The Alaska Brides Collection Part 22

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 s.h.i.+ning. 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 la.s.s to her father because it was his Christian duty. And he'd use the burdensome ch.o.r.e 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 s.h.i.+fting 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'ook."

"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'ook.

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 streetlights-and many children to put to bed at the time I would normally gaze at the sky."

"Where's that?"

"The Child of G.o.d Mission." A streak of red slowly lifted alongside the green. "Ah, G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 pa.s.sage 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 G.o.d, 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 G.o.d's guidance weren't urging her to wait.

She heard a m.u.f.fled 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 G.o.d 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 boomtown. s.h.i.+ps 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 Yeil 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 pus.h.i.+ng 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.

He had a saddlebag over one shoulder with a flat seining pan clattering softly against a pick anytime the s.h.i.+p bobbed or the s.h.i.+fting ma.s.s of humanity b.u.mped him.

Keeping a firm grip on the railing, she said, "Yes?" She didn't like him knowing her name, although she imagined few secrets remained about her after all this time aboard s.h.i.+p. Her wariness didn't ease just because he had a few manners.

"My name is Thompson, Miss Simons, Darnell Thompson. I couldn't help overhearing you discuss your journey with Braden Rafferty." The man smiled, but to Amy his expression seemed calculating.

He shrugged under his shearling coat. "I'm headed in much the same direction myself. I wondered if I might travel along with you once we leave the s.h.i.+p."

Amy couldn't bring herself to casually include him. "Whether we travel the same trail or not is surely not my decision."

The man watched her. Looking around for a long moment, his eyes focused over her shoulder as if he saw someone he knew. He gave one firm nod. "Fair enough. More men on a trail makes for safe pa.s.sage. I'll discuss it with Rafferty."

"You do that." Amy stared into the man's eyes. They were a strange hazel color, brown flecked with gold. The mission teacher had taught her to be wary of men, and though she'd made an exception for Braden, this man didn't inspire such trust.

Mr. Thompson tugged on his much-maligned hat and left her by the railing. Although he'd looked past Amy's shoulder at someone or something, he turned and went in the opposite direction. Seconds later, Stucky appeared at her back.

Amy clenched her jaw, preparing to use all the cool manners she'd learned from the missionaries. Before she had to bear the miner's questions, Braden approached. Amy glanced around, expecting Thompson to come up again and invite himself on the trail. He'd melted into the crowd even though moving through this mob seemed nearly impossible.

She tried to spot Thompson so she could point him out to Braden.

He was gone.

Chapter 4.

He was gone!

Braden pushed roughly past the men that separated him from Amy. Complaints and return shoves didn't stop him. Where had that man gone? Their eyes had met for just a second, and Braden hadn't liked what he'd seen.

As Braden reached Amy's side, he breathed more easily. "One of the crew members said we should be able to hop off this crate in an hour. Standing by the railing won't get you off a second faster." Without mentioning the man who'd taken off, Braden caught her arm.

Now past the grumbling men, Braden noticed that worthless Barnabas Stucky standing at Amy's elbow-another overly interested miner.

Amy's eyes widened at his firm grip, but Braden felt an urgent need to get her out of this crush. He nodded at Stucky, then parted the throng of stampeders, dragging Amy away from the edge. Since the men were all trying to get closer to the railing, they let Braden pa.s.s with little trouble.

Braden worked his way around the s.h.i.+p. The side not facing port was nearly deserted, and he leaned against the wall. He'd seen that Amy had her meals here every morning, noon, and night since that first time he'd brought her food. The s.h.i.+p served no breakfast this morning because the crew had been occupied since before dawn with navigating the Skaguay port. But they'd dock early so they'd find a meal on sh.o.r.e.

Disgusted with Amy's lack of survival skills, Braden wondered if she'd have even lived through the trip without his help. He leaned against the wooden walls of the wheelhouse and crossed his arms. "We'll just wait here until the captain tells us to disembark."

"Thank you for helping me through that mob." Amy spoke quietly as she always did. Her voice carried a note of calm, a husky sweet sound that soothed his battered heart. She leaned beside him, one arm wrapped around her chest, staring straight forward at the mountains across the bay from Skaguay.

Through the entire voyage she favored her side, although in their long days together on the boat, she'd never mentioned being hurt. Of course, Braden hadn't talked about himself much, either. They'd discussed the trek to Ian's house and the rough voyage and the conditions Braden could expect in Alaska, but he'd never so much as said Maggie's name.

Maggie would have shared every trouble. Amy's lack of complaint told Braden she wasn't hurt, just weak, probably stiff and sore from the rugged voyage. She never should have taken this trip.

"Welcome." Braden nodded and stared at the majesty of Alaska looming high over the s.h.i.+p. When the beauty of the mountains had worked its way into his soul, he produced his letter from Ian one more time and discussed the route with Amy until long after the s.h.i.+p had docked and the deck had cleared.

Amy overflowed with ideas for the journey home, and Braden found it easy to trust her.

"I don't trust him." Braden whispered to Amy.

The gaunt, bearded man to whom Amy had led him limped away.

"Why'd you pick this man to haul my supplies?" Braden watched the man, looking more animal than human, scratch his neck as he hobbled along. His long, snarled hair, black and streaked with gray, straggled below a fur hat with dangling ear covers.

"Wily? He has been carting supplies up the river all my life. He will do fine by us." Amy barely glanced at Braden and then followed after the foul-smelling man.

Braden suspected the man had been avoiding baths all his life.

The man snagged his suspenders with his thumbs from where they drooped around his hips and snapped them over his shoulders. Then he stooped over, grabbed a pair of ropes off the ground that were attached to an oddly shaped boat, and began pulling the strange contraption down the bank toward the vast bay that opened on the south side of the settlement of Goose Chase.

Amy got on the uphill side of the thing. It looked like a flat boat wrapped in animal hide. She dropped to her knees in the sand with a groan Braden heard from ten feet away, and began shoving. Braden looked at his sizable stack of supplies, which he'd transported from the s.h.i.+p to Goose Chase by paying an outrageous sum to rent a rickety handcart.

Amy shoved, and Braden decided that even if it meant letting someone steal everything he'd brought for Ian, even his mother's precious mantel clock, he couldn't let Amy do hard labor she was obviously unsuited for.

He moved to her side. "What is this thing?"

Amy looked up from her position on her knees. "It is an umiak."

"What?"

"It is a boat called an umiak. It has a wooden frame, and Wily has his covered with walrus hide. It is suited for shallow water and heavy loads."

Braden thought about it and figured if a walrus wasn't waterproof then nothing was. His supplies-six good-sized boxes-would nearly fill it. Good thing Amy didn't seem to have anything beyond the small satchel she slung over her neck and shoulder. Just more evidence of how ill-equipped she was for this journey.

"Let me do that." He dropped on his knees beside her and gave his head a little sideways jerk to get her out of the way.

With a grateful smile, Amy got to her feet and let him take over. Between him and Wily, they had the boat launched in a couple of minutes. Wily pulled the floating umiak down the bay toward Braden's supplies.