17. Steve
Day after day, we returned to the mine.
My body slowly became accustomed to the grueling work. I hated being down in the mine, but the wind and snow grew increasingly bitter as time went on, giving the exposed position at the windlass its own flavor of misery.
Every other day, we checked a pan for any sign of color. None appeared, though Doug was always quick to remind us not to become discouraged.
Eleanor and Anna had their own work to do. They spent every waking hour baking, cooking, cleaning, and above all making certain the stove stayed lit. Without them, we wouldn’t have been able to devote so much time to the mine, since someone would have to check on the stove regularly, bake our bread, chop our firewood, and do the other chores that kept us alive in this cold wilderness.
The days shortened rapidly. We woke in darkness, worked through the hours of weak daylight, then stumbled back into the cabin with the eerie light of the fire below seeping out past the smoke belching from the shaft. The next day, we did it all over again.
Either because of exhaustion, or because the bracelet had truly been affecting my mind, I didn’t hear Bessie again. Though I wasn’t sure where Doug had stashed it, I had noticed a loose floorboard in the bedroom. Just as with the room in our Seattle boardinghouse, I suspected he’d chosen to tuck away anything he wanted to keep hidden under the floor. No doubt our claim certificates were down there as well.
After two unending weeks of work, Steve proposed a day of rest. “I’d like to hike out to the river and take a look at the ice,” he said by way of explanation. “Colin, would you like to come with me? I’ll teach you how to snowshoe.”
His invitation surprised me. “Why not? I could use a change of scenery.”
Doug yawned. He sat as near to the red-hot stove as he could stand, once again reading through his Secrets of the Yukon guidebook. At this point, he probably had the damned thing memorized.
“I’m staying here where it’s warm,” he said, even though Steve hadn’t invited him.
“I only brought two pairs of snowshoes,” Steve apologized to the room in general. “Though of course I’m happy to teach anyone who wants to learn.”
Anna looked up from where she sat mending one of her husband’s shirts near the stove. Before she could speak, Roland said, “We’ve no time for that sort of nonsense. Go on, get it out of your system—but don’t forget why we’re here.”
“Sure thing, Pa,” Steve agreed.
We bundled ourselves up for the hike, then went outside. The sun hung low in the sky, never getting much higher than the hills around us. Steve showed me how to secure the snowshoes, then demonstrated how to walk in them. While I practiced, he checked his weather equipment.
“Eighteen below,” he told me when he was done. “I imagine this is the warmest temperature we’ll see for quite a while.”
Inwardly I winced, but said, “We should take advantage of this fine day, then.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
We snowshoed along the creek, my legs soon aching from the unaccustomed motion. Steve stopped frequently to take out his notebook and scribble down some observation about the trees or the rocks, and I took in the stark beauty of the scenery.
The last time I’d come this way, I’d imagined something following us, heard Bessie’s voice. But it had surely all been in my imagination, and this trip would prove it. If I heard or saw nothing unusual, I could put my mind at ease.
In time, we made it to the confluence of Coffin Bone Creek and the mighty Yukon. It looked much as it had the last time I saw it. Great slabs of broken ice, frozen into a solid mass, lined the banks, but the main body was as flat and smooth as a highway.
We walked out onto it, silently marveling. It hardly seemed the same waterway that had carried us here. I stared along its course in the direction of Dawson, and for a moment a wild urge seized me. Steve and I didn’t have to go back to the cabin, back to Doug’s machinations and my guilt. We could walk along the river until we reached the town, and…
The fantasy petered out. Forget walking seventy miles on foot through the snow; there was nothing to do in Dawson except perhaps join the other men we’d seen milling aimlessly about, just hoping to get through the winter without starving. Nothing waited there except hunger and desperation.
“I brought lunch,” Steve said. “Let’s build a fire and warm up before we go back.”
He built a small fire with quick expertise, thawing bacon and brewing coffee. I dragged a log near to the fire to sit on, and we huddled there companionably as we ate and drank. The brief daylight was already fading.
“How much shorter will the days get?” I asked.
“A little more than half the daylight we have now,” he said with a wry twist of his lips. “The sun fades fast so far north.” At my expression, he nudged me with his arm. “At least we aren’t in high enough latitudes for it to disappear altogether.”
I couldn’t help but recall the stories of doomed polar voyages, men locked in the frozen sea for months with no light except that of the moon and stars. An involuntary shiver ran through me.
Steve noticed. “Cold?” he asked, and slipped an arm around my shoulders.
My heart pounded at his nearness. I turned my face toward him to deny that I was cold, only to find myself arrested by the sight. The fire gilded his long lashes and glinted from the stubble along his jaw. His eyes gleamed like sapphires, first gentle, then warming with an unmistakable heat.
He leaned forward and brushed his lips lightly over mine. A question, one I suspected he already knew the answer to.
I kissed him back hungrily. His mouth was hot, and his arm drew me even closer.
We parted. “I’ve been wanting to do that since Seattle,” he murmured.
“Me too,” I admitted.
His grin grew a bit cocky at that. He took off a glove and gently brushed the hair back from my forehead. “Where did you get this scar?”
All of the heat in my chest turned to ice. It was all I could do not to jerk away and pull my hair back into place.
I couldn’t tell him. He could never learn about the train, the fire, the blood.
The screams of my little sister as I stood by and did nothing.
Years of practice at keeping my true feelings hidden came to my rescue. “Farming accident when I was a kid,” I said, the lie rolling easily off my tongue. “Nothing exciting, I’m afraid.”
He seemed about to ask more, so I silenced him with another kiss. “We need to go back soon, so let’s not waste time talking,” I murmured against his lips.
He chuckled softly. “I couldn’t agree more.”