[Yukon Quest 01] - Treasures Of The North (34 page)

‘‘San Francisco is a lovely place to live,’’ she replied, trying desperately to think of how she might turn the subject to Paxton’s fiance
e. ‘‘Perhaps you might consider living there after you marry. My father would be pleased to have you so near.’’

Paxton shook his head. ‘‘I’d say there’s little chance of that.’’

‘‘Oh. I . . . uh . . . suppose your fiance
e wouldn’t care for the climate?’’ Miranda asked hesitantly.

‘‘I have no idea. I do, however, have a home in Erie,’’ Paxton replied. He took a seat opposite her and cocked his head to one side. ‘‘Why is it that a woman as lovely as yourself has not already taken a husband?’’

Miranda felt her entire body grow warm. She was certain to be blushing and looked quickly at her hands. ‘‘I suppose because the proper mate has not yet come along. Peter and my father are very good to look out for me. They’ve not yet approved of a suitor.’’

‘‘Spoken like a proper young woman of breeding,’’ Paxton replied. ‘‘There are far too few of your kind.’’

‘‘How so?’’

‘‘Women today are not at all inclined to do as they are told. Most want to marry for love—if they marry at all. This push for women’s rights has become a most annoying affair. They don’t seem to be able to make up their minds even among themselves. They want equal rights with men—the vote, positions in the government—including a woman president. As if that would ever be possible.’’

‘‘I have never desired such things,’’ Miranda admitted. ‘‘But I do desire love. Would you not desire love as well?’’ Miranda questioned, daring to raise her face to his.

He eyed her intently, almost hungrily. She felt unnerved by his sudden interest. ‘‘Desire and love,’’ he said softly, ‘‘are often absent in a marriage. However, were you to be a part of the union, I’ve no doubt both would play an important role.’’

She felt her breath quicken. My, but he was charming. His soft, smooth voice caused her skin to prickle. ‘‘How fortunate you are,’’ she began uneasily, ‘‘to have found those things for yourself. I’m sure your Miss Hawkins is a most honored woman.’’

‘‘She is a spoiled brat,’’ he said, tossing back the drink and breaking the spell. ‘‘Ours is an arranged marriage. Nothing more.’’

‘‘You don’t love her?’’

He laughed and got up to pour himself another glass. ‘‘As I said, she is a spoiled child. It is hard to love someone so willful and misguided. She has no idea of how to be pleasing or properly behaved. But I’ll see that taken in hand.’’

Miranda felt her heart racing again, but this time it was for an entirely different reason. Paxton’s cruel edge seemed quite apparent as he picked up his glass and stared at her from across the room.

‘‘Marriage is all about business, Miss Colton. I would, however, dare to say that marriage to one such as yourself might well be the exception. Business and love could no doubt be had in one union.’’

‘‘Pity you are already engaged,’’ Peter said, coming through the door.

Miranda felt a wave of relief at the sight of such support.

Paxton laughed. ‘‘Nothing lasts forever.’’

‘‘Do you really believe that marriage is nothing more than business? I mean, of course, on the whole.’’

Paxton shrugged and reclaimed his chair. ‘‘I believe simpleminded ninnies marry on a daily basis because they cannot control their emotions or bodily urges. I believe sound-minded people consider a broader base. They look to the future and how they might benefit financially and physically by joining their lot with that of another person. It’s no different than what you observe in monarchies, where brides are chosen for reasons of making treaties and pacts with other countries.’’

Peter look rather ashen-faced, and Miranda couldn’t help but wonder if he agreed with Paxton. After all, she’d heard some of the same philosophy from her older brother on more than one occasion. In fact, Martin Paxton’s views were essentially similar. Only coming from Peter they had never seemed cruel.

She looked at her brother intently, and when he turned his head to meet her gaze, Miranda felt an awakening in her soul. Perhaps a spirit of familiarity was all that separated Peter from Martin Paxton. Perhaps a kinder upbringing would have made Paxton more like her brother. The contrasts and similarities were startling.

‘‘But it is all of little concern,’’ Paxton replied, nursing his drink rather thoughtfully. ‘‘I cannot have a wedding without a bride. Miss Hawkins has been remiss in explaining her whereabouts, but I’ve hired a new group of men. Men to whom I am paying such an outrageous amount, they wouldn’t dare desert me for the Yukon.’’

Miranda saw the flash of panic in her brother’s eyes and hoped he would conceal it before turning back to face Paxton. She needn’t have worried, however. Appearing as unconcerned with the matter as if Paxton had been discussing the price of fish, Peter merely shrugged.

‘‘The lure of gold makes men do strange things.’’

Paxton laughed. ‘‘The lure of many things can drive a man to do what he might never have considered before. Even murder seems quite reasonable when one’s own life or livelihood is threatened.’’

Miranda felt her blood run cold. What was he implying? Could he possibly mean to murder Miss Hawkins? Was that why he had followed her here to the Yukon? Was that why he spoke of nothing lasting forever? She shivered, feeling his gaze upon her. What if her father had chosen him for her? Might she have done the same thing that Grace Hawkins did?

27

—[ CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN ]—

PETER PACED UP AND DOWN the street in front of the Colton Trading Post. The trip from Skagway to Dyea had seemed neverending. He thought only of Grace and the need to protect her, but upon arrival found her to be gone from the store. In fact, the place was locked up tight and there was no sign of the women or even the Barringer children. He rationalized that with it being Christmas evening they might have gone to a party or even to church. He shivered against the cold and wondered silently what he should do. It seemed silly that the store was his own property and yet he had no key with which to let himself in from the elements.

He heard laughter and singing coming from down the street. Perhaps he would find Grace there. He made his way in long, rhythmic strides, forcing his mind to not deliberate unnecessarily on the situation at hand. He was determined that Paxton’s plans could not be allowed. Peter didn’t know how he would yet stop the man, but he couldn’t see such a loveless arrangement for Grace. Not when he desired to offer her so much.

He peered inside a tent marked
Coffee and Donuts
and searched the crowd for any sign of the women. It seemed the entire town was caught up in something. Laughter poured from the tent as the group broke into a hearty chorus of ‘‘Deck the Halls.’’ A woman dressed in a flashy shade of gold and orange plopped herself down on the lap of a miner and began to play with his beard, while another woman, much younger than the first, watched Peter from several feet away. Her eyes gave a pleading, almost desperate look as she smiled and curved her shoulders forward to give herself a bit of cleavage. It was definitely not the kind of place Grace would visit.

Backing out of the tent, Peter looked frantically up and down the street. The light was fading fast and with a heavy overcast threatening snow, it would be pitch black before another half hour passed. Where could Grace be? Had Paxton’s men somehow found her?

Don’t let your imagination get carried away,
he chided.
Grace is fine. She’s no doubt with Miss Pierce and her aunt.
Paxton has no way of knowing that she’s here
. But even as he gave birth to this thought, another more imposing one filled his mind. Ever since Karen Pierce’s shooting incident, the women had gained a bit of a reputation. Perhaps Paxton had caught wind of this. Even so, Peter reasoned, the reputations and descriptions were nothing like the real women. It was even said that their numbers were ten or more, not merely three. One rumor said they were a tribe of natives who had banded together to fight off the imposition of the gold rusher. Another bit of gossip suggested that while beautiful, they were really servants of the devil and any man who looked into their eyes would lose their soul. It might have been comical if Peter hadn’t felt so weighed down with worry for Grace’s safety.

He walked back to the store contemplating what he should do. He had just decided to check the windows in case any were unlocked, when he heard the unmistakable sound of Leah Barringer’s animated chatter.

‘‘I love singing songs about Jesus’ birth,’’ she was saying.

Peter watched and waited as they rounded the corner of the building before hurrying forward to greet them. ‘‘Merry Christmas!’’ he declared.

‘‘Oh, Captain Colton,’’ Doris replied, ‘‘a most merry Christmas to you.’’

Karen and Leah were arm in arm, with Jacob walking in close step behind them. Grace walked alongside Jacob and smiled up warmly.

‘‘We’re just returning from church. Pity you could not have come earlier, then you might have joined us,’’ Grace said.

Peter nodded but had no desire to explain that while he was happy to make merry on the holiday, religious nonsense had never really accompanied the celebration. His family recognized the birth of Christ, knew the stories of Bethlehem and the wise men, but other than counting these as stories from long ago, they’d never given them much thought.

‘‘You will stay for supper—perhaps even the night, won’t you?’’ Doris questioned as Karen unlocked the front door of the store.

Peter wondered if his absence back in Skagway would be questioned. ‘‘I will stay for supper, but perhaps it would be less than appropriate for me to stay the night.’’

‘‘Nonsense. As we’ve said before, there’s plenty of room and it is your property,’’ Doris replied. ‘‘Leah can sleep with us, and you and Jacob can share the other room. There’s no room for the same proprieties up here as we clung to in Chicago. Why, we had one woman come into the store the other day telling us how she was saved from death on the trail when two complete strangers put her in a bedroll between them. Scandalous stuff for our civilized world, but not for the likes of Alaska.’’

Peter considered the idea for a moment, then allowed his eyes to travel the length of Grace’s hourglass figure as she took off her coat. She wore a trim little gown of blue wool and black braid trim. A delicate white lace collar edged the high neck of the bodice, and blue ribbons were woven throughout her brown hair. She caught his expression and blushed. No doubt she could read his desire merely by looking into his eyes.

‘‘Be that as it may, I’ll just stay for supper,’’ Peter said uncomfortably.

They spent a leisurely time over a most unusual Christmas dinner. Smoked salmon trimmed with a berry sauce made up the main course. Peter marveled at the flavor and complimented the women for their efforts. His favorite had been a concoction of rice and beans flavored with spices that nipped at his tongue. It wasn’t at all an expected cuisine for the far north.

‘‘I learned to make that dish in Louisiana,’’ Doris told him as he ate a second portion. ‘‘The recipe was given to me by a Cajun woman who taught me a thing or two about cooking, while I taught her to read.’’

‘‘It’s marvelous,’’ he replied. ‘‘Such a welcome change from pork and beans or dried cabbage soup.’’

‘‘Even the eggs are dry up here,’’ Leah replied. ‘‘I’d never seen dried eggs before coming up here.’’

Jacob nodded. ‘‘Guess we’ve seen a lot of things up here we’ve never seen elsewhere. Never had to worry with Indians in Colorado. They’d all been moved out by the time we got there.’’

‘‘You don’t have to worry about them at all,’’ Karen replied. ‘‘The natives here are friendly and helpful.’’

‘‘But they do look kind of mean,’’ Leah threw in.

‘‘You shouldn’t judge people by their looks. A person can look harmless and beautiful and be deadly. Just as a person can appear unseemly and be good. Anyway, the Russians were dealing with the Tlingit for a long while before Americans started coming up here. Many of them can speak Russian and English. It’s amazing, especially when you consider that most people consider the natives to be ignorant heathens. My father and mother often wrote of their generosity. A good many were even receptive to the Bible being preached. The Russians made many converts, and now the American missionaries are doing likewise.’’