Praise for the books of ROSANNE BITTNER

WHERE HEAVEN BEGINS

“Bittner brings to life the dangerous and beautiful Alaskan wilderness of the gold rush days. Clint is a hero who’ll pull at your heartstrings.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Rosanne has written a truly inspiring high adventure that will invigorate your senses and reaffirm your faith in God’s wisdom.”

—Affaire de Coeur

FOLLOW YOUR HEART

“Bittner’s characters spring to life…extraordinary for the depth of emotion with which they are portrayed.”

—Publishers Weekly

“True-to-life characters who stay with you long after you’ve turned the last page!”

—Los Angeles Daily News

WALK BY FAITH

“This standout novel is truly in a class of its own.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Bittner shines with this new inspirational historical!”

—Library Journal

Where Heaven Begins
Rosanne Bittner

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my special and beautiful grandsons, Brennan, Connor and Blake Bittner; and to their parents, son Brock and wife, Lori, and son Brian and wife, Edna. When I’m down, all I need is to hear the words “Gwamma, I wuv you,” and I’m on top of the world again. I’m sure that in the future one of my inspirational stories will involve the love between a grandmother and her grandson. My own grandsons are the light of my life and truly a gift from God.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Within most of my fifty-plus novels about America’s history there has always been an element of faith that was important to each story. When the opportunity arose for me to write for Steeple Hill, I was delighted, as deep inside I have always wanted my writing to inspire hope and faith within the reader. I am deeply gratified to have often accomplished that, or so many of my readers have told me.

Now, by writing for a line designed especially for books with faith in God as the primary theme, I am free to release that little voice inside that has been telling me that this is the kind of book I must write.

In these times when it is important to remember that through all the upheaval in the world today, we can still realize peace and joy deep inside through abiding faith, it is my privilege to write a story that is centered on faith in God.

All Scripture verses used in this novel are taken from the King James version of the Holy Bible.

A good share of the travel details in this novel were gleaned from the authentic diaries of E. Hazard Wells, a reporter who traveled to the Klondike in 1897 and whose notes were published in Magnificence and Misery, edited by Randall M. Dodd, Doubleday & Co., Inc., 1984.

As a reader for whom faith in God is a key element in daily life, you will, I hope, find Where Heaven Begins worthwhile reading and an uplifting experience.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To all those who have touched my life in a positive way without even knowing it. I can only hope to do the same in return through my writing.

A special thank-you also to Ann Leslie Tuttle, the editor who originally brought Rosanne Bittner to Steeple Hill; and to my agent, Denise Marcil, for suggesting I try writing an inspirational book. Writing this novel has opened up a whole new avenue in writing for me. I have loved every minute of it.

And who can write an inspirational novel without thanking God for a talent that comes only from Him. I thank Him too for planting the seed of faith that helped me write this book.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Epilogue

Chapter One

Be not a witness against thy neighbor without cause; And deceive not with thy lips.

—Proverbs 24:28

San Francisco, August 4, 1898

“We’ve taken a vote, Elizabeth. We understand you will need to find a job and a place to live, and we are ready to help you there, but you will have to leave Reverend Selby’s residence.”

Elizabeth Breckenridge felt as though the blood was leaving her body, beginning with her head and draining down toward her feet. She had no doubt what had caused this meeting of church deacons who sat circled around her with looks of condemnation on their faces.

“May I have an explanation?” she asked, fighting not to cry. Elizabeth always cried when she was extremely angry, but she refused to shed tears in front of these pious judges, especially the two-faced Reverend Selby. Lord, help me not to hate these men.

“Surely you know the reason for this.” The words came from Anderson Williams, who’d once been a good friend to her father.

Liz faced him squarely. “And surely you know me better,” she answered. “How can you do this, Mr. Williams? You were one of my father’s staunchest supporters. You know my family well, and you know how I was brought up.”

Williams shifted uncomfortably, and Liz could see that he was bound to abide by the decision of the rest of these church leaders, six deacons in all. And, of course, the Reverend Thomas Selby himself sat in judgment.

“I’m sorry, Elizabeth, but I do understand it’s possible after all that’s happened to you that…well, my dear…it would only be natural for you to turn to someone for comfort, and perhaps for you to…well…yearn for the safety and steadfastness of a man’s love,” Williams said.

“Love? Is that what Reverend Selby told you? That I turned to him for comfort? That I said I loved him?” Still fighting tears, Elizabeth continued. “Gentlemen, my father always taught that we should not condemn. According to St. John, Chapter 7, Verse 24, Judge not the appearance, but judge righteous judgment. You have made a grave misjudgment, I can assure you. I am not the one who should be cast out of this church, but I can already see that none of you is ready to listen to the truth, so I will not sit here and beg you to believe me! Only our Holy Father knows the truth, and true judgment will prevail when all of you stand before Him!” She turned her gaze to Reverend Selby. “Including you, Reverend, but I forgive you, for if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses. St. Matthew, Chapter 6, Verse 15.”

Reverend Selby’s dark eyes narrowed with what Liz interpreted as a literal threat. “We all understand your sad situation, child.”

“My sad situation?” Oh, how hard it was to hold her tongue! That had always been difficult, and right now the Lord was not helping her at all when it came to not harboring hatred and a desire for revenge against the reverend. Deep in her heart she really could not forgive this man! “For one thing, I am not a child. I am twenty years old.”

She turned her attention to the others, men who had known her since she was a little girl; men who had worked with her father to build this church in San Francisco; men who now fell into the common belief that all women were basically weak and needy and were somehow responsible for any man’s basic weaknesses. “My sad situation is not the awfulness of losing both my parents to death and my brother to a higher calling,” she continued. “My saddest situation is that I accepted the reverend’s offer to remain living with him and his wife until I could get back on my feet and decide what to do next after Mother’s death. My saddest situation results from trusting a supposedly godly man and thinking he truly wanted to help me. I misjudged his kindness. Reverend Selby had in mind when he offered his home to me other intentions than just helping the daughter of your former preacher!”

“Daughter, watch your tongue!” The words came from Cletus Olson, another former friend of her father’s. “Don’t add false accusations to what has already happened. We are ready to forgive and help you.”

Liz rose from the straight-backed oak chair in which she sat. She felt like an accused harlot. She took a deep breath, astounded and disappointed at the attitude of these men who’d known her family so well.

“Speaking of false accusations, I can only imagine what the pious reverend has been telling you,” she said, turning to meet the eyes of each man directly. “I need no forgiveness, and it sickens me that you would believe him. I assure you that I will gladly leave his home, and in fact I was about to tell all of you the same…that it might be best if I lived elsewhere.”

She swallowed, realizing now that this was God’s way of letting her know it was time to act on what she’d been wanting to do for a long time. “I had already decided to join my brother in Dawson. I know that many of you believe he only went there to search for gold like all the thousands of others who’ve gone, but I know in my heart he intended to build a church and minister to the many lost souls who will surely need his services. I’ve heard some of you joking about his real intentions, but you know what a sincere man of God he is, how hard he worked to save this church after Father was killed. He would never drop all of that for something as shallow as a gold rush. He felt God’s calling and he followed it. I intend to go and find him.”

“How on earth will you get there, Elizabeth?” Anderson Williams frowned with what seemed true concern. “It’s a terribly dangerous trip for a young woman alone. Besides, it’s too late in the year to go at all.”

Liz held her chin proudly. “That shouldn’t concern any of you, considering that you are so eager to ban me from the reverend’s house and brand me as something I am not. Traveling to the Yukon won’t be any worse than struggling to find work and fend for myself with absolutely no family left here…and a congregation that is apparently whispering behind my back.”

Elizabeth folded her arms, angry with herself for not speaking up sooner about Reverend Selby instead of keeping quiet and allowing him the chance to speak first and turn everyone against her. It had always been obvious to her that the man was jealous of the fact that her father had founded Christ Church, and that her presence reminded the congregation of that. Selby didn’t just want to preach here. He wanted to “own” Christ Church and its members. He didn’t want to be known as the man who tried to fill Reverend William Breckenridge’s shoes. He wanted all the glory for himself. He’d done what he could to malign the Breckenridge name and get rid of the last bit of Breckenridge influence in this church so that he and no other would be the number-one leader of his flock. Winning over these men, former friends of her father’s, was his final victory.

“We’ve taken a collection for you, Elizabeth,” Jeffrey Clay spoke up. He was always the most quiet, reasonable man among the deacons. “It was intended to help you find a boarding house and keep you on your feet until you could find a way to support yourself, perhaps by teaching. If you choose to use the money to get you to Alaska, that’s your choice.” He rose and cleared his throat, walking up to her and handing over an envelope. “There is four hundred dollars here. That should be of considerable help. We are aware that your mother also saved some money, which she put in your name before she died.”

Elizabeth took the money with a gloved hand. “I am told that traveling to Alaska could take much more than this, what with the embellished prices of goods there. But somehow I’ll make it with this and what little else I have. I apparently have no choice.”

She turned to leave, wanting nothing more now than to get away from the accusing glares of these pompous men who knew nothing of what she’d suffered since her mother had died three months ago. She should be angry with her brother. This was partly his fault. If he hadn’t up and left last summer…Oh, Peter, if only you were here, none of this would have happened!

“Elizabeth, wait!”

Liz stopped short at the sound of Reverend Selby’s booming voice. Even before he’d started making advances toward her, he’d always had a way of looking at her as though she were some kind of evil temptress. She turned to glare back at him.

“Our love and prayers go with you, daughter,” the reverend told her. “Know that I forgive you, as does my wife. You are welcome to stay another few days until you can make your arrangements, or until you find work. Surely you could teach, or perhaps work as a nanny. And there are any number of young men in our fold who would like to court you. Marriage could bring you all the security you desire.”

Oh, Lord, why are You making it so impossible not to hate this liar!

“I’ll not marry just for security,” she answered aloud. “And yes, I will look for work, but not in San Francisco. I’ll not stay here any longer than it will take me to go home and pack my things. I’ll find a hotel room for tonight and however many days it takes to procure passage to Seattle. I’ll leave as soon as I can!” She moved her gaze about the circle of men again. “And how dare any of you talk about forgiving me! I am not the one who needs forgiving! I am the one who will be praying that God forgives all of you for what you’ve done today!”

With that, Elizabeth quickly left the brick building that had been built next to Christ Church as a gathering hall for potlucks and the like. She rushed around behind it, clinging to the envelope of money. She let the tears come then, deep sobs of humiliation, disappointment, mourning for her dead father and mother, and fear of the unknown. What choice did she have now but to go and find Peter? All she wanted was to be with her brother, the only family she had left.

“Lord Jesus, help me do this,” she wept. How afraid Jesus Himself must have been so many times, but He trusted God to give Him the strength and wisdom necessary to bear the accusations thrown at Him, and to travel where others dared not go. Now Elizabeth knew that she must do the same.

Chapter Two

Thou hast rebuked the proud that are cursed, which do err from Thy commandments. Remove from me reproach and contempt; for I have kept Thy testimonies.

—Psalms 119:21 & 22

Feeling guilty over her anger, too guilty even to pray about it, Elizabeth stuffed clothing into two worn carpet bags that had belonged to her mother. Tears stung her eyes at the longing in her heart to be able to turn to the woman now. The day three years ago that the police informed the family that Liz’s father had been murdered was the day Edna Breckenridge’s health began slipping downhill. She never really recovered from the loss of her husband, but she insisted that no one in the family lose faith in God because of it.

Still, this last hurt did indeed bring a challenge to Elizabeth’s own faith. What more terrible things lay in wait for her? What had she done to deserve this? First, her father, a faithful servant of the Lord, cruelly murdered while bravely ministering to miserable drunks and thieves and prostitutes who plied their dastardly trades on the Barbary Coast. Then her brother, another faithful servant of the Lord, as well as her best friend, felt a calling to follow the hordes of men headed for the Yukon to find gold. God meant for Peter to go there, too, and to build a church and bring His word to men who would too easily forget God even existed in their quest to get rich, or so her brother believed.

After Peter left, one of the more respected deacons, Thomas Selby, had offered to take over as preacher for the church. Deep inside, Liz had always suspected Selby of wanting the job even when her father was alive. Even her mother had doubted that Selby had anything like the abiding faith and love for mankind in his heart that Liz’s father had possessed.

“They’ll never replace Reverend William Breckenridge,” Elizabeth seethed. She closed one carpet bag and threw her only other pair of shoes into the second bag. Her whole family had given up so much so that the church could grow, to the point that they had few possessions. She and her mother had been allowed to continue living upstairs in the parsonage after Thomas Selby became the new minister, but her mother’s health failed rapidly and the woman eventually died from what the doctor claimed was cancer. It was a long, painful, cruel death, another blow to Elizabeth’s faith.

Now this. So unfair! Thinking she was some kind of helpless, needy waif, the pious Reverend Selby had “consoled” Elizabeth with a little too much hugging and touching, as far as she was concerned. It was not until the night one week ago when the man had come into her bedroom and sat on the edge of her bed, waking her when he leaned close and tried talking her into letting him “help” her by coming to bed and “filling her with his strength” that Liz had realized the man’s true intentions.

She’d screamed for him to get out, pushed at him, her reaction waking the man’s wife. The false accusations that came out of the reverend’s mouth then had shocked her. Of course, his wife believed him when he’d told her that Elizabeth had asked him to come to her room to pray with her and then had tried to tempt him into her bed.

She shuddered at the mere thought of the much older, supposedly righteous man being such a hypocrite. He had two grown sons older than she was, and he’d even preached sermons about the sin of adultery! After the incident, Mrs. Selby and other women in the congregation, women who’d been friends of her mother’s and who’d often offered their help in her grief, became cold towards her.

Oh, how it hurt to lose not only her beloved father and mother, but to be lied about and thus to lose others who had been her only source of comfort. Before the disgusting meeting with the deacons today Elizabeth had already decided to leave San Francisco and go to live with Peter. She’d received letters from him, knew he had indeed founded a church in Dawson. He most surely would not want her to make the trip, but he had no choice in the matter. Once she made up her mind to do something, she did it! Her mother used to tease her about such stubbornness.

She drew in her breath and closed her eyes. “God, forgive me,” she prayed. “I have never been so full of anger and…hatred. Yes, that’s what it is, Lord. It’s hatred. I’m so sorry that I feel this way.” She went to her knees. “Please guide me in my journey, Lord. Help me make it safely to Alaska. Help me find my brother. Show me what it is You want of me. Take away this anger so that I can better serve You with a heart that is not full of malice.”

She moved to sit down on the bed, reaching to take her Bible from the nightstand. She pressed it to her heart and let the tears come. Oh, how she missed the days when her family was all together, working hard to build their own church. Since she was eight years old, when her family had arrived in San Francisco after an arduous journey by wagon from Illinois, a life of serving the Lord was all she’d known. She’d been so involved with helping first her father and then her brother that she’d never even taken time for her own life, for allowing young men to court her or attending any social functions except those involving the church. She’d taught Sunday school, helped her mother minister to sick members and then had spent months nursing her own mother until she died.

“Why, God? Haven’t I served You well? Why have You taken so much from me?”

She opened her Bible to the New Testament, always believing that wherever she opened the Gospels she would find answers to her problems. She believed it was God’s way of talking to her, leading her.

“Beware, lest any man spoil you through philosophy and vain deceit,” she read, “after the tradition of men, after the rudiments of the world, and not after Christ.”

There, as always, was her answer. She could not allow the hypocrites who’d kicked her out of this parsonage to spoil her faith.

She closed her eyes. “Lord, I believe You have a reason for the turns life hands us. Surely You mean for me to go to Dawson. I’m afraid, Lord, but I know You will be with me. And I believe there is a purpose for what has happened that You have not yet shown me. Whatever You have planned, Lord, I will accept whatever You entrust to me.”

She rose and packed the Bible into the second carpet bag, along with what was left of her clothing, such as it was. Her family had never owned many material things, and she dressed simply. She breathed deeply as she buckled the second bag, feeling more confident now. God had a purpose for her. She did not doubt it.

She walked to the dresser where she used to sit while her mother brushed her hair for her, always praising its thickness and luster—a lovely red glint to your dark tresses when the sun hits your hair just right, her mother would say. Liz sometimes felt guilty for admiring her own hair during those times, but she was proud of it, and it felt good to remember how she and her mother used to talk about so many things, and to remember how kind and loving Edna Breckenridge had been.

A lump rose in her throat at the memory. She tied on her bonnet, remembering her mother’s warning to always wear a hat with a brim to protect the beautiful, flawless skin God gave you. When the Lord blesses you with good health, you should respect your body and take care of it. That included, of course, giving her body to a man someday only out of love and through God’s divine blessing. So far she’d not met one young man who came close to giving her even the slightest feelings of desire in that respect. And the night Reverend Selby had come into her room with his hideous suggestions only made the thought of being with any man repulsive. It would be a long time before she forgot that awful night!

She forced back another urge to cry as she smoothed her plain green dress with a tiny white ruffle at the high neck. It matched her small green pill bonnet. She wore black ankle-high button shoes and looked properly prim and respectable, certainly not the harlot the Reverend Selby had tried to convince others she was.

It was midafternoon. Neither the Reverend nor Mrs. Selby were home. Good. She’d not bother telling them or anyone else goodbye. She’d go to the church graveyard and visit her father’s and mother’s graves one more time. Oh, how it would make her heart ache to leave them and Christ Church behind, but she had no choice now. They would want her to be with Peter. Steamships left every day for Alaska; and she’d pay passage on one of them and leave.

She took a last look at the room she’d occupied since she was a little girl and shared with her mother for those last months of suffering. Then she straightened, hooking the strings of her handbag on her arm, a handbag that carried all the money she possessed in the world. She picked up her carpet bags and turned, walking out the door. This was it. There was no turning back.

Chapter Three

I am a stranger in the earth; hide not Thy commandments from me.

—Psalms 119:19

August or not, it was foggy and chilly today. Elizabeth was not unaware of the stares of the hundreds of men who milled about. She could not forget the letter she’d received just this past spring from Peter, in which he’d casually stated that any women who came unescorted to Alaska were generally considered to be there for prostitution, although a very few managed to open legitimate businesses such as eateries, or to find work as seamstresses.

Elizabeth had practically memorized Peter’s letters, of which she had only two. It was not easy getting mail out of Dawson and all the way down to San Francisco. She’d received one letter over the winter after his arrival last fall, and the more recent one this spring. She’d written Peter right away about their mother’s death, and it was possible he’d not even received that letter yet, let alone the letter she’d written two nights ago.

Now she stood on the wharf waiting for passengers to disembark the Alaskan Damsel, a steamer that had made numerous trips to Seattle and on to Skagway via the Inside Passage throughout the past two summers.

As she’d suspected would be the case, not many people left the boat, yet hundreds waited, ready to board. For most who made this journey, it was a one-way trip, and like most of them, she’d purchased a one-way ticket herself. Once she found Peter, she had no intention of ever returning to San Francisco.

She shivered from the damp fog, then jumped when the high smokestacks of the Damsel billowed black smoke, accompanied by three shrill whistles, beckoning all who intended to board her. She wondered if that included the three painted, gaudily dressed women who stood not far away batting their eyes at some of the men. It made her ill to think what such women did to make their money. Not far from them stood a group of Chinese, conversing in their strange sing-song tongue. The men’s hair was worn long and braided into tails at the backs of their necks. Other Chinese as well as black men worked at the docks loading and unloading supplies.

Different. All so different. Did God actually expect his followers to love people like that? She liked to think that she could, but if she actually had to associate with them…Oh, Lord, I fall so short of Your will. I am surrounded by heathens and harlots and men whose hearts are filled with a lust for gold and painted women. How can I truly love such people? I know that I am no better than they, and yet it is so hard to think of them as equals. Teach me how to love all people.

Perhaps if her father had not been murdered by people very much like these…. The memory still brought a stabbing pain to her heart. Her father used to come home and ask the family to pray for thieves and murderers, alcoholics and drug users, harlots and men who visited them. He’d truly been a man of God, for she believed he honestly loved these people in the way God intended. He’d died serving the Lord. The same people to whom he’d ministered had turned around and murdered him for a mere three dollars. They had even stolen his clothing, leaving him naked and disgraced.

To realize God meant her to love that kind of people brought a great struggle to her soul. The congregation mourned, but they also had repeatedly warned her father not to go to such dangerous places as the Barbary Coast, a section of this dock area not so far away from here. No one else in her father’s church, most certainly not Reverend Selby and the deacons, had anywhere near the courage of her father when it came to bringing God’s Word to the lost souls of the world. The remaining members of Christ Church had decided it was best simply to serve the current congregation and the surrounding, more civilized neighborhood. If anyone on the Barbary Coast wanted to find God, they were welcome to come to the church and be saved.

Only her brother understood what their father’s calling was all about. He was following William Breckenridge’s footsteps, heading into dangerous, wild country just to minister to those who would have no other source of hearing God’s Word.

She took a deep breath, praying she could drum up the same courage it would take to make this journey. Baggage and supplies were being unloaded from the boat, as well as several large, well-guarded crates that took several men to load onto wagons.

Gold ore? She’d heard that thousands, maybe even millions of dollars worth of the treasured ore arrived almost daily in Seattle and San Francisco, to be shipped to stamp mills. Her brother’s last letter revealed that stamp mills were already being built in the Yukon so that the ore could be processed there. Rumors of the value of the gold coming out of the mines in the Yukon abounded. It was difficult to know what to believe.

The crowd around her grew more excited as they watched the armed bank guards that surrounded the ore wagons. Men began shouting about gold and getting rich, whooping and laughing.

“I ain’t never gonna have to work again!” one man yelled.

“I’ll build my Sarah the biggest house in San Francisco!” yelled another.

Elizabeth began to see what the term gold fever meant. Why was being rich so important? She thought about how Christ had never owned a thing to His name but the clothes He wore and the sandals on His feet. If her brother were to, by chance, find gold, he would use it to build his church and help the poor.

The wharf gradually became even more crowded. The wagons surrounded by men with rifles rumbled past, and Elizabeth picked up both her carpet bags and made her way to a less-congested area, getting bumped and shoved as she struggled through the crowd, keeping the Alaskan Damsel in sight so she could get on board as soon as the boat took on its passengers. She’d paid the cheapest rate possible, deciding she would have to bear the discomfort of sleeping below deck using one of her bags as a pillow. She would need the greater share of her money once she arrived in Skagway for the clothing and supplies it would take to make the journey to the Klondike, or so she’d been told by the man who’d sold her the steamer ticket. He’d advised her not to make the trip at all, most certainly not alone, but she’d made up her mind and there was no going back. She might end up stranded in Skagway without enough money to go any farther, but at least there she’d be closer to Peter.

“God will guide me,” she’d told the man. Deep inside she struggled against fear and doubt, secretly praying almost constantly for the Lord to help her do this.

She removed one glove and ran her fingers over the buttons of the bodice of her dress, making sure none had come undone. Today she wore a simple gray frock with a black velvet shawl and black velvet hat, wanting to appear as plain as possible to make sure strange men realized she was a proper lady. Her hair was wound into a bun at the base of her neck, and she checked to be sure the pins were still holding it tight. It was so thick she always had difficulty holding it in place, whether with pins or combs.

Her handbag dangling from her arm, she reached behind her neck to tighten the hairpins when suddenly her arm was jerked painfully backward and her handbag ripped away. She screamed with the pain, then took no time to stop and think. Her money! It was all in that handbag! Following her first basic instinct, she ran after the culprit who’d stolen all the money she had in the world, screaming for him to stop, screaming to others please to stop him for her.

Dear Lord, please stop him! Please don’t let this happen! Help me!

She began screaming the words aloud. “Help! Help! Please stop him!”

It was then that someone rushed past her and tackled the thief, throwing him to the wooden planks of the pier, then jerking him up and landing several vicious blows, bloodying the man’s nose and mouth. Her apparent aide was tall and obviously strong and knew what he was about, for his blows were well aimed and the thief had no chance against him. Then, to Elizabeth’s wide-eyed shock, the stranger picked up the thief and threw him over the edge of the dock into the water.

He whirled then, as two more ragged-looking men approached him with knives. The stranger whipped out the six-gun he wore at his hip so quickly that Elizabeth barely saw the movement.

“Back off!” he ordered.

The two men looked at each other and backed away. Still holding the gun on them, the stranger walked over to pick up Elizabeth’s handbag and a wide-brimmed hat that had been knocked from his own head in the fight. His two would-be attackers melted into the crowd that had gathered to watch, and finally the stranger holstered his sidearm. He put his hat on and stepped up to Elizabeth, still breathing hard, a slight bruise forming on his square jaw. He held out the handbag. “I believe this belongs to you, ma’am.”

Speechless, Elizabeth took the bag, staring into deep-blue eyes that looked back at her from beneath the hat that now covered wild, wavy strands of dark hair. He was the best-looking man Elizabeth had ever seen, and she felt a sudden, inexplicable jolt to her heart.

Chapter Four

If thine enemy be hungry, give him bread to eat; and if he be thirsty, give him water to drink…

—Proverbs 25:21

The savior of Elizabeth’s handbag began to walk away before she found her voice. “Mister, wait!”

From several feet ahead the man turned, pushing back his hat slightly and looking her over. Elizabeth wondered if perhaps he thought her one of the loose women heading for the gold fields. Surely not! Who could think such a thing, the way she was dressed? No matter what he thought, she had to at least thank him, but…“What about that man you threw into the water? He could drown!” she called to him.

The stranger frowned. “Who cares? Any man who steals from a woman is worthless anyway. You of all people shouldn’t be concerned with what happens to him.”

“But…he’s a human being. If he drowns, I’ll be responsible!”

“What?” He grunted a laugh. “He stole your purse, and I’m the one who threw him into the water.”

Elizabeth glanced toward the spot where the man had been thrown off. She noticed a couple of men helping him climb back onto the wharf.

“There, you see? He’s wet and mad, but he’s all right. The water probably helped sober him up,” the stranger told her.

The voice was closer, and Elizabeth turned to see him standing right before her. It was then she realized he was a good six feet tall and well built. She backed away slightly. “Well, I…I’m glad, in spite of what he did. And I thank you, sir, for recovering my handbag. All the money I have in the world is in it.”

He grinned and shook his head. “Then I suggest you take that money and put it inside your girdle or your camisole, someplace where a man can’t get to it so easily.” He frowned teasingly then. “Unless, of course, you’re not the prim-and-proper lady you appear to be.”

Elizabeth reddened. “I beg your pardon!”

He tipped his hat. “Just some friendly advice, ma’am.” He started away again.

“What’s your name?” Elizabeth called after him.

Again he turned, removing his hat and running a hand through his thick hair. “Clint Brady.”

Still feeling heat in her cheeks, Elizabeth nodded to him. “Well, thank you again, Mr. Brady. I’ll…take your advice.”

Brady looked around and stepped closer again. “You headed for Alaska?”

Elizabeth nodded. “Yes. My brother is building a church in the Yukon. I am going to join him.”

The man frowned, his blue eyes revealing true concern. “Alone?”

Elizabeth glanced down at his gun and suddenly wondered if she was revealing too much information. Still, he’d risked his life to get her purse back for her. “Yes.”

“And your brother approves?”

“He doesn’t know. I sent him a letter, but I’ll be well on my way by the time he gets it. He’ll have no choice in the matter. He’s all the family I have left and I’m going. God will get me there safely.”

Brady’s eyebrows arched quizzically, and Elizabeth could see he thought she was silly to make such a remark. “He will, will He?” He chuckled. “Well, ma’am…what’s your name, anyway?”

“Elizabeth Breckenridge.”

“Well, Miss Breckenridge, it’s nice to have so much faith, but if I were you, I’d still be more careful of my money. And I’d find a guide of some kind. The trip to the Yukon is daunting for the strongest of men, let alone a woman on her own. You able to carry a thousand pounds of supplies on your back up a mountainside?”

Elizabeth swallowed. “Well, I…I’ll find a way. Perhaps I’ll find a guide once I reach Skagway…and a mule or a horse.”

“Mmm-hmm. And how are you going to know who to trust?”

She held her chin higher with pretended confidence. “I’ll know, that’s all. However, I doubt I have enough money to pay a man for such work anyway. Perhaps someone will take me for the cost of his own supplies…grubstaking, I think they call it.”

Brady nodded. “That’s what they call it.” He looked around the crowd as though watching for someone in particular. “Come on. I’ll walk you back to your bags, if they’re still there.”

“Oh, my goodness! I forgot all about them! What if someone has stolen them!” Elizabeth began a rushed walk back to where she’d left her things, and Clint Brady walked beside her.

“They’re probably all right,” he tried to assure her. “Believe it or not, most of the men headed for the Yukon are just common good men, a lot of them family men who respect proper ladies.” Elizabeth’s bags came into sight. “There, you see?”

“Thank you, Jesus,” Elizabeth said as she hurried up to the bags and picked them up. People were now boarding the Damsel. “I’d better get on board.” She looked up at Clint Brady. “Thank you again, Mr. Brady. I didn’t even ask if you’re all right.”

“Oh, I’ve been through worse, believe me.”

“Oh, my.” She glanced at his gun again. She wanted to ask more, but it might seem too intrusive; besides, there was no time. She had to get on board. She smiled nervously and nodded a goodbye, turning and climbing the wooden plank that led to the steamer’s wooden deck. The Damsel was one of the larger steamers available, painted bright yellow with white trim, three stories of expensive cabins looking inviting. Again, Elizabeth wished she could afford a cabin, rather than staying below deck.

Only God knew how she was going to reach her destination safely—or if she would reach it at all. She had to keep the faith. Whatever was God’s will for her, so be it. Fate, or more likely God, had led her this far.

She stood at the rail of the ship for several more long minutes, staring out at the hilly streets of San Francisco. So many memories there, mostly good ones until her father had been murdered. And Mama. Her eyes stung with tears. Mama! She might never again be able to visit her mother’s grave. Oh, how she missed her! She could not imagine finding happiness here ever again. Her only hope for that was to be with Peter.

Her heart rushed faster when the steamer again blasted three short whistles from its tall smokestacks. Several black men working along the wharf unwrapped heavy rope from around thick wooden dock posts and tossed them to the deck of the Damsel. Elizabeth noticed again what a montage of races mingled at the wharf, and that many of them had boarded the Damsel. Negroes, Chinese, painted women, a couple of men who looked Indian, perhaps even Eskimos. She realized that in all the years she’d lived here, she really couldn’t tell one Indian tribe from another. She only knew that most of the California tribes had become nearly extinct from war and disease. And, of course, there were many Spaniards among the crowd and several on board.

She realized that the members of Christ Church were nearly all white, and that many of them did not openly welcome other races. Her father would have welcomed anyone, and he’d died going out to find those who truly needed to hear God’s Word. Since his death the church had strayed far from what her father meant it to be. He would expect his children to love and welcome other races, for he’d often preached that Christ taught that all should love one another, no matter how different that other person might be.

She turned to glance around at those who’d boarded the Damsel, and there were those very three women! And standing there talking to them was none other than Clint Brady! She’d not even noticed him come aboard.

So, he, too, was going to Alaska. To look for gold? She suspected it was for some other reason. Why did he wear a gun at his side? She couldn’t remember seeing a badge on the man, but maybe he was a lawman. That would explain why he knew how to handle her attacker. He obviously had a good side to him, or he wouldn’t have helped her…but he also had a violent side…and apparently a sinful side, or he wouldn’t be standing there talking to harlots!

Why did that bother her? It was ridiculous to care. He glanced her way, and again she felt that little jolt to her heart, that little, uneasy feeling that Clint Brady had some kind of connection to her…some strange reason for coming into her life in such an odd way.

She turned away. How silly! Besides, the man might only be going as far as Seattle. Still, why did she actually feel relieved that he was on board?

Slowly the docks of San Francisco Bay began to disappear into the cold mist. The sound of other steamers’ shrill whistles pierced the thick fog that began to shroud the Damsel.

She was on her way. Stay with me, Jesus. I’m so afraid. My strength and courage come only from You.

Chapter Five

And the scribes and Pharisees brought unto him a woman taken in adultery; and when they had set her in the midst, they said unto him, Master, this woman was taken in adultery, in the very act…such should be stoned; but what sayest thou?

…Jesus…said unto them, He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her…. And they…went out one by one…. And Jesus said to the woman, where are thine accusers? Hath no man condemned thee? She said, No man, Lord. And Jesus said unto her, Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more.

—St. John 8:3-11

Elizabeth studied her Bible by lantern light, the only kind of light available on the lower deck, although the cabins and upper decks had electric lights, for what that was worth. For the first two days of the trip men grumbled that the lights constantly dimmed or went out completely.

Elizabeth could barely sleep because of the deck’s vibration, due to the steamer’s engines rumbling directly beneath her. Added to that noise was the noise of others talking, particularly the painted women who were situated only a few feet from her. The first night they’d laughed and visited half the night, talking about things that made Elizabeth feel like a sinner just by hearing them.

Then last night the women had put up a makeshift tent made of blankets, and one of them lay inside the tent groaning in pain most of the night. The other two sat just outside the blankets whispering about something. Elizabeth assumed the woman groaning must be sick to her stomach from something she ate.

She fished through one of her carpet bags and took out a bottle of ink and a pen, as well as a notebook she’d purchased before leaving San Francisco. She had decided to keep a diary of her journey, partly to keep herself occupied so she wouldn’t think about all the frightening things that could happen to her, and also because if she died on this journey, someone might send the diary on to Peter as a keepsake. She began by writing a note as to what to do with the journal should she not make it to Dawson.

August 10, 1898…This is only my third day, and we should make Seattle very soon. This part of my journey is, of course, the easy part, but I will try to make note of what happens every day. So far, other than when a thief tried to steal my handbag before I could board the steamer, things have been quite uneventful.

I am camping here below deck with Chinese and Indians and even three painted women whose occupation I suspect is unmentionable. One of them is sick. I have no idea…

She set her pen aside when she noticed that one of the painted women was coming toward her with what looked like a wadded-up towel.

“Miss?”

Elizabeth swallowed. Should she be seen associating with such women? Don’t forget the adulteress, and how Jesus forgave her. She capped her pen and set it and her diary aside. “Yes?”

The woman crouched closer, and in the lantern light Elizabeth realized the woman was not much older than she was!

“My name is Collette. My friend in the tent over there that we set up, her name is Francine.” Collette kept her voice lowered. She looked around, as though keeping a big secret. “My other friend there is Tricia, and we were all wondering…I mean…we’ve noticed you reading a Bible and all…and maybe you know enough about it to…well…pray over a dead body.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened in surprise. “Did Francine die?”

“Oh, no, miss,” Collette answered in a near whisper. “I think she’ll be all right. We have experience in these things. That’s not what we’d want you to pray about…except, of course, if you’d be so kind as to do that. Francine just lost a baby. I’ve got it right here in this towel. There’s not much to it, but, well, you know, it just doesn’t seem right not to pray over it, ’cause it’s still what’s left of a little human life. But me, I’m not much good at such things, so I thought maybe you’d consider coming up top with me and saying a prayer before I drop it into the water—kind of a burial at sea I guess you’d say.”

Elizabeth felt her heart pounding in her chest. Dear Lord, help me know what to do! This woman of the streets was asking her to pray over an illegitimate child delivered by yet another prostitute! “I…well, I…”

“I know it seems awful to somebody like you, but like the Good Book says, we’re all God’s children, even this tiny little bit of life that’s hardly recognizable. I sure don’t intend just to throw it in the garbage.”

Elizabeth wondered at the fact that the woman seemed to understand a little bit about God and the Bible, and she actually respected the bit of life she held in the towel. She felt ashamed about worrying what others would think of talking to such women. God surely was placing this duty in her hands, and so she would pray over the poor little soul in the towel. She reminded herself as she stood up that her father would have done the same. “I…of course I’ll pray over the baby, and I’ll pray for its mother. Are you sure she’s all right…physically, I mean?”

“I think she’ll be all right, but there’s an awful lot of bleeding. We’re getting off in Seattle to get her some help. It’s kind of you to ask.” Collette leaned a little closer. “And we understand somebody like you wouldn’t want to be seen consorting with us, so I won’t bother you after you do this one thing.”

“It’s all right. My father was a preacher, and he used to minister to people along the Barbary Coast.”

Collette brightened, raising painted eyebrows. “Well, he must have been a real good man.”

“Yes, he was.” Elizabeth realized she needed to think about what God’s love truly means. “Let’s go to the main deck,” she told Collette.

Nervous and unsure, Elizabeth led Collette to the main deck. It was early morning and the sea was quite calm today. They managed to find a place away from others, as many men were still asleep and not milling about. Elizabeth touched the towel and prayed for God to bless the bit of life inside and take him or her into His arms for blessed eternity.

“‘Suffer the little children and forbid them not to come unto me,’” she said after praying, “‘for of such is the Kingdom of Heaven.’” She noticed tears in Collette’s eyes.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Collette hesitated, then turned and threw the towel overboard. Gradually the towel soaked into the water. Collette turned and gave Elizabeth a quick hug. “I’ll be leaving you now. You’re a kind woman. What’s your name, honey?”

“Elizabeth…Elizabeth Breckenridge.”

Collette nodded, then turned and left. Elizabeth felt confused by why Collette would live the way she did if she believed in God. She realized she had so much to learn about real people and real life.

She breathed deeply of the morning air and looked up at the sky. It was then she saw him…Clint Brady…watching her. Surely he’d seen her with Collette. What was he thinking? And why did she have this feeling that he was always watching her? He gave her a smile and a nod and turned away.

Elizabeth looked back out over the ocean. She could no longer see the towel, and it struck her that just as that tiny bit of life was now in God’s hands, so was hers. “Lord, just don’t send me more than I can handle,” she murmured. “But I do have so much to learn. Just show me the way.”

Chapter Six

Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of God; and every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God.

—1 John 4:7

Seattle, August 11, 1898

Elizabeth stood beside the railing of the Damsel’s main deck watching supplies being unloaded and a very few passengers disembark at Seattle. Even more men and supplies waited at the dock to board. Among those leaving the steamer were Tricia, Francine and Collette, who stopped at Elizabeth’s side for a moment before leaving the ship.

Collette wore a rather plain dress, but it was cut low enough to show sinful cleavage. “We’re going to find a doctor for Francine,” she told Elizabeth.

Elizabeth glanced at Francine, astonished at how young she, too, looked—as well as how pale, with dark circles under her eyes. “I hope you feel better soon,” she told the girl.

Francine nodded a thank-you and looked away, covering her head with a shawl. She left with Tricia, the only one of the three who appeared to be perhaps as old as thirty.

Collette patted Elizabeth’s arm. “Francine truly appreciates you praying over that poor little piece of life, and praying for her, too. I hope you don’t think too dreadfully of her. She’s had a hard life—never knew her father, and her alcoholic mother abandoned her when she was only ten. Her stepfather treated her…well…not like a daughter, that’s for sure, if you know what I mean.”

Elizabeth thought a moment, feeling ill when she deduced what the woman was trying to tell her. “Oh, how awful!”

“Well, honey, I don’t mean to upset you. I just thought maybe it would help for you to understand how some people end up the way they do. Say, how far into Alaska are you headed, anyway?”

Elizabeth’s emotions reeled with pity and shock, and she swallowed before replying. “Uh…Dawson—really it’s not Alaska at all—it’s up in the Yukon.”

“Oh, we know where it is. That’s where we were headed. Hey, maybe we’ll see you up there!”

Elizabeth wasn’t so sure she should be glad about that. “Yes, maybe you will. My brother is building a church there, and I’m going to Dawson to join Peter and help him with his ministry.”

“Really?” Collette looked her over. “Well, why am I not surprised? You’re such a nice, gracious young woman. By gosh, maybe we’ll find that church and go there—that is, if your brother would allow it.”

Elizabeth smiled, unable not to like the woman in spite of her occupation. “He would never turn anyone away for any reason. He’s a lot like our father, who accepted all people. He was…killed while ministering along the Barbary Coast. His name was William Breckenridge. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

Collette frowned. “Could have. I mean, I remember hearing about some preacher being killed.” She shook her head. “I’m real sorry to hear that, Miss Breckenridge. And I hope you have a safe trip to Dawson, but you should know how dangerous it is for you to be doing this alone. The girls and I would have gladly watched out for you, but we’ll be taking a different steamer the rest of the way now.” She glanced toward the upper deck. “Then again, I have a feeling somebody is already watching out for you.”

Elizabeth glanced in the direction where Collette looked, and there stood Clint Brady. She reddened and looked back at Collette. “I don’t even know that man. I mean…he helped chase down a man who’d stolen my handbag, but that’s the extent of it.”

“Well, the girls and I saw the whole thing. We talked to him briefly the day we all boarded the Damsel, and he told us about how you were traveling alone and that it worried him.”

“Why? He doesn’t even know me.”

Collette shrugged. “I expect he’s just the kind of man who hates thieves and the like—kind of a lawman at heart. He’s a bounty hunter, you know.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “What?”

“That’s right. He showed us a drawing of the man he’s after, wanted to know if we’d seen him around San Francisco before we left. He’s pretty darn sure the man is headed for Dawson, since that’s where he’s from. So, your Mr. Brady is going there to find him. There’s five thousand dollars on his head. Heck, it’s probably a quicker way of making five thousand bucks than panning for gold in that miserable back country.” She chuckled. “Anyway, he’s obviously a man who knows how to handle himself, so if he’s got an eye on you, that’s good.” Collette leaned closer. “And your Mr. Clint Brady is just about the most handsome specimen of man I’ve ever set eyes on.” She winked. “And I’ve set eyes on plenty!” She laughed then. “I wouldn’t be too quick to turn down his attention, sweetie!” She gave Elizabeth a quick hug. “You have a safe trip now.”

The woman turned and walked away, and a rather stunned Elizabeth watched after her. Again her thoughts whirled with indecision about people and God’s love and what the Lord expected of her. Was he throwing these people at her to teach her something? Thieves. Prostitutes. A bounty hunter! Didn’t bounty hunters search out men and kill them for money? What if the men they looked for were innocent? And even if they were guilty of whatever crimes they were accused of, what gave another man the right to pass judgment to the extent of shooting them down without a trial? How could one man treat another man no better than an animal, killing them as they would kill a beaver for its pelt?

No wonder Clint Brady had been unconcerned about whether the man who’d attacked her got out of the water! What would compel a man to have such little concern for human life? She watched the swarm of people on the docks. From what she could tell, she just might be the only woman on the Damsel for the rest of the journey.

She drew a deep breath for courage. So be it. In spite of what she now knew about Clint Brady, she couldn’t help hoping, deep inside, that he really would look out for her.

Lord, what would compel such a nice-looking man who apparently cares about other people to be able to kill another human being for money? Have You brought Clint Brady into my life for a reason? How on earth can I be of any help to such a man?

She watched Tricia, Francine and Collette hail a horse-drawn cab and climb inside. Had she been of any help to them? Any influence? “God be with them,” she muttered. She looked around, catching a glimpse of Clint Brady talking to some other men. He was showing them something, most likely the drawing of the man he was hunting. “And be with Mr. Brady,” she added.

Chapter Seven

Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.

—St. John 14:6

Where heaven begins. That was how Peter had described this land, and Elizabeth was beginning to see what he meant as the Damsel chugged past some of the most magnificent scenery Elizabeth had ever seen. Because of the stale stench below deck, she’d spent most of the past three days above watching the landscape, often pulling her cape close around her against the cool, misty air. The weather had become totally unpredictable as the steamer moved through fjords bordered by mountainous islands that appeared to have no beaches. It looked as though the deeply forested slopes simply rose from the sea straight upward.

The mornings were chilly, often followed by a very warm midday as the sun appeared through the mist, and yet it could rain within minutes of sunshine, followed by bright sun again. Every day it rained in spurts, and she had to keep an umbrella with her at all times.

Most of the almost crushing crowd of men on board seemed to have no interest in the gorgeous landscape beyond talk of how much gold lay beneath the distant mountains. She saw a different kind of treasure there, visions of God’s beautiful heaven. She realized how right Peter had been in saying that he would be needed at the gold seekers’ final destination, for surely there would be hordes of people there who might be hungry for God’s Word: people like Collette, who needed to hear about God’s forgiveness, men who needed to know that gold was not their God, and men like Clint Brady, who needed their hearts healed by God’s love.

Why couldn’t she get him off her mind? Why couldn’t—

“Miss Breckenridge?”

Elizabeth turned at the words, spoken in a deep voice, Clint Brady’s voice. A quick rush of cool air sent a shiver through her, and she drew her cape closer again as she looked up into steel-blue eyes. “Yes?”

He stepped up beside her and leaned on the deck rail. “I have to tell you that I was hoping you’d change your mind and get off at Portland.”

Elizabeth frowned in surprise. “Why? You don’t even know me. Besides, it’s really none of your business where I’m going.” She stood next to him, leaning against the railing. Both watched the deep-green mountains as the Damsel made its way through currently calm waters.

Clint paused long enough to fiddle with something. Elizabeth waited, not even looking at him, but soon she smelled smoke as he let out a long, deep breath. She glanced at his hands hanging out over the railing, and noticed a cigarette between his fingers.

“Ma’am,” he finally spoke up, “I don’t think you have an inkling of what you’re in for. Even I can only guess, from what the rumors are. Either way, it’s not an experience for a proper young lady like yourself. A good deal of men who make this trip won’t manage to even get over the first pass to Dawson. The Canadian North-West Mounted Police are demanding that men tote a good thousand pounds of supplies, because last winter hundreds of men died either trying to get over the passes or from starvation on the way or once they reached Dawson. It’s a trip a lot of men can’t withstand, let alone a woman alone who doesn’t have near the necessary strength to tote a backload of supplies for hundreds of miles. And if that alone isn’t enough to make you turn back, you’re headed into country where you’ll often be caught alone with a pack of men who haven’t seen a woman for months. Even the most proper among them would be tempted to forget gentlemanly behavior.”

Elizabeth felt a warmth coming into her cheeks at what he was suggesting. “I told you before that God will provide. I trust Him completely, Mr. Brady. Somehow He will help me reach my destination safely.”

She heard him give an almost moaning gasp signaling his disbelief. He clearly felt that she was probably stupid and naive to believe what she was saying. He took another long drag on his cigarette.

“Perhaps you don’t know much about God and putting your trust in Him, Mr. Brady, but I—”

“Oh, I know all about those things,” he interrupted. “I know all too well about trusting God, and how He can completely fail you. Don’t preach to me, ma’am. I’m just trying to prevent you from suffering or maybe even losing your life, that’s all.”

Oh, the bitterness in his comment about God! What was the story behind this man? She remained confused about why he would care about her, and she again asked him that very question.

Clint shifted as though uncomfortable with the entire conversation. “Ma’am, I don’t even know why myself. I guess it’s because I had a wife once, about your age, and she met with a terrible misfortune. I saw you standing all alone on the dock back in San Francisco and have watched you ever since. I’m worried your simple trust in God is going to make you do something very foolish. It’s obvious you aren’t very well schooled in life in the real world, and since I don’t have much of anything else to do on this journey till I reach Dawson, I figured I’d occupy my time with looking out for you…kind of a leftover from not being there for my wife when she needed me.”

So, this had something to do with his wife. Was the life he led also related to what happened to her? She swallowed, not sure just what to say. “Well, Mr. Brady, if you want to go out of your way for me, I suppose I should tell you I appreciate it, but I certainly don’t expect it of you or anyone else. It’s very kind of you to think of me that way, and I’m deeply sorry for whatever misfortune hurt your wife. Is she well now?”

Another pause, another long drag on the cigarette. “She’s dead.” The words came flatly, angrily.

“Oh, I’m so very sorry. Truly I am.” It was all beginning to make more sense now. Was his wife murdered? Was he searching for her killer?

“I should have made that point in the first place.” He sighed and cleared his throat. “I, uh, just want you to know that if you need anything, you can ask. And if I were you, I’d pack some kind of handgun.”

Elizabeth had to smile at the very thought of it. “Mr. Brady, that would do me no good. For one thing, I can’t afford one, and for another, I wouldn’t use it anyway. I could never in my life shoot at someone.”

“Not even if they threatened to steal everything you own, or steal what’s most precious to you?”

“Most precious?”

She looked up at him curiously. He faced her and rolled his eyes, now appearing rather better-humored. “You don’t know what I’m talking about?”

Elizabeth thought a moment, then turned away. “Oh!” She felt ridiculous, embarrassed, angry with him for mentioning such a thing. “God would never allow such a misfortune. Thank you again for your offer, Mr. Brady, but I’ll be fine.”

He leaned closer. “I meant what I said. Other men might offer the same thing, but I wouldn’t trust any of them, understand?”

She drew in her breath, drinking in a bit of courage along with it, and faced him again, hoping her cheeks weren’t too flushed. “And why should I trust you and not all the others?”

He looked her over in a way that made her feel safe and warm. It disturbed her to be unable to ignore the fact that he was incredibly handsome. Wasn’t it sinful to notice such things about a man?

“Maybe because I’m the one who risked his life to help you out at the docks,” he told her. “I didn’t see anyone else doing that. Maybe because I’ve handled some pretty bad characters and know more about that than most of the men on this ship. Maybe because I know how to handle my fists and a gun, which I guarantee you are going to need before this journey ends. And maybe because your God intended for me to notice you. You said yourself that He would be sure you get to Dawson safely. Maybe I’m the reason.”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise and grinned. So, he did still believe, at least a little. “Are you saying God brought us together?”

He gave her a rather sneering smile. “If He did, it was because of you, certainly not because He cares anything about me.”

The door was open! “Oh, but He does, Mr. Brady. He most certainly does.”

Clint took one last drag from his cigarette and tossed the butt into the water. “No, ma’am, I don’t think so.” He looked around. “Look, there are only three more days left until we reach Skagway. Believe me, when we get there, you’ll be thrown into a wide-open, lawless, crowded, wild town where there won’t be one man you can trust, and the only women there will be like Collette and those other two who got off at Portland. And, by the way, you need to be careful who you’re seen with.”

“God loves everyone, Mr. Brady. I can do no less as His servant. One of them needed my help. I could not turn her away.”

He folded his arms, giving her a stern look. “Do you really think that I or the other men on this ship didn’t know what was going on?”

Elizabeth’s patience was rankled. “It’s none of their business, nor yours! They asked me to pray for them, and so I did. I am not as naive as you think! My own father was murdered on the Barbary Coast, ministering to harlots and thieves and murderers! I know a little bit about the real world, sir, and I know that you are a bounty hunter! You hunt men down for money, so as I said, why should I trust you?”

Why had she said that? She hadn’t meant to. She wasn’t even going to bring up the subject, which she now knew surely had something to do with his wife! She saw hurt and anger in his eyes. She looked away. “I’m sorry.”

“No matter,” he said coldly. “I didn’t say I was any better than the harlots and murderers you just mentioned. I’m only telling you that I do care what happens to a young woman alone against the odds you’ll be facing. In fact, what I was going to say was that for what’s left of this journey, you’re welcome to use my cabin if you want. I hate to think of you down there with a bunch of men who haven’t bathed since God knows when and who I don’t doubt are using language you’d rather not listen to. But then since you’re more worldly than I thought, I guess it’s not so bad for you. And you wouldn’t want to stay in a cabin that’s been inhabited by a bounty hunter, now, would you? Enjoy the rest of your trip, Miss Breckenridge.”

He left her then, and Elizabeth wanted to kick herself. He’d given her an opening to help him learn about God’s love, and she’d missed it! She’d let her own pride and orneriness get in the way. She leaned over the railing again, putting her head in her hands.

Oh, Lord, forgive me! I failed You miserably! Clint Brady had offered to help her, protect her, give up expensive quarters for her, and she’d behaved abominably. What a fool she was! And what a poor servant of the Lord!

Chapter Eight

He that is of God heareth God’s words: ye therefore hear them not, because ye are not of God.

—St. John 8:47

Clint felt frustrated, angry, anxious, guilty, worried and bored. He tried to think of one positive thing about his life, and he couldn’t come up with anything…except Elizabeth Breckenridge, which seemed pretty ridiculous, considering he’d known her all of ten days. Most of that was by sight alone, and the one and only real conversation he’d had with her ended disastrously.

Why in heck did she get to him the way she did? He was making this trip for one reason alone—to find Roland Fisher and either take him back to San Francisco alive, or return with a notarized certificate of his death…by a bullet from Clint Brady’s gun. It made no difference to him which way it was. The man was a murderer of innocent people, which meant his life had no value.

The intrusion of Elizabeth Breckenridge into his thoughts and emotions was an unexpected infringement on his life and purpose. Why did he allow it to perplex him? There was absolutely no reason for it, and he wished he’d never run after the thief who took her handbag. Maybe then she would have missed the Damsel altogether and he wouldn’t be in this mess of emotions.

How could a woman be so ridiculously stupid about her decisions? She was apparently just as misguided as her father had been, actually believing that God would watch out for her and see that she reached Dawson safely. The thought was enough to make a man laugh. Sometimes he wanted to, but the thought of what could really happen to the poor girl sobered him.

He lit another cigarette, glad he’d brought plenty along. Pacing around on the Damsel was driving him nuts. He couldn’t wait to get off and get away from Miss Naive. At least those below ate at a different time from those with cabins, so he didn’t have to see her in the dining room, such as it was. He wondered how her stomach was handling the doughy, half-baked biscuits and tough meat the ship’s cook served.

At least once they landed at Skagway he could get away from her. If she was so sure she could make it to Dawson all on her own, then let her find out the hard way that God was not going to provide! It would serve her right to discover that maybe there was no God at all. She’d find out how crushing it could be to realize that simple faith wasn’t enough when it came to the real evils of the world.

And faith in God was also no use when trying to forget the pain of the past, to get over the loss of loved ones. And forgiveness—that was totally impossible. How can a man forgive those who’ve robbed him of what was most precious in his life? No, forgiveness is for fools, as is faith in a cruel God. What a mean lesson Miss Breckenridge had yet to learn!

Fools! Half the world was made up of fools. Fools like the men on this ship who’d deserted loved ones to look for a treasure most of them would never find. Fools like Elizabeth Breckenridge. Fools like he’d once been, thinking life could be perfectly wonderful and peaceful and full of joy. He’d almost forgotten what true joy was, forgotten how to smile because of love rather than because of bounty money. He wasn’t even sure what to do with all the money he’d gradually built up in a bank in San Francisco. The only things he spent money on were a few clothes, tobacco, the horses that would arrive in Skagway ahead of him on a cattle boat and the best Winchester rifle and Colt handgun money could buy.

A group of men toward the Damsel’s bow began singing a risqué song about the women of Skagway and the places they liked to stuff gold nuggets. He wondered if poor Elizabeth could hear the filthy words, then chastised himself for caring. He finished his cigarette and walked over to join the singers, laughing at the dirty lyrics. Laughing. Crying inside.

Elizabeth shivered into her cape, surprised at how cold it was today compared to the lovely day yesterday, with sunshine and no wind. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the beauty of the mountains, softly humming a hymn in her attempt to shut out the dirty, suggestive words of the men singing nearby. Finally the singing stopped when a pod of orca whales began following the ship, sometimes jumping high out of the dark, foggy waters in a magnificent display of black and white majesty.

After nearly a half hour of staying close enough to be seen in spite of the fog, they swam off to the distance, disappearing into the mist. Only minutes later their show was replaced by the antics of a huge herd of chattering dolphins that jumped and rolled and played alongside the ship. The comical sight made Elizabeth and others laugh, and it seemed the blue creatures were laughing with them. They reminded Elizabeth of little children.

It felt good to laugh. Elizabeth glanced around to see if Clint Brady might also be watching the dolphins. She saw him standing farther down along the ship’s rail, and yes, he, too, was laughing. She whispered a little prayer of thanks to God for creating something so sweet and beautiful that it could make a man like that forget whatever was burdening him and genuinely laugh, if for just a few moments.

She quickly looked away so he wouldn’t catch her watching him, for she suspected he’d fast lose his smile if he knew she’d seen him actually enjoying himself. As little as she knew about him so far, she was pretty sure he’d be stubborn about admitting any kind of brief happiness. Mr. Clint Brady was determined to be mad at the world and at God.

The dolphins disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared, and again the ship was shrouded in thick, cold fog. It was unnerving to know there were islands and rocks and other ships all around, as they’d been watching other steamers ahead of and behind them throughout their voyage. In just one more day, so she’d been told, they would make Skagway, and she would be more than happy to get off the Damsel and out of the worsening conditions in the lower deck.

“One more day, fellas,” a man nearby shouted.

All the talk was of Skagway and White Pass and Chilkoot Pass and the cost of horses and gear and hope that those who’d gone before had “left some of that there gold for us.”

In the distance she could hear another ship’s steam whistle. The Damsel sounded her own wail in reply, the steam pouring from her stacks only adding to the denseness of the fog. Something about the thick mist made the whistles seem louder than normal, and the other ships’ haunting horns seemed all too close.

Suddenly Elizabeth could barely see past her hand, couldn’t even see those standing next to her.

How close were other boats? They were in fairly narrow fjords now, no room for error. “God, protect us,” she whispered. She’d no more said the words than she felt a jolt, and in what seemed no more than a second she felt the rail on which she leaned give way. She was falling…falling…

She hit the icy water, and the weight of her leather shoes and many layers of under slips, her dress and her fur cape…all caused her to sink…sink…ever deeper.

Chapter Nine

And Jesus said unto him, Receive thy sight: thy faith hath saved thee.

—St. Luke 18:42

“Lizzy.”

Mama?

Elizabeth was sure she’d heard her mother calling her. No one else ever referred to her as Lizzy. She searched the dark waters. Nothing. Was her mother calling her home to heaven? Should she allow her lungs to give up and just breathe in the icy water, allowing herself to drown?

“The Father is with you,” her mother told her.

Something strong bumped her, then grabbed her, lifted her. She was near the point of passing out from holding her breath, and from futile efforts to bring herself back to the water’s surface. She felt herself rising, rising now instead of sinking. Someone had found her! Who? How many others had fallen overboard when the railing broke?

Thank you, Jesus!

In the next moment her head broke above water and she gasped, desperately gulping air, blessed air. She was alive!

“Hang on to me!” a man’s voice commanded.

She obeyed, still not even aware of who it was. He clung to her with one arm and used his other arm to swim.

“Kick your feet a little,” he told her.

“I can’t swim!”

“Just kick your feet the best you can.”

This time the words were shouted. She obeyed, surprised that kicking her feet actually helped. She dug into a muscled back with her right hand as she clung to whoever held her. “Don’t let go!” she found herself begging, her words coming through chattering teeth.

The arm holding her tightened. “I didn’t jump into this ice bath just to let go of you after finding you,” he shouted in reply.

Clint? It sounded like Clint Brady! Had he also fallen in from the broken railing, or had he deliberately dived in after her? Those thoughts flickered through her brain as she struggled against the cruel cold of the water and kept kicking in spite of the weight of her dress and shoes. Between the heavy fog and the water splashing into her eyes, she could barely see a thing, including the man rescuing her. A small boat appeared out of nowhere, and the man led her to it, lifting her slightly.

“Grab on!”

Now Elizabeth could hear other voices, men yelling for help. Two men in the boat reached for her, and the man who’d helped her put his hand on her rump and gave her a boost. She managed to climb over the side of the smaller boat and literally fall into it.

“Hello!” one of the men in the boat shouted. “We’re here! We’ve got a boat. Swim toward our voices.”

Coughing and shivering, Elizabeth managed to sit up and stare over the side of the boat. What had happened to Clint?

“You’ll be okay now, ma’am,” one of those in the boat told her. “We got rammed by another steamer, but the Damsel will make it to the closest island. We’ll get help right quick, and we’ll still make it to Skagway.”

Breathless, Elizabeth couldn’t even answer. She recognized the man as one of the Damsel’s crew. Another man removed his pea coat and put it around her shoulders. Elizabeth very gladly pulled it closer, wondering if she would ever feel warm again. She continued gasping as she waited, watching for Clint to emerge.

After a few minutes two more men came to the side of the boat. To her relief she could see Clint was one of them. The fog seemed to be lifting slightly, enough that she realized Clint had gone out to save someone else. He helped the man to the boat and left yet again, seemingly immune to the cold water.

Minutes later he again returned with yet another man. This time he climbed inside after the man he’d helped. He fell to the bottom of the boat, breathing hard, and Elizabeth noticed he wore only a shirt and pants—no jacket, no gun and no boots or even socks! Surely he hadn’t fallen in accidentally at all. He’d taken a moment to half undress so he could swim better, having every intention of rescuing as many as he could.

He sat up and put his head in his hands, still breathing deeply, and there came another cry for help, somewhere in the fog. Clint stood up and dove off the small boat again.

“Clint!” Elizabeth screamed.

Moments later he returned with a third man. Both of them climbed into the boat.

“I hope…that’s all of them,” Clint panted.

“It’s a mighty fine thing you did, mister,” one of the crewmen told him.

“Where did you learn to swim so good?” one of those he’d rescued asked.

“Lake Michigan,” Clint answered, “a long time ago. I wasn’t so sure I’d have the strength I needed, it’s been so long.” He took several more deep breaths. “Good thing I got the last of you. I was about out of breath.” He coughed and glanced at Elizabeth. “You all right?”

“I think so. Oh, Clint, how can I thank you enough? First my handbag, now this—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he waved her off. He coughed again, then sneezed. “Let’s get back to the Damsel,” he told one of the crewmen, who began rowing.

The crewmen and others from the ship began shouting back and forth to each other, and in moments the Damsel, its back end sitting low in the water, came into sight. Another ship sat close by.

“She’s takin’ on water, but she’ll make it to the closest island,” one of the crewmen repeated. Men on board threw down ropes, and the crewmen rigged them to trollies on each end of the smaller boat, tossing the ends back up to the deck, where men began hauling the lifeboat upward in even jerks until it was high enough for the passengers to climb onto the deck.

Clint helped lift Elizabeth, and she couldn’t help being aware of his strength. Men on deck helped her the rest of the way up, then helped Clint climb on deck. Those he’d rescued were already telling others what Clint had done and what a good swimmer he was. There came a round of thank-yous, and Clint took Elizabeth’s arm.

“You’re coming to my cabin whether you want to or not. No arguments! You’re getting out of those wet clothes and under some covers, and then you’re going to pray you don’t get sick.”

The words were spoken with such command that Elizabeth didn’t even consider arguing. She had to half run to keep up with him as he directed her to the wooden steps that led to cabins on the second level. She lifted her soaked dress and managed to climb the stairs, feeling more and more weary with every step, worn out from her struggle, shivering fiercely from the cold. She followed Clint through a door.

“What about the steamer? Isn’t it sinking?” she asked Clint.

“They said we’d get to the closest island, and I believe them. Other ships will come along to help us. They’ll figure it out.” Clint closed the door. “Meantime, we’re on the second level. We can probably stay right here until help arrives.”

We? “I…what will I change into? What about my things below?”

“I’ll go get them for you. You get yourself undressed and under those covers.”

“But…I don’t have anything to wear!”

Looking rather disgusted, Clint dug through a duffel bag and threw a shirt at her. “Put this on and just get under the covers. I’ll be back.”

Still soaked and shivering himself, he left before Elizabeth could say a thing. She looked around the tiny room, lit by a lantern and warmed by a small, potbelly stove. She could see glowing embers through the partially open vent. She felt totally bewildered, full of questions, as she began undressing.

Realizing Clint could come back any time, Elizabeth hastily removed her dress, her many slips, her now-squishy high-button shoes, her stockings, and her camisole. Her money fell out. She gasped and quickly gathered it up, looking around for a place to put it, then turned and shoved it under the feather mattress of Clint’s narrow bed.

She then removed her wet drawers. “Oh, dear Lord!” she lamented. She was completely naked, but how else was she to dry off and get warm? Still, she was in a man’s cabin, about to crawl into a man’s bed! How humiliating!

She hurriedly put on the shirt he’d given her, which was far too big. It fell past her knees, but as far as she was concerned, it still didn’t cover her legs enough. Elizabeth looked around again, noticing Clint’s six-gun hanging over the back of a wooden chair, looking so intimidating and dangerous. She noticed a towel lying beside a bowl and pitcher, and she grabbed it up to dry her hair as best she could, taking out the few pins left in it.

Suddenly she felt nauseated and dizzy. She crawled under the covers, pulling them over herself and settled into the pillow, relishing the warmth of the room, the comfort of the first bed she’d slept in for over a week. She could smell Clint’s scent in the pillow, a very pleasant, manly scent, much nicer than the smells below deck. The room itself smelled of cigarettes, leather and wood smoke.

She watched the red coals of the stove, and thought what a blessing fire could be.

“Thank You, Jesus,” she whispered, “for fire, for saving me…for Clint Brady.” Oh, how wonderful felt the warmth of that potbelly stove! She thought about hearing her mother’s voice. “Thank you, Mama,” she whispered.

Chapter Ten

Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.

—St. Matthew 10:31

Elizabeth stirred, for a brief moment remembering lying in bed at home in San Francisco, the smell of bacon cooking downstairs, knowing her mother was in the kitchen preparing breakfast. She loved those moments, the peace, the feeling of love and safety.

In seconds she came fully awake, realizing she was not in her own bed at home at all and gradually remembering where she really was. She lay still a moment, blinking open her eyes to see through the porthole in the steel door of the cabin. It was light out. How long had she slept? She turned over, at first watching a small fire in the potbelly stove, then realizing through the bit of light that came through the porthole that a man was sitting on the floor near the stove, quietly smoking. He had long legs and wore denim pants.

It was only then that she became fully aware of where she was and what had happened. She jerked the blankets to her neck. She put a hand to her hair, realizing it was entirely undone.

“Good morning,” came Clint’s low voice.

Elizabeth thought a moment. Morning? The accident had happened midmorning. Had she slept such a short while? “I…good morning,” she answered, feeling embarrassed and awkward. “What time is it?”

He took a long drag on his cigarette, then reached over and flicked it through the slats of the wood burner. “About nine-thirty.”

Elizabeth frowned. Nine-thirty? “But…it was later than that when I fell overboard.”

“Yup.” Clint sneezed before continuing. “About twenty-two hours ago.”

“What! You mean it’s the next day?”

“Yes, ma’am. You’ve had a right good sleep.”

Astounded, Elizabeth put her hand to her mouth. “I don’t believe it!”

Clint stretched, sneezed again, excused himself. “Well, it’s true. We’ve been stranded here since the accident. They’re hoping to load some of the passengers onto the next ship that comes by, then more on the next and so forth, till we’re all off and on our way to Skagway. We ought to be able to get off later today and make Skagway by tomorrow morning.”

Elizabeth rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling. “Oh, I’m so embarrassed, and so sorry! Where on earth did you sleep last night?”

“Outside under the stars. Doesn’t bother me much. I’ve spent plenty of nights sleeping on the hard ground with a saddle for a pillow. I just now came in to get warm.”

Elizabeth struggled to untangle her thoughts. She pulled the blankets clear up to her nose. “This is terrible. I’m so sorry, and so embarrassed.”

“You already said that, and I have no idea why you think that way.”

“But I’ve put you out…and what must the other men think, me sleeping here in your cabin.”

He sneezed yet again, then cleared his throat. “They can think what they want. Besides, most of them are only concerned with how soon they can get on another ship and get themselves to Skagway. They’re all pretty upset that they’ve had a setback, all anxious to get to their gold. I can tell you right now that most of them won’t find any. I can think of a lot of ways to make good money a lot faster and with less discomfort.”

By killing wanted men? She wanted to ask.

Clint leaned forward and rubbed at the back of his neck, squinting slightly as though in pain. Then he sneezed again.

“Are you catching a cold, Mr. Brady?”

He reached toward a saddle bag and pulled out a handkerchief. “I’ll be all right.”

She watched him quietly a moment. “You could get very sick, after what you did yesterday. Those men and I owe you a lot, me especially. That’s the second time you’ve helped me.” Her throat swelled with a sudden urge to cry. “I was so sure I was going to die. How can I ever, ever thank you enough?”

He shrugged. “I just reacted. I used to be a pretty good swimmer.” He leaned his head back against the wall.

“I think I remember you saying something about Lake Michigan to someone. Is that where you learned to swim?”

He waited a moment to answer. “I was a kid,” he finally told her. “I grew up near Chicago. Then my folks got tired of city life and moved to Nebraska to farm. My mother died when I was seventeen, my father the next year, which left me on my own. I didn’t much like the humidity and the mosquitoes in that part of the country, so I headed for California. I’d heard others talk about how nice it was there.”

Elizabeth listened to the sound of heated wood snapping and popping in the stove. It relaxed her. “My parents came west from Illinois, too, only farther south from Chicago. I never got to see the Great Lakes. Are they as big and beautiful as I’ve heard?”

He drew a deep breath. “From what I can remember. It’s been years. I do remember that Lake Michigan was so big that you couldn’t see the other side of it. Big ships, much bigger than this steamer, would dock in Chicago, bringing goods from practically all over the world, mostly from Europe and, of course, from places like Boston and New York City.” He rubbed at his eyes. “But that was a long time ago. Chicago is probably all changed and a heck of a lot bigger by now.”

“I’m sorry about your parents. It must have been hard for you. It sounds like you had no brothers or sisters.”

“Neither one.” The air hung quiet for a moment. “I still miss them sometimes. They were good Christian people.” He sneezed again and kept rubbing at his eyes.

Elizabeth was surprised at his reference to “good Christian people.” This man apparently had had a Christian upbringing. What on earth had turned him to the life he led now? Youthful curiosity left her dying to ask, but good manners meant not prying into other people’s business, especially not a man she suspected gave such information only when good and ready.

“I’m sorry you’re not feeling well,” she told him. “If you will leave for a while I’ll get dressed, you can have your bed back.” Privately she thought how wonderful it would feel to stay in the bed all day. “And again I’m sorry to take it from you for so long. I must have been far more exhausted than I thought. All the time I’ve been on this boat I’ve barely slept for all the noise and stench below, and worrying about someone trying to rob me. And then nearly drowning yesterday…” Again she remembered her mother calling to her. “My mother’s sweet spirit must be very strong.”

Clint frowned. “What do you mean?”

Elizabeth turned on her side and curled up. “She called to me. She’s the reason you jumped into the water, you know…my mother…and God.”

He grunted a laugh. “They were, were they?”

“I’m serious, Mr. Brady. They used you to help me.”

He simply chuckled wryly and shook his head.

“You don’t believe in the spirits of dead loved ones being able to reach out to you?”

He took several long seconds to answer. “Maybe…sometimes.” Again he sneezed. He took a moment to blow his nose. “I’m surprised you believe in such things. Isn’t it anti-Christian to believe in spirits?”

“Oh, on the contrary. For one thing, we don’t really die anyway, not those who truly have loved and served God. We just travel heaven’s pathway to a beautiful home filled with peace and flowers and the glory of God. I like to believe that since our spirits simply take on a new form and live on with God, He allows us to hover close to our loved ones still living on earth and to help them however we can. God surely has enough to do. I believe He uses our spirits to help Him with His constant vigil to protect and love His children on earth.”

He shook his head again, grunting a little as he stood up and stretched. “Well, I don’t see where He does a very good job of protecting those still on earth. And me managing to find you like I did was just a quirk—nothing special.”

She smiled softly. “You don’t really believe that. The other men you helped were thrashing and yelling, easier to find. But me, I was sinking far below the surface, yet you found me. No one could ever convince me that God and my mother didn’t have something to do with that.”

Clint rummaged in one of his own carpet bags and pulled out yet another clean shirt. He began unbuttoning the one he wore, and Elizabeth’s eyes widened when she realized he was going to take it off in front of her! Other than black men working on the wharf in San Francisco, she’d never seen a man with his shirt off! She pulled the blankets over her head. “Mr. Brady!”

“What?”

“Couldn’t you wait until I’m gone to change your shirt?”

This time his light laughter sounded genuine. “You’ve never seen a man with his shirt off?”

“Of course not!”

“Not even your father or your brother?”

“Heavens no!”

Elizabeth heard the soft rustle of clothes. “Lady, your situation is even worse than I thought.”

Elizabeth waited, refusing to uncover her eyes.

“You can look now,” he finally told her.

Slowly she pulled the covers away to see him wearing a shirt and a leather vest. He was leaning over pulling on socks and boots.

“I think these boots have dried out,” he told her as he finished dressing. “By the way, in case you didn’t notice, I brought your things up from below, and I laid your wet clothes around the room to dry out.” He sneezed again. “I’ll leave for a while and you can dress and go to the kitchen and get something to eat, such as it is. At least you can get some hot coffee. You might as well pack up as best you can and be prepared to leave the ship later today. Next stop is Skagway. It’s a good thing you got some rest. You’ll need it when you reach that town. Rough and lawless, they say.” He straightened. “Did your money survive?”

“Yes, it’s under your mattress.”

He grinned and shook his head again. “Don’t tell me you thought I’d steal it.”

“Well, I…I just wasn’t sure where to put it.”

He chuckled. “Just make sure you stuff it back into your camisole.” He winked. “Where it’s dang sure safe.”

He walked out the door, and Elizabeth wanted to crawl through the cracks in the floors and disappear. She looked around the room to see that Clint had indeed hung her clothes all about the cabin to dry—including her camisole, under slips and drawers!

She closed her eyes in humiliation.

Chapter Eleven

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: Now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

—1 Corinthians 13:12

Skagway, August 20, 1898

Clint could see the outline of Skagway in the distance, visible only because of smoke and steam from the stacks of other steamers docked there. The crew of the Damsel had managed to keep the steamer’s leak in check enough to bring the ship into the “jumping-off” town with the help of a tugboat sent from there. That meant that everyone on board the Damsel could stay there and be towed in, much to the chagrin of some who were bent on getting to the town a day sooner.

Clint wouldn’t have minded if not for the fact that waiting the extra day had meant letting Elizabeth Breckenridge sleep in his cabin one more night. Try as he might, he couldn’t get the picture of her in his bed out of his mind.

If ever his resolve to resist temptation had been tested to the limit, the last two nights had been it. He’d managed until now not to think about how long it had been since he’d been with a woman. After Jenny was killed, all desire for any other woman in his life had left him. After a matter of time, he’d not even cared about being with easy women, let alone giving one thought to truly having feelings for any woman ever again.

So why had Elizabeth Breckenridge changed all that? It made him so angry he could spit. This was never supposed to happen to him again. For one thing, it was dangerous to care. That meant risking having his heart shattered yet again, and it wasn’t even mended from the first disaster. Besides that, he was full of too much hatred and anger to find room for caring about anyone. He hadn’t even cared about himself for the past four years. How many times had he wished that in pursuit of a criminal he’d get shot and killed so the pain in his heart would go away forever? Then he could be with Jenny…and little Ethan.

There came the sharp pain again, so real that it made him grasp the rail and bend over. For months now he’d managed to stop thinking about his son altogether. Maybe, just maybe, he could have gotten over Jenny, if only he still had his little boy…his sweet, innocent, joyful little blue-eyed, blond-haired son named after his daddy. From the day he’d had to look at that beautiful child lying dead he’d never again used his real first name, because every time someone would call him Ethan he’d think about that baby. He used only his middle name now. That helped some.

A hard sneeze brought him out of the pain of the past long enough to remember how lousy he felt today. This was the worst cold he’d ever experienced, and it hadn’t helped sleeping on the deck last night. It had rained, as it seemed to do several times a day in this place, but at night it was a cold rain that went to the bone. He’d covered himself with a tarp, but the dampness had enveloped him anyway. Every bone and muscle in his body ached. It hurt to breathe, hurt even more to cough, hurt to look at bright light, hurt to move at all.

As soon as he reached Skagway he hoped to find one available hotel room where he could stay in bed for a day or two before heading into God-knew-what in his effort to reach Dawson. He could only hope that the holdup wouldn’t mean missing his chance to corral Roland Fisher. If he somehow heard Clint was after him, he might slip away.

Life sure had taken a strange turn since he’d first tackled the man who stole Elizabeth’s handbag. Something about this whole trip just didn’t seem right, kind of like he suddenly was not in full control of his life. Elizabeth weighed on his mind like an anvil, and try as he might, he couldn’t keep from feeling like he should watch out for her. He thought he’d be glad to reach Skagway, where he could let her go her own way. If that meant she’d really be dumb enough to try to reach Dawson this late in the year, then so be it. And yet the thought of it drove him nuts. How could he let her try to do that alone? Stupid as the idea was, he had to admire her gumption…and her unending faith that God would help her.

At the same time, he couldn’t help feeling sorry for her having that faith. God would find a way to shatter it, just as his own faith had been shattered. Fact was, he hadn’t even given much thought to God for the past four years, until Miss High-and-Mighty-Holy-Roller had come along, constantly throwing God in his face. There again, he had no control over having to listen to her rhetoric about God and Jesus and prayer and all that bunk. That’s what made it so senseless to think about helping her get to Dawson, which was exactly what he’d been thinking about doing…probably the worst decision he could possibly make.

Another sneeze. Could a man feel any worse than this without being dead?

“Clint?”

Someone touched his arm. Naturally it was Elizabeth.

“You’re even sicker, aren’t you? I’m so sorry you had to sleep on the deck last night. I told you I’d gladly go back below.”

He sneezed again, which only increased his irritation with her and then enhanced his anger with himself for being irritated with her, because the way he was feeling inside wasn’t her fault. It was his own. Still, that didn’t stop his sharp retort. “I wish you’d stop bringing it up. I told you that you could have the bed and that’s that.” He sneezed, and she leaned closer to study him as he blew his sore nose.

“Oh, you poor man. You look awful!”

“Gee, thanks.” He coughed, his chest so sore that he hadn’t even craved a cigarette.

“I hope you will see a doctor when we reach Skagway.”

“I don’t need one. I just need a day or two of rest. I’ll be fine.”

“I wish there was something I could do. You’ve done so much for me.”

“I’ll get over it.”

“Well, I think you should definitely see a doctor.”

“Will you just leave it alone? I’ll be all right.” He knew she was right about one thing. He must look terrible. He kept his handkerchief over his nose so she couldn’t see how red it was. He leaned over the railing again, looking away from her as the outline of Skagway came ever closer. Other men on deck were getting excited, some whooping and hollering at the sight of their jumping-off point. He heard Elizabeth take a deep breath, for courage, he suspected.

“I guess this is it,” she told him. “I hope you stay in Skagway and rest up a bit before you go on, and I will pray for your health and for a safe trip.”

“Pray for yourself. You’re the one who will need help, not me.”

Another sigh. “If you are so adamant that it was all right that I use your cabin again last night, Mr. Brady, then please stop being so angry and making me feel so guilty about it.”

How he wished that she would just magically drop out of his life. “Sorry. I just feel rotten, that’s all.” He sneezed again. “I am not in the mood for small talk.” He blew his nose and finally looked at her again. She looked as pretty as ever, and it irked him that he’d taken a cold and she seemed to be just fine. Wasn’t the man supposed to be the stronger one? How humiliating! He hated showing any kind of weakness.

“Well, then, I’m sorry I bothered you,” she answered, looking almost ready to cry. “I just wanted to let you know that I have everything out of your cabin. Once we reach Skagway we might not see each other again, so I just…I truly, truly am grateful, Mr. Brady, for everything you’ve done for me, and for being so kind as to let me have your cabin the last two nights. You’re a good man at heart. Anyone can see that. I will pray that whatever is eating you up on the inside, God will bless you with a way to overcome the pain and be happy again. And I pray that you will be able to stop doing what you do for money. God will forgive you, you know, because only He understands why you do it. I just wanted to tell you that He loves you and—”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Thank you, but save the sermon. I hope the best for you, too. And I still advise you to get yourself a handgun, and be very, very careful who you trust. Find someone to travel with, preferably a man who is taking his wife along so you’ll be with another woman.” He sneezed. “Good luck, Elizabeth. You’ll need it,” he said as he moved away.

The Damsel let off three loud whistles then, as the tugboat hauled her even closer. Skagway was very visible now, and her docks were crowded with men who’d just disembarked from another steamer that had arrived ahead of them. The men on the Damsel began getting even more excited, shouting about gold and land and women and whiskey and dogs and horses and sleds and the best route to take for Dawson. They pushed and shoved to get a better look, some of them forcing Elizabeth away from the railing.

Clint looked back to see her watching him with tears in her eyes. She had to be scared to death. He turned away. She’d made her decision. He had his own agenda.

Chapter Twelve

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul…I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me.

—Psalms 23:1-4

It 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.

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