Rivers of Gold (12 page)

“This ought to be as good a time as any to go in search of the registration office,” Miranda said, letting the curtain fall back into place.

Gathering her coat, Miranda slipped into the hall. She glanced briefly at Teddy’s door, wondering if he was hard at work inside. She thought to let him know that she was leaving for a while, but remembering how irritated he became with interruptions, Miranda decided against it. She owed him no explanation.

After getting directions to the recorder’s office, she rushed in the direction indicated. Miranda was eager to learn the whereabouts of her friends. She had prayed fervently for their safety and could only trust that God had kept them from the same fate she’d suffered.

“I’m looking for my friends and family,” she told the official once she’d managed to work her way through the gathering of men.

An older man with a thick bushy mustache of red and gray, looked at her as if to consider the validity of her statement. “You ain’t one of them gals from Paradise Alley, are ya?”

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that particular place. I’m from San Francisco.”

The men around her laughed while the older man looked at her sternly. “Paradise Alley is the entertainment center for men who are looking for female companionship. I’m just askin’ if you’re one them kind of gals.”

Miranda felt her cheeks grow hot. “I should say not. I was coming north when we encountered a storm on one of the lakes. I was swept overboard and it’s been many months since I’ve seen or heard anything of what became of my friends and family. I’m staying over at the Dawson Lucky Day Hotel.”

The man nodded as if he’d known the truth all along. Apparently this was enough to satisfy his curiosity. “So what’s the name?”

“I believe the claim would be under Ivankov. Adrik Ivankov.”

“Hmmm, name don’t ring a bell, but let me look through the records.”

Miranda waited patiently while the man searched his ledgers. “Nope, don’t see no Ivankovs listed here. I have an Ivanovich. Would that work?”

He suggested the name as though Miranda were picking out colors for new draperies. “No,” she answered. “How about Colton? Do you have any listing for Colton?”

“That spelled with an E-N or O-N?”

“O-N.”

The man flipped through the pages and ran his finger down a long, hand-printed list. “I got a Benjamin Colton marked down on the Little Skookum. Would that be them?”

Miranda shook her head. “No.”

“Maybe this here Ben Colton would know about your Coltons.”

“No, I don’t think so. You see, that’s my family name and I’ve never known us to have a Benjamin in the family.”

The man rubbed his chin. “Well, guess I can’t offer you much help.”

“Do you have any other suggestions for locating folks in this area? If my friends haven’t filed a claim, is there any other way I can learn if they made it this far?”

“You could check in with the Mounties. They’re trying to keep tabs on the folks comin’ and goin’. They might have something for you.”

Miranda thanked the man and walked back outside. The air was crisp, almost painful to breathe. The frosty cold filled her lungs, causing her to bury her face against the lining of her collar. Looking up and then down the street in hopes of seeing someone familiar, Miranda tried not to succumb to the feeling of overwhelming hopelessness.

What if they were all killed on the lake? What if I’m the only one who survived? Oh, God, please don’t let that be the truth of it. I can’t imagine never seeing them again
.

Of course, it was possible that upon arriving in Dawson and believing Miranda dead, they could have returned to San Francisco, or at least Grace might have returned. But Grace had said it wasn’t her home and she couldn’t go there without Peter.

Thoughts of her brother gave Miranda an idea. Perhaps she could telegraph Peter in Skagway. Of course, he might have gone back to San Francisco by now, but he also might have stayed. But where could she send the message to be delivered? She had no idea where Peter might have gone. The sensible thing to do seemed to be to send her parents a wire and make sure they knew she wasn’t dead. From there, maybe they could get word to her about Peter. The only problem was it cost money to send a telegram—money she didn’t have.

Perhaps I could ask for a loan from Teddy
, she thought. He had certainly offered her plenty of other things—a room, clothes, food. Surely he wouldn’t begrudge her a telegram to her family.

Spotting a Mountie, Miranda crossed the street. “Sir,” she addressed, “can you tell me where I might send a telegram? I need to contact my parents in California.”

“I’m sorry, miss. There aren’t telegraph connections for that kind of contact. Your best bet would be to post them a letter. I can direct you to the postal office.”

“How long will it take a letter to reach them?” Miranda asked, her heart sinking with every new discovery.

“It could be months. The mail is taken out on dog sled and sometimes it’s very reliable and other times it’s less than so.” He smiled apologetically. “I wish I could be more encouraging.”

Miranda nodded. So much for sending a telegram. In a spirit of complete dejection, she shuffled through the icy snow and made her way back down the street. Shivering from the cold, Miranda decided to take a shortcut through the alleyway. She could see the top of the hotel at the end of the narrow path and felt confident she could reach it more quickly by this route.

She’d not gone ten steps, however, when a bearded man popped around the corner from the opposite direction. She bristled, knowing that it had been foolish to get off the main street. What if the man meant her harm?

She sized him up. Although dressed in a heavy coat and hat, Miranda thought the man looked rather thin and gaunt. He looked at her for a moment, then raised a bottle and took a long drink. Lowering the bottle, he looked at her again and took several steps forward. The shock was clearly written in his expression.

Miranda studied him. Her momentary fear passed as she recognized something familiar about the man. The light was fading from the skies, however, and the shadows could have been playing games with her. Moving a step closer she called out, “Crispin, is that you?”

The man dropped the bottle at this and began backing away. “No!”

“Crispin, wait. Where are you going?” she called out. “Where are the others?”

The man fell backward over a barrel, but quickly regained his feet and shook his head. “Leave me be. Go away!” he shouted.

He turned and fled, disappearing almost as quickly as he’d appeared. Miranda hurried after him, but it was to no avail. She came out of the alley near the hotel and looked in both directions.

“Crispin!” she called. The word echoed back at her.

He had simply vanished, as if he’d never been there at all. She rushed to where the alley intersected a narrow passage between buildings and looked first one direction and then the other. He wasn’t there. Perhaps the whole incident had been nothing but a figment of her imagination. Perhaps she longed so much to find her loved ones that her mind had begun conjuring them up.

“Oh, Father God,” she whispered. “I cannot begin to understand what just happened. Surely if that man was Crispin Thibault, he would have come to me in greeting. Surely he would have taken me to my friends. What do I do now?”

She continued down the alley, feeling nothing but dumbfounded of the strange meeting. The sight of Teddy at the storage shed behind the hotel did little to lift her spirits.

“I say, what are you doing here?” he questioned as she drew near.

“I was just coming from the deed office. No one has heard of my friends. I thought to send a telegram to my parents, but a Mountie told me there are no such services here in Dawson.” Miranda felt tears come to her eyes. “And just now, I thought I saw one of the gentlemen from my party, but he ran off in a fit of fear.” Tears stung her eyes against the cold air.

Teddy put the key to the shed in his coat pocket, and then extended his arm. “Now, now. You mustn’t cry. The air is much too cold and your eyes will positively freeze. Look, I’ve had a bit of luck in ridding myself of the sled. I made a rather nice trade for some elk and moose meat. What say we get the cook to fix us some of it for our supper? We can dine and discuss what you must do next.”

Miranda was surprised at his generous offer of time. “What about your work?”

Teddy looked to the skies overhead. “I’ll simply work into the night. Come along.”

Miranda didn’t know what else she could do. Reluctantly she reached out and took hold of Teddy’s arm. “I’m completely confused,” she told him, looking up into his warm brown eyes. She saw his expression soften. “I’m so alone.”

“Nonsense,” he replied, patting her arm with his gloved hand. “You have me. I shall help you in whatever manner presents itself to me.”

Miranda turned to Teddy, captured by his gallant concern for her well-being, and felt that she was losing her heart to his quiet, gentle ways. Though she felt so vulnerable—so lost—he was like a refuge in the cleft of the rock. A shelter from a certain, otherwise unbearable, storm.

—[CHAPTER TWELVE]—

TEDDY FELT A STRANGE fluttering and warmth in his chest. He typically didn’t concern himself with the emotions of others—in fact, it wasn’t something he’d really ever done before now. His mother had been a very loving woman whose strength and independence he had greatly admired. His father, a refined Englishman, was soft-spoken and gentle of spirit. Teddy had never had cause to deal with such depth of feeling—until now.

“I am sorry about your friend,” Teddy said as he guided Miranda into the hotel. “But you truly shouldn’t let his reaction upset you.”

“Why do you say that? I’ve been gone for months,” Miranda replied indignantly. She pulled away from him and shook her head. “They believe me to be dead. He acted as though I were a ghost.”

“But they’ll know the truth of it in the end.” Teddy thought his argument to be perfectly reasonable. Miranda’s expression suggested otherwise.

Taking hold of her well-worn skirt, Miranda crossed the lobby in obvious displeasure. Teddy could scarcely believe her reaction. What had he said that was wrong? He rethought his words as he followed her up the stairs.

“Miss Colton, I say, you surely misunderstand me.”

“I understand that you believe my concern to be silly and unwarranted.”

“I never said it was silly,” Teddy replied, trying hard to remember any comment that might have given her this impression.

“You act as though it’s nothing more than a simple misunderstanding,” Miranda countered as she topped the stairs. She turned, pulling her wool bonnet from her head. “You suggest that the truth will come out in the end. Well, let me explain something to you, Mr. Davenport. My friends believe the end has already come and gone. They believe me to be dead in Lake Laberge.”

Teddy nodded, trying hard to guard his words. “Yes …” he began hesitantly, “but you’re not.”

“Exactly!” She made the declaration and lifted her chin defiantly.

Teddy watched Miranda stalk down the hallway toward her room. He went over every piece of information, each comment he had shared. But her actions and attitude simply did not follow any rational response. Why was she so angry with him? Only moments ago she had been tearful.

“Miss Colton,” Teddy called as he followed after her, “I must be allowed to say something—to explain …”

Miranda turned, her eyes narrowing. “To explain why you are so heartless?”

“Me? Heartless? I assure you that is hardly the case. I am trying my best to offer you comfort by presenting a reasonable explanation. Your friends cannot leave Dawson, short of heading out on dog sled. That is highly unlikely, as there isn’t a sled to be bought in town. A man told me that just this morning, when I sold him my sled.”

“What could that possibly have to do with any of this?”

“Just this,” Teddy said, hoping she’d hear with her logic and not her emotions. “If that was your friend—the man you saw earlier—he won’t be leaving Dawson until spring thaw. That won’t come until May. That gives you months to track down your friends.”

“I hardly have months, Mr. Davenport. I cannot expect to go on living here without a job. I have no clothes to speak of, no money for personal items, and I cannot pay for the room in which I’m sleeping.”

“But the money is immaterial,” Teddy assured her. Finally he felt confident of the subject matter. “I’ve given you the room without requirement of pay. I’ve offered to buy you new clothes, and I’d be happy to give you cash for your personal needs.”

But instead of making her happy, Teddy could see that this announcement only intensified her irritation. “I’m not your responsibility,” Miranda said firmly. “I’m not about to allow a strange man to keep me, almost as if I were his … his … mistress.”

Teddy felt his cheeks grow hot. He was unaccustomed to women speaking in such a manner. He was befuddled. First Miranda had been upset because she found her friend and lost him. Then she was upset about being without money or clothes. And when Teddy offered to help, she was angry about that as well.

“I
never
suggested that I expect anything in return, Miss Colton,” Teddy finally managed to say. “I don’t know where you could possibly get such an idea.”

Miranda put her hand on her hips. “I’m a woman and you’re a man. You’re keeping me in a hotel, in an adjoining room to your own sleeping quarters. You pay for my meals and now you offer to put clothes on my back. What will people think?”

“Well, I really don’t care what people think. We know what the truth of it is. I don’t think of you as a woman,” Teddy said, suddenly halting, realizing his blunder the minute he’d spoken. Not only was it the wrong thing to say, it was a lie. He was only too aware of Miranda as a woman.

“You are without a doubt the most insensitive and simpleminded man in all creation,” Miranda proclaimed. “You don’t understand anything unless it grows out of the ground and can be pressed into your books for further study. In fact, I’m beginning to think you are incapable of understanding anything not associated with vegetation. I believe, Mr. Davenport, it very well may be possible that your brain is composed of nothing but mulch and compost. Good day!”