Page 40 of I Do, I Do, I Do
Sipping his coffee, he gazed out at the stovepipes sticking through hundreds of tents. “My primary competitor is a man named Nose O’Malley. He and I have gotten into it enough times that it seems prudent to put some distance between us. So I’ve decided to winter over in Dawson City.”
The news pleased Zoe, who was beginning to realize she would be stuck in Dawson for the winter. It would be nice to have a friendly face nearby. She glanced at him and then looked down at her cup. “It’s funny how things work out. I never thought you’d leave Newcastle. I figured you’d stay in the mines like your pa.”
“I always knew you’d leave,” he said in a soft voice, keeping his gaze on the tent city. “I knew fate had something special in mind for Zoe Wilder.”
His comment flattered and saddened her. “It didn’t work out that way.”
“You’re being too modest. One day you’re going to tell your grandchildren that you were part of the great Klondike gold rush.” Green eyes sparkled down at her. “Not many women will be able to say that.”
The comment made her feel a little better. “Tom? I’m glad we ran into each other again.”
“So am I.”
For a long moment they studied each other, acquainting themselves with the man and woman they had grown into. Zoe saw a confident man with an inner stillness that she didn’t recall him possessing as a boy. Stubbornness defined his jawline, and she saw determination in his brow. She liked what she saw. And part of her hoped that Tom liked whatever he saw in her.
Then she spotted Juliette and Ben Dare winding a path through the tents toward the pink ribbon that identified their site. Zoe blinked; she could not believe her eyes. They were walking arm in arm as if enjoying a leisurely Sunday stroll.
Immediately her confidence plummeted, and so did her mood. She rubbed her eyes, and looked again. There was no mistake.
Something had to be very wrong with her. Every inch of her body ached and was beginning to stiffen in the cold air. She was so exhausted she felt like weeping over the prospect of setting up their tent. She didn’t have an ounce of energy left.
Yet Clara was bouncing around as if she could hike another five miles, like she wished they didn’t have to stop and wait for their goods to catch up. And here came Juliette, chatting and smiling and strolling along as if she hadn’t just fought her way through clutching trees and roots and nine miles of steep rocky ground that left even the pack animals heaving for breath.
Maybe Zoe should rethink this journey.
She had supposed herself to be best suited for an arduous journey, but she was proving to be the weakest of the three, a fact that utterly astonished and humiliated her.
“Good evening, Mr. Price.” Juliette nodded to Zoe, then released Ben’s arm, lifted the pot lid, and glanced at the stew bubbling atop the camp stove. “Where is our tent?”
Zoe decided if Juliette invited Tom and Benjamin to share supper with them, if Juliette had the energy to set up a social evening, then Zoe would take it as a sign from above. She would hand Clara her Winchester and show her how to kill Jean Jacques. Then she would return to Dyea and forget about Dawson City.
But Juliette didn’t mention supper. She waved to Clara, who appeared leading two of Tom’s Chilkat Indians. “The tent has arrived,” Clara called.
Juliette made a fluttery movement with her hands and gave Tom and Ben Dare a roll of her eyes. “I guess we’ll get better at putting up our tent.… It just takes so long.”
To Zoe, Juliette’s blatant manipulation appeared obvious, but neither of the men seemed to notice. They knelt beside the boxes the Indians unloaded and assured Juliette they would have the tent up in no time.
Now Juliette would gush, thank them, and invite them to supper. Then Zoe would find the Winchester and give it to Clara. But Juliette didn’t gush a single word. She glided around the boxes, finding and setting up the camp cots, pulling blankets out and shaking them open. She moved slowly, gracefully. If Zoe hadn’t known better, she might have guessed that Juliette had spent the day in idle repose.
Clara caught Juliette’s eye, nodded to the stew pot and then to the men before she raised a questioning eyebrow. Like Zoe, Clara looked to Juliette to lead them in the social graces, such as extending invitations.
Juliette returned Clara’s long look, but she said nothing to the men about supper even after they had the tent erected and secured and both of them glanced expectantly at the stew pot. Tom even mentioned how good the steam smelled.
Zoe couldn’t wait another minute. Now that the tent was up and the cots unfolded, she was going to collapse. Groaning, she stood, wincing in pain and hating that she was the only one of them with sore muscles. She said good night to Tom and Ben, and limped toward the tent, leaving Clara and Juliette to properly thank them. Somewhere in the boxes of goods was a medical pack and some liniment, but she was too whipped to look for it.
Falling into her cot, she stared at the ceiling of the tent and decided she really and truly detested Clara and Juliette.
Then the flap flew backward and Juliette staggered inside. “Lordy, lordy, I thought they would never leave!” She dropped on her cot like a rock. “I’m dying. My back hurts, my legs hurt, I hurt everywhere.” A long moan blew against her pillow. “I won’t be able to walk tomorrow, or move. I’m so sore, I could just cry, except I don’t have the energy for tears. If you want to shoot someone, shoot me. You’d be doing me a favor.”
Zoe heaved up on one elbow and stared. “You weren’t even wincing when you came strolling in here! You set up the cots like you weren’t even tired!”
Juliette lay facedown, her arms dangling off the sides of the cot. She looked like she was paralyzed. “I didn’t want Ben to think I was weak or unfit,” she said, speaking into her pillow. “You can’t imagine how hard it was.”
The remark told Zoe that Juliette cared a lot about what Ben Dare thought of her. More to the point, Juliette had demonstrated an astonishing iron will and steely discipline that Zoe suspected she could not have replicated. She eased back on her cot, struggling against a grudging flash of admiration. She didn’t want to admire anything about Juliette.
Clara threw back the tent flap and stepped inside. “All right. You’re not going to sleep in your hats and shoes. Get yourselves undressed and I’ll rub liniment on your shoulders and legs.”
“I can’t move,” Juliette groaned.
