Page 22 of I Do, I Do, I Do
“Intends or hopes?”
“Hope is the more accurate word. And most will be disappointed. I’ve heard that nearly every foot of Klondike creek front has already been claimed.” He leaned his forearms on the rail and blew a smoke ring into the sea breeze. “It’s the original discoverers who reap a bonanza, and the first claimants to follow. But a year later…Well, I doubt those who make it to Dawson will find enough gold to justify the journey.”
Surprise arched her eyebrows. “But…if that’s true, then why are you going?”
Instantly she wished she could withdraw the question. Direct and personal questions were an embarrassing breach of good manners. She didn’t know what had come over her, or maybe she did. She was picking up disgraceful habits from Jean Jacques’s other wives.
“A year ago my wife died of meningitis.” His fingers rose to brush the green scarf at his shirt pocket.
“I’m sorry,” Juliette murmured.
In her experience this conversation was unprecedented. People did not share personal details on such brief acquaintance. While she felt wildly flattered that he had taken her into his confidence, it simply was not done. However, she had read books about long voyages and instant intimacy was portrayed as rather common. Being contained for long periods within a small space led passengers to confide in one another, the suggestion being that intimacy was possible and permissible as they would part ways at the conclusion of the voyage, never to see one another again.
“The only thing that’s interested me in over a year is the Klondike.” Straightening, he looked down at her. “I need to test myself and find the man I used to be.” His raw honesty appeared to make him uncomfortable because he shrugged and abruptly smiled. “Maybe I’ll even stumble across a nugget or two.”
“I hope you do,” she said earnestly, feeling a kinship. They had both lost a spouse dear to their hearts. His wife had died. Her so-called husband had run away and betrayed her. Though she couldn’t say so, they had grief in common. Except Mr. Dare was now moving forward, while she was stuck in place.
“Well,” he said, tossing the cigar into the sea. “Is Miss Wilder feeling better?”
My, my. He’d made inquiries and had known her name and the names of her companions before he spoke to her. His interest raised a fluttery warmth in her stomach.
Drawing a deep breath, she strove mightily to look sorrowful about what she had to say. “I fear Miss Wilder is dying.”
No one could recover from such violent illness. To her shame, Juliette couldn’t bring herself to mourn Zoe’s imminent demise with any real distress. She hadn’t liked Zoe to begin with, and she liked her less now that she’d wiped vomit from her lips, had bathed her, and repeatedly washed her nightgowns. Granted, a woman was not at her best when ill and dying, but Zoe had displayed a shocking lack of gratitude for Juliette’s and Clara’s ministrations. She had shouted at them, sworn at them, sobbed at them, and ordered them out of the cubicle. Twice she had thrown up on them. Though the thought revealed how swiftly Juliette’s character was deteriorating, it would not break her heart to have one less wife to deal with.
Ben Dare’s laugh brought her back from a recurring dread of her upcoming turn as nursemaid. “People rarely die from seasickness, although Miss Wilder probably wishes she would. She’ll recover almost instantly next week when we dock at Dyea.”
It didn’t seem possible that Zoe would survive, or that Juliette and Clara could endure another week of sleepless nights and the long, awful stretches struggling to put up with Zoe and her ill-tempered dying, and trying not to breathe in the cubicle.
“I’ve enjoyed meeting you, Miss March,” Mr. Dare said as they both spotted Clara emerging from the staircase. A large wet spot darkened the front of Clara’s skirt, and she didn’t look happy. “May I visit with you again?”
“Oh, but I’m—” Juliette bit off confiding that Miss March was actually Mrs. Villette. She had promised not to tell a soul.
She wasn’t certain how to handle this situation. She was such a novice in matters between men and women that she didn’t know, couldn’t be sure if Mr. Dare’s request was improper. After all, he believed she was unattached. And really, there was nothing unseemly about exchanging a few words. They were no longer strangers, so a conversation wasn’t exactly out of line.
Flustered and blushing, she thanked heaven that Clara reached them before she had to decide how to respond.
“She’s still alive,” Clara snarled. “But only because I didn’t have a weapon.” She nodded to Benjamin Dare. “I’m Clara Klaus, and you’re Mr. Dare. I’ve heard the captain address you.” She turned a stare on Juliette. “It’s your turn in hell.”
“Clara! Such language!”
“Mr. Dare, I apologize for requesting a favor on short acquaintance, but do you know if there’s any liquor on this vessel? And if there is, will you help me get some?”
A rakish grin widened the area where his mustache ran into his new beard. “I believe we could find some whiskey hereabouts.”
“Excellent. Due to a certain violently ill viper with whom I am sharing a cubicle very much against my will, I am desperately in need of a drop of fortification. Lead on.”
Laughing, Ben Dare offered his arm to Clara, and they started toward the mess hall, leaving Juliette behind.
Bewilderingly, she felt a hard twinge of something like jealousy as she watched Mr. Dare walk away with Clara on his arm. And the thought crossed her mind that by heaven Clara Klaus was not going to take another man away from her.
Good grief. Where had that thought come from? Shaking her head, she stiffened her resolve and headed for the staircase.
Now that landfall was predicted for the day after tomorrow, growing excitement replaced the boredom that had stretched tempers and patience. Drawn by a buzz of loud male voices, Clara turned her collar up around her cheeks to block a chilly breeze and wandered toward the mess hall, looking for something to occupy her until it was again her turn in Zoe hell.
Even before she stepped into the large overheated room, she heard Bear Barrett’s booming shout rise above the others. Surprising herself, she hesitated about going inside.
She and Mr. Barrett had passed each other on deck at least a dozen times, and each time he had tipped his hat to her and stared like she was a sight for sore eyes, but he’d made no effort to speak nor had he sought her out in a solitary moment as Mr. Dare had done twice now with Juliette. Naturally she was relieved by Mr. Barrett’s reticence as she had nothing whatsoever to say to him because of Jean Jacques, her thieving no-good sort-of husband. But still, it would have been nice to converse with someone who wasn’t complaining or vomiting.
