Chapter 32
As she gazed at the black cottonwood and trembling aspen in the meadow at the back of the cabin, their leaves already turning a bright, vibrant yellow, Maggie could hardly believe an entire year had slipped by.
The days had blended into one another, each season experienced in its turn—the endless days of summer sliding into the crisp and brisk days of fall, the leaves turning crimson and gold, and then into a stark and empty winter that was darker and drearier than the snowy wonderland one might have hoped for in Alaska.
And then came spring, bursting into vibrant, messy life with its mud and beauty, and somehow it had been fifteen months since she’d arrived in Juneau, and a year since she’d taken in Sheetka as her own.
In that year, her little girl—for Maggie truly felt now that Sheetka was her daughter—had blossomed in many ways, but she still didn’t speak.
She smiled though, and sometimes she would laugh, a sound that reminded Maggie of the burbling waters of Gold Creek rushing behind their cabin and filled her heart with joy but still happened too rarely.
Her days at the hospital continued to be busy as she brought Sheetka along, and in August Sister Mary Zeno had said the girl could start at the school, since she was likely to be at least four years old and needed an education.
Danny and her father had settled down, Maggie hoped, seeming to abandon talk of striking out for gold when they realized how far they would have to travel, and how much an outfit would cost. Maggie liked to think her da at least enjoyed the comforts of a pleasant home—the meals Maggie made, the welcoming hearth, the peacefulness of being settled in one’s family.
Danny, she feared, was another matter. Nineteen years old now, his scrawny frame having filled out although he remained lean and rangy, her brother was restless, always seeming to hanker after more, whether it was a raucous night drinking or something she feared was more nefarious.
Her father, somewhat to her surprise, did his best to keep a restraining hand on his son’s excesses, but it was with a light touch, and Maggie feared the rough-and-ready atmosphere of Juneau—although that was settling down, too, as the town grew—wasn’t good for her brother.
Her da, however, seemed to like nothing more than sitting by the wood stove with Sheetka on his knee, playing his harmonica or telling her a tall tale, which the little girl seemed to love, although she still didn’t say anything.
And, truth be told, Maggie liked nothing more than sitting next to him, sewing Sheetka a new dress or mending her own, smiling and shaking her head at her father’s exaggerations.
“Dramatic license, my girl,” he would exclaim with a wink. “Dramatic license!”
In the midst of all the contented busyness, Maggie only occasionally felt a pang for what might have been.
She had seen Brendan in the distance several times—once on Seward Street, another coming out of the hardware on Front Street—but they hadn’t spoken since she’d told him she loved him back at the supper after the dance, and so it seemed they wouldn’t be friends, after all.
At this rate, Maggie thought, they never would speak together again, and even if they did, it wouldn’t matter.
Brendan’s silence had been his choice, and she’d made peace with that, too. It was a difficult peace, and on lonely nights as she listened to the wind whistle outside through the trees, the barred owl giving its mournful hoot the way it had the night he’d walked away, she felt the loss keenly.
But otherwise, she was happy. She let herself be, even if sometimes it took some effort.
Sheetka had started school, and she seemed content, if still silent; Maggie had become more confident in her nursing abilities, and her brother was mostly staying out of trouble. Maggie knew she couldn’t ask for more.
And then one day, as she was hurrying to the hardware to buy some nails to fix a loose board in their cabin, she came to a shocked halt as she saw the new sign that had gone up over a freshly built wooden building with a little porch out front.
O’Donaghue Dry Goods.
Amazed, incredulous, Maggie opened the door and stepped inside.
It was a small space, just one little room, the way it had been back in New York, with shelves to the ceiling, and barrels of pickles and nails by the front door.
The merchandise was a little different—ice picks and axes, shovels and saws, as well as sacks of flour and sugar, tins of bacon and beans.
Everything, she supposed, that a prospector would need to set out.
“May I help—?” Brendan fell silent as Maggie turned to face him.
She hadn’t seen him except at a distance for a year, and she saw now that his skin was more weathered, tanned from the summer, his hair cut a little shorter.
He was in his shirtsleeves, an apron swathed around his lean, whip-cord waist. For a second, she felt as if she’d tumbled back in time and had just stepped into his store in New York, lugging her case and feeling completely lost and alone in the world.
“You did it,” she said quietly, and he smiled, his eyes creasing in a way that was so familiar, so beloved.
“I did.”
“It’s just like back in New York…”
“The merchandise is a little different,” he said wryly. “I have to cater to the clientele, after all.”
Maggie shook her head slowly in wonder as she looked around the crammed space. “Where did you get it all?”
“I sailed down to Victoria and Port Townsend, even went as far as Seattle. It felt strange, to be on the outside after all this time. I suppose I’m still a cheechako, but I felt like an Alaskan when I stepped inside The Bon Marché.”
“Is that a department store?” Maggie asked, and he smiled.
“Yes, although it’s not anything like Field and Company, I assure you.”
She laughed and shook her head. “I’m sure it’s a very fine store but not, of course, as fine as this.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, and Maggie’s throat ached with all she wanted to say. The trouble was, she’d said it already, and it hadn’t made any difference.
“I’ve been away for much of the year,” Brendan said finally. “That’s why you haven’t seen me. I… I would have called on you, if I’d been around more.”
Called on her? As a friend, like he’d said, or something more? Maggie didn’t know whether to let herself hope, after all this time. She wanted to, even now, and yet it felt futile.
“Well, I’m very impressed,” she told him after a moment. “I shall be making all my purchases from O’Donaghue’s from here on out. Although,” she remarked, looking around at all the merchandise, “I don’t know if I’ll need an ice pick anytime soon.”
“They’ve discovered a new gold field up in the Klondike,” Brendan told her.
“Just last month. A miner passed through a few days ago and said they were buying up the stakes down the Yukon River from Mooresville, about six hundred miles north of here, as fast as they could. I don’t know if it’ll be a rush like the old days, but I thought I ought to be ready.
There are plenty of restless men in San Francisco and Seattle who’d like to strike it rich once they find out. ”
“You think they’ll come through here?” Maggie asked.
Brendan shrugged. “The only way to get from the Outside up to the Klondike is through Juneau and then onto Mooresville by steamer. They might likely stop here to get their outfit—after Juneau, there’s not much of anything.
It’s rough terrain, that’s for certain—up through the Chilkoot Pass and then five hundred miles on the Yukon River, often in nothing more than a flimsy raft or boat, and it’s cold up there. ” He smiled wryly. “Not like here.”
Maggie couldn’t help but shiver. “Why do they do it?” she asked, and his eyebrows lifted.
“Fame and fortune?” he suggested, and Maggie felt like he was teasing her, and she found she didn’t mind.
“Those two chimeras,” she answered with a laugh. “I’m glad I’ve learned better.”
“So you have,” he agreed amiably. “How is Sheetka?”
She was touched he’d remembered her name.
“She’s doing well. She started at the mission school, and she seems to like it, although she still doesn’t say a word.
I know she’s got a good set of lungs on her, because she lets me have it when it comes to bathtime, but…
” Maggie shrugged. “I suppose I just need to be patient.”
“You’re doing a good thing,” Brendan told her quietly, and Maggie tipped her chin up.
“I know I am,” she replied, and then smiled. “But thank you.”
Again, a silence lengthened between them, but this time it felt more comfortable. “I’ll come and see you all soon,” Brendan promised, and Maggie didn’t miss the slight emphasis on all. He wouldn’t just be calling on her, then, and he wanted her to know it.
“All right,” she said, and with a smile of farewell, she started to turn, only to stop and turn back. “I was heading to the hardware for some nails—I think you might have some?”
Brendan grinned. “Of course I do!”
That afternoon, Maggie walked with Sheetka from the hospital back to their cabin.
Although the sun, obscured by clouds, was still high in the sky—it wouldn’t set until after seven—the air was cold and damp; September, Maggie had learned, was one of the rainiest months, and as the wooden sidewalk petered out to a dirt path, mud squelched underneath both their boots.
Maggie opened the door to the cabin, grateful to be out of the wet, only to stop in surprise at the sight that greeted her.
The center of the room was piled with stuff—woolen blankets and crates of food, pots and pans, candles and coil of rope, a shovel and pickaxe, and even a small sheet-iron cookstove.
It looked like Brendan’s store, Maggie thought, as her stomach hollowed out.
She knew there was only one reason why her father and brother would have bought all this stuff… the makings of an outfit.
“Would you look at all this, lass!” her father exclaimed jubilantly as he came in from the bedroom. He was wearing a new plaid shirt straight out of the box and bright red suspenders. “It’s finally time.”
“Time?” Maggie repeated faintly. Sheetka clung to her leg and then darted forward to inspect the cookstove.
“That’s right, darlin’, go ahead,” her father said, turning to the girl with a smile. “Isn’t it a beaut?”
“What’s happened?” Maggie asked as she slowly took off her cloak and hung it by the door. “Da…why did you buy all this stuff?”
“It’s our outfit,” Danny explained as he came in from the bedroom. He was wearing a new plaid shirt, too, and bounced on his heels in excitement. “We’re heading out.”
“Where?” Maggie cried, but of course she already knew.
“Word’s come there’s gold fields up in the Klondike. We’re going to head up there and see what’s what.” Her father spoke airily, as if that frozen wasteland was no more than an easy stroll away.
“I heard about that,” Maggie murmured. She realized she should have expected something like this to happen, but she’d thought her father had let go of his dreams of striking it rich.
Clearly he hadn’t, and neither had Danny.
“But it’s so far,” she told them. “And isn’t it dangerous?
Five hundred miles down the Yukon River?—”
Danny rocked back on his heels. “We can manage it. They say there’s nuggets as big as your fist, Maggie.”
Oh, she didn’t doubt that’s what they said. Prospectors liked to tell tales as tall as her father did. By next week, the nuggets would be as big as dinner plates.
“When are you going?” she asked. There was a dull pain in her chest, an ache that made her feel weighed down inside. If they went all that way… they’d be gone for months, maybe even years.
Maybe they’d never come back.
“Tomorrow morning,” her father said with a slightly shamefaced smile.
“I know it’s soon, but there’s a steamer heading to Mooresville, and we need to get to the Yukon before it freezes over.
We’ve only got a couple of weeks to make it, if that.
Otherwise, we’ll be spending the winter in Mooresville, and there’s not much there. ”
“And when you get there, wherever there is?” Maggie asked, trying not to give in to despair. “What, then?”
“Then we buy a stake on Bonanza Creek and start panning for gold!” Danny crowed.
He made it sound so simple, when Maggie knew it was anything but.
She’d seen prospectors stumble into town, half-starved, often missing a finger or toe thanks to frostbite, and with nothing but a handful of yellow dust that wouldn’t pay for the outfit they’d just bought to show for it.
And those miners were prospecting much closer to home.
The trip her father and brother intended to make would be terribly treacherous, unimaginably dangerous.
Five hundred miles down the Yukon River on a boat they’d likely have to build themselves?
It was madness, and yet that’s what had gripped them—gold fever, a potentially deadly disease.
“We’ll write,” her father promised, and Maggie stared at him in disbelief.
“Write? And how on earth will a letter get to me?” she demanded.
“There’s a town up there,” her father said, his tone placating. “Dawson, it’s called. I imagine they’ll get a post office one of these days, as more miners come in?—”
“But we need to get ahead of the game,” Danny interjected. “If we don’t, all the good stakes will be snapped up.”
Maggie shook her head slowly. “You seem like you’ve thought it all out,” she said. She knew there was no point trying to dissuade them. They’d come to Alaska for this, and she’d been foolish to let herself believe that they’d remain content working for a wage at the Treadwell mine.
But it meant, Maggie thought disconsolately, that she would be alone—again. At least now she had Sheetka, she consoled herself, but fear twisted her insides as she thought about managing life here on her own.
As if reading her thoughts, her father rustled through one of the boxes and then handed Maggie a small, nickel-plated pistol.
“I got you this,” he told her. “Since you’ll be on your own here. Just in case.”
Maggie curled her fingers around the cold metal. She didn’t even know how to use such a thing.
“And we’ll come back,” her da promised, just as he had all those years ago, back in Ireland. “One day, we’ll come back.”
Back in Ulster, Maggie had believed him. This time she wasn’t sure she could.