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