Mary Connealy (2 page)

Three

“We were going to discuss the way to your brother’s cabin, I believe?” Amy’s hand dug into Braden’s wrist even through the buckskin.

He heard the soft cry for help in her question. Her quiet voice, with the echo of some nearly forgotten accent, stopped him from returning the plate to the galley.

Braden looked from her unexpected touch to her wary eyes. He relaxed back against the steel wall behind him. Of course it had to do with the city slicker. Braden hadn’t liked the looks of him, either. She’d chosen him to protect her.

“You’re my strength, Braden.”

Maggie’s voice haunted him every waking minute. He’d been a protector before and done a poor enough job of it. If he had any sense, he’d run and leave this foolish little woman to fend for herself. She appeared ill equipped for the rugged life of Alaska. Frail and withdrawn, too thin, too pale, afraid of her own shadow, she didn’t even have the sense to feed herself. Easing his shoulders flat against the wall, Braden admitted her reasons didn’t matter. She wanted him to stay—he’d stay.

A heavy, black braid rested over her shoulder and reached down long enough to curl in at her feet in front of her drawn-up knees. Her eyes, black as midnight, were pretty, but her lids looked heavy, as if she were near collapse. She had a faint upward slant to her eyes and a dark complexion, lightened by the pallor of a woman who avoided the outdoors, like his Maggie had. Even with her father there to protect her, any fool could see she wouldn’t survive an Alaskan winter.

Braden clenched his jaw to keep from telling her just that. Instead, he settled in close and pulled Ian’s letter out of the pocket of his heavy, well-lined buckskin coat. Then he began to pick up the conversation they’d been having before Stucky’s interruption.

“My brother and his wife live upstream, east of Skaguay.” Braden extended the letter to Amy.

She smoothed back the sheet of white paper. Its crinkle sounded civilized against the huffing of the steam engine and the rough voices and clomping feet of the passing men.

Stucky leaned forward, as if trying to sneak a peek at the letter. Braden couldn’t imagine why unless he thought they had a treasure map leading straight to a mountain of pure gold. Well, let the man look. He’d soon see it was no such thing.

Amy jerked her chin up, and her huge, dark eyes lit with interest. “This is very close to where my father lives. I will be going this way out of Skaguay. I can guide you.”

Braden stifled a sigh. Aye, and he could do all the work so she didn’t get her lily white hands dirty and carry her so she didn’t stub her toe. Dandy. “Sure, we can travel together. I’ll see you to your da’s house; then you can get me headed in the right direction for my brother’s claim.”

Amy smiled, her straight white teeth shining. She looked little all over, more than half a foot shorter than his six feet one, with fine-boned hands, and a stubborn chin under that pretty smile.

For a second, Braden forgot what a burden she would be. But then he remembered Maggie’s smile and knew what lay ahead. With a sigh, he swallowed his irritation. Sure, and he’d deliver the lass to her father because it was his Christian duty. And he’d use the burdensome chore as a reminder, every step of the way, that a man paid too great a price for trying to be someone else’s strength.

❧

Someone walked her way on the deck in the dark. Amy’d expected him to come. With a twinge of shame, she thought of how weak she’d been since the accident. But despite her shame, pleasure stole into her heart and raised her spirits. She looked up to see Braden with a plate of those awful beans.

He crouched beside her and handed her the plate, then scooted around to block the wind with his broad shoulders.

“You did not need to do this, Mr. Rafferty.” Amy scooped the first bite in her mouth, feeling as if she’d been given a gift.

“It isn’t right for you to fight your way though that rabble.” Braden pulled his hat low over his eyes. “Although, I ’spect I qualify as rabble myself.”

Amy grinned as she chewed the bland meal.

His eyes were shaded by his hat, but he must have seen her smile because one shoulder hunched.

She swallowed. “The wind is kind tonight. You do not have to shelter me. Go ahead and rest your back against the wall.”

Turning her attention back to the plate, she ate quietly for a while before he finally slid down to sit on the deck.

As they sat there in the full dark, a long, thin ray of green light climbed in the sky. Amy sighed.

“Sure and the sunset is giving us quite a painting to watch tonight,” Braden said, easing his shoulders and shifting a bit so there was only an inch between them.

The lilt to his voice was pleasant to Amy’s ears. “It is not the sunset. That is past. Rather it is
gis’óok
.”

“What?” Braden lifted his hat with his thumb.

“Uh, I mean it is the Northern Lights, a miraculous moving night sky.” Feeling as though she were a liar, Amy didn’t explain the native words she’d learned from her mother’s people. She knew Braden wouldn’t care that she was of another nationality than he. Or did she? Father had seemed so sure her Tlingit and Russian blood would set her apart. Being set apart from the gold-seeking madmen would be glorious. She clenched her jaw to keep from speaking about the Tlingit legends surrounding the gis’óok.

Braden sat up straight. “I’ve heard of these lights. This is the first night I’ve come out on deck after dark. It seems like the night drives a man to bed. But I saw you’d missed the meal again, so I came up here lookin’ for you.”

Amy turned away from the growing light show and smiled. “Thank you.”

He tipped his hat at the sky. “That’s the Northern Lights, heh?”

“It is said that you can see them in Seattle, but where I lived in the city there were street lights, and many children to put to bed at the time I would normally gaze at the sky.”

“Where’s that?”

“The Child of God Mission.” A streak of red slowly lifted alongside the green. “Ah, God hangs a curtain of crimson beside the green tonight. Far more often it is shades of green and white. The color of flame is a rare gift.”

Braden stiffened a bit, and Amy wondered if she’d said something wrong. She chose to be still rather than make it worse.

“So you think God goes to the bother of giving us pretty colors in the night sky, do you?”

Amy nearly flinched at his bitterness. Unsure how to answer, she silently watched the colors climb and fade, new ones following old, each a different color, some bright, some so faint they were barely visible.

The lights soothed her soul. At last, into the glorious, colorful darkness, Amy said, “I think God set the world into motion. He made the dark and the light, the rain and the clear sky. I believe in Jesus to protect my soul but I think God expects me to use the intelligence He gave me to protect my life. He lets the world work as it would, and He gives us the sense and strength to survive in it.”

“Or not survive.”

“I cannot argue with what you say. There was no one stronger than my mother. No one more equipped to handle the rugged land and more wise in its ways. And still, she fell on a narrow trail crossing one of her beloved mountains and broke her leg. She, who had never been sick, caught the fever and died. So yes, some don’t survive.”

“How long ago did she die?”

Amy turned and saw that Braden watched her, not the sky. “I was twelve summers. I wanted to stay and care for my father and stay in my land. But Papa would not hear of it. He needed to be gone for long weeks in the winter, running his trap lines, collecting the furs that supported us. He said the loneliness of our remote cabin would drive me mad—if it did not kill me.”

Braden nodded. “Your father sounds like a wise man.”

“He said it was the most painful thing he had ever lived through save the death of my mother. At the time, I only saw it as losing the only person alive whom I loved.” Amy looked away from Braden to watch the sky and hide tears. “If my grandfather had still lived, he would have come. Together, we might have been able to convince Papa to let me stay. But Grandfather had died by then. When I left, I felt torn away from life as surely as if my heart had been ripped out of my chest.”

Silence settled, and Amy decided Braden would say no more to her.

Just as she’d have turned away to watch the sky, he said, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that happened to you, Amy.”

The mystical lights rained down from above. Their eyes met. An eternity stretched between them.

Braden leaned toward her for one confusing, exciting
moment. A feeling Amy didn’t understand stirred in her chest. Then he jerked back, his expression suddenly as cold as the icebergs that lined the passage through which they traveled.

Braden turned away, his shoulder hitting the wall behind them with a dull thud. Amy didn’t know what to say or do.

Wait on the Lord.

This once, the whisper touched her, and she savored the closeness to God, glad that she wasn’t completely alone in the world. Braden by her side, so distant and quiet, reminded her of just how alone she was. She turned back to her plate and finished the beans quickly, ignoring the spectacular night sky, dim compared to the rainbow of pain arcing across her heart.

The moment Amy had cleaned her plate, Braden took it from her and rose. “I’ll find you here in the morning then.” He walked away quickly, leaving her so alone that the deck took on a menacing feel.

Sitting in her dark, lonely place, she felt the push of fear telling her to go in where there were people. For once, the echoes of God’s guidance weren’t urging her to wait.

She heard a muffled footfall in the direction opposite of the one Braden had gone. Instinct drove her to her feet. Her ribs protested the sudden movement, but she didn’t tarry. She scurried down to the putrid little cabin full of bunks stacked three high, a room she shared with so many others. For once, instead of smothering her, the close quarters offered protection.

Unable to sleep because of the early hour, Amy was glad the cabin window stood open, offering a bit of fresh air that only partially dispelled the miasma of sickness and filth. She watched out that tiny open circle and enjoyed the curtain of light until she fell into a fitful sleep. Footfalls chased her in her dreams, a pursuit that lasted throughout the night.

❧

Faithfully, Braden brought Amy three meals a day, and they ate together on the cold deck. Amy had never spent time with a young man before, and she found she enjoyed visiting with him. They talked of many things, though she noticed he never spoke of his past.

By the time the
Northward
arrived in Skaguay, Amy’s ribs didn’t stab her quite as often. Fatigue still plagued her.
Why didn’t I stay at the mission and heal for a few more weeks?

She’d have been welcome. She even knew God wanted her to take time to rest. But that knowledge hadn’t seemed important. Home would renew her strength, although getting there might well kill her. She had no strength yet, and a long journey lay ahead of her.

The Skaguay dock, from which she’d departed nearly six years ago, shocked her. The sleepy little village of a dozen houses and more dogs than people had turned into a boom-town. Ships lined the narrow pier. The creak of ropes and pulleys off-loading supplies from various vessels blotted out the serene voice of the wilderness. Skaguay loomed ahead of her like an ugly sore on the pristine land.

Amy leaned on the railing along with as many stampeders as could fight their way forward. Ignoring the unwashed bodies and rough voices that surrounded her, she fought back tears at the destruction of her beautiful Alaska.

She thought of her mother. Harmony had existed between Yéil Simonovich and the wilderness. Alaska, a land of abundant food and fuel, its beauty stretching so high and wide it seemed eternal, looked like an extension of heaven. The territory stretched in all directions so vast Amy had believed everyone could come, and there would still be room for more.

She was wrong. It was ruined.

Touching a hand to her trembling lips, Amy watched in silence as the
Northward
inched its way to the dock. The stampeders surged forward, jostling Amy, making her grateful for her nearly healed ribs. A heavy hand seemed to settle on her back, although she felt certain the touch wasn’t personal. For an instant, Amy remembered that busy Seattle street and the careless shoving hands accompanied by cruel laughter that had sent her tumbling into the path of a carriage.

Amy grabbed the waist-high railing. A fall over the side would be fatal with the distance to plummet and the heavy drag of the
Northward
pulling water beneath it as it inched along. Amy turned sideways, determined to force her way back from the rail.

She looked up into the eyes of a man she’d caught watching her from a distance several times. That alone didn’t surprise her. A lot of men watched her. They watched all the women. But this one’s eyes had been sharper than most, with something in them different than that male gleam a woman came to recognize.

Had he been the one pushing on her? A shudder began deep inside as she thought of the long fall to certain death.

“Miss Simons?” The man touched the brim of his slouching brown hat. It might have been a cowboy hat at one time, but it had been battered until it sagged over his ears and only curved in the crown because his head held it in place. He seemed to be shoved forward at the mercy of the pack.