Page 69 of I Do, I Do, I Do
Juliette sniffed. “The proper rules for respectable ladies remain the same the world over.”
“You’re wrong, Juliette. Up here it’s live and let live. No one cares what you do unless it affects them. When you fell into the lake there was talk, but—”
“See? I told you!”
Clara shook her head, shaking ice from the fur framing her face. “Not talk about you and Ben. Everyone understood stripping off your clothing to save your life. The speculation was about whatever possessed you to walk out on thin ice to begin with. And no one has made any scurrilous comments about Tom and Zoe being alone the night of the storm. It’s taken me a while to understand all this, but now I think I do. And the freedom of it is exhilarating!” A wide smile curved her lips. “Think of it. Up here we can do whatever we want. We can be who we are. The only rules are those set by nature or by ourselves.”
All afternoon, while running behind her sled, Juliette thought about Clara believing that Zoe loved Tom and about their being together, and she considered Clara’s intention to seduce Bear. And self-pity swamped her. They were seizing some happiness for themselves and the devil take the hindmost. They weren’t letting a little thing like a husband stand in their way. If indeed any of them had a legal husband at all. It was possible that none of the marriages counted. In which case, it didn’t matter if they loved and let themselves be loved by another man. So why couldn’t Juliette embrace this line of reasoning? Why couldn’t she make her own rules, too?
Because it seemed improper to fall into the arms of one man while wearing another man’s wedding ring.
Thinking about it gave her a headache. Did femme fatales worry themselves into a frenzy about these details? Was it laudable or truly stupid to cling to propriety? She knew how Aunt Kibble and her mother would answer that question. But Aunt Kibble had never seen Juliette as pretty or appealing enough to attract a man. A man could only be interested in her inheritance. It was easy to stand on firm notions of propriety regarding relationships between men and women when no man pursued the woman in question.
But Ben didn’t know about her money. And he thought she was beautiful. She saw it in his eyes, and it thrilled her. Everything about him thrilled her. The way he moved and the way he spoke. The way he challenged himself and did some of his own packing even though he didn’t have to. She loved his thoughtfulness and loved knowing he had run into the freezing lake without a moment’s hesitation when she was drowning. She loved his loyalty to his late wife and how he placed no limits on women. She loved the look and touch and scent of him.
Oh, Lord. She loved him.
Suddenly Jean Jacques’s ring pinched her finger and her conscience. The marriage hadn’t meant anything to Jean Jacques, but it had meant everything to her. At least she’d thought it had. First pain and now fury had begun to blur her memories. She remembered Jean Jacques was handsome, but she could no longer recall his exact features. When she tried, her memory painted a portrait that looked remarkably like Ben Dare. In her memory, Jean Jacques spoke in Ben’s voice. But the two could not have been more different. Ben was honest and loyal, whereas Jean Jacques was anything but.
She loved Ben.
Oh, Lord, what was she going to do?
The first two days at Linderman Lake passed in a rush of chores and renewing acquaintances. Mrs. Eddington brought them a molasses cake, and other ladies they had met stopped by to say hello and share their experiences on the trail.
Juliette helped Zoe and Clara melt snow in large pots and boil their laundry, all of them weepy with gratitude for clean clothing and socks and undergarments. They aired their sleeping bags, blankets, and coats and scarves; they mended clothing and stockings. They took turns washing their hair and sitting next to the stove to dry.
Since they were settled for a while, they assembled their camp stove inside the tent and for the first time in a long time felt warm all over. To celebrate, Clara cooked one of the two-pound cans of corned beef and dried cabbage. Zoe made cornbread. And Juliette baked a dried apple pie that gave her a secret flash of pride. Three months ago she couldn’t have made a pie if the fate of the world depended on it. They ate sitting on their cots, wearing clean woolen long johns, feeling better than they had since Chilkoot Pass.
“I tried to buy some butter for the cornbread,” Zoe said, “and I actually found some. But the man wanted twenty dollars a pound. I decided we could eat it with grease and jam.”
“It’s wonderful. And so is the corned beef.”
“Hurry up and finish. I want some of your pie, it smells so good. And you didn’t burn the crust this time,” Clara observed with a smile.
They looked toward the tent flap when someone called Juliette’s name. She frowned in surprise. “It sounds like Luc. What could he want?” It wasn’t usual for one of the Chilkats to come calling.
“Well, poke your head outside and find out,” Clara said.
Juliette looked down at loose hair flowing over the top of her shapeless red long johns. “I can’t answer the door looking like this!”
“Then you’ll never know what he wanted, will you?”
“Damn.” There she went again, showing the effects of keeping bad company. The bad company looked at her and laughed. “What do you want?” she called to the tent flap.
“I have a message for Miss Juliette March.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “What is the message?”
“It’s in an envelope, missy, and I can’t read.”
Itching with curiosity, Juliette stuck her arm through a crack in the opening. Instantly, icy wind raised goose bumps beneath the sleeve of her long Johns. “Thank you,” she called, pulling the envelope inside. Her name was written in a bold male hand. “Who could have sent this?”
“I can’t imagine!” Zoe and Clara fell backward on their cots and rolled their eyes.
“Now who could it possibly be? Mrs. Eddington? That rat, Jake Horvath?”
“I know! Maybe the Queen is visiting Canada and wants to meet fellow royalty.”
