Читать книгу Winter Kill - William W. Johnstone - Страница 10

Frank and Fiona went back to the Majestic Hotel. Along the way, Fiona explained, “These are fine, upstanding young ladies from respectable families in places like New York, Philadelphia, and Boston, you understand. Many of them are quite well educated. I’m sure you’re wondering why such women would want to travel thousands of miles to a wilderness such as Alaska to marry men that they’ve never met.”

“The thought crossed my mind,” Frank admitted. “I can understand why a man might send off for a wife when he’s in a place where there aren’t any women, but I can’t quite figure why a woman would be interested in a deal like that.”

“There are a number of reasons. Some of them simply have a thirst for adventure. Others have suffered tragedies of some sort—the loss of a loved one, a failed romance, things like that—and want to make a fresh start somewhere else.”

“I reckon Alaska’s about as much ‘somewhere else’ as you can get,” Frank commented with a smile.

“Indeed it is. To these young women, it’s as faraway and exotic as, say, China would be.” Fiona paused. “But to finish my thought, and to be totally honest with you, Frank, some of the women who enter into arrangements like this are rather unattractive and don’t believe they’ll ever have a man any other way. Also, some are looking for a degree of financial security. If a man can afford to engage my services and have a bride brought to him, generally he’s either already well-to-do or has excellent prospects for being so. The women know that.” She laughed. “So, if you want to look at it that way, I suppose what I do is sort of like being a madam. I shouldn’t have been so offended when you mentioned it earlier.”

Frank shook his head. “I wouldn’t say that at all. Seems completely different to me.”

“I am in the business of selling women for money.”

“Nope, not the same thing,” Frank insisted.

“Well, I’m glad you feel that way.” She looked up at the front of the hotel. “Here we are.”

They went inside the redbrick building and up the stairs to the second floor. Fiona said, “We’ll go to my suite, and I’ll have the ladies assemble there. I engaged six rooms for them, two to a room.”

The mail-order bride business must pay pretty well, Frank thought. The Majestic wasn’t the fanciest hotel in the world, but Fiona had to be doing all right if she could afford to rent a suite and six more rooms for her charges.

The sitting room of Fiona’s suite was comfortably furnished. She discreetly closed the door to the bedroom, then told Frank, “Wait here. I’ll be back in a moment.”

He felt a mite odd, standing there holding his hat in the sitting room of a lady’s suite, but luckily Fiona wasn’t gone very long. When she came back in, she had a dozen young women trooping along behind her.

They were all shapes and sizes, Frank saw right away, with hair that ranged from palest blond to black as dark as a raven’s wing. The only thing they had in common was their age. Frank estimated that all of them were around twenty-five, past the first blush of youth but hardly getting on in years. Although some people uncharitably figured that a woman past the age of twenty who had never been married was an old maid, Frank thought.

As Fiona had pointed out, some of the women were rather plain, but there wasn’t a single one of them Frank would have called downright ugly, and a few were pretty darned good-looking, in his opinion. One blonde in particular was really pretty, he thought. She had a nice quirky smile and cornflower blue eyes.

She was the one Fiona introduced to him first, as well. “Frank, this is Margaret Goodwin. Meg, as she’s called.”

Frank nodded. “Miss Goodwin.”

“Meg,” she said. She held out a hand to shake, just like a man would have. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Morgan. Mrs. Devereaux tells us that you’re a famous gunfighter.”

“Well…some folks might say infamous,” Frank said as he shook hands with her. “Or even notorious.”

“Yes, but if you’re going to be protecting us on our voyage, I prefer to think of you as famous.”

Fiona motioned forward a little brunette with a lush figure. “This is Jessica Harpe.”

Frank said, “Pleased to meet you, Miss Harpe.”

For the next few minutes, Fiona continued the introductions. The names began to run together in Frank’s head: Elizabeth Jenkins, Ruth Donnelly, Marie Boulieu, Gertrude Nevins, Maureen Kincaid, Ginnie Miller, Constance Wilson, Wilma Keller, Elizabeth Tarrant, and Lucy Calvert. Elizabeth Jenkins went by Elizabeth, Elizabeth Tarrant by Lizzie, so Frank tried to make a note of that in his head. He knew it would take him a while to remember all their names, though. They were all unfailingly polite, and Frank instinctively liked them.

When the introductions were finished, Fiona said, “Well, ladies, you’ve met Mr. Morgan. What do you think of him?”

“He’s very handsome, in a rugged way,” Meg said with a smile.

“I don’t care much for that gun, though,” Gertrude added. “Would a gentleman wear a weapon out in the open like that?”

“Not in Philadelphia, where you’re from, my dear,” Fiona said. “I assure you, Seattle is not Philadelphia.”

Gertrude sniffed. “I know. I heard all sorts of shooting and yelling in the street last night. It frightened me.”

Frank said, “No offense, miss, but where you’re headed will be a lot more rugged and dangerous than Seattle is. You may have to ride horseback for miles up and down mountains, and there’ll be men who won’t hesitate to try to take what they want…which might include you.”

A pink flush spread over Gertrude’s face. “That’s not really a proper thing to say, Mr. Morgan.”

“I was raised to believe that it’s always proper to speak the truth. And the truth is, you ladies are in for a long, difficult journey. You may be faced with bad weather, bad food, and bad men. I promised a friend of mine that I’d do my best to see to it that you get where you’re going safe and sound. That’s what I intend to do if Mrs. Devereaux agrees, and the way I understand it, she’d like for you ladies to agree, too.”

“That’s right,” Fiona said with a nod. “I had originally engaged his friend Mr. Trench to accompany us, but unfortunately, Mr. Trench was killed last night.” She looked at Gertrude. “It may well have been some of the shots you heard that were responsible for his demise.”

Gertrude paled. “How terrible.”

“Yes, it is. But Mr. Morgan has offered to step in for Mr. Trench. I appreciate that gesture on his part and intend to allow him to travel with us. What do you say?”

“I’m all for it,” Meg said.

“So am I,” Lucy added. She was a tall, lanky young woman with long, light brown hair.

Several other women nodded or voiced their agreement, and one by one they all joined in until only Gertrude and Marie hadn’t said one way or the other. Marie, a slender young woman with a lot of curly black hair, shrugged and said with a slight French accent, “One gunman is much the same as another, I suppose.”

“Well, I’m not going to vote against everyone else,” Gertrude said. “I do hope you won’t have to use that awful gun, though, Mr. Morgan.”

“So do I, miss, so do I,” Frank said.

He was going to be damned surprised if that was the way it turned out, though.

With the question of whether or not Frank was going with them settled, Fiona sent the young women back to their rooms. Then she said, “Would you care to join me in the dining room for dinner, Frank? We can discuss the arrangements for the trip.”

“I’d like that,” Frank replied with a nod. “I’ve got some questions about supplies and things like that.”

They spent the next hour in the hotel dining room, eating and discussing the trip. With Skagway being the jumping-off point to Whitehorse and the rich gold fields of the Klondike country, it made sense to buy as many of the supplies needed for the journey as they could here in Seattle. Goods were cheaper and more plentiful than they would be in Skagway.

“We’ll have to buy some fresh meat when we get there, of course,” Frank said, “and then I can probably bag some game while we’re on our way from Skagway over the pass to Whitehorse.” He smiled. “Did you ever have moose steaks?”

A little shudder went through Fiona. “No, not that I’m aware of.”

“Well, I bet you’ll be trying them before we get where we’re going. But we’ll stock up on sugar, flour, salt, things like that, before we leave here. Also ammunition.”

“How many bullets do you think you’ll need?”

“It’s not just for me,” Frank said. “I intend to pick up some pistols for the ladies, and a couple of extra rifles.”

Fiona’s eyes widened. “You intend to arm them? They’re mail-order brides, Frank! I doubt if any of them have ever even held a weapon.”

“I don’t know. That Meg strikes me as the sort who might’ve burned some powder sometime,” Frank said with a grin. “She’s pretty feisty.” He grew more serious as he went on. “I can give them some pointers while we’re on board the ship. But I think it’s important that the ladies be able to protect themselves, at least a little. There’s no telling what might happen along the way. If I wound up dead, the bunch of you wouldn’t be totally defenseless.”

“Don’t even say such a thing! We’re relying on you, Frank. Nothing can happen to you.”

He frowned. “Out here, it’s best to be able to rely on yourself as much as possible. I’m not trying to scare you, Fiona. I just want you—and those gals of yours—to go into this with your eyes open. Seattle can be a rough place, but it’s still civilization. Alaska’s not. It’s just as much an untamed frontier as the country west of the Mississippi was fifty or sixty years ago.”

“Bad weather, bad food, and bad men, as you said earlier, eh?” she said, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“That’s right. And I forgot to mention the bears and wolves and varmints like that.”

Fiona shook her head. “Why would men even want to go to a place like that?”

“For what they think is the best reason of all…gold.”

“But you don’t think that?” she asked with a shrewd look on her face.

“I’m old enough to know that there are a lot of things in this world gold can’t buy you.”

“Then you’re a wise man, Frank Morgan.”

“I don’t know that I’d say that. Anyway, maybe you’d better not say anything to the ladies about the guns until we’re on board the Montclair. I think Miss Gertrude might have a fit if she thought she was going to have to learn how to shoot a pistol.”

“I think you’re right about that,” Fiona said.

After they finished their meal, Fiona went back upstairs to her suite, while Frank headed for the waterfront again. He wanted to talk to Captain Hoffman again and make arrangements for Stormy, Goldy, and Dog to come with him.

A different officer was on deck this afternoon instead of the surly Brewster. He was pleasant enough as he told Frank to come aboard and said in answer to Frank’s question, “Captain Hoffman is in his cabin, sir. Do you know where that is?”

“Yeah, I do. Thanks.”

Frank went below to the captain’s cabin and rapped on the door. When Hoffman asked who was there, he said, “Frank Morgan, Captain.”

“Come in, please.”

Frank went in and found Hoffman sitting at the desk, looking over some of the charts spread out there. The captain glanced up with a smile.

“Is your business with Mrs. Devereaux all squared away, Mr. Morgan?” he asked.

Frank thumbed his hat back. “Yeah, she’s agreed that I’ll be coming along to Alaska with her and her young ladies.”

“Mail-order brides,” Hoffman said with a shake of his head. “I’d heard of such a thing, of course, but this is the first time I’ve encountered it. Have you met the young ladies?”

“I have,” Frank said. “Seems like a fine bunch. I’m not sure how well some of them are going to like living in the Klondike, but that’s not my business. All I have to do is get them there.”

“Much like me,” Hoffman said. “I’ll deliver my passengers and cargo to Skagway, and there my responsibility ends.” He tapped one of the charts. “I was just looking at the route I intend to follow.”

“You’ve sailed to Alaska before?” Frank asked as he leaned over and looked at the map. This late in the season, he wasn’t too fond of the idea of setting out with an inexperienced captain.

“Oh, yes, many times,” Hoffman replied. “Don’t worry, Mr. Morgan. We’ll have no trouble.”

“What about the weather?”

“It’ll be at least three weeks, probably a month, before the weather represents a danger. We’ll be in Skagway in less than a week.”

Hoffman seemed to know what he was doing, Frank thought. That eased his worries.

“Is it going to be all right for me to bring my horses along?” he asked.

“Horses?” Hoffman frowned. “The Montclair normally doesn’t carry livestock.” He thought about it for a moment and then shrugged. “But I suppose we could make a place for them in the hold. We could open one of the hatches for light and air. It might not be very comfortable for them, being cooped up that way, though.”

“They can stand it for a few days,” Frank said. “I want my own mounts with me when we get there.”

“I don’t blame you for that. A man likes to have what he’s accustomed to.”

“I have a dog, too, but he won’t take up much room or be any trouble.”

“That’s fine, as long as he doesn’t fight with cats. We have a couple who sail with us to keep the rats out of the cargo.”

“Dog will leave them alone as long as I tell him to.” Frank added, “I’m going to see about having some supplies delivered for us to take along. Better to stock up on things here in Seattle rather than waiting until we get to Skagway.”

Hoffman nodded. “I believe that was Mr. Trench’s plan as well. There should be adequate room in the hold for whatever you want to bring along. Although having those horses in there will cut down on the available space.”

“We’ll work it out,” Frank said. He held out his hand. “Sounds like it’ll all be fine. I’m looking forward to sailing with you, Captain.”

Hoffman shook with him. “I hope it’s a pleasant journey for you, Mr. Morgan.”

Frank said so long and went up on deck again. He was headed for the gangplank when he heard a step behind him. A man said, “Morgan.”

Frank turned and saw the ship’s officer called Brewster. He gave the man a curt nod.

“You’re coming along to Alaska?” Brewster asked harshly.

“That’s right.”

“I think we should get something straight between us, then, before the voyage starts.”

“What’s that?” Frank asked, his voice cool.

“This,” Brewster said. He sent a punch rocketing at Frank’s jaw.