Page 63 of I Do, I Do, I Do
“I…I just…My God,” Zoe whispered.
“Me, I am going to sleep,” Clara said, yawning widely.
After Clara blew out the lantern, Juliette lay in the darkness, watching Zoe, who sat with her knees pulled up under her chin staring at the dying glow of the stove.
Had she been wrong to push Zoe toward Tom? She couldn’t think so.
Her last thought before she’d lost consciousness under the ice had been: I’ll never be with Ben. She had thought hard about that and had concluded that propriety killed spontaneity and robbed a person of joy and opportunity. Propriety was for the old, those who had lived their lives. Not for wronged wives.
“Listen to Juliette,” Clara whispered from her cot.
Good heavens. Juliette almost sat up to stare at them.
They listened to her advice. Would wonders never cease?
Chapter 15
To cross the overland stretch between Crater Lake and Long Lake, Tom’s Chilkat Indians removed the blanket sails and pulled their sleds by looping a rope over their chests or rigging a harness that fit across their foreheads. On a dare, Zoe tried to pull the load and was surprised to discover that the iced sled runners made it possible for her to move the sled forward.
“I can pull it,” Zoe said, handing the ropes back to Tom, “but only for a few feet, and I’m glad I don’t have to.” The farther they traveled the less she resented Juliette’s charity and the more grateful she felt, although she couldn’t bring herself to say so out loud.
The snow was deep on the steep slopes enclosing Long Lake, covering rugged terrain. Yesterday Clara had walked into the woods to gather firewood, and she had dropped into the snow up to her shoulders. Bear pulled her out, but the incident had caused a commotion, and reminded everyone not to wander off the trail. Which Zoe and Tom had done without really being aware of how far from camp they’d meandered.
“What time is it?”
The November days were short, and they had to wait for daylight before starting the day’s trek, had to halt and set up camp at about four o’clock. It was a relief not to endure long, exhausting days. On the other hand, their progress was frustratingly slow. At this rate they wouldn’t reach Dawson City until early spring.
“It’s about an hour until supper. Why? Are you bored?”
She smiled. Tom Price was the least boring person she knew. He told wonderful stories about grizzly bears and wildlife, about eccentric prospectors and the rowdy life in the boomtowns. He knew the names of the peaks and lakes and how to do just about everything. He had an opinion on every topic and encouraged her opinions, too.
“It’s not that. I’m starting to become a little concerned. It’s dark and the snow is filling in our tracks. Shouldn’t we be heading back to camp?”
“I was about to mention that.” Leaning against the sled’s load, lantern light softening his face, he crossed his arms over his chest and grinned. “You’re pretty, you’re a great cook, and I’m sorry.”
“What?” Just looking at this man made her mind wander into dangerous areas. If she had a nickel for every time she had relived his kiss, she would be a rich woman.
“My pa says the way to get along with women is to tell them every day that they’re pretty, they’re good cooks, and you’re sorry for whatever you did even if you don’t know what it was.”
Zoe laughed and leaned against the fragrant trunk of a snowy pine. During the past few days she’d been seeing Tom in a new light and had concluded that he was everything Juliette had said. By dropping her armor, she recognized all the good things she admired in her pa and brothers. He was strong, dogmatic, honest, stubborn, and a leader with pride to spare. Tom was everything she had ever wanted in a man—except he was from Newcastle.
But that didn’t matter anymore. It never should have mattered.
Juliette’s stunning observation that Zoe was like the carriage people in the Owner’s Day Parade had shocked her. And, as with all great revelations, she instantly recognized the bedrock truth. She had chosen to see through the eyes of the carriage people, and she’d been ashamed of her family, friends, and of herself. That shame had created a desperate need to shake off her background and the people in it like a bad dream. Worse (and to her everlasting regret), she’d worried that Jean Jacques’s servants would laugh and dismiss her family as shanty trash.
That she had been ashamed of her family made her stomach cramp and ache. How could she have been so shallow and small? Even as a barefoot child with wild hair and mended clothing, she would never have denigrated someone because his circumstances were less than hers. She wouldn’t have apologized for good people living a hard life. But that’s what she had done as an adult.
Oh, she had shaken off Newcastle, all right. She had held herself high and told herself that she was better than the people she loved. She’d left town as soon as she could. She had taken classes to educate herself and speak well. And she had congratulated herself that she had finally risen above a background that shamed and embarrassed her.
“—do know the reason, and I’m truly sorry.”
Giving her head a shake, she studied the lantern light sharpening the angles of Tom’s strong face, her gaze settling on his mouth. “I’m sorry. I was woolgathering.”
“I said we’re lost.”
“What?” Abruptly she straightened away from the tree trunk.
“Actually we’re not completely lost; I have a fair idea where we are. But it would be foolish and dangerous to search for the trail with snow and darkness obscuring the landmarks.”
