3. Eleanor
The next morning, we found ourselves in a modest sitting room in an equally modest home. A woman whose golden hair was done up into a bun served us coffee, then took a seat across from us. Her sharp brown eyes regarded us both, and though she couldn’t have been more than twenty-two years old, I had to suppress the urge to squirm guiltily under her stern look.
We were here because of a simple ad run in the newspaper:
WANTED: Man to take woman to the Klondike; an opportunity; will outfit you well.
“I advertised for a man, yet there are two of you,” she observed.
“Yes, ma’am.” Doug gave her the sheepish smile that had charmed more than one woman over the years. “I’m Douglas Muir, and this is my brother, Colin.”
“A pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” I said.
She inclined her head slightly. “And why do you wish to take me to the Klondike?”
Doug launched into his prepared story, which he’d practiced overnight. In it, we were two men of good breeding, brought low by the 1893 financial panic and still attempting to regain our footing. Our father had been dead for some time, and we’d spent the last few years caring for our sainted mother in her decline. Sadly, she’d passed not long ago, and we found ourselves at loose ends. He stressed how eager we were for honest work.
All lies, of course, except perhaps the final part, as mining would be the most honest work either of us had ever done. Our real father was a farmer; a strict man who could never be pleased by anything his sons did. Our mother, a silent, ineffective shadow. Bessie had been their only joy.
But I couldn’t think about her; not now. Not ever.
I remained silent while my brother talked. Doug was the charmer, the one with all the charisma, and I could see it working its magic on the young woman. By the time he was done, she was almost misty-eyed.
“I see,” she said. “I suppose I should tell you something of myself. My name is Eleanor Gordon, and I currently work as a nurse. I kept this house for my father, until his passing a short while ago. I received a small inheritance on his death, enough to outfit us for the gold fields.”
Doug clasped his hands together and gave her a look meant to convey deep concern. “I must say, Miss Gordon, the gold fields will surely be filled with all sorts of rough and tumble men. Perhaps it would be better for you to finance our grubstake and share in the profits when we return, rather than travel yourself.”
According to the plan he’d laid out to me this morning, we wouldn’t be returning to Seattle or Miss Gordon. Rather, we’d take all of the gold for ourselves and sail for Europe.
I hadn’t liked the proposition then, and I found I liked it less now that I’d met Miss Gordon. Judging by the reports in the morning edition of the newspaper, we’d find plenty of gold; why did we have to swindle a young woman out of her fair share?
Her eyes narrowed slightly as Doug spoke. “Haven’t you read the newspapers, Mr. Muir? Mrs. Ethel Berry gave an interview, as did her husband, who claimed he couldn’t have succeeded without her assistance. I will cook, clean, mend clothing, and do all of the other small chores while you do the digging. In addition, I’m a trained nurse, which you’ll surely be grateful for should some ill befall you in the wilderness.”
I could see Doug marshaling his arguments. But he was being ridiculous—every word she spoke was true, and there would be plenty of gold for us all.
“An excellent point, Miss Gordon,” I said before he could speak. “And I’m sure the two of us will be more than adequate protection against any rough elements. Isn’t that right, Doug?”
His expression didn’t waver, even though I knew he must be angry at me. I wasn’t sticking with the script as I usually did. “As you say,” he agreed smoothly. “Then, Miss Gordon, if you’re determined to go, we should begin making preparations immediately.”
* * *
“What’s wrong with you?” Doug demanded hours later, when we were finally away from Miss Gordon’s presence. She’d insisted on accompanying us both to the wharf to book tickets on a steamer, and to Cooper Levy to buy our outfits.
And what outfits they were. Pans, snow goggles, shovels, knives, buckets, cookware and tin plates, extra-heavy union suits, tents, arctic sleeping bags, flour, dried fruit, bacon, a sewing kit, fishing lines, gold scale, Yukon stove, nails, hammers, saws, axes…the list went on and on. Over a ton of supplies that we’d have to sail, carry, or drag all the way to the gold fields.
I opened the door of our room and went to the table, putting down the bottle of whiskey we’d bought on our way home. “I don’t know what you mean,” I lied.
“Thanks to you, we have to chaperone a girl all the way to the gold fields.” He pulled down the glasses and thrust them roughly at me. “Even worse, we’ll have to figure out how to give her the slip with the gold once we’re ready to leave.”
I sighed. “Why, Doug? Why do we have to steal from her? Why can’t we just divide it up? Even if she receives half—which is her right considering it’s her money enabling us to go—that will leave more than enough for us.” I gestured to the folded newspaper from yesterday. “According to the stories, the gold is just laying there waiting to be picked up. We could come away with a year’s wages just by taking a morning stroll along a creek. And once we start digging, we’ll be set for life.”
I believed every word I spoke. There was proof enough: the Portland alone returned with two tons of gold aboard, all of it belonging to the men and women who’d washed it out of the creek or dug it from the earth.
Hell, the mayor of Seattle had already resigned from his post to start up a trading company. If a man like him believed vast wealth awaited anyone able to make the journey to the Klondike, who was I to disagree?
Doug changed tactics. “She’s going to slow us down.”
“She’s the only reason we can go at all.”
“No, her money is the reason.” Doug glared at me in annoyance. “She’s a mark, Col. Just like all the others. Don’t let some misplaced sense of chivalry get in the way of our dreams.”
“Ourdreams?” I asked. “Or yours?”
His face froze, and another twinge of guilt—this one very familiar—shot through me.
“Well, then. Why don’t you go find someone else to go with you and Miss Gordon to the Klondike? Someone who won’t cover for you.” His lip curled, flashing his gold canine. “Let everyone see who you really are.”
My throat constricted. I’d spent most of my life behind a series of carefully constructed masks, putting them on and discarding them depending on Doug’s schemes. Young entrepreneur, clueless country boy, gentleman adventurer, whatever was required.
Those masks let me look in the mirror every morning without flinching.
“I’m sorry,” I said, defeated. “I didn’t mean it.”
He sat back, satisfied. “That’s what I thought. As for Miss Gordon, we’re stuck with her for now. And the rest…it’s never a good idea to get ahead of ourselves. It will be next summer before we can even think of leaving the arctic. Plenty of time to decide what exactly we’re going to do.”
For some reason, his words struck me as ominous. But when he poured us both a shot of whiskey and lifted his in a toast, I clinked my glass with his and very deliberately put it out of my mind.