The Great Alone (61 page)

Ryan had laughed at such idealistic notions. “If anything, the others would cheer if I shut down—and privately have a good laugh over my stupidity,” he had told him. “If I don’t sell it, somebody else will. You can make all the laws you want, but a man’s going to have his liquor. Instead of talking to me, go see General Davis. He’s the only authority around here. And while you’re there, ask him if that last case of Tennessee whiskey I sent him was satisfactory.”

“You and your kind are destroying this town. You’re driving away the decent folk.”

“Like the Russians, I suppose. You’re a fool, Gabe,” Ryan had declared in disgust. “The general and his soldiers know damned well what’s in the crates being shipped to the saloons in this town, and they turn a blind eye. This is a military town, and a soldier is going to have his rum. Blame Davis or blame Congress for what’s happening in the streets, but don’t condemn me for making a dollar by supplying what’s in demand.”

“But it’s against the law,” Gabe had protested.

“Then get somebody to enforce the damned law. You are a fool if you think I am going to throw away a fortune by voluntarily obeying it!”

At that point, Gabe had lost his temper and attacked him, wading into him like a raging bull. Ryan rubbed his jaw, remembering that last punch Gabe had landed before Lyle, the bartender, pulled him off. The attorney unquestionably had a violent side.

That incident had put an end to their friendly relationship, but Ryan had seen it coming. Starting with the first influx of new settlers, Gabe had begun cultivating associations, the more respectable merchants and homesteaders among them. At times, he’d even appeared self-conscious about being seen in Ryan’s company, obviously believing Ryan wasn’t the right sort for a man with political ambitions.

Ryan smiled to himself. It was money that bought votes. All of Gabe Blackwood’s good will and high-sounding ideals would count for nothing without it.

“Any sign of that rain lettin’ up?” The bartender, Lyle Saunders, wandered over to the window where Ryan stood, and folded his arms in front of him, resting them on his protruding stomach. His dark hair was slicked down with grease and parted in the middle. Bushy muttonchop whiskers emphasized the jowling of his fat face.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Ryan commented.

“There goes Blackwood and his bride,” the bartender observed, then inquired, “Ever been to one of those Orthodox weddings?”

“Nope.”

“Long-drawn-out affairs they are. Them altar boys or whatever they call ’em, are gonna have a lot of candle grease on their robes before the March of the Three Crowns is over.” He watched them a minute, then pointed a pudgy finger at the trailing party of family members. “See that young fella. If you still are lookin’ for someone who knows these waters, he might be the man for you. Born an’ raised here, he was. An’ trained as a navigator, too, I understand. He speaks that Indian gibberish, too.”

Ryan made a closer study of the younger Tarakanov walking ahead of the old man and the little girl. He seemed to recall his name was Dimitri. “Thanks, Lyle,” he said. “I’ll keep him in mind.”

Running feet thudded on the boardwalk outside the saloon. Two soldiers charged past the window, their shoulders hunched against the rain. The bartender took a last look at the wedding party, then turned from the window with a shake of his head.

“Never thought Blackwood would marry a breed,” he muttered to himself.

Ryan doubted that Gabe knew that Nadia was part Indian. Blackwood tended to take things at face value and rarely looked to see what might lie underneath. Sooner or later, he’d learn the facts. While Ryan wouldn’t go so far as to claim that the mixed ancestry of the Tarakanov family was common knowledge in Sitka, there were enough people who knew or guessed it. Maybe someone should have told Gabe, but as far as Ryan was concerned, it was a case of “let the buyer beware.”

The two off-duty soldiers entered the saloon, making enough noise for a whole troop as they stamped the mud from their boots. Ryan turned toward them, recognizing two of his more regular customers, privates Kelly and Wheeler. They swept off their caps and shook them to get rid of the rainwater, then wiped the moisture from their faces.

Wheeler, the shorter and burlier one of the two, with an unruly thatch of straw-colored hair, gestured over his shoulder toward the street. “Hey, barkeep, where’re them folks goin’ all gussied up? Is there a party er some’in goin’ on that nobody saw fit to tell us about?”

“There’s a wedding.”

“The hell you say.” Wheeler and his buddy Kelly sauntered up to the bar. “Pour us some a’ that rotgut.” Wheeler slapped the money down, then leaned on the counter. “Who’s gettin’ hitched?”

“That attorney Blackwood.” Lyle set two shot glasses on the counter, then pulled the cork from a whiskey bottle to fill them.

“Ain’t he the one what’s been sparkin’ that Russkie gal?” Without waiting for a confirmation, he turned to his soldier buddy and lifted his glass in a saluting toast. “I sure as hell envy him poppin’ her t’night. You seen her, Kelly? She’s the one with the hair like burnt gold, all dark an’ shiny an’ purty like.”

“The only gold what interests me is hidin’ up there in them mountains,” Kelly declared in a disgruntled voice, then bolted down a swallow of the cheap liquor. “I’ll be glad when spring gets here an’ this damned weather clears up so I can get out an’ start huntin’ some of that shiny yellow stuff.”

“Hell, the weather ain’t never gonna get no better in this miserable place,” Wheeler complained bitterly. “How is it that we got stuck in this Godforsaken hole at the top of the world? There ain’t a goddamned thing for a man to do in this town ’cept to go drinkin’ an’ whorin’.”

“Shame on you, Nate Wheeler.” Big Molly came sauntering out of the back room, her hands resting on her tightly corseted waist to emphasize the exaggerated sway of her hips. “You always swore to me those were your two favorite pastimes. Now I find out you been lyin’.”

With each stride of her leg, the skirt flared to provide a glimpse of her low-topped boots and black tights. Her artificially darkened hair was a mass of ringlets piled on top of her head and secured with a gaudy Spanish comb. The darkness of her heavily kohled eyes contrasted with the white mask of her face, thickly covered with layers of the toxic powder that had already scarred her cheeks. The spots of rouge on her cheeks gave her an almost garish look.

But Wheeler’s attention wasn’t focused on her face or legs. “I didn’t say they wasn’t my favorites, Big Molly. I jest said there weren’t no other choice.” He stared at the mountain of flesh that threatened to spill out of her low-cut gown.

“I grant you, Nate, bein’ sober in this town ain’t much of a choice.” She rested a forearm on the counter, then leaned her weight on it, angling her body to give him a better view down her front. “You just gonna stand there gawkin’, Nate, or are you gonna buy a thirsty lady a drink?”

“Give us a bottle an’ ’nother glass.” Wheeler dug in his pocket and pushed more money onto the counter, then nudged his buddy. “Come on, Kelly. Let’s go sit ourselves at a table.”

Almost reluctantly Dan Kelly pushed away from the bar and followed after Wheeler as he grabbed up the bottle and glass and headed for one of the tables. Instead of dragging a chair around to sit close to the saloon girl and flank her other side, Kelly chose a chair on the opposite side of the table and slumped his body in it.

“What’s the matter with yore friend, Nate?” Big Molly curiously studied the tall, lean private.

“Don’t pay no mind t’ him. He always sits for a while an’ moons over that gold mine he ain’t found yet. After he’s had a few drinks under his belt, he livens up some.” Wheeler poured her a shot from the bottle, then turned in his chair and draped an arm across her shoulders, letting his hand hang low. “Right now you an’ me can talk.”

“You just mind where that hand of yours goes,” she warned. “You know the rules. I don’t go in for no free fondlin’.”

“Ah, Molly,” he protested.

“Business is business,” she reminded him. “If you don’t like it, take your bottle an’ go get some squaw from the Ranche liquored up. Then you can have all you want for free—includin’ sores all over ya.”

“Yo’re a hard woman, Molly.”

“Now, Nate, you know I’m soft. How many times this past winter have you wallowed in my softness?” she chided him.

Ryan had seen Big Molly work too many times to be interested in watching her hook another customer. He walked over to the bar. “I’ll be in the back office if you need me, Lyle.”

CHAPTER XXXV

After their marriage, the Blackwoods set up house in a sparsely furnished cabin, mainly with cast-off furniture. Nadia took pains to create an attractive setting for her beloved husband.

Her needle was always busy fashioning doilies to cover the marred surfaces of tables and bureaus and embroidering scarfs to hide the threadbare arms and backs of the sofa and chairs. But each time she looked about the rooms, she saw so much more that needed to be done—new curtains for the windows, samplers for the walls, hooked rugs for the floors—the list seemed endless.

Hearing the scratch of pen on paper, Nadia looked up from the needlework on her lap. Gabe sat at the table he used for a desk, bending over the letter he was writing, a study in concentration. Even if it took her a lifetime to turn this home into one in which he could take pride, she’d do it gladly for him.

He paused in his writing and ran his fingers through his hair, then he rubbed his eyes in a gesture indicative of weariness. Quietly, Nadia set her needlework aside and crossed the room, walking softly on the balls of her feet so the click of her heels on the bare floor wouldn’t disturb him. In the kitchen, she fixed him a pot of tea and set it along with two teacups and a pot of honey on the silver tray that had been a wedding gift from her grandfather.

She carried the tea tray into the parlor and set it on the table where he was working. He glanced up with a preoccupied frown. There was something so boyish about that expression that, even after two weeks of married life, she still had the urge to reach out and smooth those furrows from his forehead.

“I thought you might like some tea,” she murmured.

“I’d love it.” He sighed and straightened in his chair, arching his back and flexing the cramped muscles in his shoulders.

After filling his cup, Nadia added the amount of honey he liked, then carried the cup around the table to set it in front of him. He hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her close to him.

“What are you writing?” She glanced curiously at the paper that was nearly covered with his elaborate handwriting.

“A letter to Congress urging them to give us the right to a form of civil government. They must be informed of the present conditions—and the potential for sound growth and development here. We can’t continue with no law here. They must pass some legislation to end this intolerable situation,” he declared.

“You will convince them.” She pressed her hand on his shoulder in a gesture of both affection and faith.

“Some husband I am.” His smile held a trace of chagrin. “I’ve barely said two words to you all evening. Soon you’ll accuse me of neglecting you.”

“Never.” She blushed when he slid his hand higher on her rib cage, nearing the swell of her breast, and lifted her hand to kiss its palm. Gently she extricated herself from his embrace and moved back to the tea tray to pour herself a cup. She was still not comfortable with the intimacies of the marriage bed. She enjoyed his kisses, but the rest seemed so brutish to her. “Did I tell you my cousin Dimitri has found work?”

“That’s wonderful news. Where’s he working?”

“Mr. Colby hired him—”

“Colby? That blackguard?”

Shocked by his sudden anger, Nadia wavered uncertainly. “I … I thought he was your friend.”

“Him? Never.” Gabe pushed his chair back with a loud clatter and began striding about the room, gesticulating wildly as he spoke, “That saloon of his and the others are responsible for half the evil in this town! They are houses of sin and corruption, and they should not be allowed to operate!” He stopped, confronting her with his anger. “What possessed your cousin to go to work in such a place? He’ll be violating the law. Here I am fighting to make this town a decent place to live, and one of your family does a foolish thing like this. How is it going to look?”

Nadia cringed slightly from him. “Dimitri isn’t going to work in the saloon. He’s a navigator,” she explained hesitantly. “Mr. Colby has hired him to sail his ship.”

“His ship? What ship?” He drew back, no longer looming over her. “What’s Colby going to do with a ship?”

Sensing the break in his anger, she hastened to assure him that her cousin would be committing no wrong. “Dimitri said Mr. Colby bought one of the company sloops so he can begin trading with the Kolosh villages in the area for furs. That’s what Dimitri is going to do. He’s a trained navigator and familiar with these waters and the location of the different villages. He knows about trading, and he can speak the Kolosh tongue very well.”

“Those savages.” Gabe pushed the condemnation through his clenched teeth, then pressed his lips together so tightly they appeared to quiver. “No man should have to get within a mile of them and their carved wooden idols.”