Читать книгу Where Heaven Begins - Rosanne Bittner - Страница 11

If thine enemy be hungry, give him bread to eat; and if he be thirsty, give him water to drink…

—Proverbs 25:21

The savior of Elizabeth’s handbag began to walk away before she found her voice. “Mister, wait!”

From several feet ahead the man turned, pushing back his hat slightly and looking her over. Elizabeth wondered if perhaps he thought her one of the loose women heading for the gold fields. Surely not! Who could think such a thing, the way she was dressed? No matter what he thought, she had to at least thank him, but…“What about that man you threw into the water? He could drown!” she called to him.

The stranger frowned. “Who cares? Any man who steals from a woman is worthless anyway. You of all people shouldn’t be concerned with what happens to him.”

“But…he’s a human being. If he drowns, I’ll be responsible!”

“What?” He grunted a laugh. “He stole your purse, and I’m the one who threw him into the water.”

Elizabeth glanced toward the spot where the man had been thrown off. She noticed a couple of men helping him climb back onto the wharf.

“There, you see? He’s wet and mad, but he’s all right. The water probably helped sober him up,” the stranger told her.

The voice was closer, and Elizabeth turned to see him standing right before her. It was then she realized he was a good six feet tall and well built. She backed away slightly. “Well, I…I’m glad, in spite of what he did. And I thank you, sir, for recovering my handbag. All the money I have in the world is in it.”

He grinned and shook his head. “Then I suggest you take that money and put it inside your girdle or your camisole, someplace where a man can’t get to it so easily.” He frowned teasingly then. “Unless, of course, you’re not the prim-and-proper lady you appear to be.”

Elizabeth reddened. “I beg your pardon!”

He tipped his hat. “Just some friendly advice, ma’am.” He started away again.

“What’s your name?” Elizabeth called after him.

Again he turned, removing his hat and running a hand through his thick hair. “Clint Brady.”

Still feeling heat in her cheeks, Elizabeth nodded to him. “Well, thank you again, Mr. Brady. I’ll…take your advice.”

Brady looked around and stepped closer again. “You headed for Alaska?”

Elizabeth nodded. “Yes. My brother is building a church in the Yukon. I am going to join him.”

The man frowned, his blue eyes revealing true concern. “Alone?”

Elizabeth glanced down at his gun and suddenly wondered if she was revealing too much information. Still, he’d risked his life to get her purse back for her. “Yes.”

“And your brother approves?”

“He doesn’t know. I sent him a letter, but I’ll be well on my way by the time he gets it. He’ll have no choice in the matter. He’s all the family I have left and I’m going. God will get me there safely.”

Brady’s eyebrows arched quizzically, and Elizabeth could see he thought she was silly to make such a remark. “He will, will He?” He chuckled. “Well, ma’am…what’s your name, anyway?”

“Elizabeth Breckenridge.”

“Well, Miss Breckenridge, it’s nice to have so much faith, but if I were you, I’d still be more careful of my money. And I’d find a guide of some kind. The trip to the Yukon is daunting for the strongest of men, let alone a woman on her own. You able to carry a thousand pounds of supplies on your back up a mountainside?”

Elizabeth swallowed. “Well, I…I’ll find a way. Perhaps I’ll find a guide once I reach Skagway…and a mule or a horse.”

“Mmm-hmm. And how are you going to know who to trust?”

She held her chin higher with pretended confidence. “I’ll know, that’s all. However, I doubt I have enough money to pay a man for such work anyway. Perhaps someone will take me for the cost of his own supplies…grubstaking, I think they call it.”

Brady nodded. “That’s what they call it.” He looked around the crowd as though watching for someone in particular. “Come on. I’ll walk you back to your bags, if they’re still there.”

“Oh, my goodness! I forgot all about them! What if someone has stolen them!” Elizabeth began a rushed walk back to where she’d left her things, and Clint Brady walked beside her.

“They’re probably all right,” he tried to assure her. “Believe it or not, most of the men headed for the Yukon are just common good men, a lot of them family men who respect proper ladies.” Elizabeth’s bags came into sight. “There, you see?”

“Thank you, Jesus,” Elizabeth said as she hurried up to the bags and picked them up. People were now boarding the Damsel. “I’d better get on board.” She looked up at Clint Brady. “Thank you again, Mr. Brady. I didn’t even ask if you’re all right.”

“Oh, I’ve been through worse, believe me.”

“Oh, my.” She glanced at his gun again. She wanted to ask more, but it might seem too intrusive; besides, there was no time. She had to get on board. She smiled nervously and nodded a goodbye, turning and climbing the wooden plank that led to the steamer’s wooden deck. The Damsel was one of the larger steamers available, painted bright yellow with white trim, three stories of expensive cabins looking inviting. Again, Elizabeth wished she could afford a cabin, rather than staying below deck.

Only God knew how she was going to reach her destination safely—or if she would reach it at all. She had to keep the faith. Whatever was God’s will for her, so be it. Fate, or more likely God, had led her this far.

She stood at the rail of the ship for several more long minutes, staring out at the hilly streets of San Francisco. So many memories there, mostly good ones until her father had been murdered. And Mama. Her eyes stung with tears. Mama! She might never again be able to visit her mother’s grave. Oh, how she missed her! She could not imagine finding happiness here ever again. Her only hope for that was to be with Peter.

Her heart rushed faster when the steamer again blasted three short whistles from its tall smokestacks. Several black men working along the wharf unwrapped heavy rope from around thick wooden dock posts and tossed them to the deck of the Damsel. Elizabeth noticed again what a montage of races mingled at the wharf, and that many of them had boarded the Damsel. Negroes, Chinese, painted women, a couple of men who looked Indian, perhaps even Eskimos. She realized that in all the years she’d lived here, she really couldn’t tell one Indian tribe from another. She only knew that most of the California tribes had become nearly extinct from war and disease. And, of course, there were many Spaniards among the crowd and several on board.

She realized that the members of Christ Church were nearly all white, and that many of them did not openly welcome other races. Her father would have welcomed anyone, and he’d died going out to find those who truly needed to hear God’s Word. Since his death the church had strayed far from what her father meant it to be. He would expect his children to love and welcome other races, for he’d often preached that Christ taught that all should love one another, no matter how different that other person might be.

She turned to glance around at those who’d boarded the Damsel, and there were those very three women! And standing there talking to them was none other than Clint Brady! She’d not even noticed him come aboard.

So, he, too, was going to Alaska. To look for gold? She suspected it was for some other reason. Why did he wear a gun at his side? She couldn’t remember seeing a badge on the man, but maybe he was a lawman. That would explain why he knew how to handle her attacker. He obviously had a good side to him, or he wouldn’t have helped her…but he also had a violent side…and apparently a sinful side, or he wouldn’t be standing there talking to harlots!

Why did that bother her? It was ridiculous to care. He glanced her way, and again she felt that little jolt to her heart, that little, uneasy feeling that Clint Brady had some kind of connection to her…some strange reason for coming into her life in such an odd way.

She turned away. How silly! Besides, the man might only be going as far as Seattle. Still, why did she actually feel relieved that he was on board?

Slowly the docks of San Francisco Bay began to disappear into the cold mist. The sound of other steamers’ shrill whistles pierced the thick fog that began to shroud the Damsel.

She was on her way. Stay with me, Jesus. I’m so afraid. My strength and courage come only from You.