed.

"We are here." She faced the woods.

"Your father's cabin is near here?" Braden looked at the steeply pitched, heavily wooded area. Amy was visibly exhausted. Even smiling, she had dark circles under her eyes, and despite the brisk spring air, her face had an unnatural pallor.

"No, it is here." Amy pointed into the forest. Suddenly, it popped out at him. A cabin sat about one hundred feet back into the woods. The place blended completely with the rough- and-tumble woods.

Braden noticed they were out of the wind and no snow lay on the ground around the cabin. A shaft of sunlight shone down through a gap and shared its generous warmth with the house. A man wise in the ways of the wilderness had chosen this spot. With a sigh of relief, Braden knew that despite the odd, tumbled-down look of the cabin, the man inside possessed wood smarts and would keep his daughter safe.

Braden looked at Amy. She glowed.

"Let's go say h.e.l.lo. Then you can point me toward my brother's place."

Amy nodded, but then her eyes narrowed, and the bright smile faded from her face.

"Your brother's on up the stream a piece." Wily's voice sounded farther away than it should be. "I'm gonna keep headin' up."

Braden heard the faint sc.r.a.pe of the bottom of the umiak on the rocky river bottom and turned to see Wily moving along.

"Something is wrong." Amy strode toward the cabin.

As Braden hurried after her, he realized that there was more to this house than he'd first thought. A second room had been built on at an angle. The roof sloped sharply upward, most likely to keep the snow from piling up, but it looked sizable enough for a loft.

Dark furs hung on the front, a long one that must cover the front door and two smaller ones that could only be windows. Patches of cedar bark and branches made it resemble a stack of trees blown into a pile by the wind.

"I can see something's wrong. It's been damaged." Braden decided he'd help with the repairs.

"No, it always looks like this."

"The windows have always been broken out?"

"No, we have always covered the windows with furs." Amy arched an eyebrow at him as if he'd said something ridiculous. "Where would a person get gla.s.s?" She hurried on.

Braden stayed at her side. "Then what's wrong with the place?" By the look on her face, he knew whatever bothered her was serious.

"There is smoke coming out of the chimney." Amy's breath sounded labored as she quickened her pace.

That's a silly reason to get so upset. "Maybe your da needed to heat the place up. Maybe he's cooking."

"Papa? Need heat or cook inside? This late in the spring?" Amy began running toward the house.

Chapter 5.

The journey up river had almost finished Amy. She'd used every ounce of hert strength, tapping deep inside for the courage to go on, knowing she would soon rest in Papa's house.

As she rushed toward her home, a whisper on the wind, one she didn't care to heed, told her to wait on the Lord. She'd heard this ever since she'd awakened after the accident in Seattle, determined to leave the city, but she'd ignored it. Yes, G.o.d might be trying to make things easy for her, but she didn't need easy. She could take care of herself.

Her legs wobbled as she forced them forward. Her ribs punished her for running. She clutched them to quiet the pain and held herself erect by sheer will. It shamed her to rely on someone else. She should have been able to take care of herself.

Shaking off her fear, Amy reached for the grizzly pelt that kept the wind out of the cracks in the door.

She hesitated, remembering her manners learned from the McGraws. It was home; she should just go on in. But she'd been gone so long. She stood on the slab of gray rock centered in front of the door and knocked, her fist m.u.f.fled by the bear skin and the rugged door frame. No one came to the door, and her jaw tightened with impatience as the moment stretched. Why had Papa stopped writing? Why had he worried her like this for so long?

"Amy, maybe we should-"

"Should what, Braden?" She whirled to face him. "I am home. This is the end of my journey. There is nowhere else for me to go."

No one answered her knock on the log framing the door, so she pulled back the pelt and shoved on the door. It was firmly latched. Papa hadn't even had a latch on the door while she lived here!

Her fear was too much to face, so she grabbed hold of a flicker of annoyance and turned it to anger. Pounding on the door, she glanced up at the smoking chimney. Someone was here but not Papa. He wouldn't abide stifling smoke when he could breathe the pure Alaskan air.

If he was here, he must be sick. If Papa couldn't come to the door, then she'd beat the door down and go in uninvited.

"Papa, it is Amy! Open this door!" She hammered with the side of her fist on the saplings that had been lashed together into a tidy door, heavy enough to keep out the winter wind and a pack of hungry wolves.

Suddenly it flew open. Braden caught her before she fell into the arms of a stranger. The man who stood before her was certainly not her father.

"I dunno an Amy. Beat it!"

The door began to swing shut. Amy threw herself forward and blocked it open. Her ribs hurt from the impact. On a gasp of pain, her vision blurred. "What are you doing here? Where is my father?"

The man's eyes narrowed, lost in a full beard and coa.r.s.e, knotted hair. He sneered at her. Teeth bared green and broken. "No father in this place. Now git!"

Amy spoke quickly. "My papa, Petro...Peter Simons, owns this cabin. Tell me where he is."

The man quit sneering. He quit trying to get his door shut. His eyes were suddenly cold, and he studied her intently. A vile smell rolled off the man and out of the cabin. When Amy had lived here, the cabin had a clean, woodsy aroma.

"No need to get riled, mister." Braden shifted slightly so his shoulder blocked the man who had invaded Amy's home.

The man's conniving eyes slid toward Braden, and with a little clutch of her heart, Amy knew only Braden's presence kept her safe. That whispering voice had warned her. G.o.d knew of the danger. But Braden was here, although it galled her that she needed him.

"Pete Simons din't have no kin. He lived alone long'ez I knew him. And he never made no mention of any daughter. No woman is gonna come in here layin' claim to what's rightfully mine."

"Yours?" Amy's temper built until she was too upset to be afraid. "That is a lie! It belongs to Peter Simons."

"It did 'til he sold it to me."

Amy gasped. "Papa sold the cabin?"

"Sure as shootin' he did. Got me a bill of sale'n ever'thin'." The man looked her up and down in a way that made her skin crawl. "An' I knew Pete for years. Never heard him talk of a daughter. Who put you up to makin' a claim to my place?"

Her father loved this cabin. He wouldn't have sold it, because he didn't see it as belonging to him. Her father had been deeded this place by an old Russian friend. Papa loved his rugged life and carved out a home here. No bill of sale would convince her differently.

Then Amy thought past all her anger. "Where is my father? If he sold you the cabin, then he must have moved on somewhere else. Tell me where he is."

The man crossed his arms. "You expect me to believe you're Pete's daughter 'n you don't know he's dead?"

Amy gasped. "No! No, I do not believe you. I would have heard!"

Amy backed away from the awful words. Braden slipped a strong arm around her waist.

"I don't b'lieve you're his daughter. You're on my property, and I want you off. The next time you hammer on my door, I won't come unarmed." The man glanced again at Braden then turned his cruel gaze on her.

Amy shuddered to think what might have happened if she'd come here alone.

The man gave her one last wild glare and then stepped back and slammed the door in her face.

A cry ripped out of Amy's throat, and she launched herself at the door. Braden caught her around the waist and swung her away.

"Stop. We have to get out of here. You heard what he said about a gun. Let's go. I'm sorry about your da, but you can't stay here."

Amy looked up at Braden and met his sad eyes. She'd known he carried a weight, though he'd carefully avoided talking about anything personal. His sadness came from grief. She recognized it because it echoed everything she felt.

"You have lost someone, too," she whispered.

Braden's eyes darkened as if a cloud had gone over the sun and turned the blue sky gray. He held her gaze silently; then at last, as if it hurt to move his head, he nodded.

She had no one in the world who cared if she lived or died. Nowhere in the world to call home.

"Papa." Her knees buckled, the world swirled around, and her vision faded to black.

Braden caught Amy as she collapsed, and swung her into his arms. He held her close, saw the utter whiteness of her skin. The frail woman weighed next to nothing, so he lifted her a bit higher in his arms.

" You're my strength, Braden."

His strength hadn't been enough for Maggie. Now, without any wish to provide it, he'd have to be the strength for Amy. He turned back toward the river. Ahead, he saw Wily disappear around a curve in the ever-narrowing water. The days were nearly split twelve hours of dark, twelve hours of light this time of year. It was just past noon, the sun high in the sky. They had miles to go, and darkness would catch them soon enough.

Alaska, the land of the midnight sun. What had he been thinking to come here?

Ian expected him. There'd been time to write, a.s.suming a letter got out this far, but no time to get a response. Braden hadn't left immediately after Maggie died. He couldn't abandon his father that way, even though every day spent in the house where he and Maggie had lived with his parents and little sister was pure torture. Braden had stayed three months, finishing spring work; then he'd walked away before he could fail anyone else. Deep inside, he knew walking away added to his failures.

When he announced his plans to live in Alaska, his mother cried and scolded. Da turned quiet and spent a lot of time in the barn. His sister, Fiona, harangued him with her quick Irish tongue. Still, he'd left. Staying hurt too badly.

When he rounded the river bend, he saw Wily ahead, pulling his umiak as if it were a well-trained dog. The river flowed slightly deeper here. Braden couldn't see any rocks through the crystal clear water. He could ask Wily to let Amy ride, but he wouldn't. As much as he resented the burden she'd added to his life, her grief was too new. Only a monster would expect her to endure it alone.

Just for today, he'd be her strength.

"Your brother's house is up that slope."

Braden's head came up and followed the direction indicated by Wily's gnarled finger.

He'd made it. They'd been walking for nearly twenty hours now, with only the most meager moments to rest. But they were here at last. Wily had taken him nearly to his brother's back door.