Gold Rush Groom

chapter Five





Jack noticed that some of the men brought her a half cup of coffee beans instead of cash, which she collected in a bag on the table. The coins went into a small can. Nala spent her time scouring the ground for any crumbs left by the hungry stampeders. When the second pan was empty she called to the men still waiting in line.

“That’s the lot, gents.”

A groan rose from the line, but they shuffled off.

Lily collected her pot, can and tins. “The board and crates go just there.”

Jack disassembled the makeshift table and followed her inside where Lily divided the remaining dough and greased the pan. She cooked two lovely fat biscuits, offering Jack one. They drank the remains of the coffee black and strong.

Nala sat without begging, which surprised Jack.

“Doesn’t she like biscuits?” he asked.

“I give her all she can eat, once a day.”

“What about table scraps?”

She leveled him with a cool eye that made him pause to wonder what he had said to earn such a look.

“There aren’t any.” As if to prove her point, Lily used her index finger to retrieve all the crumbs from her plate. “I’ve got to go down to collect fares from the arriving ships and you can help me today. Tonight we’ll buy whatever we don’t have and set off tomorrow.”

“What about my gear?”

“Did you meet George?”

Jack nodded.

“I’ll pay him to watch the place. He’ll be happy to have a job that requires only sitting and smoking.”

They were down at the beach a few minutes later. It was a long day, helping men collect their goods and carrying them to the hotel. Lily used Jack like a second pack animal, but he didn’t mind, because the labor kept him from dwelling on the past.

As they took the last man up the hill, Jack caught Lily staring speculatively at him.

“What?” he asked.

“Never expected you to last ’til noon.”

It amused him that as he was judging her, she had been judging him and finding him lacking. Had he improved her opinion of dandies?

“Were you? It’s hard not to judge on what you see,” he said, thinking of himself more than her.

She nodded her agreement at that. “It’s a rare man willing to do a full day’s work. That’s why most of them will fail. They’re better at spending money than making it.”

“Perhaps I’m the exception.”

She grinned and nodded. “I hope so.”

That evening they purchased the foodstuffs they needed and Lily collected her sled. The tent, clothing, snowshoes and food all fitted nicely. His tools and equipment did not. That left over seven hundred pounds. Lily tried several times to get him to leave the “uselessness” behind, but failing that, she rented a pushcart that he could use to the base of the Chilkoot. From there he would have to tote his belongings. Lily sold her tent and contents to George Suffern who had sold his lot to a new arrival, and all was ready for their departure.

Jack slept better the second night, his day’s labors gracing him with a weariness that kept him from both restlessness and dreaming.

Nala woke Jack by stepping on his face and he sat up in time to see Lily’s lovely pale shoulders disappear beneath her shirt. It was a sight he wouldn’t mind seeing each morning. He whistled a tune and rolled his bedding.

“You’re in a fine mood today,” she said, turning toward him as she fastened the last button and drew on her coat.

“Departure day,” he said. “Just happy to be on our way.”

She lifted her eyebrows as if she were not entirely convinced that this accounted for his gaiety. “They say a light heart makes for an easy journey.”

The smile faded from his face. A light heart? His was still heavy with guilt and anger and confusion. Why had his father done it?

“What is it, Jack?”

He shook his head and gave her his back, packing up the last of his gear.

They ate cold biscuits and headed out before dawn, joining the others who set their feet upon the same trail.

Lily seemed in high spirits as she steered Nala through the mud, anxious to get out of town and onto the properly snow-covered ground so the sled would glide. But, though the ground was frozen, the march of many feet kept the ice from the trail. Lily worried aloud about the runners scraping over the rock, but there was nothing to be done about it. Five miles up they reached the first ford on the swift, shallow Dyea River. Lily refused to use the precarious jumble of driftwood and logs, not so much for the shoddy construction, but because the builder, named Finnegan, demanded a toll.

“We’ve been together three days and I’ve yet to see you spend a dime,” said Jack.

“Nor will you until we reach the pass. We’ll need all I’ve made when we get there and at the lakes for boat-building.”

“That’s true.” Jack had exhausted most of his money on the journey and on his gear.

“I’ve been collecting coffee beans for months so I could sell coffee on the way. I figure the snow and the timber for fires if free.” Lily looked uncertain now, hesitant. “Would you like me to help haul our gear across, or will I set a fire and sell coffee to passersby?”

He doubted she could sell much. Men were anxious to be on their way and still fresh from town, but he didn’t say anything that might hurt her feelings. Plus, he thought she’d be more hindrance than help, so he set her off to the opposite side to set up her stand, leaving himself to the important work. He spent the next three hours towing their gear over, one load at a time.

Lily built a little fire and brewed coffee and cooked beans, which she sold for two bits a plate to the passing greenhorns, doing a brisk business. She brought him a portion and he ate it so fast he nearly choked.

“I didn’t think I was hungry.”

She retrieved her plate and patted his cheek before turning back to her fire. When he finished the last load, she scattered the burning logs and they ate what was left of the beans.

The trail up the opposite side of the creek was easy, with only a gentle slope. It did, however, reveal glimpses of the looming range they must breach to attain the interior.

Nala pulled the sled effortlessly, while Jack struggled with the cart as the wheels continually bogged in the soft spots on the trail.

“Someone should throw some gravel in this patch,” he grumbled.

Lily laughed. “Are you going to stay behind and fix the road?”

He shook his head.

“Nor is any man, for it would only make it easier for the next. It’s a race, don’t you know?”

Jack realized she was correct. He was no longer in the theoretical world of textbooks and hypotheses. He was not about to build a model; everything hung on his ability to bring his materials to the gold and put his invention to use. Lily was right. The swiftest would have the best claims. There would be no prize for those who came too late. He knew his history and bore no illusions. The best ground would have been taken before news reached the outside, just like in California. Thank goodness his machine did not depend on his securing a virgin claim, for he did not plan to surface-mine, but instead to tunnel into the frozen earth. If it worked as he intended.

For a time he walked silently, carrying his hopes and doubts. The trail grew far worse, cutting through spruce, hemlock and cottonwood. The narrow path became a tangle of roots, laid bare as skeletal arms by the army of marching feet.

They reached a stretch where Nala could not pull the sled and Jack’s cart became more a hindrance than a help.

So he called a halt. “This is the easy part of the trail?”

Lily said nothing to this, her breath coming in streams of condensation in the cold air.

“We have to portage this part,” he reasoned.

She nodded.

He made the first trip carrying what he estimated to be over a hundred pounds. Nala carried loads of thirty. They inched along, cutting back, retrieving goods, carrying them only as far as they could see the trail. And all the while men streamed past them, making a similar relay. Lily was happy to reach the river once more, where the cart again rolled on the coarse gravel that wound around the enormous boulders.

Glaciers, he realized. Only a massive moving mountain of ice could have set such huge rocks here.

They crossed the river twice more before reaching Pleasant Camp at sunset. Jack’s shirt was soaked with sweat and both he and Lily had wet feet. Even Nala groaned as she settled at her mistress’s side.

The camp was only a grove of a few trees and moss perched on the rocky ground, giving them a place to throw a rope between two spruce trees and hang a bit of canvas. Lily gathered wood and began a fire as Jack reordered their gear.

“Only seven miles today,” Jack said glumly, thinking of the four hundred and ninety-three remaining as he came to sit beside the fire. “I’d hoped to reach Sheep Camp today.”

“And I’d hoped to find gold in this river and save ourselves the journey.”

He stared at her, knowing that he could have made that camp if he’d had a male companion to help with the portages instead of doing the job of two men.

She set about soaking dried peaches as she mixed flour, salt and lard. When she rolled out the dough on a planed plank and set it on her cast-iron skillet he recognized what she was about. Sugar went into the rehydrated peaches, as well as cinnamon. The pie was covered with a second sheet and the dough trimmed and fluted. Finally she covered the skillet and buried it in a bed of coals. Jack’s mouth watered at the aroma. Soon there were thirty men gathered, looking longingly at the skillet.

“Would your wife sell a piece of that pie?” asked one.

Jack was about to correct the man’s assumption and send them off when Lily piped up.

“I’ll be auctioning each piece. There’s eight pieces total.” She eyed the gathering men. “Not enough for all, just like the gold in Dawson.”

The greenhorns began jostling to get a look as Lily scraped the coals off the lid of the Dutch oven and peeked beneath. She shook her head.

“Not yet.”

Jack realized that he would have none of the pie, and he was surprised at how much that disappointed him. He had prepared for hardship and deprivation. But his imagining had not included ignoring the scent of cinnamon and bubbling-hot peaches.

The first slice sold for $6 and the last for $14. Lily had made $76 on one large pie. As the auction winners returned their forks and plates, Jack began to resent that skillet, which he had to carry, but received no benefit from.

Their agreement included her feeding him, but he had not specified what the meal might be. He watched Lily soak a large dried salmon in a pot of water, then add oats and set the whole mess over the coals.

“Nala eats better than we do,” he grumbled

“And she works harder than either of us,” Lily countered, patting her dog. “Now stop sulking.”

Lily took the fist-sized scraps she had trimmed from the pie and pressed them into a rough circle then added a cup of peaches she had set aside. She folded the circle into a crescent and placed the covered skillet back on the coals to cook.

“How much will that go for?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. Would you rather I sell your half, partner?”

He met her gaze and found her eyes twinkling. They shared a smile.

Lily shook her head in mock admonishment. “Men are all alike.”

“I just wanted a bite.”

She reached out and stroked his hand. “And you shall have it and half the money from the pie, or we can pool it for supplies.”

Before he could stop himself, he had grasped her fingers. She was not quick enough to escape him. The tingling awareness flared again. He leaned forward.

“They thought you were my wife,” he said, finding his voice low and gruff.

“Let them. It will keep them from all manner of foolishness on the trail.” She glanced at her hand, still captured by his, and then at her skillet. “The turnover will burn.”

Jack didn’t care. He wanted to pull her into his lap, bend her over his arm and kiss those red lips. He leaned forward.

“Jack. Let go.”

He did and she went about as if nothing had happened. But her cheeks flushed and her nostrils flared as they had when they had climbed that final slope. So, the brief encounter rattled her, as well. It was both disquieting and satisfying to know that he was not alone in his kindling desire.

She lifted the turnover and carefully flipped it, then replaced the lid and coal topping. A few minutes later Jack was juggling the hot, flaky pastry, trying not to let the thick, bubbly liquid escape to the ground.

He took a bite and burned his tongue. The icy water from the stream kept him from serious harm.

“Patience,” she cautioned, blowing on hers.

He stared at the sight of her, lips pursed as she exhaled and felt the desire rising in him like the boreal tide off the Taiya Inlet. And now, staring at her, patience was the very last thing on his mind.

Just watching her made his insides bubble in molten energy, like the filling he gripped in his two hands. The urge to kiss her was irresistible. Damn, he wanted her more than he wanted the pie.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

She laughed. “No, but I could be.”

He didn’t think it polite to disagree, but Lily was lovely as a cherry blossom, pink and fresh and sweet. “What do you mean—could be?”

“In Dawson, where the women are scarce, I figure, the fewer there are, the better I’ll look.”

Her giggle captivated him. He stared at her, really looking, and he knew she would be beautiful anywhere in the world, but somehow she looked most alluring by firelight under a starry sky. This wilderness suited Lily, her mirth making her cheeks rosy and her eyes sparkle.

Lily finished her half of the turnover and scoured her skillet with sand, then seasoned it with grease before packing it away.

He watched the easy grace of her movements and listened to her soft humming. Somehow Lily made him feel at peace. He wondered again about her and realized he knew next to nothing.

“Did you leave anyone back there, Lily?”

She turned and peered at him.

“Family you mean? Sure, plenty. I’ve got three sisters. And four brothers. I’m the oldest.” Lily lifted her hand to start counting her siblings from bottom to top. “Cory is next oldest and working on the docks, then Bridget, employed as a kitchen maid in a fine house on the hill. Tried to talk her into coming. She’s pretty and has a passable voice, but she has a sweetheart who shovels coal on a steamer in the bay and so she’d not have it. Mary is a fine seamstress. One day she’ll have a shop if I’ve anything to say about it. Grace is working in the same factory. She’s been at it since she was fourteen. Patrick and Joseph are a year apart, but you’d never know it. Linked at the elbow, those two, and hit hard times. They’re out of work and taking what comes. My sisters are looking after them and will see they don’t starve. Donald is the next. Bridget’s lost track of him. He was heading south for work but they haven’t a word.”

She barely paused to draw breath. Her crates repacked, Lily joined him at the fire.

“What about you, Jack?”

“A sister, Cassandra, and my mother. That’s all.”

“Your father?” she asked.

“Gone.” He stared at her wide blue eyes and felt a pang of guilt at the half-truth. “Yours?”

Lily looked away. “Oh, yes, he’s gone, too. I don’t remember him.” Her voice sounded funny, strained, tight. She stood and gave him her back. Something was definitely wrong.

“Lily?”

“Shall we put the bedrolls here or there?”

“Are you all right?”

When she turned back her face was composed and she had that businesslike manner about her. “Of course.”

But she wasn’t, he felt it.

He wanted to ask her again, but it was obvious that Lily was doing her best to put the matter aside. He let her, for now. After all, he had secrets of his own to protect.

He set out their bedrolls.

Jack lay down and waited for her to do the same as he considered bringing her next to him in the night. Lily squashed that plan by calling Nala to lie between them, forming a living wall. Jack smiled. The hound and he were already good friends and he did not fear losing an arm. He petted the dog to test his certainty. The dog closed her eyes to savor his touch. Lily frowned.

Jack grinned. “Nala seems to like it.”

Lily narrowed her eyes, but said nothing to this as she turned from him, lying on her side and giving him her back.