Where Heaven Begins (9 page)

E
lizabeth lifted her skirts slightly as she hurriedly made her way across the street on wooden planks that had been put down to create pathways at frequent intervals all along the muddy thoroughfare of Skagway. Getting across safely was yet another feat. There was a constant flow of traffic, people, horses, wagons, dogs and sleds.

“Looks like it’s blowin’ up a good one in the passes,” she heard a man comment. She glanced at him, then looked in the direction he was looking. Snow was visible in the higher mountains, which reminded her that it was becoming dangerously late for making it to Dawson.

Once she got some food for Clint, she really needed to
get out today and find someone with whom she could travel safely…and leave soon. Clint was too sick for it, and he’d already made it clear that he did not intend to take her any farther himself. Besides, now he was too sick to leave any time soon.

She made her way past men of such diverse looks and clothing that she wondered if there might be a sampling of every human male on earth right here in Skagway. Some wore neat suits and top hats and were clean-shaven; others sported the bristle of a few days without a shave while yet more sported full-grown beards and mustaches. Many wore soiled, tattered clothing; while most wore the common clothing of the everyday prospector: dark woolen pants, plaid shirts, vests and jackets, woolen caps with ear flaps, most wearing leather boots, some wearing shoes with steel cleats, and some wearing simple canvas shoes. Most were courteous, a few made unmentionable remarks that she ignored, and nearly all eyed her curiously.

She entered the restaurant, where tables full of men stared as she walked through to the back to ask a very tired-looking waitress for some food to take to “a sick friend.”

The waitress, whom Elizabeth had never seen before in the establishment, looked her over disdainfully. “Lady, can’t you see how busy I am serving the customers out there? You want special service? Go talk to the owner.” She nodded toward a gray-haired man who was giving orders to a cook.

Determined not to be intimidated by the rude waitress, Elizabeth walked up to the owner with the same request.

“It’ll cost you a dollar,” the man grumped.

“A dollar! That’s outrageous!”

The man grinned through yellow teeth. “Honey, it ain’t outrageous in Skagway! You think I was dumb enough to come here for
gold?
” He leaned closer, his breath atrocious. “I’m makin’
my
money off all the
rest
that’s come here for gold! A man’s got to eat, don’t he?” He chuckled and straightened. “Besides, yer askin’ for somethin’ extra. Now, do you want what you asked for, or not?”

Elizabeth reminded herself that even this repulsive man who was literally stealing from everyone in his restaurant was a child of God. “Fine,” she answered, digging into her skirt pocket. She handed him two fifty-cent pieces. “Please hurry. My friend has been very sick and hasn’t eaten in two or three days.”

The man shrugged and shouted an order to another cook. Both cooks were women who looked quite harried and overworked. The owner looked at Elizabeth again. “You make sure I get back my dishes and the tray,” he told her. “I’ll come lookin’ for ya’ if ya’ don’t.” He grinned. “You wouldn’t be holed up at some whorehouse, would you?”

Elizabeth stiffened. “I’m at Wheeler’s Hotel,” she answered curtly. “And you needn’t worry. You’ll get your tray back, although for a whole dollar, I should get to keep it!”

Regretting her sharp tongue, she stood back and waited, noticing filth on the floor and hoping that after being so sick, Clint would not end up dying from eating the food she brought back to him. Minutes later one of the cooks arranged the food on a plate and set it on a tray, covering it with a towel. She then poured coffee into a pewter pot and set the pot and a tin cup on the tray. “Here you go, ma’am,” the woman told her.

“Thank you, and God bless you,” Elizabeth answered, feeling sorry for the overworked woman. The cook just stared at her a moment, obviously surprised at her last remark. She smiled. “Why, thank you,” she told Elizabeth. “That’s a nice thing to say.”

Elizabeth took the tray, smiling in return, and feeling better that she’d said something kind rather than let the owner make her rude to everyone else. She left, thinking how people and places like this were such a test of one’s faith and one’s desire to be kind to others.

She made her way to the hotel and after briefly relating Clint’s condition to Mr. Wheeler she entered the storeroom.

“Here you are!” she told Clint as she set the tray on the only table in the room. “I have eggs and ham and biscuits and coffee! It cost me a whole dollar, but you need to start eating.” She turned to face him. “I think you’ll—” She did not finish her sentence. There sat Clint Brady, with a look on his face she couldn’t even read, a brown bottle in his hand. He held it up.

“How about a toast, Miss Christian-Holier-than-Thou Breckenridge? What does your Bible say about a woman drinking whiskey? Jesus drank wine, I think, didn’t He?” He chuckled. “Maybe He wasn’t so perfect after all.” He waved her over. “Come on. Take a swig. This stuff will cure anything that ails you. I drink enough of this and I’ll be back to my old self within twenty-four hours.”

Elizabeth’s heart fell. “I just spent a whole dollar on you, Clint Brady, and I come back to find you
drunk!
”

He winked at her. “Don’t worry. I’ll eat the food, soon as I finish this bottle.”

Elizabeth felt like crying. “You can finish it alone, Mr. Brady, and if you do, I highly doubt you will be one-hundred-percent cured by tomorrow. It is more likely you’ll hardly be able to get out of bed!”

He laughed again. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you? What the heck does it take to get you to loosen up, Miss God’s-Gift-to-the-World?”

“Certainly not whiskey! And no, I
don’t
have the answer for everything. I don’t have an answer for why you behave the way you do.” She folded her arms, struggling to control her fury and deciding to say something that would wipe the drunken smile off his face. “One thing I don’t know is—who is Jenny? You called me Jenny a couple of times while you were your sickest. Was she your wife, Clint? What happened to her?”

The remark certainly
did
wipe the smile off his face—to a greater extent than she’d thought it would. The smile turned to a grim look, his blue eyes suddenly looking much darker. “Get out!” he told her. “Get out of here before I knock you clear out the back door!”

He rose, making ready to come for her, and Elizabeth backed away. The anger in his eyes was unnerving. She grasped the door handle, but before Clint could reach her he wavered, then fell flat on his face.

C
lint awoke to a raging headache. Unaware at first of where he was, he rolled onto his back and rubbed his forehead, finding there a swollen knot. He squinted with pain, taking a moment to think. The room was dark except for an oil lamp burning low.

Skagway. He was in Skagway…and he’d been so sick he’d wanted to die. The darkness could mean practically any time of day, since daylight hours were getting shorter and shorter this time of year. Was it morning or evening? With a groan he sat up, running his hands through his hair, which he realized was getting long. He scratched at his face and frowned at the long stubble there.

He took a deep breath, thinking more, looking around the room. He spotted a brown bottle nearby. That was when
it hit him. Whiskey! He’d drunk practically that whole bottle of whiskey! It wasn’t a big bottle, but big enough. No wonder he felt so lousy. And he remembered something about food…Elizabeth…she’d brought him food…said something about paying a whole dollar for it.

He managed to get to his knees, then realized he’d been lying on the floor. He stood up and stumbled back to the bed. He sat down on it and looked at the floor, groaning. Had he passed out in front of Elizabeth Breckenridge?

He shook his head and ran his hands through his hair yet again. It all came back to him, and he moaned. What had he done? After all Elizabeth had done for him, and he’d threatened to clobber her! What kind of man had he become?

He walked over to the little table where the oil lamp sat, and he turned it up so he could see the room better. On the stove sat a tin plate with food on it, and a pewter coffeepot. He walked closer to see that the tray held eggs and ham, although quite dried out now. Elizabeth must have put the food there to keep it warm for him…and after he’d as much as cussed her out and chased her out of here. He checked the coffeepot and found it full, and still hot from sitting on the little potbelly stove, which she must have stoked with wood before leaving.

He glanced at the bed and saw that the sheets had been changed. Everything was clean and neat…kind of like Jenny used to take care of things. Clean clothes were laid out for him. For God’s sake, had she gone and had his clothes washed?

A further glance around the room showed that all of Elizabeth’s things were gone. Hadn’t he told her to get a
room of her own? She must have done so, which would probably cost her more than this back room had. Or maybe she’d found someone to take her on to Dawson.

No! He couldn’t let her do that! There wasn’t a man in this town who could be trusted to take her alone on a long trip like that. But then, maybe he couldn’t even trust himself under the same circumstances. Apparently not, judging by his most recent behavior.

Never had he felt like such a complete ass. His aching head made him want to lie back down for several more hours, but he had to do something about this mess. He needed to apologize to Elizabeth. He needed to find out if she’d already left for Dawson. If so, he had to go after her and order her to go with no one but him.

He felt as if someone had beat him near to death and dragged him behind a horse for a few miles, but he was better and could do the rest of his healing on the journey. There was no time to be wasted! What was the date? How late was too late to head for Dawson? Were the horses he’d boarded still all right? For all he knew they’d been sold out from under him, or stolen.

The last few days were like a nightmare of sickness and dizziness and being hardly aware of where he was or what was going on around him. Then he’d had to go and drink that whiskey, thinking it would cure what was left of his pneumonia. Thing was, he’d drank it for another reason, like he always did—to forget. Forget. Forget. Whiskey eased the pain in his heart, but then sometimes it only made things worse, so he’d drink till he passed out. When a man was that far gone, he couldn’t think about anything at all.

Now he did have to think! He was a mess, needed a shave, needed to change, needed to go find Elizabeth, needed to apologize, needed to get a map showing the best route to Dawson, needed to get the proper supplies, needed to go claim his horses…and he’d practically forgotten about Roland Fisher! The man was worth five thousand dollars!

This sickness had put him behind on everything and had shown him up to be a weak man in front of Elizabeth. He’d sure never let that happen again! What must she think of him!

Quickly he turned and scarfed down the dried, rubbery eggs and ham and toast, washing all of that down with the coffee that had become strong from sitting so long. There, that felt better. He took a porcelain bowl from a shelf, along with a towel and some bar soap and poured water from a kettle into the bowl.

He undressed and began vigorously washing himself, then rummaged through his things to find his shaving mug, brush and razor. A mirror hung on the wall near the door, so he moved the small table there so he could shave, wincing when he nicked his jaw. He washed his face again, then put on the clothes Elizabeth left out for him. He picked up his comb and walked back to the mirror, combing back his disheveled hair as best he could, thinking how he’d better get it cut before he left for Dawson. Then again, why bother? On a trip like that a man might as well not worry about shaving or cutting his hair until he arrived at his destination.

He walked to the back door to check the temperature outside. Cool and rainy. Could he have expected anything else? Seemed more like late evening than morning. He scurried to the privy to take care of personals, then went
back inside and took his fur-lined suede jacket from a hook. Under the jacket hung his gun belt and six-gun. Deciding not to wear those just now, he pulled on his jacket, then drank down more coffee to help sober himself more before going through the door that led to the hotel lobby. The manager was at his desk.

“Wheeler, isn’t it?” he spoke up, walking up to the man.

“Well, Mr. Brady! You’re looking quite a bit better! Glad to see you up and around! Did you enjoy the food Miss Breckenridge brought you yesterday?”

“Yesterday?” Elizabeth must not have said anything to the man about his being drunk. “Yes. It really hit the spot,” he answered. “Can you tell me what time it is? And where is Miss Breckenridge now? Her things are gone.”

“Yes! I finally had a decent room open up.” He winked. “I think she was happy to get a room of her own. She seems like such a nice young lady.”

Clint’s feelings of guilt kept getting worse. “Yes, she is. Which room is hers?”

“Well, it’s upstairs—first door on the right, but she’s not there. She went to get something to eat, and then she wanted to try to find someone who might accompany her to Dawson. I told her about a town meeting just up the street where men are gathered to learn more about the trip. But I also tried to tell her there are few men in this town she could trust. She insisted—”

Clint did not wait to hear the rest of the man’s sentence. He hurried out the door to find Elizabeth.