At the Rainbow's End (4 page)

“Fiancé?” Constable French chuckled with an irritatingly superior sound. “Are you one of those mail order brides?”

“Mr. Houseman and I have been corresponding for more than a year,” she said, pride stung by his condescension. She refused to be shamed by his laughing eyes. “He asked me to join him here instead of waiting for him to come to Ohio.”

“Houseman? Out on the Bonanza?”

She nodded eagerly. “Do you know him?”

“I know almost everyone.” He gave her a gentle smile and tipped his hat. “You were lucky, Miss Perry. He isn't like some of the others around here.” Undoing her satchel from his saddle, he handed it to her. “I bid you a good day. If I hear of anyone who has a cheap room, I will let you know.”

“Room?”

Samantha looked at the laundrywoman. Mrs. Kellogg's eyes were directly on her gloves. Wondering why the older woman was so interested in her hands, she explained, “I need a place to stay until Mr. Houseman comes into Dawson. The Dawson City Hotel was too expensive.”

“I'm sure.” She took one of Samantha's hands and pulled off the glove. Turning the hand back and forth, she nodded her head in response to some thought she did not share with them. “That fool at the hotel would have been glad to make you an offer in exchange for your room.”

“He did.” She smiled. Mrs. Kellogg did not attempt to hide her opinions. That they had matched Samantha's, so far, endeared her to the young woman.

“And you told him no? Smart girl.” She waved at the Mountie. “Go do your duty, Constable. Miss Perry can stay with me.” Her intimidating stare returned to Samantha. “She has hands which tell me she isn't afraid of hard work. Not like some of those prissy women at the Monte Carlo or out among the whores in Lousetown. She can stay if she wants to work in exchange for her room and meals.”

“Yes!” Samantha accepted the offer before anyone could add more. Working in the laundry would be horrendous if this heat continued, but it was far better than the alternatives. She had seen enough of Dawson to know exactly what those were.

Constable French risked Mrs. Kellogg's fury, asking, “Are you sure, Miss Perry?”

She nodded. “Very sure. Thank you so much for your assistance.”

“My pleasure.” Again he tipped his wide hat. “I may stop by in a few days and see how you are doing.”

“Scat!” ordered Mrs. Kellogg. “We have work to do. We can't stand here jawing all day. Tend to your business, Constable. We'll tend to ours.”

With a grin, he tilted his head in her direction. The strength and confidence with which he mounted his horse told Samantha how he had earned the reputation which silenced the men on the street. He waved as he turned back toward the disreputable section officially named Klondike City, but commonly known as Lousetown.

“Good man,” mumbled the washerwoman. When she saw Samantha look at her in astonishment, she smiled. Her rough expression had vanished. Putting her arm kindly around Samantha, she steered her into the heat of the small building. Beads of water and clouds of steam covered every surface. Several firepits heated tubs of water.

“This way,” continued Mrs. Kellogg. She shook a gnarled finger at her new assistant. “Don't you ever tell him I said this, but I don't know what we would have done without Constable French and his fellow Mounties. They have kept Dawson safe.”

Even as she spoke, Mrs. Kellogg was directing Samantha toward one of the doors on the far side of the hazy room. Through the narrow portal was a tiny room with barely enough space for an iron bedstead and a washstand. Samantha put her satchel on the floor and opened it to pull out a work dress. Telling her to come out as soon as she was ready, Mrs. Kellogg closed the door—as much as its warped wood would allow.

Samantha hastened to change, standing against the door the whole time as she drew off her filthy suit and pulled on a muslin blouse and black serge skirt. Not that she had much choice. As minuscule as the room was, she could not move far without bumping into the bed.

This would be her home until Joel arrived. She realized with sudden dismay that she had not left a message for him at the hotel. Then she shrugged, sure the cost of that favor would have been more than she could afford. So few women came to Dawson he should have little trouble tracing her.

Tying her skirt around her slender waist, she pushed up the full sleeves of her shirt. She took a deep breath of the comparatively cool air before she entered the scorching hot work room again.

Through the heated fog, she could see Mrs. Kellogg bent over a metal tub. “Over there, girl,” she said pointing with a blunt-headed paddle toward another vat. “Stir the shirts until the dirt is loosened. Then rub them on the washboard. The line's outside.” As an afterthought, she asked, “Samantha's your name?”

“Yes.”

“Work hard, Samantha, and we'll have no problems.”

Samantha smiled and picked up the long-handled paddle. Working hard did not scare her. If it had, she never would have risked the Yukon to come to the man she loved. She wanted to work long hours so she would collapse as soon as she went to bed. That way, the time until she was with Joel would speed by like the fleeting darkness of an Arctic summer night.

The days did go quickly. From the time when the sun rose, far earlier than she was accustomed to, until twilight tinted the clouds red, Samantha worked. She had never guessed so many filthy shirts existed.

When she was not busy stirring tubs of hot, soapy water, she had to sit in her narrow room sewing rips and trying to patch them as best as she could. Some of the sourdoughs, as the veteran prospectors were called, wanted shirts cleaned and repaired that had barely enough material to hold together.

She enjoyed the work. Despite her gruff exterior, Mrs. Kellogg treated her very well. Every night they ate delicious meals ordered from one of the hotels, for the washerwoman did not have cooking facilities. She explained that she made so much money washing clothes that she could easily pay for ready made meals. Samantha knew this was true. She saw the amount of gold brought into the laundry. A small set of scales by the door measured each transaction. The gold dust went into a tin box under Mrs. Kellogg's bed. Although most of her customers knew where it was, she never worried about it being stolen. Robbery seemed almost nonexistent in the city.

Slowly the mud dried in the streets, making it easier to get about in Dawson and Lousetown.

Soon Samantha grew less wary of the men who came into the laundry. Some politely tipped their hats in her direction, and she learned to ignore their eyes on her clothes plastered with heat and sweat to her body. She was pleased, though, that Mrs. Kellogg did not require her to deal directly with the customers.

Five days after her arrival in Dawson, she heard her name called. Smiling, she said gaily, “Good day, Constable. Did you come to see for yourself if I'm working hard for my room and board?”

Taking off his hat, he stepped into the low-ceilinged room. His dark head barely cleared the rafters. He let his eyes enjoy her prettiness as she wiped her hands on the damp front of her apron.

“I never doubted that, Miss Perry. Mrs. Kellogg's reputation for perfection is well known throughout the city.” He sat on a bench, shoving aside a pile of unwashed shirts. “I had thought your Mr. Houseman might have come by now.”

She shrugged to conceal her own concerns on that sensitive subject. Mrs. Kellogg had learned not to notice how often Samantha went to the door to peer out into the busy streets for the one man she longed to see. “He must be very busy at his claim. The spring is the time of the roughest work, he told me.”

“He's correct. All the miners hope the thawing waters will bring more gold from its hidden cache in the hills. They will be working all the daylight hours and some of the dark ones as well.”

“There are so few of those.”

He laughed. With his hands clasped around the knee of his immaculate trousers, he leaned back to watch her work with easy efficiency. He could see that Miss Samantha Perry, in spite of her china doll appearance, was capable of doing hard work without complaining.

“You'll get accustomed to the short hours of darkness after a while.”

“I don't intend to. When Mr. Houseman makes his big strike, we'll return south to a more hospitable clime.”

“Is that so?”

Looking up from her task of stirring the shirts in the soapy water, she gave him an odd expression. Her dark eyes appeared blacker as her spirits became more troubled. It bothered her that others spoke so knowingly of her future husband, when she had never met him. She could not help wondering if they were privy to some fact she was unable to guess.

“Yes,” she said tersely.

Constable French stood and walked closer. When her eyes rose to meet his, she was sure he had grown to fill the entire room. His chest seemed to become a scarlet wall. Then he spoke, his voice as charmingly pleasant as ever.

“I stopped by to see if you would be interested in attending the play at the Monte Carlo tonight. They're having a vaudeville presentation. I thought you might enjoy seeing the acts.”

“Thank you, but no.” She lowered her eyes to the bubbly water. “You forget, Constable, that I'm betrothed.”

“To a man you have never met!”

She stepped away to put the tub between them. Holding the edges of the galvanized vat, she tried to smile. “To a man I love.”

Shaking his head, he regarded her with bafflement. “You and Houseman don't strike me as the perfect match.”

“And what's wrong with me?”

“With you?” He exploded with laughter. The sound bounced off the ceiling to crash onto her ears. His gloved hand swept wide to encompass the entire town. “My dear Miss Perry, you have been on the streets of Dawson and Lousetown, doing Mrs. Kellogg's business. Has any man you've met acted as if there is anything wrong with you?”

Samantha ignored the compliment. “Then you mean to insult Mr. Houseman. I assure you, Constable, that Mr. Houseman has been nothing but the perfect gentleman in all the letters he has written to me.”

“I didn't suspect Houseman would be otherwise.”

“Then why?”

“Why am I defaming your esteemed fiancè? Did you consider the fact I may simply be jealous of him?”

Her eyes widened. With her hands clasped in front of her, she stared at him, not wanting to betray that his words had stripped her of intelligent speech. When he put his hands on her shoulders and bent to kiss her cheek lightly, she could not pull away.

“Will you reconsider my invitation?” he asked softly.

“No,” she whispered. She picked up her paddle to resume working in a blatant refusal to discuss this further.

Regret deepened the lines burnt by the sun and the wind into his face. Without another word, he left the small building.

Samantha wanted to apologize, although she had done nothing wrong. She had not suspected the constable felt more than a sense of duty toward her, and she was not in a position to accept any man's invitation to attend entertainments. She was betrothed to Joel Houseman, though she was beginning to wonder if he existed.

If he did, why hadn't he come for her by now?

Constable French gave her ample opportunity to atone for her refusal. He called at the laundry at least once a day. Nearly every visit, he Urged her to accompany him to some event in the city. Each time she refused, graciously. In spite of that, she began to look forward to his calls. She enjoyed his sense of humor, as he poked fun at all the characters who had come to make the Yukon their home.

One afternoon, cooler than it predecessors, he asked her to go for a walk. She almost told him no, as she had so often, but she suddenly wanted to escape from the closed walls of the laundry. She had talked to Mrs. Kellogg about putting a tub in the yard, so they could enjoy the sights and fresh air, but so far nothing had changed.

“Yes,” she said, untying her apron.

“Yes?” he asked in astonishment.

“You don't sound too pleased. If you prefer—”

He caught her hands in his and took the apron from them. Tossing it over the bench, he smiled. He placed her slender fingers on his sleeve. Her hand was nearly as lobster red as his coat.

“Come with me, Miss Perry. I've already asked Mrs. Kellogg if you could have a few hours free, and she gave her permission.”

“So the two of you have been conspiring against me?” She felt a sudden freedom as she teased him. For longer than she wanted to remember, she had been waiting for her life to begin. She did not want to wait any longer. Going for a walk with her friend would not betray her love for Joel.

Mrs. Kellogg waved as they emerged from the heat of the laundry. Urging Samantha to have a pleasant afternoon, she made it clear her aide need not hurry back to finish her chores.

As they walked leisurely along the boardwalk toward the center of Dawson, Samantha asked, “What do you have planned?”

“I thought we might go to the Pioneer, to give you a taste of the civilization you will be leaving behind if you go out with Houseman to his claim.”

“
When
I go,” she corrected.

“Do you want to go to the Pioneer?” He ignored her words. “It's one of the few places I would take a lady.”

When she nodded, he placed his hand over hers on his sleeve. He grinned down at her as he told stories of this rough city, about how different Dawson was from the settlements of earlier gold rushes. A man or a woman could wander about with a fortune in gold dust and not have to worry about being accosted, although many were willing to help them spend it, at ridiculously high prices. In spite of the lusty entertainments favored by the prospectors, bars and dance halls closed on Sunday, in accordance with the strict blue laws of Canada.

A flux of newcomers came walking from the levee. Samantha observed them with her now somewhat veteran eyes. Many would be scurrying back the way they had come, for they clearly were unfit for the backbreaking labor required along the rivers.