An Island Between Two Shores (10 page)

Liana walked over to the pile of tins and examined their labels. Mostly they were just canned cherries and stew. She took a can of stew and worked the can opener to reveal its moist interior. She placed the can on top of the wood stove next to the bucket and climbed back into bed. Liana laid on her back because both sides were too sore and she had never liked lying on her stomach. Liana looked at the stovepipe and its exit through the roof of the cabin. Her head ached, as did everything else. Her mouth was dry and her stomach groaned in confusion.

After about half an hour Liana got out of bed and got a tin cup from the table. She poured water from the bucket into the cup and slowly sipped it. Her lips stung and she remembered that the salt from the stew must still be on her lips. She licked her lips clean and reached for another tin of warmed stew. She dipped her spoon into the stew and ate a little more slowly. The stew felt strange warmed and she could feel it drop down her throat and dissipate its warmth to her fragile body.

When she was finished eating Liana sat and looked at the fire. She thought about Henry.

“He would have loved this cabin,” she thought. She had not allowed herself to dwell on Henry’s death because she feared falling apart. But now warm and fed and alone it was all she could think about. She sat on the edge of the bed and for the first time she allowed herself to weep out her mourning. Her body convulsed with sobs and deep gasps. Henry was gone and she felt an emptiness that frightened her. Tears crossed her swollen cheeks and her body shook. Liana fell back onto the cot.

For the next week she cried and ate, cried and slept, cried and fed the fire. When she could cry no more she got out of the bed stronger than she had been in weeks.

Liana wanted to leave the cabin as strong and healthy as possible. She melted snow in both buckets and undressed to have a bath. She found a sliver of soap and made a rich lather on a faded rag. First she washed her hands and face, the soap hardly foaming in the accumulated grime. The soap smell stung the tip of her nose and made her sneeze. Cautiously she dipped her head into the bucket and braced herself breathlessly and washed her hair. It required several buckets of water heated over the course of an afternoon for her to finally begin to feel clean. Liana even washed her shirts, socks, and underwear but didn’t attempt to clean her jacket or pants. She liked feeling clean and it felt good to be busy. Her hips hadn’t throbbed in days.

One clear morning she awoke, dressed, and prepared to walk to town. She had been at the cabin for almost a month and was starting to run out of food. She adjusted the knife on her belt. It was now mid-winter and the daytime temperatures weren’t much warmer than the nights. The snow was deeper and the air bitingly cold. But she was strong enough to survive the walk.

Liana didn’t re-stoke the fire but simply left it to slowly die out. She put on her jacket and wrapped a blanket over her shoulders like a shawl. She pulled her hat over her brow, shut the cabin door firmly, and stepped off the porch into the bright morning.

Liana walked down the trail to the river. She felt strong and the crunch of dry snow under her feet filled her with optimism. Snow had covered the tracks she had made when she first arrived and she relied on the blaze to lead her back to the river. She stumbled through the deep snow to the bottom of the hill and then walked onto the river, now fully frozen. She plunge-stepped through the powdery snow. It was slow going but faster than bushwhacking through the forest. Liana was invigorated to be moving again.

Liana moved quickly and rarely stopped to catch her breath or take a mouthful of snow. The snow felt like hard candy and slowly dissolved in her mouth and quenched her thirst. By dusk she had made good progress. “Maybe ten miles, probably more,” mused Liana. But the dark made it impossible to avoid stumbling. It was too dark to walk forward and she didn’t want to build a shelter so she waited an hour. Once the moon cleared the treetops, the frozen river became an illuminated path. The snow glistened in the pale yellow light and Liana was able to make good progress walking in the silvery moonlight. In the far distance she could see the lights of the town light up the mountainside. It would take all night but she would get there.

I
t was dawn when Liana saw the distant silhouette of the buildings and tents of Dawson City. After a day and a night of walking, she reached the outskirts of the grim little town. She felt invigorated to have finally reached her goal. While Liana trudged through the snow, she thought about something Henry had said many times: “Fear makes the bear look bigger.” She felt enormous gratitude to him now for protecting her from Cody. She wondered how she would react when she finally met him. She fingered the outline of her knife: cold comfort.

From the river the town looked small and randomly built. Faded cabins, shacks, and hotels were arrayed in a cluster through the milky fog. Large spruce mooring posts for paddlewheelers bordered the bank in front of her. The boats were floating hotels that carried in most of the town’s supplies. They were lifelines to the outside world when the river was running. Liana had seen paddlewheelers lined three deep in a frantic effort to unload supplies under the midnight sun of summer. Crews knew that the more trips they made, the more money they would earn and pushed themselves to unload as quickly as possible. When the boats made the return trip upriver to Whitehorse or down to St. Michaels, they were always almost empty. Often the only passengers were the broken and destitute, though at the end of the season successful prospectors with satchels and canning jars filled with gold would bow the gangplanks of the vessels to spend the winter in the cities of the west. As she wallowed through the soft snow and tangled willows of the steep bank and plunge-stepped past the mooring posts and onto the packed snow of the wagon road, Liana thought of traveling home to France and never returning to the North again. The wolf’s piercing call reminded her of her escape from the wilderness.

During the summer, the streets of Dawson City were either unbearably dusty and dirty or so muddy they would bog down horse-drawn wagons. However, most of the year, its icy rutted streets were easier to travel. She passed a group of six ravens sitting on a fence. She looked away and felt her heart race. Fortunately they did not pay her any notice and she was grateful.

The town was quiet, with barely a person in sight. Liana turned onto Broadway and walked past stores, saloons, restaurants, and hotels. The town was only a few years old but already it seemed beaten up and worn out. Acrid wood smoke stuck in the back of her throat and burned her eyes.

“Henry never liked this town,” she thought. She remembered him saying that even before the Gold Rush, his people would trade there and it was buggy because of the swamps.

“But it was good for moose,” he said, laughing. It was a hodgepodge of tents, privies, and false front buildings that Liana always found distasteful and coarse.

When gold was discovered in Nome, Alaska, Dawson City emptied overnight. The miners raced down the Yukon River for the frozen beaches of Nome in rough built scows and rafts. In its heyday, more than thirty-thousand lost souls called Dawson City home. But now it was different; Liana could feel the desperation in its streets without going into a single building. Large commercial dredges had replaced the pick axes, gold pans, and rocker boxes of the early arrivals. The handful of Stampeders who remained worked on these noisy mechanical monsters, trapped by the monotony of labouring for large companies. Cody’s days, like almost everybody’s in Dawson City, were numbered.

As she had done many times, Liana detoured on the second street she came to. She turned away from the river and walked up a long hill to the base of the ridge known as the “Dome.” The cabin she had lived in with her father was covered in deep snow and smoke roared from its chimney. Liana did not know who lived there now and did not care to knock on the door to find out. She gently opened the gate to the cabin and walked to the backyard. A thick stand of poplar trees crowded the back corner of the lot. Liana’s father always told her that any miner worth his salt hid his poke outside. Anybody could find it inside—but outside, if you were careful, you were safe.

“Never put your poke in the bank,” he cautioned. “Not only will the government steal it through taxes, but also it only takes one crooked bank manager to leave you with nothing.” He never offered much advice to Liana, but like most prospectors, he had strong opinions when it came to gold.

Liana had seen her father shimmy up these trees a couple of times at night when he thought she was asleep. Liana placed her hands around the narrow trunk of the first tree and slowly and deliberately worked her way up. Soon she was fifteen feet off the ground and was able to reach the first branch. She pulled herself up and looked into its crook but didn’t see anything. She carefully raised her hand and brushed away the snow, dipping her hand into the space. The poke wasn’t there, though she was confident it was somewhere in the grove. Liana pulled her feet higher up the trunk and cradled them in the crook. She stepped the gap to the next tree, two feet away, and searched again. After she had searched four trees this way, she spotted it: a tobacco tin partially covered by snow. Liana opened her knife with one hand and cut the rawhide lace that secured the tin to the tree. She tucked the tin in her pocket and shimmied to the ground, making a whumping sound when she landed. On the ground she opened the tin and saw a cluster of gold nuggets.

“Thanks, Papa,” she said quietly. Then she glided purposely out to the street without making a sound.

The town was starting to stir and wagons creaked and cracked as their wheels shuddered on the thin ice of the rutted, frozen streets. Smoke from every building and tent masked the morning’s sunshine. Small packs of mangy huskies and malamutes were sprawled on the wooden boardwalk wherever the sunlight hit. A distant church bell rang to say it was Sunday, the only day of rest in the frontier town. It was the day when miners would hike in from their claims to eat and drink and share some human companionship.

Liana strode straight to the Tivoli Hotel at the far end of Broadway. It was a white building with “Tivoli” painted across its facade in large block letters. Through the front windows, Liana could see several tables of men scattered around the foyer. She walked up the icy steps, opened the door, and entered the moist, warm gloom as if she did so every day. The dozen or so men scattered around the room didn’t pay her any notice and she took a seat near a window. Liana hung her jacket on the back of her chair. A waitress immediately approached her but before she got to the table, Liana said, “I’ll have a cup of coffee and a glass of water, please.” She ordered while gazing at the floor. The waitress spun to get the coffee. The men talked in hushed tones.

Liana looked out the window at the frozen town. From a couple blocks away she spotted Cody. He always walked briskly. Sunday morning was no different than any other. For a hustler, every day was a work day.

Cody was likely tired, Liana thought. Even though the mounted police always shut down the town at midnight on Saturdays, in Dawson City there was always an after hours game of chance or entertainer to chaperone. She knew she would be safe if she met him in a public place like a restaurant. She also knew that if she went into his hotel, she would never come out.

The last time she had seen him was in the Monte Carlo Saloon with her father. Cody had spent the night gambling and had bet $5,000 on a single hand of stud poker. He never trusted Faro, with its ancient origins. But stud poker, with its simple rules and opportunities for bluffing, suited him well. According to the story they were told by one of Cody’s men, he held three of a kind but was beat by a full house. Cody bellowed at the crowd, “I must be the unluckiest sucker ever to set foot in the gold fields!” This brought much laughter and became the buzz of the town, repeated like a headline from the latest newspaper. That morning Cody shook hands with Liana’s father and agreed to grubstake his claim. Her father was reluctant to be in business with Cody but pleased to have an investor all the same. Cody barely noticed Liana, except to tip the brim of his hat in her direction when they left.

When Cody stomped into the Tivoli, the other diners sat up and took notice. His five-foot-five frame demanded attention. His arms were thick and his barrel chest was as pronounced as a great ape’s. Cody’s movements were exaggerated, almost cartoon like. His face was weathered, bearded, and severe. He was brusque and spoke in short, abrupt sentences. When he laughed—infrequently—it made people uneasy.

Everyone knew Cody. They knew that in his younger years he had been a boatman on the Cour d’Alene River in Idaho. He still had the stocky build of a man who had known hard labour and the oars of a scow. But it was the fortune he had made in the gold fields that had brought his fame. The rich vein of pay dirt that ran through his Klondike claim was legendary. There were darker contributions to his fame, too, and his small gang of henchmen was feared.

“Mornin’, Cody,” a man called from a table near the door. Cody nodded. Another man in a dirty mackinaw called sarcastically from behind the barrel stove, “Any luck last night, Cody?”

Cody smiled mysteriously. “I ain’t saying.”

The second man persisted. “What’s your trick, Cody?” Cody turned away from the man and from the side of his mouth drawled, “Tricks are for whores.” Everybody laughed. Cody grinned as he pulled out a battered chair and sat at his usual table, facing the door.

“MaeBeth, I’ll have a coffee and eggs,” said Cody, before the waitress reached his table. MaeBeth turned on her heel and slipped into the kitchen, only to emerge momentarily with a steaming cup of coffee. Cody pulled a ragged newspaper from his breast pocket. The newspaper was a couple of weeks old and he had read it more times than he cared to. Like everyone else in Dawson City, Cody was eager for break-up, when the paddlewheelers would supply the town. The dog teams did an admirable job, but Skagway was hundreds of miles away and certain things were hard to come by.

Liana rose quietly, walked toward Cody, and sat at his table. “Morning, Cody,” said Liana defiantly. Cody feigned fascination with his paper. MaeBeth approached hesitantly, and Liana said, “I’ll have what he’s having.” She moved her chair so that she faced Cody. “Two coffees and scrambled eggs,” said MaeBeth.

Cody slowly leaned back in his chair, lowered his paper, folded it, and looked Liana in the eye. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” he said.

Liana whispered fiercely, “You know why I’m here.”

“I forgot my manners,” Cody scowled. “Henry was a fine man.”

“You heartless son of bitch. Why would you do such a thing?” Liana said, keeping her voice controlled to a whisper so others would not overhear their conversation.

“You’re not suggesting I had anything to do with that tragedy?” Cody said menacingly.

“Those were your men. I’ve seen them hanging around your saloon.”

“I ain’t saying nothing…but yeah, I knew those men,” said Cody, filling his mouth with coffee.

“Why did they come after us?” Liana asked.

“Henry knew what he was doing when he took you. He had no business interfering. He knew what time it was. He’s a Siwash for God’s sake. He had no business trying to keep you. He should have kept to his own.”

“You didn’t have to kill anybody. We could have worked things out.”

“Look, I don’t know what happened up there but I’m down two men.”

“You shouldn’t have sent them,” said Liana defiantly. “That was just wrong.”

Cody suddenly grew angry at Liana’s questions. “Listen here, girly,” he whispered. “If you don’t think I will drag you out of here and show you what’s what, you’re wrong.”

Liana felt her temper rising but took a deep breath and looked around the room at the other men eating their breakfasts. She let the pause lengthen. Then, “What do you want, Cody?”

Cody stared into Liana’s eyes intensely. “Look, I’m leaving town and I need to settle up. I grubstaked your Pa and now that he’s gone, his claim is mine.”

“What do you mean ‘it’s yours’? My father’s name is on the deed, and I’m next of kin,” said Liana doggedly.

“Considering the hassle and expense of getting you to do what’s right, I think I will help myself to the whole thing,” Cody said, leaning back in his chair.

“And what about me?” asked Liana, realizing that she was looking into the face of the man who had ordered the death of her father.

“Don’t worry about that,” said Cody, crossing his arms. “You can leave in one pretty piece. But I will need you to sign that deed over to me. There’s a syndicate that wants to buy it. We assumed that you was dead. All the paperwork is ready to go at the Mining Recorder’s Office.”

Hatred ran through Liana’s veins as she remembered her father saying that Cody wanted him to sell his claim to a mining company. It was one of the last conversations they had. Liana pleaded with her father to take the money so they could move away from the Yukon, but her father said the claim would be worth more once it was proven. His body was found a day later, tangled in a logjam on a creek near his claim. Without evidence to the contrary, the authorities ruled he was the apparent victim of a botched creek crossing. Henry knew it wasn’t an accident, though, and got Liana away from Dawson City as quick as he could.

“Henry and my father were good folk. You shouldn’t have sent your men. It wasn’t—”

Cody interrupted. “I’m not saying nothing,” he said menacingly. “But nobody crosses me. Nobody. Anyway, I think we’ve already had this conversation.” He crumpled his napkin and crossed his arms. “One way or another, I will get my money. Dawson City is through and I’m moving on.”