Gypsy (41 page)

It was late March now, and most of the people they’d got to know during the winter had left on either the White Pass or Chilkoot Trail over a month ago. But if all went well Beth knew they’d meet up with them all on the shores of Lake Bennett. The ice on the lake wouldn’t break up till the end of May, so they couldn’t depart before that.

Skagway looked very different now to how it had been when they first arrived. There was a wharf, a church and a hospital, and the main streets were lined with real buildings — shops, saloons, restaurants, hotels, houses and cabins. The roads were still a slick of mud, made worse now as there had been a slight thaw in recent days. But the tent city all around the town was still there. Different tents now, for the old ones had either moved with their owner or been torn apart in gales. Ships disgorged hundreds more gold seekers daily. Some stayed only a short time before making for the trails; others would get sucked into the seedier side of the town, lose all their money and eventually catch a ship home.

Beth was glad to be leaving. She’d had some good times here, but more bad ones. She wouldn’t miss the rowdiness, the filth, the exploiters or the exploited. But she was going to miss the tapping feet and handclapping as she played her fiddle. She would never forget those smiles of pure joy as she lifted her audience away from their worries and cares.

As she passed Clancy’s saloon she smiled when she saw the chalk sign still up announcing ‘Gypsy Queen playing tonight’. Picking up a piece of chalk lying on the ground in front of it, she added: ‘Not tonight, I’m off to the Klondike. See you there.’

Turning away from the sign and still giggling to herself, she saw Jefferson leaning against a crate watching her while he smoked his pipe.

‘So you’re off then?’ he said.

‘Just posting a letter and I’ll catch up with the cart.’

‘Stay and have a drink with me. I’ll take you to catch them up on my horse afterwards.’

She opened her mouth to refuse politely, but as she caught his twinkling eyes she couldn’t resist. ‘For old times’ sake,’ she laughed. ‘But only an hour, not a moment longer, and if you don’t take me then there’ll be trouble.’

‘You post your letter and I’ll have the drinks poured when you get back,’ he said.

As she walked through the door of Clancy’s, he popped a bottle of champagne. ‘I thought I’d give you a good send-off.’ He smiled. ‘It might be the last good thing in months.’

He poured her a glass and leaned on the bar looking at her. ‘You’ll be missed here,’ he said eventually. ‘There’s plenty of pretty girls in town, but few with your spirit or pluck. Maybe I’ll get up to Dawson one day and see how you’re doing. If you haven’t been snapped up by a rich gold miner, I’ll whip you off to San Francisco and make an honest woman of you.’

‘That would be hard for you to do, when you are so dishonest,’ she retorted. ‘Besides, I want to go back to England. I’ve got a little sister that I need to see.’

She took the picture of Molly she’d placed in the inside pocket of her coat for safekeeping, and showed him. Her hair was as long and curly as Beth’s, tied up with two bows, and she was wearing a white frilled pinafore over her dark-coloured dress. She was no longer a baby but a little girl, with round dark eyes and a very serious expression.

‘She looks like you,’ Jefferson said. ‘I guess she’s the kinda kid anyone would want to go home to see. And your folks too. They must miss you.’

‘They’re dead,’ Beth said, and suddenly found herself telling him what had happened. ‘I don’t know why I told you that,’ she finished up, feeling embarrassed. ‘I never tell anyone.’

Jefferson shrugged. ‘It will be getting the picture of her, it brings things back. I’ve got a picture like that.’

‘Of a little girl?’

‘No.’ He laughed. ‘A picture of you, taken in here one night. I only collected it a few days ago. It made me think how things might have been, if only—’ He broke off and grinned at her.

‘If only what?’

‘If only I’d been a different kinda man. If only I’d come round to see you after that night and told you how I felt.’

‘How did you feel?’ she whispered.

‘Like I was all brand new again. Like there could be a life without swindling and fast talking. But I guess I wasn’t brave enough to try for it.’

Beth lifted her hand and pinched his cheek tenderly. ‘You were brave enough to tell me now. I’ll tuck that away inside my head and think on it sometimes.’

They talked for a while about the changes in Skagway since she’d arrived, and how it might be in years to come. He asked after Sam and Jack, but didn’t mention Theo.

‘Don’t trust anyone on the climb up the Pass,’ he said suddenly. ‘There’s men up there who look like stampeders, a pack on their back and as dirty as anyone else. They’ll offer you a little kindness, a hot drink or a warm by their fire. But they ain’t real stampeders, they’re con men, and they’ll fleece you.’

She had a strong feeling that these men he spoke of might even be in his pay, but she thanked him for the advice and said it was time she went.

He took her hand as they left the saloon to get his horse from the stable, and the touch of his smooth hand on hers made a tremor run through her.

A man brought the chestnut mare out to him, and as he held it steady, Jefferson stretched out his hand for her foot and helped her up into the saddle. Then, leaping up behind her in one agile movement, he put his arms on either side of her to take the reins.

‘Giddy-up,’ he said, and they cantered down the street, out on to the track to Dyea.

In Skagway, with all its hustle and bustle, the beauty of the scenery all around the town often went unnoticed. But once away from that tumult, with the weak winter sun shining on the turquoise water of the Lynn Canal, and the snow-topped mountains all around, it suddenly came back sharply into focus.

As they jogged along, Jefferson pointed out a couple of seals in the water and a bald eagle perched on a fir tree. Beth couldn’t help wishing that they’d had time before to have a little trip together like this, and really talk.

There were many groups of people trudging along the road to Dyea, some pushing handcarts, their baggage piled high, others using pack mules or horse-drawn carts. Suddenly Beth spotted the boys and their cart up ahead. ‘I think you should leave me here,’ she said. ‘I can soon catch up with them.’

Jefferson jumped down, as lithe as a cat, then, reaching up, he caught her waist and swung her down. But he didn’t let go of her. ‘Farewell, my Gypsy Queen,’ he said. ‘Take good care on that trail, and think of me sometimes.’

He kissed her then, long and hard, holding her as though he never wanted to let her go. Then, breaking away, he leapt back on his horse, wheeled around and galloped off.

Beth stood on the path for a moment or two watching the rear of his chestnut mare, his straight back and black hat, and felt a tiny pang for what might have been.

Chapter Twenty-eight

‘God save us!’ Beth exclaimed as they wearily approached Sheep Camp, the last place they could get firewood or provisions before setting off up the mountain.

They had already endured three days of painfully slow progress as they and a thousand other stampeders hauled their carts and sledges up a pot-holed track from Dyea, which criss-crossed the river several times. Sleet, flurries of snow and the sheer volume of people, carts, dogs and pack animals made the path rutted and treacherous. The hastily improvised bridges were so ramshackle that on one occasion they had all ended up to their knees in icy water and had to continue with sodden boots and clothes.

But it wasn’t the sight of hundreds of milling people and animals in this last real camp before climbing up to the summit that caused Beth’s shocked exclamation. She wasn’t even put off by the huddle of primitive shacks, abandoned heavy items like stoves, chairs and trunks, or even the torn tents and the mountains of goods piled up waiting to be moved on.

Her shock was caused by what lay beyond all that.

The Chilkoot Pass. And, more importantly, the climbing it would entail.

Every would-be gold seeker knew the Pass was tough. Back in the saloons of everyone had heard at least a dozen different horror stories from people who had either turned tail and ran when they saw it, or were driven back by bad weather. But hearing about it and seeing it for herself were entirely different.

Sheep Camp was in a hollow at the end of the timber line, encircled by mountains. Beth knew the summit they had to reach was 3,500 feet above Dyea, just four miles above her head if she could have flown straight up there like an eagle. But she wasn’t a bird, and the route they would be taking sent a shudder of fear and awe down her spine.

The mountain appeared to be draped with a continuous winding black ribbon which stood out in sharp relief against the snow. It consisted of climbers, bent over like apes under their heavy backpacks and seemingly motionless. But Beth knew they were moving, for they couldn’t stop; even a momentary pause would snarl up the queue coming up right behind. If anyone did choose to move out of the line to rest, they would never get back into it.

Theo had turned pale and Sam was rubbing his eyes as if unable to believe what he was seeing. Only Jack looked calm and ready to join that fearsome chain in the morning.

‘There are two places to stop,’ he said. He pointed out a giant boulder and said he had been told that climbers could rest a while at the base of it. He then indicated a flat ledge further up and said that was the Scales. ‘That’s where our packers will reweigh our load and probably charge us still more.’

Jack didn’t go on to remind them that the part of the Pass which was the most difficult and hazardous was beyond the Scales, and not visible from Sheep Camp. No pack animals could climb what had been named the Golden Stairs, 1,500 steps cut out of sheer ice by some entrepreneurs who demanded a toll for using them. Once on them there was no stopping anywhere until the top was reached.

Sam, Theo and Beth looked at one another in horror. Had it not been for Jack’s stalwart stance, they might have voiced their fear of making the climb. But Jack had become their commander since they left Dyea; he alone had kept his nerve when the cart nearly fell off a bridge, or got stuck in a rut; his strength, determination and calm had got them through so far and they believed he’d make sure they got all the way to Dawson City unscathed.

‘If we pitch our tent here tonight, it will be hell putting it all away at first light tomorrow,’ Jack went on, seemingly unaware that they didn’t share his excitement. ‘So I reckon Theo and Beth should go and get us a place in one of the hotels here. Sam and I will find our packers and ask where they want us to put all this.’

Beth glanced at the cart with its mountain of their equipment and the required provisions. It had seemed a formidable amount even back in Skagway, yet they’d still raged at the fee charged by the Indian packers for each sack. But now she had seen the mountain it had to be taken up, she felt faint at the thought of what it would mean if they had to carry it all themselves. She said a silent prayer of thanks that they’d managed to get the money for packers together. She doubted that she would’ve been able to carry even one sack on her back to the top, let alone repeat it again and again.

The so-called hotels bore no resemblance to any hotel, however humble, that Beth had ever seen, yet she was soon to discover the price was similar to that of the hotels in New York. They were just shacks, with no beds, just a tiny space on a bare floor, with dozens more people packed round them. If they bought a meal it would cost close to two days’ wages.

She found you could buy almost anything at Sheep Camp, provided you had enough money. Whisky, dark glasses to prevent snow blindness, sledges, fur hats, even candy. There were whores too, who for five dollars would make sure a man enjoyed his last night of relative comfort before striking out for the summit.

Despite her exhaustion from the day’s arduous trek, Beth couldn’t help but smile at these whores, for they were the plainest, grubbiest women she’d seen since the shirt factory in Montreal. Some sported ragged satin dresses, a blanket tied round their shoulders like a cape, heavy men’s boots on their feet and hair like rats’ tails. Yet there were plenty of takers for their services.

Once into the ‘hotel’, hemmed in on all sides by humanity, there was no possibility of getting out again during the night. Beth was sandwiched between Theo and Sam, and the stench of feet and other body odours was so strong that she pulled her fur-lined hood right over her mouth and nose, and hoped that exhaustion would ensure she could fall asleep.

She was awake for what seemed all night, listening to an orchestra of different kinds of snores. There were loud roaring ones like steam trains, high-pitched squeaks, some regular, ordinary snores and some irregular ones, and every now and then someone would break wind, cough or groan. One man sounded as though he was praying, and another swore in his sleep. It was like a mass tuning of strange instruments.

Theo’s breathing was heavy, Sam’s light. Jack was lying behind Sam but she couldn’t distinguish his sound from anyone else’s. Beth was aware that this was probably the most comfortable and warm she could expect to be for weeks and that scared her even more. Why was she going? She didn’t care about gold and she could make enough money in Skagway to ensure she could go back to England next year with a sizeable nest egg. What if there was an avalanche while they were on the mountain and she was buried alive? What if she fell and broke her leg or arm? What then?

She must have fallen asleep eventually for the next thing she knew, Jack was shaking her and saying it was time to go.

By midday Beth was already convinced she couldn’t take another step. The pack on her back was small, just twenty-five pounds in weight, containing nothing more than dry clothing, while the boys had ones twice as heavy, and Sam and Jack had a sledge each too, but it felt like a ton weight. The snow was packed hard underfoot, but uneven because of the stones beneath it, so she had to watch where she was stepping, using her stout pole for support as she dragged herself, puffing and panting, ever upwards.