At the Rainbow's End (37 page)

Whirling, she faced a thin man. From his mouth hung an odorous cigar. Dark smoke and a remarkable amount of ash came from the end of it. Scratching the few hairs left on his head, he walked past her and stepped behind the counter.

He grinned broadly. “What can I be doing for you, darling?”

“I want to leave Dawson.”

“Don't we all? This is the worst excuse for a pesthole I have ever seen.” His high effeminate voice did not match the eagerness with which he continued to stare at her.

Dampening her lips, unsure how to begin, she said, “My name is Samantha Perry, and I arrived on the
Merwyn
last summer. The first mate, Mister Penn, told me to come here and ask for a ticket any time I wanted to leave the Yukon. He said he would arrange to pay for it.”

“Did he, now?” He leaned his elbows on the filthy countertop. Resting his chin on them, he smiled lackadaisically. “That's a lovely story, Miss Perry, but what do you expect me to do?”

“Why … arrange for my passage.”

He laughed. “Honey, you should be on stage at the Monte Carlo. You tell funnier stories than the comedian over there. His jokes are staler than last week's biscuits.” His expression sobered as he added, “Look, Miss Perry, the first ship won't be here for more than a month, at the earliest. I have it booked four times over with paying customers.”

“Mister Penn told me he would pay—”

“But I don't know that, now. If you want to send a wire to St. Michael, I can arrange that. All I need is four dollars to send it.”

“Four dollars?” she gasped. She stared at him in disbelief. Such an amount of money would take every bit of the small amount she had brought to Dawson. Ruefully she thought of what remained in the tin can under her bed at the Fifteen Above—hundreds of dollars of gold dust which should be hers.

“If you have no money, I can't help you.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, honey, but that's the way it is. Company policy, you know.”

Determined she would get something out of this long walk, she asked, “Can you at least tell me when the
Merwyn
is returning to Dawson?”

He pointed out the door. “Look at the river. Except for a few leads, that river is a solid block of ice. Until it melts, no captain will risk his ship coming up here. It ain't like it was last year, when people were starving. They know we can wait.” When he saw her bleak expression, he relented. “Miss Perry, watch the Yukon. When the ice floes start downstream, come back. I should be able to tell you more then.”

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“Sorry it's not more, honey.”

She smiled, the sadness on her face muting the glow of her eyes. “I am, too. But I'll be back.”

“I thought you would. See you soon, Miss Perry,” he called after her as she went out the door.

His words of encouragement followed her as she left the warehouse and walked to the Alaska Commercial Company. She waited patiently for one of the harried clerks at the store to be free, staring at the array of merchandise. She sighed. Everything was so expensive.

Even the letter she wanted to send home would cost her dearly. What could she say to her brother? “I was a fool? I believed soap bubble promises, rainbow bright in the sunlight but popping as soon as I tried to capture them. I am coming home to be a burden on you again, because now no decent man will have me?” She could not write any of those things.

Suddenly she knew how her new friend Palmer was correct. She should go to a Pacific coast city and find a life for herself. She had changed too much to accept the strictures of the staid life along the Ohio.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a man asked her what she wanted. She said quietly, “Two spools of white thread for Mrs. Kellogg. She asked that you put it on her bill.”

“Yes, Miss Perry. Be right with you.”

Samantha smiled. It seemed as if everyone in Dawson knew her, although she could recognize only a few of the faces. Suddenly she remembered Joel telling her that she was unforgettable and her smile dimmed. She berated her heart, which longed for foolishness she wanted to forget.

One thing she
would
never forget—the harsh lesson she had learned from Joel Gilchrist. Other men might come into her life, kind, giving, and sacrificing, but would she ever be able to love any of them freely and openly, sharing her heart and body without fear? How could she forgive Joel for taking the magnificent gift of her love and twisting it into a tool for his hate?

If only …

She berated herself silently. There was no “if only.” Coldly manipulating her emotions, he had abused her trust in the most vicious way he could.

Hurrying home through the early darkness, she had to concentrate on keeping her footing. The roads grew more treacherous with each day of hesitant spring. Opening the door of the laundry, she smelled the welcome aroma of their supper, delivered from the Fairview Hotel.

“How did your errands go?” asked her employer.

Samantha pulled off her coat and sat at the table where they folded laundry. “They couldn't help me at the line's office. They have no idea of what schedule the
Merwyn
will have. I'll have to wait until the ice breaks up before I can arrange to leave.”

“So where'll you go, Samantha?” Mrs. Kellogg lifted a ladle of stew and placed it in her bowl.

“I don't know. Not Ohio.” She smiled wryly.

Picking up her spoon, she pointed it at Samantha. “You must plan. What do you want? For so long, you have done only as others wanted.”

“I do have some time to think. April isn't over yet. With this late spring, I won't be leaving before the end of May.” She took a bite of the stew. “Why can't it be like it was last year, when the temperatures were unbelievably high?”

“You are welcome to stay here with me.”

She smiled and patted her friend's hand, gnarled from years of washing clothes. “I was thinking I might go to Skagway. I've learned so much from you and my own laundry on the Bonanza, I might be able to do well there. With the news of more gold in Alaska, more fools will be careening north, all needing clean clothes.

“Whatever I do,” she added more quietly, “it will be because I decide to do it. Not because someone tells me what to do.”

It was a solemn vow.

Chapter Twenty

“Are you sure you don't mind taking these shirts in to Mr. Scopes?” asked Mrs. Kellogg.

Samantha grinned. Tightening her coat around her, she balanced the paper wrapped bundle of shirts under one arm while she pulled on her gloves. “No, I don't mind. He's a lecher, but I've learned how to handle him. Do you have any other errands you need me to do?”

“No, child.” With one of her infrequent smiles, Mrs. Kellogg added, “I'll miss you when you're gone back down the Yukon. Not just the work you do, although I have never had anyone who works as hard as you. I wish you'd reconsider, and stay.”

“I can't. I must go.” Every morning she woke to see the same mountains as she had viewed each day at Fifteen Above. She had to get far away from this rugged land so her heart could heal.

She drew her other glove over her hand and pulled on her thick scarf. Even the old-timers were grousing about the late spring. Spring! It had been more than 40 degrees below zero last night. The river remained unbroken, except for open leads along the fastest currents. The brief spurt of spring during which the partners at Fifteen Above found gold had vanished back into the south. She wondered if something had gone wrong with whatever made the seasons change. It seemed as if they would be in winter for the rest of eternity.

Holding the package close to her chest to help cut the wind blowing from the river, she hunched down in her coat. She watched the ground in front of her feet, only looking up occasionally to be sure she did not bump into anyone.

She stepped cautiously onto the end of the boardwalk. With the midday sun melting the topmost layer of the dirt-encrusted snow, ice often formed on the wood. After a few feet she realized she had made better time on the street, despite pausing to let the loaded sleds pass her. As soon as she came to a cut in the snowbank, she stepped through to the road.

Samantha stopped as if she had run into an invisible wall. Before her, his fur-trimmed hat in his hands and the hood of his parka pushed back to reveal his thick, dark hair, stood Joel Gilchrist. She stared at him, wondering if her dreams had been given life.

“Hello, Sam,” he said.

She did not speak, afraid of what might come from her lips. All she could do was regard him silently. She had not forgotten how brightly his blue eyes glittered in sunshine, or the breadth of his shoulders, yet seeing him now was like meeting him for the first time. In his heavy parka, his knee high boots emphasizing the lean strength of his legs, he was breathtakingly handsome.

When she felt her lips part in soft invitation she clamped them closed. She must not forget what he had said to her last time they stood on a Dawson street. Meeting him here might be no more than a coincidence. If he had wanted to find her, he would have come to Mrs. Kellogg's laundry. He should have guessed she was there.

“Sam, honey,” he continued, closing the distance between them, “at least say hello to me.”

Hello? She wanted to shout insults at him, to demand he step aside, to tell him he expected too much after rejecting her in favor of an old love who did not want him. And—yes—to murmur how she still loved him.

Pain swirled through her. Yes, she loved Joel. She loved his unrelenting drive for success, and his soft kisses. Even knowing about his jealousy and his wish to use her against Camilla, she could not keep from wanting him.

It was impossible.

She could not stay here and let him seduce her back into his arms with his glib phrases. As he stepped toward her, she stepped aside and walked past him, down the street.

“Sam, you can't ignore me!” he shouted after her in disbelief. “You have to give me a chance to explain. You have to! I love you.”

She resisted the temptation to turn and spit the truth at him. He did not want her. He wanted revenge. If he could scurry back to his Camilla, he would forget Samantha Perry ever existed.

Continuing along the road, she carried her package of clean laundry to Mr. Scopes.

Furious, Joel slapped his hat against his thigh as he moved gracefully toward a door with embossed letters proclaiming, “Dawson City Hotel.” He had only a few days to convince her to stay. He had no intention of allowing her to leave. Although she continued to make him furious, he knew now he did not want a future without his lovely and loving Sam.

Samantha recoiled as she always did at the red glare of the hotel. When Mr. Scopes looked at her with a smile, she nodded without speaking, remembering how he had treated her when she came alone and scared to Dawson. He still made no secret of the fact he would prefer to have her working here than at the laundry. Each Wednesday, she left the cleaned clothes and hurried away to avoid his unconcealed lust.

Mr. Scopes rounded his desk to greet her. With the regal condescension she assumed to keep him at a distance, she allowed him to chatter, reminding herself that she represented Mrs. Kellogg. Because of that, she must tolerate the small man's open leers and comments. Concentrating on her need to stay calm, she could keep Joel from her mind.

“You look mighty appetizing, Miss Perry.”

“Thank you,” she replied with automatic coolness. “Here is your laundry. Mrs. Kellogg expects you will pay her at the end of the month, as usual.”

When she turned, he gripped her with narrow, clawlike fingers and moved her around to face him. Because of his diminutive height, his eyes were on a level with hers. A sly look forced his lips into a rare smile. “Why are you slaving at that laundry, when you could make much more money here?”

“I like my job, Mr. Scopes.”

He took her hand and ripped off her glove before she could stop him. “Look at this!” he commanded. “You shouldn't abuse these lovely hands. Why do you continue to ruin them in steam and hot water?”

“Mr. Scopes, I've told you over and over that I have no desire to work here at the hotel. If you will excuse me, I have more important things to do than waste my time arguing with you. I will never change my mind.” She jerked her hand out of his, scooping up her glove from the counter.

She backed away, not taking her eyes off him. He started to block her path, but halted suddenly, glancing over her shoulder in surprise. Then she felt a hand on the center of her back, urging her to stop.

“Joel!” she cried, turning, annoyed that he had tricked her into acknowledging him.

“In person, Sam.” He grinned with the full power of the charm which had lured her into his arms. “As long as we're here, why don't we have something to eat, Sam?”

She forced a tight smile. Not wanting Joel to realize that her heart still leapt with joy when he came near, she said, “I figured you would follow me here. I was waiting for your arrival.” She would not let him take control again.

“You were, were you?” Amusement brightened his sparkling eyes. He motioned for her to follow their suddenly silent host.

With her back rod straight, she walked ahead of him toward the center of the dining room, determined to convince him she was unruffled. Passing a table where a trio of men enjoyed the company of Scopes' skimpily clad women, she kept her eyes carefully averted.

He selected the chair across from hers and pointed toward a slate on the wall. “Appears as if there is the choice of elk steaks or fish soup. What shall it be?”

“I will have the fish.” Hearing an obscene suggestion from one of the harlots, she forced her distaste deep within her. “Plus a glass of wine, if this place serves such.”

“Don't know. I don't come here too often. This is too rich for me.” He grinned disarmingly. “I certainly wasn't planning on dining here when I drove in today. I thought you might be sensible and come home without wooing. As you can see, I was wrong as usual.”