Rivers of Gold (25 page)

“Grace never stopped loving you,” she said finally. “She only wanted you to love her—to love God. She knew you two would be destined for misery if you didn’t find the truth of God to be valid for your life.”

“I know,” Peter replied. “She was a very wise woman.”

“She still is,” Miranda said. “You have to stop talking about her in the past tense. She’s alive. I know she is. I know we will find her, Peter. I feel very confident of this.”

“I’d like to have that confidence for myself. It just seems that this is all a very bad dream. A dream sprinkled with teasing clues that refuse to allow me to solve the puzzle.”

“I know it’s difficult. Here I’ve been fretting that you and Mother and Father believed me to be dead, and all along you’ve been mourning the loss of your wife. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m the one who’s sorry. I’ve made a mess of things,” Peter said, burying his face in his hands. “Tell me about your accident—when you were lost on the lake.”

Miranda tried to remember back to those early days. “I really don’t know what happened. I know there was a storm, but I don’t remember falling overboard. I can’t tell you much of what happened in the weeks that followed, either. I simply don’t remember.

“I do remember waking up in Teddy’s cabin. Nellie, the Indian woman who helped him, cared for me. She was so gentle. I remember she had these pudgy, calloused hands, but she was infinitely tender. It taught me a lot about not judging people by their looks.”

“How so?”

Miranda smiled and gazed at the ceiling. “I think I always looked at things—the appearance of things—and judged for myself their value. Not in a malicious manner, mind you, but rather in a way so as to determine if I was safe—if the circumstance was prudent.”

“Those are good things,” Peter said. “I wish I’d been more cautious about a great many things.”

“Sometimes we can be overly cautious. Sometimes we are afraid to live life.”

“And sometimes we’re not afraid enough.”

Just then Teddy returned from his office work. He looked to Miranda and seemed to instantly understand the situation. He motioned to the bedroom door and then to himself as if to suggest he could slip away if she needed him to. Miranda shook her head and motioned him to join them.

“Come sit with us, Teddy.”

At this Peter looked up, and there were tears in his eyes. Miranda was nearly undone by their appearance. She had always seen her brother as the strong one, the leader whose confidence was never shaken. Now, here he was, fallen from his pedestal, flesh and blood just like everyone else.

“I’m sorry. I was just leaving,” Peter said, getting to his feet.

“Don’t leave on my account,” Teddy interjected. “We’ve a holiday tomorrow, remember? We can sleep late if the noise in the town doesn’t get us up with the dawn.” He smiled, then sobered. “Seriously, if you’d like to stay, I can send for tea.”

“No,” Peter said, moving toward the door. “What I really need is to spend some time in prayer.”

Miranda got up and followed him to the door. “If you need me, I’m here. Please let me be there for you, as you’ve always been there for me. Being the strong one all the time must be an exhausting endeavor.”

Peter smiled sadly. “I believe God has broken me of my craving for control. Now, all I long for is my wife and child.”

Miranda closed the door after he’d gone and locked it. Shaking her head, she looked to Teddy for strength and support. “I just don’t know if he can bear this.”

“He’ll have to. Pride is a harsh mistress,” he said, coming to wrap her in his embrace. “So, too, is obsession.”

Miranda looked up to meet his gaze. Puzzled by his words she asked, “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, I’ve long been devoted to an obsessive desire. It almost cost me your love. I’ve been driven to work on this book—to fulfill my father’s dreams. I thought that if I brought this book to life, it would in some small way give life back to my father.”

“You loved him very much, didn’t you?”

“As much as a boy can love his hero. I adored my mother, for she was fun-loving and sweet and gentle, but my father was the man I wanted to grow up to be. My mother never understood his passion, but I did. Not because it was plants and flowers—but because it was so much a part of him. It was his desire as much as she was.”

“Didn’t she try to understand?” Miranda questioned.

“I don’t know. I think she must have. After all, she would tolerate the trips to Cornwall. But my father was always very much alone in his work. It was one of the reasons I took up the interest. I wanted to be close to him—to let him know that someone understood and cared.”

“That’s why I want to help you with your research. I know what this project means to you.”

“I’m glad you know, because what I want to say—to offer—is given out of my deepest love for you.”

“I don’t understand, Teddy. What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying that instead of leaving next week for the cabin, we’ll stay here and help Peter search for Grace. We’ll purchase supplies and horses, and we’ll hit the trail and look up and down every creek where they’ve had even so much as a dusting of gold.”

Miranda knew the cost of Teddy’s gift. Her heart swelled with joy and love for this man—her husband. That he would sacrifice for her in this manner was all the proof she needed that she had done the right thing in marrying him.

“Oh, Teddy, you are more wonderful than I can find words to say.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed his head down. Ardently, she kissed him, pouring out all her emotions in that one action.

He moaned and pulled her tight against him. Miranda felt him sink his hands into her hair. Pulling her head back gently with one hand, he used his free hand to gently touch her cheek. At this, Miranda opened her eyes.

“You may not have the words to say,” Teddy said in a low, husky voice, “but I think I understand your meaning just the same.”

The celebration started early, as expected, but it didn’t awaken Peter. He had been awake for hours. In his mind he kept replaying the news that Miranda had given him. Grace was alive. She hadn’t died as he had thought. She’d lived an entire winter in the Yukon. She’d carried his child—alone. Given birth—again alone.

He had no way of knowing if the baby was a boy or a girl, or even if it had lived. The uncertainty threatened his sanity. He had always considered himself a strong, soundminded man, but now he questioned that.

He tried to pray, but he felt there was a wall between him and God. Why did God seem so far away? Peter had given his trust to Him—claimed Jesus for his Savior. So why did it seem he was standing here alone?

A carnival-like atmosphere was going on outside the hotel, but Peter could barely muster the interest to pull back the drapes and see what was happening. Outside, the entire world seemed to have put on its Sunday best. Women wore ribbons and feathers and gowns more beautiful than he’d seen in some time. The men were equally bedecked in their finest suits or at least their cleanest jeans.

An audience had gathered around one man who was juggling while balancing on a unicycle. Not far from this group, another collection of folks were intrigued by an acrobatic act.

There were barkers calling out their wares. Everything from food to colorful banners declaring best wishes to Queen Victoria could be had for a price. Peter despaired of stepping into the madness in hopes of finding Grace. The crowd was growing by the minute, and it was barely past nine.

“Peter?” Miranda called out as she knocked on his door.

Peter found his sister dressed smartly in a red-and-green plaid skirt and white blouse. Her hair had been perfectly coifed and her face was bright with the radiance of a woman in love. She looked the epitome of a reserved and proper lady. Their parents would be proud to know her manners and upbringing had not been forgotten in the Yukon.

“Are you ready to venture out? There are all sorts of planned events—pie-eating contests, ax throwing, and races, to name a few. People are so happy at the new shipments of food and supplies that, whether the queen had a birthday or not, we’d no doubt have a party.”

Peter took up his jacket and pulled it on. “I’m nervous,” he admitted. “I’m terrified and excited all at the same time. I’ve never felt so lost.”

Miranda cocked her head to one side and looked at him rather quizzically. “Lost in what way?”

“I tried all night to pray—to seek guidance so that today I might do exactly the right thing. But I feel as if God isn’t listening. I just feel … alone.”

“Oh, Peter, I know how you feel. I went through that myself when I woke up at Teddy’s cabin. There I was, with a man who hardly even knew I existed and an old Indian woman who barely spoke my language. I prayed and nothing seemed to make sense. But just when things seemed as lost and hopeless as they could be—God always sent me a sign.”

“What kind of sign?”

“It all depended on the situation,” Miranda admitted. “But when I felt my lowest—when I gave up and left it in God’s hands—things were accomplished.”

“So you’re telling me to do nothing?”

“Not at all,” Miranda said, reaching up to touch Peter lovingly. “I’m saying commit it to the Lord, and be assured that He hears you. Sometimes His ways are obscured and foreign to us—but it doesn’t mean He isn’t there. It doesn’t mean He isn’t listening.”

“I know you’re right. I feel like I have nothing left to give.”

Miranda nodded. “When you get to the place where Jesus is all you have,” she said with a smile, “you’ll find that Jesus is all you need.”

Peter pondered her words as they made their way out into the streets. Teddy waited for them at the entryway of the hotel. He beamed Miranda a smile, warming Peter’s heart. At least Miranda was happy. He could see that. He couldn’t have picked a better mate for her than she’d chosen for herself.

The crowd grew, and by noon Peter was convinced that no fewer than twenty thousand people had flooded the muddy streets. He had asked what seemed like ten thousand of that number if they knew of his wife, but no one seemed to have a clue about the dark-eyed beauty.

“Any news?” Miranda asked, coming with Teddy from across the street.

“No. No one knows her.”

“We’ve not had any better time of it,” Miranda said. She came to stand beside Peter while Teddy excused himself to go back to the hotel.

“I’ll rejoin you both in about an hour,” he told them. “I have an appointment that is of great importance.”

Miranda waited until he’d gone before turning to Peter. “He’s considering selling the hotel. He’s been talking to some of his friends, and they believe the new finds of gold in Nome are going to send most of the people west. They worry that Dawson will dwindle back to nothing.”

“Where will you go, then?”

Miranda shrugged. “I don’t know. We still have work to do in this area. Teddy’s entire focus for the past few years has been to compile this book on the plant life of Canada. He’s rearranged his thinking, however, and now he seems more inclined to consider other possibilities.”

“Such as?” Peter asked, as a man jostled him from behind. “Hey there, buddy,” Peter said, turning to suggest the man go elsewhere with his rowdiness.

“I said you’re a liar,” the man called out, ignoring Peter. He turned away from Peter to throw a punch.

Peter quickly grabbed hold of his arm. “I’d appreciate it if you did your fighting elsewhere.”

“That’s it, mister, hold him for me,” another man called out, rushing them.

Peter was appalled to see that Miranda stood directly in the line of fire, and rather than concern himself with the man he held, Peter threw himself in front of his sister and took a blow full on the mouth.

Blood spurted out of Peter’s mouth, along with a tooth. He reached up in agony as Miranda screamed. The two men, seeing they’d caused a fuss that clearly couldn’t benefit them, slipped into the crowd and were gone before Peter could gather his wits.

“Peter, are you all right?”

“I have a horrible pain in my jaw. I think that ninny loosened up every tooth in my mouth.”

“Say there, son, I’m a dentist. Why don’t you come with me? My office is just a couple of blocks away,” a man urged, taking Peter’s elbow.

“Yes,” Miranda encouraged. “Let’s go with him, Peter.”

Peter reluctantly allowed himself to be led away. He could hardly think clearly, and his mouth hurt fiercely. A fire had started somewhere in his jaw and had traveled down his neck.

“Come on, right in here,” the man said, pointing Peter to his office. The man opened the door and motioned Peter to the dental chair.

“Just sit back and I’ll get some water and a bowl so we can rinse your mouth and see what’s what.”

The dentist moved quickly around the room, gathering what he needed. He offered Peter a glass of water and a bowl in which he could spit. Peter rinsed his bloody mouth several times, fearing each time that he would spit teeth out with the water.

Finally the dentist went to work. “Ah, it doesn’t look too bad. Knocked out one of the back molars and it’s bleeding a good bit. Loosened up the others, but they’ll firm up again when the swelling goes down and the tissue has a chance to heal.” He looked down at Peter. “I’m Dr. Brummel, by the way.”