Where Heaven Begins (7 page)

I
t was all Elizabeth could do to hang on to her bags, there was so much pushing and shoving to get off the
Damsel
. Most of those who pushed their way past her seemed hardly aware she existed. The day had turned sunny and warm, but because of the constant spurts of rain, she stepped into mud as soon as her feet hit land.

She had no choice but to follow the crowd and walk past a literal town of tents on the beach, her shoes sinking into the damp sand. Men and dogs and supplies were absolutely everywhere. Stove chimneys stuck up through the tops of the tents. Stacks of barrels of flour and crates of canned goods were piled so high it appeared they would surely
topple. Some of the men literally ran toward Skagway’s main street, and she had no choice but to go with the flow or be knocked over.

The throng shoved her into the main, muddy street, through slop and horse manure. After a desperate search to get out of the way, she finally spotted an opening to her left that brought her to a boardwalk and directly in front of swinging doors. From the other side she could hear a piano playing, men shouting and women laughing. The smell of whiskey and smoke permeated her nostrils, and she quickly moved away from the doorway. She couldn’t help peeking through a window, and her eyes widened at the sight of women dancing on a platform, lifting colorful ruffled skirts to show their legs.

She turned away, feeling guilty for looking in the first place. Still, the sight made her wonder about Collette and her friends. She hoped Francine was all right.

She shook away the thought and hurried on, facing the fact that for the time being she had to look out for herself and not worry about others, including Clint Brady. He’d said something to her yesterday about having to locate three horses he’d sent ahead. He’d been worried about someone making off with his horses, as he’d heard the animals were worth plenty in Skagway. Most men arrived here without them and had to pack their own gear over the passes, which meant constantly backtracking all the way over the passes as the gear often weighed hundreds, even thousands of pounds. Word was, many never even made it over the passes to begin with.

Elizabeth had decided that would not be a problem for
her, as all she intended to take were her bags. She would visit the sawmill and see if perhaps someone there could build her a sled that she could attach to her waist and use to pull her bags and however much food she would have to bring along. That would probably take whatever money she had left, but she certainly wouldn’t need any more money before reaching Dawson. Once she was with Peter, she’d be safe and never alone again. Whatever Peter did, wherever he went, she would stay with her brother. She couldn’t wait to see him.

Yes, that’s what she would concentrate on. She would forget about those poor, lost women, forget about Clint Brady, forget about her own fear of the journey ahead. Collette and her friends were likely not at all concerned with what had happened to her, and Clint Brady had brushed her off like a pesky fly. Why should she care that the man was sick and lonely and wayward? Her attempted words of comfort had only angered him, and he obviously did not want her bothering him any more. So be it.

She put her head down and charged forward, ignoring other people, watching her step as she walked down wooden steps, crossed in front of an alley, walked up more steps to the next block of boardwalk. She looked at every window she passed, and every other establishment seemed to be a saloon. In between were supply stores, attorneys’ offices, banks, a newspaper office and finally she came across a hotel. She had to climb even more steps to reach the entrance, and from that standpoint she could see another hotel, a blacksmith’s barn, more supply stores, a sign that read Boats, another that read Book Store, and a
few restaurants. The words Saloon and Bank far outnumbered all others.

Above some of the saloons were balconies upon which stood brightly dressed women, many of whom wore dresses cut so low that they barely covered the merchandise being advertised. She noticed one woman who wore only underclothes. She was laughing and waving at the throng of men in the street.

The sight was difficult to believe. Now and again a supply wagon would splatter past, churning up the mud. She smelled the sweet scent of fresh-cut pine, and in the distance she could hear the grinding sounds of the sawmill that created the smell. She recalled someone on the
Damsel
saying something about Skagway being nothing but a couple of buildings just a year ago, then becoming a huge tent city almost overnight. Now most of the tents had become real buildings, and more building was continuing. The air rang with the pounding of hammers and the scraping of saws and was redolent with the smell of fresh lumber.

Smoke rose into the air from a hundred sources, mostly from the stacks of the steamers at the shoreline and from wood-burning stoves inside most of the buildings. Elizabeth could not help thinking what rich men the suppliers must be, and those who made wood stoves and guns and shovels and boots and the like. She thought how, if she were not alone and unsure of what to do next, this could be terribly exciting. As big as San Francisco was now, she had never seen so many people crowded together in one small place, or heard so much noise or seen so much bustle and commotion. She imagined San Francisco must have been
like this during the gold rush in California, but that had taken place long before she was born.

Without even realizing it, she found herself scanning the throngs of men for one face. Tall as he was, Clint Brady would surely be easy to find. He usually wore a leather vest and a wide-brimmed, Western hat, different from the wool felt derbys most men wore, whether dressed in suits or in more rugged clothing.

She searched patiently, but caught no glimpse of Clint. Then she rolled her eyes in disgust with herself for wanting to find him. She’d just convinced herself it was stupid to look, and even though God surely intended for her to help him in some way, there was nothing she could do if he was determined to keep her out of his life.

She turned and picked up her bags, going into the hotel. It had been a long day, and she felt literally banged up from struggling through the crowd to get this far. She walked across a plank floor to greet the desk clerk. “Might I be lucky enough to find a room for the night?” she asked.

The very short, bespectacled man frowned. “I’m very sorry, lady, but I’m full up.”

Elizabeth’s heart fell. “Is there
any
hotel in town that might have room?”

The man pursed thin lips and thought. “Well, you seem like a nice young lady, and I know for a fact you won’t find a room anyplace else, either. I hate to put you out.” He looked past her. “Did your husband bring a tent along or something like that?”

She hated telling a stranger that she was alone. “I’m…I don’t have a husband, but my brother is meeting me in
town from a different boat in a few days. I really need a place to stay in the meantime. I’ll take anything. It doesn’t have to be fancy.”

He rubbed his forehead, then ran a hand through thinning hair. “Well, my own wife would be real upset if I sent you back into the streets without shelter.” He leaned closer. “Don’t tell anybody, but I can let you stay in a storeroom in the back. I can set up a cot in there, and there’s a wash bowl and pitcher, and a privy just outside the back door. It’s the best I can do. I’d have to charge you fifty cents.”

Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. “That will do fine!” It was a relief to actually find a kind man who was truly concerned about her well-being. His smile was warm and genuine. Yes, God was looking out for her after all!

She dug into her handbag for some of the loose change and smaller bills she kept in it and dug out the required fee. “As far as I know it will only be one night, but is it all right if I let you know tomorrow if I find I need a second night’s stay?”

“Sure thing. Fact is, by then one of my roomers might leave and you can have his room.”

“Oh, thank you!”

The clerk turned the registration book around so she could sign it. “Awfully wild and raw place for a nice lady like yourself,” he told her as she dipped the pen into an inkwell and signed her name.

“A person just does what she has to do sometimes, Mr.—Oh, what is your name?”

“Michael Wheeler, ma’am. Wife and I came here last summer from Seattle—figured we’d make more money putting people up than looking for gold, so we sold every
thing and came here to build this hotel. Don’t serve any food, I’m afraid. You’ll have to go out for that. I can bring you an extra pitcher of water for drinking, though.”

“That would be wonderful.”

Wheeler closed the book and signaled for her to follow him. He led her to a room behind his office, where stacks of blankets and pillows and towels were stored, as well as a few brooms, crates of soap bars, several oil lamps, a box of ink jars, several books and ledgers and a few extra bowls and pitchers.

“The wife and I live in an apartment in back of the second-floor rooms,” the man told her. “Right now we only have ten rooms, but we plan to add on a third floor and expand the first two.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re doing so well,” Elizabeth told him.

“There’s a bolt lock right here on your side of the doorway, and the back door there, it has one, too, so once you’re down for the night, just slip both locks closed and you’ll be plenty safe. Me or the wife might end up knocking on the door to get something, but that almost never happens once everybody is bedded down for the night. Trouble is, this is a town that never sleeps, if you know what I mean, so you’re better off back here anyway. You won’t hear the noise from the streets near as bad back here.”

“Thank you so much. You’re very kind. Perhaps in the morning you can advise me on what things I’ll need to journey to Dawson.”

The man’s smile faded. “
Dawson?
You’re headed for
Dawson?
” He spoke the words as though she was insane.

“Yes.” She remembered the story she’d told him about
her brother. “As soon as my brother arrives, we’ll go together. I just thought I’d get a head start on supplies.”

Wheeler shook his head. “Ma’am, brother or not, I wouldn’t advise you to head for Dawson till next spring. I mean, I know a lot of the new arrivals here are headed that way, but they’re men and they’re determined to find gold. Most of them are going to regret leaving this late in the year. But…I mean…men can take care of themselves, you know? And maybe your brother can, too, but he ought not to take you along. You should wait and leave next spring. It’s a rough trip, miss, a real rough trip. A lot of the men headed there will never make it.”

His words dashed the excitement and affirmation she’d allowed to build within her spirit. Her chest tightened with trepidation. “Nevertheless,” she replied, “it’s important that I…I mean we…go this year. But thank you for the warning. I’m sure we’ll be all right. God is with us, Mr. Wheeler.”

He shook his head. “Well, I sure hope so, ma’am. I sure hope so.” He shook his head again. “I’ll go rummage up a cot for you. There’s an extra one in one of the rooms.”

Wheeler nodded to her and left, closing the door behind him. Elizabeth drew a deep breath against the sudden urge to cry. She sat down in a wooden chair and put her head in her hands.
“Dear Lord, help me to be strong,”
she prayed.
“Show me the way.”

M
r. Wheeler was right. Skagway never slept. Even though Elizabeth was at the back of the hotel, she could still hear talking and laughing, sometimes a scream, even gunfire a time or two. More conversation with the hotel’s owner enlightened her to the fact that the crowds of men in town were a grand mixture of those planning to head for Dawson and many more who had started the journey and turned back because of the hardships. There were also those who had already been to Dawson and been disappointed to find most good claims had already been laid. And many, like Mr. Wheeler himself, had come to Skagway with the intention of staying put and making
their money off the other groups of people. These included the men who owned the saloons and other business establishments, and those who owned the steamers that brought men here and would take many of those same men, and the gold, back to the States.

Tired as she was, Elizabeth lay awake wondering if indeed she should wait until spring to make for Dawson. But what in the world would she do over the winter to survive? Perhaps she could find some kind of work here in Skagway, but this was such a wild town, and she was already tired of being so alone and unsure.

She finally fell into a fitful sleep filled with crazy dreams, the purgatory between asleep and awake. She dreamed that the whole town of Skagway was under water, and she was trying to swim to the top of the hotel. Her mother stood near the chimney, smiling at her. Then Peter floated by in a rowboat that had smokestacks on it, but he didn’t stop to pick her up. Collette and her friends sat on the roof of a nearby building laughing at her. One man swam past her and stole her hat. She tried to swim after him, but he was too fast for her. Reverend Selby threw a Bible at her, and she clung to it to stay afloat.

Finally she floated past some steps where a man stood. It was Clint Brady. He smiled and reached for her, and she grabbed his strong arms. He pulled her up, but then he started sneezing and dropped her. Then both of them began coughing, and she began drowning. She cried out for help. Help. Help.

“Help,” she murmured in her sleep. In the dream she was screaming the word. She jumped awake, only half
aware at first that she’d been trying to cry out in her sleep. She sat up and shook her head, deciding that if she went right back to sleep her brain would return to the silly but stressful dream. Even awake she could swear she still heard Clint coughing.

She stood up, running a hand through her hair and shaking it out, realizing only then that she
was
hearing a man cough. It was a terrible, deep cough, and it came from not far outside her door. Then came the sneezing. It all sounded familiar.

“Clint?” she said softly. It couldn’t be. She went to the door that divided the store room from the lobby, then slid the bolt, cracking the door open slightly to peek out. If someone was out there, she didn’t want them to see her in her flannel nightgown.

There came the coughing again. A man lay in a bedroll behind the clerk’s desk, apparently having been allowed to sleep there for the night. The hotel did not yet have electricity, and by the soft light of a lantern Elizabeth could see he was a big man. Was it Clint? Whoever it was, he sounded very sick. Surely the Lord would want her to see if there was anything she could do for him. He shouldn’t be sleeping on a hard, drafty floor.

She quickly turned and pulled on a flannel robe, tying it tightly. She walked into the lobby, looking around to see that no one was there but the sick man. She walked noiselessly over to him and leaned closer.

“Clint!” she said in a half whisper. His breathing was horribly rattled.

“Liz…beth?” he murmured. Immediately he started
coughing again, a cough that made him sit up and lean over. He held his chest and gasped for breath.

Elizabeth dared to reach out and touch his face. “Dear Lord, you’re burning up! Clint, you’re a terribly sick man! Come into the back room and lie down on my cot. You shouldn’t be out here on the floor.”

“No…rooms…” he choked out.

“I know. That’s why I’m in the storeroom. Please, Clint, let me help you back there. I’ll try to find a doctor for you.”

“Be…okay…” He coughed again, and his whole body trembled. “Don’t want to…put you out.”

“After what you did for me? And I wasn’t even sick! You will
not
lie out here like this! Please, Clint, come to the back room. It’s warmer in there. There is a little wood-burning stove in there that Mr. Wheeler let me use. I’ll see if I can find a teakettle back there and heat some water on it. And I’ll wake up Mr. Wheeler and see if his wife can lend me some tea. Maybe Mr. Wheeler can send for a doctor.”

“No. I can’t…let you…” He coughed again. “Never…felt like this…in my life.”

“And you
are
going to let me help you, whether you like it or not! If you don’t come lie down on my cot I’ll find some men to come and
drag
you in there! I swear it!”

Clint groaned again, clinging to his chest as he managed to reach up with his other hand and grab hold of the desk top to pull himself up. Elizabeth put her arm about his waist and let him lean on her. She led him into the back room and ordered him onto her cot, which he seemed to take gladly. She helped him remove his boots and jacket, and he then curled onto the cot, the raspy, deep cough consum
ing him again as she threw her blankets over him, even though he was still fully dressed.

“Don’t you get up from here,” she ordered, tucking blankets around his neck. “I’m going for that tea and a doctor!” His condition frightened her. She’d never seen anyone so sick, other than when her mother had died of the ugly cancer. This was different. She knew that sometimes people died from pneumonia, and surely that’s what poor Clint suffered from.

That’s when it struck her that she’d be absolutely devastated if he did die. She still hardly knew the man, and yet the thought of him being dead tore at her heart. She blinked back tears of distress, not really sure what to do to help him, not sure whether there was a decent doctor in Skagway…realizing that if Clint died, she would have failed to help him find God again before his death. He would die so terribly lonely, and an unsaved man!