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He leaned closer. “I meant what I said. Other men might offer the same thing, but I wouldn’t trust any of them, understand?”
She drew in her breath, drinking in a bit of courage along with it, and faced him again, hoping her cheeks weren’t too flushed. “And why should I trust you and not all the others?”
He looked her over in a way that made her feel safe and warm. It disturbed her to be unable to ignore the fact that he was incredibly handsome. Wasn’t it sinful to notice such things about a man?
“Maybe because I’m the one who risked his life to help you out at the docks,” he told her. “I didn’t see anyone else doing that. Maybe because I’ve handled some pretty bad characters and know more about that than most of the men on this ship. Maybe because I know how to handle my fists and a gun, which I guarantee you are going to need before this journey ends. And maybe because your God intended for me to notice you. You said yourself that He would be sure you get to Dawson safely. Maybe I’m the reason.”
She raised her eyebrows in surprise and grinned. So, he did still believe, at least a little. “Are you saying God brought us together?”
He gave her a rather sneering smile. “If He did, it was because of you, certainly not because He cares anything about me.”
The door was open! “Oh, but He does, Mr. Brady. He most certainly does.”
Clint took one last drag from his cigarette and tossed the butt into the water. “No, ma’am, I don’t think so.” He looked around. “Look, there are only three more days left until we reach Skagway. Believe me, when we get there, you’ll be thrown into a wide-open, lawless, crowded, wild town where there won’t be one man you can trust, and the only women there will be like Collette and those other two who got off at Portland. And, by the way, you need to be careful who you’re seen with.”
“God loves everyone, Mr. Brady. I can do no less as His servant. One of them needed my help. I could not turn her away.”
He folded his arms, giving her a stern look. “Do you really think that I or the other men on this ship didn’t know what was going on?”
Elizabeth’s patience was rankled. “It’s none of their business, nor yours! They asked me to pray for them, and so I did. I am not as naive as you think! My own father was murdered on the Barbary Coast, ministering to harlots and thieves and murderers! I know a little bit about the real world, sir, and I know that you are a bounty hunter! You hunt men down for money, so as I said, why should I trust you?”
Why had she said that? She hadn’t meant to. She wasn’t even going to bring up the subject, which she now knew surely had something to do with his wife! She saw hurt and anger in his eyes. She looked away. “I’m sorry.”
“No matter,” he said coldly. “I didn’t say I was any better than the harlots and murderers you just mentioned. I’m only telling you that I do care what happens to a young woman alone against the odds you’ll be facing. In fact, what I was going to say was that for what’s left of this journey, you’re welcome to use my cabin if you want. I hate to think of you down there with a bunch of men who haven’t bathed since God knows when and who I don’t doubt are using language you’d rather not listen to. But then since you’re more worldly than I thought, I guess it’s not so bad for you. And you wouldn’t want to stay in a cabin that’s been inhabited by a bounty hunter, now, would you? Enjoy the rest of your trip, Miss Breckenridge.”
He left her then, and Elizabeth wanted to kick herself. He’d given her an opening to help him learn about God’s love, and she’d missed it! She’d let her own pride and orneriness get in the way. She leaned over the railing again, putting her head in her hands.
Oh, Lord, forgive me! I failed You miserably! Clint Brady had offered to help her, protect her, give up expensive quarters for her, and she’d behaved abominably. What a fool she was! And what a poor servant of the Lord!
Chapter Eight
He that is of God heareth God’s words: ye therefore hear them not, because ye are not of God.
—St. John 8:47
Clint felt frustrated, angry, anxious, guilty, worried and bored. He tried to think of one positive thing about his life, and he couldn’t come up with anything…except Elizabeth Breckenridge, which seemed pretty ridiculous, considering he’d known her all of ten days. Most of that was by sight alone, and the one and only real conversation he’d had with her ended disastrously.
Why in heck did she get to him the way she did? He was making this trip for one reason alone—to find Roland Fisher and either take him back to San Francisco alive, or return with a notarized certificate of his death…by a bullet from Clint Brady’s gun. It made no difference to him which way it was. The man was a murderer of innocent people, which meant his life had no value.
The intrusion of Elizabeth Breckenridge into his thoughts and emotions was an unexpected infringement on his life and purpose. Why did he allow it to perplex him? There was absolutely no reason for it, and he wished he’d never run after the thief who took her handbag. Maybe then she would have missed the Damsel altogether and he wouldn’t be in this mess of emotions.
How could a woman be so ridiculously stupid about her decisions? She was apparently just as misguided as her father had been, actually believing that God would watch out for her and see that she reached Dawson safely. The thought was enough to make a man laugh. Sometimes he wanted to, but the thought of what could really happen to the poor girl sobered him.
He lit another cigarette, glad he’d brought plenty along. Pacing around on the Damsel was driving him nuts. He couldn’t wait to get off and get away from Miss Naive. At least those below ate at a different time from those with cabins, so he didn’t have to see her in the dining room, such as it was. He wondered how her stomach was handling the doughy, half-baked biscuits and tough meat the ship’s cook served.
At least once they landed at Skagway he could get away from her. If she was so sure she could make it to Dawson all on her own, then let her find out the hard way that God was not going to provide! It would serve her right to discover that maybe there was no God at all. She’d find out how crushing it could be to realize that simple faith wasn’t enough when it came to the real evils of the world.
And faith in God was also no use when trying to forget the pain of the past, to get over the loss of loved ones. And forgiveness—that was totally impossible. How can a man forgive those who’ve robbed him of what was most precious in his life? No, forgiveness is for fools, as is faith in a cruel God. What a mean lesson Miss Breckenridge had yet to learn!
Fools! Half the world was made up of fools. Fools like the men on this ship who’d deserted loved ones to look for a treasure most of them would never find. Fools like Elizabeth Breckenridge. Fools like he’d once been, thinking life could be perfectly wonderful and peaceful and full of joy. He’d almost forgotten what true joy was, forgotten how to smile because of love rather than because of bounty money. He wasn’t even sure what to do with all the money he’d gradually built up in a bank in San Francisco. The only things he spent money on were a few clothes, tobacco, the horses that would arrive in Skagway ahead of him on a cattle boat and the best Winchester rifle and Colt handgun money could buy.
A group of men toward the Damsel’s bow began singing a risqué song about the women of Skagway and the places they liked to stuff gold nuggets. He wondered if poor Elizabeth could hear the filthy words, then chastised himself for caring. He finished his cigarette and walked over to join the singers, laughing at the dirty lyrics. Laughing. Crying inside.
Elizabeth shivered into her cape, surprised at how cold it was today compared to the lovely day yesterday, with sunshine and no wind. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the beauty of the mountains, softly humming a hymn in her attempt to shut out the dirty, suggestive words of the men singing nearby. Finally the singing stopped when a pod of orca whales began following the ship, sometimes jumping high out of the dark, foggy waters in a magnificent display of black and white majesty.
After nearly a half hour of staying close enough to be seen in spite of the fog, they swam off to the distance, disappearing into the mist. Only minutes later their show was replaced by the antics of a huge herd of chattering dolphins that jumped and rolled and played alongside the ship. The comical sight made Elizabeth and others laugh, and it seemed the blue creatures were laughing with them. They reminded Elizabeth of little children.
It felt good to laugh. Elizabeth glanced around to see if Clint Brady might also be watching the dolphins. She saw him standing farther down along the ship’s rail, and yes, he, too, was laughing. She whispered a little prayer of thanks to God for creating something so sweet and beautiful that it could make a man like that forget whatever was burdening him and genuinely laugh, if for just a few moments.
She quickly looked away so he wouldn’t catch her watching him, for she suspected he’d fast lose his smile if he knew she’d seen him actually enjoying himself. As little as she knew about him so far, she was pretty sure he’d be stubborn about admitting any kind of brief happiness. Mr. Clint Brady was determined to be mad at the world and at God.
The dolphins disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared, and again the ship was shrouded in thick, cold fog. It was unnerving to know there were islands and rocks and other ships all around, as they’d been watching other steamers ahead of and behind them throughout their voyage. In just one more day, so she’d been told, they would make Skagway, and she would be more than happy to get off the Damsel and out of the worsening conditions in the lower deck.
“One more day, fellas,” a man nearby shouted.
All the talk was of Skagway and White Pass and Chilkoot Pass and the cost of horses and gear and hope that those who’d gone before had “left some of that there gold for us.”
In the distance she could hear another ship’s steam whistle. The Damsel sounded her own wail in reply, the steam pouring from her stacks only adding to the denseness of the fog. Something about the thick mist made the whistles seem louder than normal, and the other ships’ haunting horns seemed all too close.
Suddenly Elizabeth could barely see past her hand, couldn’t even see those standing next to her.
How close were other boats? They were in fairly narrow fjords now, no room for error. “God, protect us,” she whispered. She’d no more said the words than she felt a jolt, and in what seemed no more than a second she felt the rail on which she leaned give way. She was falling…falling…
She hit the icy water, and the weight of her leather shoes and many layers of under slips, her dress and her fur cape…all caused her to sink…sink…ever deeper.
Chapter Nine
And Jesus said unto him, Receive thy sight: thy faith hath saved thee.
—St. Luke 18:42
“Lizzy.”
Mama?
Elizabeth was sure she’d heard her mother calling her. No one else ever referred to her as Lizzy. She searched the dark waters. Nothing. Was her mother calling her home to heaven? Should she allow her lungs to give up and just breathe in the icy water, allowing herself to drown?
“The Father is with you,” her mother told her.
Something strong bumped her, then grabbed her, lifted her. She was near the point of passing out from holding her breath, and from futile efforts to bring herself back to the water’s surface. She felt herself rising, rising now instead of sinking. Someone had found her! Who? How many others had fallen overboard when the railing broke?
Thank you, Jesus!
In the next moment her head broke above water and she gasped, desperately gulping air, blessed air. She was alive!
“Hang on to me!” a man’s voice commanded.
She obeyed, still not even aware of who it was. He clung to her with one arm and used his other arm to swim.
“Kick your feet a little,” he told her.
“I can’t swim!”
“Just kick your feet the best you can.”
This time the words were shouted. She obeyed, surprised that kicking her feet actually helped. She dug into a muscled back with her right hand as she clung to whoever held her. “Don’t let go!” she found herself begging, her words coming through chattering teeth.
The arm holding her tightened. “I didn’t jump into this ice bath just to let go of you after finding you,” he shouted in reply.
Clint? It sounded like Clint Brady! Had he also fallen in from the broken railing, or had he deliberately dived in after her? Those thoughts flickered through her brain as she struggled against the cruel cold of the water and kept kicking in spite of the weight of her dress and shoes. Between the heavy fog and the water splashing into her eyes, she could barely see a thing, including the man rescuing her. A small boat appeared out of nowhere, and the man led her to it, lifting her slightly.
“Grab on!”
Now Elizabeth could hear other voices, men yelling for help. Two men in the boat reached for her, and the man who’d helped her put his hand on her rump and gave her a boost. She managed to climb over the side of the smaller boat and literally fall into it.
“Hello!” one of the men in the boat shouted. “We’re here! We’ve got a boat. Swim toward our voices.”
Coughing and shivering, Elizabeth managed to sit up and stare over the side of the boat. What had happened to Clint?
“You’ll be okay now, ma’am,” one of those in the boat told her. “We got rammed by another steamer, but the Damsel will make it to the closest island. We’ll get help right quick, and we’ll still make it to Skagway.”
Breathless, Elizabeth couldn’t even answer. She recognized the man as one of the Damsel’s crew. Another man removed his pea coat and put it around her shoulders. Elizabeth very gladly pulled it closer, wondering if she would ever feel warm again. She continued gasping as she waited, watching for Clint to emerge.
After a few minutes two more men came to the side of the boat. To her relief she could see Clint was one of them. The fog seemed to be lifting slightly, enough that she realized Clint had gone out to save someone else. He helped the man to the boat and left yet again, seemingly immune to the cold water.
Minutes later he again returned with yet another man. This time he climbed inside after the man he’d helped. He fell to the bottom of the boat, breathing hard, and Elizabeth noticed he wore only a shirt and pants—no jacket, no gun and no boots or even socks! Surely he hadn’t fallen in accidentally at all. He’d taken a moment to half undress so he could swim better, having every intention of rescuing as many as he could.
He sat up and put his head in his hands, still breathing deeply, and there came another cry for help, somewhere in the fog. Clint stood up and dove off the small boat again.
“Clint!” Elizabeth screamed.
Moments later he returned with a third man. Both of them climbed into the boat.
“I hope…that’s all of them,” Clint panted.
“It’s a mighty fine thing you did, mister,” one of the crewmen told him.
“Where did you learn to swim so good?” one of those he’d rescued asked.
“Lake Michigan,” Clint answered, “a long time ago. I wasn’t so sure I’d have the strength I needed, it’s been so long.” He took several more deep breaths. “Good thing I got the last of you. I was about out of breath.” He coughed and glanced at Elizabeth. “You all right?”
“I think so. Oh, Clint, how can I thank you enough? First my handbag, now this—”
“Don’t worry about it,” he waved her off. He coughed again, then sneezed. “Let’s get back to the Damsel,” he told one of the crewmen, who began rowing.
The crewmen and others from the ship began shouting back and forth to each other, and in moments the Damsel, its back end sitting low in the water, came into sight. Another ship sat close by.
“She’s takin’ on water, but she’ll make it to the closest island,” one of the crewmen repeated. Men on board threw down ropes, and the crewmen rigged them to trollies on each end of the smaller boat, tossing the ends back up to the deck, where men began hauling the lifeboat upward in even jerks until it was high enough for the passengers to climb onto the deck.
Clint helped lift Elizabeth, and she couldn’t help being aware of his strength. Men on deck helped her the rest of the way up, then helped Clint climb on deck. Those he’d rescued were already telling others what Clint had done and what a good swimmer he was. There came a round of thank-yous, and Clint took Elizabeth’s arm.
“You’re coming to my cabin whether you want to or not. No arguments! You’re getting out of those wet clothes and under some covers, and then you’re going to pray you don’t get sick.”
The words were spoken with such command that Elizabeth didn’t even consider arguing. She had to half run to keep up with him as he directed her to the wooden steps that led to cabins on the second level. She lifted her soaked dress and managed to climb the stairs, feeling more and more weary with every step, worn out from her struggle, shivering fiercely from the cold. She followed Clint through a door.
“What about the steamer? Isn’t it sinking?” she asked Clint.
“They said we’d get to the closest island, and I believe them. Other ships will come along to help us. They’ll figure it out.” Clint closed the door. “Meantime, we’re on the second level. We can probably stay right here until help arrives.”
We? “I…what will I change into? What about my things below?”
“I’ll go get them for you. You get yourself undressed and under those covers.”
“But…I don’t have anything to wear!”
Looking rather disgusted, Clint dug through a duffel bag and threw a shirt at her. “Put this on and just get under the covers. I’ll be back.”
Still soaked and shivering himself, he left before Elizabeth could say a thing. She looked around the tiny room, lit by a lantern and warmed by a small, potbelly stove. She could see glowing embers through the partially open vent. She felt totally bewildered, full of questions, as she began undressing.
Realizing Clint could come back any time, Elizabeth hastily removed her dress, her many slips, her now-squishy high-button shoes, her stockings, and her camisole. Her money fell out. She gasped and quickly gathered it up, looking around for a place to put it, then turned and shoved it under the feather mattress of Clint’s narrow bed.
She then removed her wet drawers. “Oh, dear Lord!” she lamented. She was completely naked, but how else was she to dry off and get warm? Still, she was in a man’s cabin, about to crawl into a man’s bed! How humiliating!
She hurriedly put on the shirt he’d given her, which was far too big. It fell past her knees, but as far as she was concerned, it still didn’t cover her legs enough. Elizabeth looked around again, noticing Clint’s six-gun hanging over the back of a wooden chair, looking so intimidating and dangerous. She noticed a towel lying beside a bowl and pitcher, and she grabbed it up to dry her hair as best she could, taking out the few pins left in it.
Suddenly she felt nauseated and dizzy. She crawled under the covers, pulling them over herself and settled into the pillow, relishing the warmth of the room, the comfort of the first bed she’d slept in for over a week. She could smell Clint’s scent in the pillow, a very pleasant, manly scent, much nicer than the smells below deck. The room itself smelled of cigarettes, leather and wood smoke.
She watched the red coals of the stove, and thought what a blessing fire could be.
“Thank You, Jesus,” she whispered, “for fire, for saving me…for Clint Brady.” Oh, how wonderful felt the warmth of that potbelly stove! She thought about hearing her mother’s voice. “Thank you, Mama,” she whispered.
Chapter Ten
Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.
—St. Matthew 10:31
Elizabeth stirred, for a brief moment remembering lying in bed at home in San Francisco, the smell of bacon cooking downstairs, knowing her mother was in the kitchen preparing breakfast. She loved those moments, the peace, the feeling of love and safety.
In seconds she came fully awake, realizing she was not in her own bed at home at all and gradually remembering where she really was. She lay still a moment, blinking open her eyes to see through the porthole in the steel door of the cabin. It was light out. How long had she slept? She turned over, at first watching a small fire in the potbelly stove, then realizing through the bit of light that came through the porthole that a man was sitting on the floor near the stove, quietly smoking. He had long legs and wore denim pants.
It was only then that she became fully aware of where she was and what had happened. She jerked the blankets to her neck. She put a hand to her hair, realizing it was entirely undone.
“Good morning,” came Clint’s low voice.
Elizabeth thought a moment. Morning? The accident had happened midmorning. Had she slept such a short while? “I…good morning,” she answered, feeling embarrassed and awkward. “What time is it?”
He took a long drag on his cigarette, then reached over and flicked it through the slats of the wood burner. “About nine-thirty.”
