Gypsy (59 page)
‘The manager didn’t tell me,’ she said.
Jack shook his head in disbelief. ‘That arsewipe,’ he hissed. ‘Bet he hoped I wouldn’t come back and he could keep it. He looked surprised to see me. I ran like the wind from there, no time to even wash myself. And I can’t even hug you now to make up for it all, I’ll mess up your nice outfit.’
‘I can get water for you to wash, and I brought your clothes with me because I didn’t want everyone to find out you’d run out on me.’
Jack smiled. ‘Run out on you! If I’d had to swim to catch up with the boat I would have.’
Beth felt all the tension and hurt inside her fading away.
‘How is Oz now?’
‘He’ll pull through. The chest wound needed stitching, and the Mounties will be rounding up the blokes who did it. Luckily he’d left all his money in the bank here at Dawson, and he’d even put the nuggets I found in a bag and tied them to Flash’s collar.’
‘But why didn’t the dogs defend Oz?’ she asked.
‘Willy and I were mystified by that too. But Oz came round enough on the way to hospital to tell us he’d been drinking with two blokes he thought were pals, in their cabin, which was about a mile from Willy’s. He tied the dogs up outside. I guess the men thought Oz had the money on him, and greed made them set about him. But they scarpered when they didn’t find anything on him, and Oz crawled out and let the dogs loose.’
‘Some pals!’ she exclaimed. ‘If the dogs hadn’t been so clever he might have died out there.’
Beth got a bucket of water for Jack to wash, and once he was clean he hugged and kissed her. ‘I’d like to show you just how much I love you,’ he said softly. ‘But after two nights without any sleep I don’t think I could prove my point.’
Leaving him to sleep, Beth went out on the top deck to watch the river. She had been told that Yukon was the Indian name for ‘Greatest’ and she thought it was well named, for it was over 2,000 miles long, ranging from deep and narrow stretches through canyons and sharp bends, to miles wide where it slopped over flat land. The glacial water was so cold in the rapids that if a man fell in he would die from that alone, or be sucked to the bottom in minutes by its strong and deadly current.
But it was so beautiful too, sometimes emerald green, sometimes turquoise. Caribou and moose waded in its shallows, ducks and geese idled in its more placid water, and swallows nested in its banks. Yet she had loved it in winter too, when the ice was four feet thick and she and Jack had sped along its bumpy surface on a sledge, with Flash and Silver pulling them.
She looked around at the other passengers sitting on the decks, squashed up with their luggage, and felt sad for them that they weren’t seeing the beauty of this country, only craving the riches they could take from it.
Coming here had been a complete education. A lifetime in England or even New York would never have tested her, pummelled or taught her as much as the two years spent here. She could live without comfort now, make a meal out of anything, knew that the human body could endure far more than anyone would suppose.
But the greatest, most important thing of all, and she’d only realized she’d learned it today, was the knowledge of who she was and that she was capable of being independent. She had been horrified and terribly saddened by the thought that Jack had run off and left her, yet she hadn’t been frightened of the prospect of coping alone.
Last night as she packed her bags she felt that was it, the sad end of a chapter, and there was nothing for it but to go on to a new one. She knew that when she arrived in Vancouver, she was capable of getting herself a place to live, and work. She wouldn’t have crumbled because she was alone.
Even the prospect of bringing their child up alone hadn’t frightened her. She might have chosen to call herself Mrs for convention’s sake, but not because she was ashamed. She was a musician, and a good one, and she would always get work somewhere.
She was of course overjoyed and relieved that Jack had turned up. But in a way she was glad she’d had this chance to discover she had grown into a strong, dignified and capable woman.
‘When should I tell him about the baby?’ she murmured to herself, putting her hand under her jacket on to her stomach. She was certain there was one, but perhaps it would be better to wait until a doctor had confirmed it.
Jack didn’t wake until the daylight was fading. He opened his eyes as Beth came into the cabin and smiled.
‘Feeling better?’ she asked, bending over to stroke his face.
‘I am now I’m with you,’ he said, taking her hand in his and kissing it. ‘I got a fright thinking you were going without me. I wouldn’t have got another boat for days and I would have had no way of contacting you.’
‘And I wouldn’t have been meeting every boat in the hope you were on it,’ she said teasingly.
He smiled, studying her face. ‘I would have tracked you down eventually. I’d have run round Vancouver putting up posters saying, “Missing! Fiddle-playing Gypsy Queen. Reward given for information“.’
‘What are we going to do when we get there?’ she asked, gently pushing him over so she could sit on the bunk with him.
‘Whatever you want to do,’ he replied. ‘We could get another boat down to California to be warm all winter. New York, Philadelphia, Constantinople, Paris or Rome, we can go anywhere we fancy. What do you want to do?’
‘Just to be with you,’ she said. ‘In a warm, quiet house with a proper kitchen and a bathroom. I want you at home with me every evening.’
He looked at her quizzically. ‘No grandiose plans for another saloon? A shop, a boarding house?’
She shook her head.
‘But you’ve got something up your sleeve? I can sense it!’
‘Maybe,’ she said, lying down beside him and wrapping her arms around him. ‘But for now there’s just the two of us, scrunched up in this tiny bunk, so we should make the most of it.’
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank all those who helped me in my research into the Klondike Gold Rush.
Malcolm Latchem was a great help with background information about violin playing and the folk music of this period. Thank you, Malcolm, you made me wish I’d persisted with learning the violin beyond ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’.
A big thank you to Patrick Griffin of Wexus Travellers’ Club, who made all my travel arrangements for the complicated journey following in the footsteps of my heroine to Alaska and on to Dawson City in Canada. His knowledge, enthusiasm and sense of humour made it seem a much less daunting trip.
I read every book I could get my hands on about the Gold Rush and its characters, but the two which stood out over all the others were by Pierre Berton, Canada’s leading historian.
Klondike, the Last Great Gold Rush,
1868–1899, was simply marvellous. Exciting, fantastically descriptive, a book everyone should read to get the full picture of the madness of gold fever.
The Klondike Quest
, also by Berton, is a photographic essay of the same story. With fabulous photographs along with the narrative, you can almost feel you were there.
Special thanks to Bombay Peggy’s, the one-time brothel I stayed at in Dawson City, which managed to re-create the decadence and naughty aspects of how it was once, with twenty-first century comfort and a warm welcome.
I never managed to get the names of that wonderful bunch of Aussies I fell in with on my first night in Dawson. I have photos of you all and lovely memories, so I just hope one of you remembered my name and bought the book. You’ll know who you are, so get in touch!
Last but not least, my thanks to Mari Evans, my editor, for her boundless enthusiasm and editing skills. Love you, Mari!
MICHAEL JOSEPH
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First published 2008
Copyright © Lesley Pearse, 2008
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ISBN: 978-0-14-191033-8