Snow Angel (18 page)

“No, I came on my own, but she was worried about you. She and Will both. She had her baby the day after you left. A girl.”

Elizabeth beamed. “Oh, Will must be so proud. Is Cara well? Did she have any trouble?” She shook her head, still clinging to his arm in a way that made him want to wrap himself around her. “Oh, you probably wouldn't know all those details.”

“As a matter of fact,” he said, gritting, “I delivered the baby.”

Her eyes grew round. “What?”

Noah shrugged. “Will was gone, looking for you. We couldn't find a doctor in time. I'd just arrived to … see you and found the post locked up. After breaking down the door, I found Cara trying to deliver the little package all on her own. There wasn't time to do anything but help.”

Her shoulders slumped as she looked into the water. “It's my fault. Will would have been there if I hadn't left.”

Noah laughed. “It was a good thing Will wasn't there. If I remember right, he wasn't her favorite person at the time.” When Elizabeth looked confused, he changed the subject. “Elizabeth, why did you leave so suddenly?”

She turned her head away. “I … I had a chance to join
Charlie McKay's party and I took it. You know all I ever really wanted was to come here … to be a part of this.”

“Yes, but I thought we had an agreement. I thought you were going to prospect my land with me.” He thought of Mary-Margaret and said his next thoughts out loud. “This isn't any place for a woman.”

She turned on him. He should have expected it by now, but it came like a surprise attack. “I've just as much right to be here as anyone. I deserve a chance.” Then she spoke fiercer, to match the fire in her eyes, “I deserve a chance.” She looked down, shaking, then back up at him. “Why don't you just admit it—
you
don't want to be here. I didn't ask you to come for me, Noah.”

Her gaze locked onto his. What he read in her eyes he could no longer endure. All the pent-up fears and frustrations of the past month exploded inside him. Reaching out, he pulled her to him and lowered his head. With an urgency born of desperation to reach her, to show her, he kissed her like he'd dreamed of kissing her for so long. Noah forgot the river, the raft, the night sun twinkling at them, the mountains, the land … his land even … he forgot everything except the woman in his arms. He drowned himself in the taste and feel and touch of her. It was like coming home—to an explosion.

When he finally lifted his head and looked into her eyes, she flushed and sighed softly, “Oh.”

Noah's voice was firm. “I'll take you to Dawson City. But after you've had your fill of this blasted gold mining notion, I'm taking you home—as my wife.”

She looked blankly at him for a moment, myriad emotions playing over her features. Finally, her face grew hard. “No,” she said simply.

Noah was stunned. “No? Just … no?”

“I can't marry you, Noah.”

He took hold of her shoulders, gripping them firmly so that she had to look up at him. “Why? Tell me why not.” Softer, pleading, he demanded, “Tell me you don't love me.” His throat tightened as he watched her struggle with the question.

She looked away. “I'm … Noah, I'm already married.” She looked back into his eyes, her face hardened now. “That man, Ross Brandon, the one looking for me. He's my husband. I … I lied about my name being Smith. It's been many things, but never Smith.”

The air whooshed out of him as though he'd been punched. His stomach rolled, the crumbling of his heart overshadowing it all. Noah wished he
had
been punched. God help him, he was in love with a married woman.

* * *

ELIZABETH FELT SICK. She watched his face turn ashen before he dropped his hold on her and turned away. Turning away herself, she fought back tears. It was better this way. He had a right to someone better. She wouldn't let him be destroyed.

“Why?” he croaked out. “Why didn't you tell me? And why aren't you with him?”

Her emotions switched off and the lies came easy. “I've been running away from him. He beat me … and more. I didn't think he would follow me here,” her voice dropped, “but he has.”

Noah turned around. “Elizabeth, why didn't you tell me all this?”

“Why? What can you do? You can't save me this time, Noah Wesley. If he comes for me—and he will, I know that now—there's nothing you can do about it.” She turned her back on him, burning her safety net and knowing it, but there was no other way. It was the only decent thing she had ever done in her life. She would save Noah from herself if it killed her. And it very well might.

The silence was stifling on the little raft as the night hastened on. Elizabeth didn't know if she could endure it any longer. She shivered and hugged herself and adjusted her sitting position. It was a tranquil stretch of the journey. Silt from the Teslin River slipped into the water, giving it a low, hissing sound that droned in the background. They sat in stillness, bathed in the long twilight, filled and straining with longing toward one another. It lent an eerie feel to the journey, as though the torturous silence would go on forever and the combined aching of their hearts would never stop.

“It's getting cool. Why don't you put on your coat?”

His voice was so deep, struck such a chord within her, that she closed her eyes and inhaled, soaking it in. Finally, she managed, “It's not among my things. I must have left it behind.”

She heard him stir and then felt a blanket being wrapped around her shoulders. She turned her head slowly to look at him and felt such sadness, saw only sadness in his eyes. On a breath she said. “If you would get angry and shout at me, it would make this easier.”

“I
am
angry. You should have told me, then maybe I wouldn't have …”

“Wouldn't have what?”

He shook his head. “It doesn't matter. It probably wouldn't have made any difference.” He motioned toward the lean-to. “Why don't you get some sleep. We're on calm water now, but there are bound to be more rapids. I'll wake you then.”

Elizabeth shook her head and looked into his tired eyes, seeing his wretchedness. “I couldn't sleep. Why don't you rest, and I'll keep watch.”

Noah ran a hand through his hair. “You sure?”

She nodded.

After he lay down she said softly, “Noah?”

“Yeah?”

“I guess you'll head back home at the first camp we get to?”

He lifted his head and rested it against his palm. After a moment's hesitation, he said, “I'll see you to Dawson City first. I don't want you going alone.”

She tried to express her gratefulness. She tried to make herself turn around and tell him the truth—all of it. Instead, she just stared out at the dark water and forced the tears to remain behind the knot in her throat.

* * *

Dawson City. Nestled in forested hills, it was the noisi est, muddiest, most crowded place Noah had ever seen. The waterfront was packed with every kind of floatable craft imaginable, most for sale, having reached their destination. The beaches were covered with hundreds of tents, flags of the unlucky, unable to get their hands on a claim.

He was dumbfounded, shaking his head in wonder at the extremes. Beggars rubbed shoulders with the newly rich and their fancy clothes and weighted pockets. A man in a pristine suit and bowler hat walked among the crowd, hawking The Palace Grand, boasting it was so large it could sleep 2,200 people, its accommodations so lavish you would forget your wretched journey, its pillows so soft you were guaranteed only dreams of gold. Signs lined the sides of buildings, depicting a variety of amusements to waylay the loneliness, giving prospectors reason to spend their gold as fast as they could pan it from the icy streambeds. There were gambling halls and dance halls, such as the Monte Carlo where men could buy a dance for a dollar. On the racier side was an area called Paradise Alley that housed prostitutes in what was called the “Dawson
cribs.” Noah would have to be sure to steer Elizabeth away from there before her natural curiosity demanded she take a look.

Nicknamed “Paris of the North,” Dawson was no ordinary tent town.

Noah knew lonely men were easily drawn to the base entertainments. Those prone to gamble could wager on dogfights, a badger fight, or prize fighting. The resistant could join a social club or pay dearly for a play or local musical evening sponsored by one of the hotels. Dawson could boast a certain amount of culture, and yet it all had
bite
to it. Dawson City was a gutsy town, made up of the kind of men and woman who dared a man-eating trail to get to it.

“Have you ever seen anything like it?” Elizabeth turned toward him, her eyes dancing with excitement. They were standing in a long line at the Canadian Registry Office to register her a claim. Noah felt the familiar pain in his chest when she smiled at him like that. They'd called a forced truce for the rest of the river journey and hadn't mentioned her circumstances again, but Noah thought of little else. He hoped it would get easier to breathe once he was away from her and back home. And he could have left her by now, should have, but he just couldn't leave her to that man. He had to be there when Ross came for her—even though he was afraid of what he might do to him when they came face to face.

After a lengthy wait, they drew up to the window of a tall, thin, balding man with round spectacles who directed his questions to Noah.

“Name?”

“Elizabeth Smith,” she answered.

“And your husband's name?” the man asked pointedly.

“He isn't my husband, and I'd like to file a claim in my name, if you please. It's Elizabeth Smith.”

“Very well. I'll tell you what I've told the last fifty people. There are no claims left to be had, miss.”

Noah watched her face fall.

“Nothing? Nothing at all?”

The man looked genuinely sorry for her as he shook his head, his white bushy eyebrows raised almost to his hairline.

She looked down at her hands for a long moment and then back up at the man. Tears glistened in her eyes as she gazed up at him and said in a choked voice, “But I've come so far … I can't just give up. Please, do you know of anything?”

The man was obviously distressed and some sixth sense told Noah to keep quiet. He watched Elizabeth blink hard as a single tear raced down her cheek. The man pulled his pristine white collar away from his throat. Elizabeth just stood there, rooted to the ground gazing at him. Finally, he cleared his throat and fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief. Handing it to her, he leaned down and whispered, “There is a claim that was just vacated. I bought it myself and was planning to sell it to a friend of mine. It's on Bonanza Creek but … I will let you have it for seventy-five dollars.”

Elizabeth gasped. “Bonanza Creek? Isn't that where they first struck it rich?”

“Yes ma'am. One of the first places. Like I said, I was saving it for a friend of mine, and he'll likely have my neck if he learns I've sold it, but … if you have the cash, you can own it.”

Elizabeth gave the man such a blindingly joyous smile through her tears that he flushed. She quickly pulled out the bills and counted them into the man's palm. There were
fifty-four dollars and some change in all. Noah wordlessly added the rest. Elizabeth handed over the money, saying, “Thank you, sir. Thank you.”

Noah could only shake his head at her, convinced the man would have done just about anything for a pretty woman in tears. Turning her, he led her away with his hand in the small of her back. Once outside, he turned her around and looked into her sparkling eyes. “Happy?” he asked.

She smiled up at him with elation in her eyes. “I have a claim! Can you believe it? I'm so happy I could do a jig right here in the street.” Grasping hold of his upper arm she squeezed it and demanded, “Let's go see it.”

“It may not be much,” he warned.

“It will be perfect,” she returned solidly.

Nothing, not even sound reasoning could daunt her enthusiasm. She was convinced she would strike it rich. He sighed. “All right, let's go have a look.”

Number 17 on Bonanza Creek was the standard size of 500 yards and positioned parallel to the stream. It looked as if it had already been dug up, several times in fact, and had the beginnings of a shaft showing in several different places. There were mounds of black earth waiting to be washed and a broken-down lean-to at the top of a rise. Noah thought he could make it into a small one-room cabin if he could find the lumber. People were breaking up their boats for lumber, but Noah didn't want to do that. What he wouldn't give to own a lumber mill in this town.

Elizabeth was busy unpacking. “I know, I know, it doesn't look like much,” she said over her shoulder, “but we're really lucky.” She pointed toward the muddy water. “See that sandbar?”

Noah walked over to the edge of the grassy bank and looked at the stream of water before him—it looked the same as a thousand others he'd seen before, but he didn't say so. “Yes, I see it.”

She grinned good-naturedly at his lack of enthusiasm. “Gold collects in spots like that. A bend in the stream, low gravel banks. It's a good sign, very promising.”

Noah couldn't resist asking, “If it's such a good claim, why isn't someone already mining it?”

She shrugged, undaunted. “Who knows? It appears that whoever had this claim before didn't know what they were doing. They couldn't decide where to sink the shaft and, in my opinion, should have been concentrating on the streambed.”

“Maybe they did that first and, finding nothing, decided to try farther up the bank.” He took a heavily packed bedroll out of her hands while he talked and carried it to where he thought he would build their camp. He was still unpacking when, moments later, he heard her squeal.

Running down to the raft, he stopped short in amazement. She had the back hem of her skirt pulled up between her legs and tucked into the front of her waistband, revealing white calves. Her little black boots were completely submerged. Noah made a mental note to buy her some good mukluks—knee-high, sealskin, waterproof boots—next time he went to Dawson. She was swirling a gold-pan. Looking up, a thick wave of black hair hanging in her face, she shouted, “Come see! I've found a nugget.”

Noah shook his head and smiled as he sloshed into the river. Standing next to her, he looked into her open palm. There, lying in the middle, was a small, yellowish rock. He raised his eyes to her excited face. “This is it, isn't it?” he asked softly.
“This is what you really want.” For the first time, it truly sunk in just how much this meant to her.

Her hand closed tightly over the nugget. “Yes,” she said fiercely, “this is what I want.”

As he stared at her radiant face, he felt the last grains of hope slip away. What was he doing here? Was he going to build her a cabin? He was just making excuses to stay indefinitely. Abruptly, he turned away and walked up the slope to start supper. He had to leave soon. Ross Brandon was her husband, and there wasn't a thing he could do about that.

* * *

ELIZABETH WATCHED HIM go, confused. He had been so nice. After that first awful day and night, he had acted like a friend, and she needed a friend. Why did he have to blame her for wanting gold? She was far from the only one. Sighing, she carefully wrapped the nugget in her handkerchief and stuffed it into a pocket in her dress. Bending down, she scooped up some of the sandbar into her pan and started swirling it around and around, just barely submerged in the water, until all the sand and light rock had washed away leaving the heavier rock at the bottom. She poked around at the rocks and debris in the bottom of the pan, searching for golden flakes or, better, nuggets. It was an art, panning, and it had come right back to her. The cold water swished over her reddening hands. The flat, shallow pan, as wide as her hips, grew heavy. She could feel the familiar ache in her back, arms, and neck and knew her whole body would be tired and sore tonight. At least she still had a partner who could cook her a decent supper. She really did need to learn to cook.

By the end of the afternoon, she was weary and feeling a little defeated. It would take her a year to sift through all that sand and dirt alone with a pan. She needed a sluice or at least a rocker to speed up the process. The only problem was, she couldn't operate one alone. Maybe she could persuade Noah to stay until the twins arrived. They didn't know the first thing about mining and would probably be glad to share her claim since she'd likely gotten the only one around. She grimaced inwardly, thinking that then she would have to make them partners, as she couldn't afford to pay them the average dollar-a-day wage for hired help. Hopefully, there would be more than enough wealth to go around.

It was dusk when she finally dragged herself to the camp Noah had set up. The lean-to was repaired and all of her supplies organized underneath it, with her bedroll laid out and ready for sleep. His bedroll lay to the other side, a respectable distance away. Both bedrolls had a pile of gauzy mosquito netting next to them and two tall, whittled sticks—one at the head and one at the foot—to form the bones of a tent. A brisk fire blazed, and the smell of dinner made her stomach remind her just how hungry hard work made her. Noah ignored her after he handed her a plate of what miners called the three B's: beans, bacon, and bread. But she was too tired to try and sweet-talk him out of his mood. As soon as she finished eating, Elizabeth fell into her bedroll and drifted into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

SHE WOKE TO the first threads of daylight and the sounds of Noah packing. Panic assailed her. “Where … where are you going?”

He shrugged, not meeting her eyes. “The lean-to is fixed up. You will have to get someone to build a cabin if you plan to stay here all winter, but the lean-to will get you through the summer.”

She stepped closer to him, tentatively touching him on the shoulder. When he turned and looked into her eyes, she saw a momentary flash of pain. Then his eyes shuttered and he stated briskly, “I need to get home.”

Her arm dropped to her side. What could she say to convince him to stay? In his eyes she was a married woman. She reminded herself why it had to be that way, why she couldn't let him see her true feelings. “Noah, I …” She faltered, not wanting to beg him. “I know you have little interest in gold mining, but couldn't you stay until the twins arrive? I plan to offer them a partnership; but until they get here, I could really use the help.”

Noah shook his head. “I can't.”

Elizabeth could sense how badly he wanted to say yes. Pressing, she found herself pleading. “It would only be for a few days. I'm sure they are close behind us. And, Noah, you said you wanted to learn how to pan. I could teach you. Then, when you get home, you could prospect your land.” She held her breath, waiting.

He looked torn, in anguish. “Elizabeth, you don't know what you're asking. It's killing me … being with you like this.”

Raw pain shone from his eyes, making Elizabeth's heart ache. She could not make herself drag him into the mistakes she'd made. Resolved, she took both his hands into hers and pressed her fingers into his palms; even now, torn with so many emotions, the feel of his strong hands making her breathe differently, she
willed him to hear her sincerity. “You must go, of course. It was wrong of me to keep you here so long. I'll be fine.”

He looked so undecided, so ravaged.

She looked into those clear blue eyes, not as steady or peaceful as when she'd first met him, knowing she was the cause of that. “I'm sorry, Noah. For everything.” She had never meant anything more, but the words seemed too little. How did one tell a man he had opened her eyes to a new world? That he had made her see mankind in a new light. That now she had hope for the side of good. A tear rose, unbidden, and she fought it. Now was not the time to soften; she must be firm and resolved for them both.

His jaw flexed and anger blazed from those brilliant blue eyes. “What will you do … when he comes? What will
he
do, Elizabeth? Will he take you against your will? Will he drag you back to wherever he's from and force a life upon you that steals your soul? Tell me, Elizabeth … what will you do if I leave?”

“I have a gun.” The words popped out softly and she hadn't even realized her plan until she said them.

“You'd kill him, then?”

“If I have to. I won't go back with him.”

“No. I won't allow you to become a murderess. You couldn't live with it—not with everything else you're carrying.”

She wasn't sure what he meant, but she was sure he believed it. “I can live with it. It would be self-defense and justified.”