Page 41 of I Do, I Do, I Do
“Why aren’t you sore and aching?” The prospect of standing and stretching to get undressed made Zoe feel like weeping.
“I am. But it isn’t as bad for me as for you two.” Clara shrugged. “I guess running up the inn’s staircase a dozen times a day strengthened my legs. Who knows? Before you get undressed, you should come outside and see the snow. It started a few minutes ago.”
Chapter 10
Juliette considered the snow pretty for a scant half a day, then boots and hooves churned it into a muddy broth of offal, food scraps, and tobacco juice. Makeshift privies froze before they thawed and overflowed. The temperature edged above freezing during the day and then plummeted at night.
Already Juliette was sick to death of the constant cold and damp and wearier still of striving to be cheerful about it. “I just want to find Jean Jacques and get this over with,” she said at the end of their third day in Canyon City. Earlier, ground fog had wafted through the tent city. Now it was snowing again. California had never seemed so far away.
Zoe stepped closer to the camp stove and held her hands over the rising heat. “Tom said his men will have the last of the goods moved up here by tonight. We can leave for Sheep Camp tomorrow morning.”
They didn’t have to make a few dozen trips to Dyea and back to move their goods, but they had to wait while Tom’s Indians made the relay. On the positive side, the Indian teams could move their crates and packaged goods in three twelve-hour days, whereas the prospectors moving goods on their own backs would spend two or three weeks moving their outfits from Dyea to here.
The delay wasn’t entirely wasted. Rest and a strong liniment had given Juliette’s muscles an opportunity to recover. Also, the powerful astringent scent of the liniment blocked many of the unpleasant camp odors.
Every few minutes she peered into the steady fall of snow, half hoping to see Ben, though she knew he probably hadn’t yet returned from Dyea. He’d paid to be packed over the pass and then on into Dawson, but he insisted on doing some of the packing himself. Juliette supposed this saved him money, and heaven knew it must put a strain on his finances to pay Tom Price’s rates. Not many of the prospectors paid to be packed. She wondered if Ben had sunk all his money into this venture.
“I’ve been meaning to ask—what reason did you give Mr. Dare for bursting into tears?” Zoe brushed snow off her hat and shoulders.
Clara looked up from feeding wood into the fire beneath the camp stove. “You burst into tears?”
Trust Zoe to make sure Clara knew about the incident. “I told him it was one of those days,” Juliette said irritably.
Men hastily changed the subject when a woman explained odd behavior by saying it was “just one of those days.” They didn’t want to hear more.
“What was the real reason?” Clara asked, arching an eyebrow.
“I was tired and every muscle hurt and I absolutely didn’t want to be on that trail. I was furious at Jean Jacques.”
“It’s about time.”
“Then Mr. Dare rushed out of the trees thinking I needed help.” She looked into a swirl of snowflakes. Everything was pale and colorless—the sky, the snow, the ground. “I was so angry. And so sad that I hadn’t met Ben before…furious that I’d married someone who lied and took my money and then left me.” She lowered her head. “We don’t talk about it much. But I think about Jean Jacques a lot. I’ve decided that I don’t like him anymore.”
“You know something?” Clara looked at Juliette and Zoe. “Sometimes I still get jealous and angry when I look at you two and imagine you being with my husband. But even if Jean Jacques begged me, I wouldn’t want him back. All I want is my money.”
“I don’t want him back, either,” Zoe said firmly. “But I haven’t changed my mind about shooting him,” she added. “My family…He made me feel…I don’t want to talk about that, but he has to pay for what he did.”
“Ja, he has to pay.”
For the first time Juliette conceded that she, too, had crossed a line. She didn’t want Jean Jacques either. Weeks had passed since she had last performed the silly rituals she had once hoped would bring him back to her.
“He has to pay,” she agreed.
“It’s your turn,” Zoe said, looking at her through a swirl of snowflakes.
To pass the time, they had taken turns talking about their families and growing up. Tonight, Juliette told them about losing her parents, about growing up with Aunt Kibble. Pride prompted her to mention the suitors that Aunt Kibble had disapproved of since Clara had talked about beaux and so had Zoe. She also mentioned her embroidery circle, and choir, and calling on friends and acquaintances, and serving tea at Aunt Kibble’s at-home days.
“Women mend in Newcastle,” Zoe said when Juliette had finished her story. “No one has time for embroidery. And every day is an at-home day since there’s so much work to do.”
“Why do you sound so bitter when you speak of Newcastle?”
“Weren’t you listening when it was my turn? Ma works her fingers to the bone, and she still can’t keep the house clean. The coal dust gets into everything. Everyone’s life is tied to the mine. And always, always, everyone is listening for the whistle that signals a cave-in or gas in the shafts or a man down for some other reason. No one has much leisure in Newcastle, and the women don’t pour tea for each other. If I sound bitter about Newcastle, it’s because I hated growing up there.”
“Your growing-up years sounded wonderful. I would have loved to have had parents like yours,” Juliette said softly. “And brothers.” She adored hearing about the loud raucous mealtimes in the Wilder household, with everyone laughing and shouting to be heard and being reprimanded and teasing. And she liked to hear about the rough escapades of Zoe’s brothers. And how Pete had taught Zoe to shoot and Jack had taught her to fish and Cal had helped with schoolwork. The twins had protected Zoe from bullies and later from unwanted suitors. Jimmy had been the prankster.
Zoe stared at her. “You’ve lived the life I always wanted. You had your own bedroom and privacy, and servants to do the cooking and cleaning and washing. You aren’t ashamed to tell anyone where you’re from!”
“I would have traded it all for a mother like yours.”
