Paxton looked up at his man. “Are they certain about this?”
“Yeah, boss. Mayor said to tell you it came direct from the police headquarters in Whitehorse.”
“Leave us,” Paxton told the man. The man did as he was told, but not without some hesitation. He paused at the door and looked as if he might question Paxton, but he had no chance. “Go!” Paxton demanded.
Peter stood, uncertain. Would Paxton demand his exit, as well? And if he did, how would Peter ever find out about Grace?
“It would seem I was in error,” Paxton began, his gaze rather glassy and distant. “I told you that I had no reason to tell you anything. It would appear that has now changed.”
“I don’t understand,” Peter said, stepping toward the desk.
Paxton extended the paper. “Your wife, Mr. Colton.”
Peter snatched the letter with great speed. Opening it, he scanned the few lines and let the paper drop to the desk. “No. Grace isn’t dead.”
“The Northwest Mounted Police are, I’m afraid, quite thorough and reasonably qualified at their job. If they’ve declared her dead, she’s dead.”
Peter felt the room spin. His breath refused to come, and he pulled at the scarf around his neck as though it had somehow tightened. “She can’t be dead. She can’t be!”
“It would seem she has eluded us both,” Paxton replied.
“But you told me she was here. You said she was with you.”
“I only let you believe that. I haven’t seen her since she went north to Dawson with your sister and that Pierce woman.”
“No!”
Peter crossed the distance between them and, without warning, reached across the desk and pulled Paxton up by his lapel. Shaking the man hard enough to rattle his teeth, Peter demanded the truth. “You’re only doing this to throw me off track. You’re trying to make me believe she’s dead so you can have her.”
Paxton shook his head. “I’m just as surprised at this news as you are and just as devastated for my own reasons. This is no game, Colton. She’s dead.”
“Stop saying that!” Peter declared, sending his fist into Paxton’s face.
Without realizing what he was doing, Peter hit the man again and again. “She isn’t dead! You’re lying to me!” He felt the aching in his own hand as his knuckles made contact with the unyielding bone of Paxton’s jaw.
“I don’t care what you believe,” Paxton said as he started to fight back. “Now leave me before I call my men.” He slammed his fist into Peter’s nose, causing blood to spurt out across the desk.
Peter, stunned at the blow, let go of Paxton and backed up a pace. “I’ll go to the mayor. I’ll go to the police. I’ll learn the truth.”
“You already know the truth,” Paxton said, nursing his bleeding lip.
————
Hours later, after getting the same reassurance from the mayor, Peter let the realization sink in that what Paxton had said was true. It was no sham. No game to take him away from Grace. Devastated and stunned, Peter collapsed near the docks and gave himself over to his grief.
She can’t be gone
, he told himself.
She just can’t be gone.
We left on such bad terms, and there was so much that I needed
to apologize for. Words I can never take back. She must have
died hating me—hating me enough to go north into the wilds of
the Yukon
. He thought of Jonas and of what insight or comfort the man might offer. Then just as quickly, Peter dismissed the idea. He couldn’t bear to see the man and explain that his pride had caused him to be too late to reconcile with Grace. Jonas expected Peter to find his wife and head south to San Francisco and a new life in the Lord. Now that could never be.
Uncertain of how to pray for himself, Peter moaned as he buried his face against his knees. “Oh, God, what am I to do? How am I to face this alone?”
“Peter Colton?”
The voice seemed to call from somewhere out of Peter’s memory. Looking up, he found a childhood friend, a rival in the shipping industry from San Francisco. “Wesley Oakes?”
“Good grief, man, what’s happened to you?” the man reached out to help Peter up from the ground.
“I just got word my wife is dead,” Peter said in an almost mechanical tone. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
The man’s face contorted. “I’m sorry, Peter. I had no idea you were even married.”
“We’ve not even been married a year,” Peter replied, his brain taking on a fogginess that seemed to mute the pain momentarily.
“Where are you headed?” Oakes questioned.
“I don’t know.” Peter looked to the steamers in the harbor. “I should go home. There’s nothing to keep me here now.”
“I leave in two hours. You can have a place on my ship,” Oakes offered. “Get your gear and be back before we leave.”
Peter looked at the man and shook his head. “Everything of value is with me already. I signed off my job with the railroad and bid my friends good-bye this morning.”
“Then come with me now. We’ll find you some private quarters, and I’ll send someone to tend to your nose. It looks as though it might be broken.” Oakes reached out and pulled Peter to his side.
“It doesn’t matter,” Peter said without the will to protest the man’s decision.
True to his word, Wesley Oakes had Peter put in one of the better cabins aboard the steamer
Ellsbeth Marie
. The ship’s cook, who also doubled as the ship’s doctor, examined Peter’s nose and declared that it was not broken, then cleaned Peter up and left him in the silence of the room. Without the will to go on, Peter crawled into the berth and closed his eyes.
“Let me die, as well, Lord,” he begged. “If she’s dead, I can’t go on.” He felt hot tears on his face. “Just let me die.”
————
Peter slept through the night and might well have slept through the entire following day, but for Wesley Oakes. The captain of the
Ellsbeth Marie
wasn’t about to leave Peter to his own sorrows.
Bringing a hearty supper of dried beef stew and biscuits, Oakes acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary. “You’ve got to eat,” he announced. “It’s acceptable to miss the morning and noon meal, but I draw the line at missing your supper.”
“I’m not hungry,” Peter said, easing his legs over the side of the bed. He’d never known such exhaustion. His limbs felt like lead.
“I’ve no doubt that’s true,” Wesley said with a compassionate smile, “but nevertheless, you need to keep your strength up.”
Peter realized the man would no doubt stay there to harass him until he yielded. “Very well. I will eat.”
“That’s a good man. Now I need to slip down below and check on my men. You eat up, and we’ll have us a talk tomorrow.”
Peter nodded and sat down at the table where Oakes had placed the tray of food. Picking up a biscuit, he put it to his mouth and bit into it. It tasted like sawdust. Peter said nothing, however, as Wesley took his leave.
Letting the biscuit drop to the plate, Peter stared at the food in disinterest. If a man could will himself to die, then Peter was eager to learn the secret.
He thought of Grace and of the letter reporting her death. It said she drowned in Lake Laberge. He couldn’t help but wonder what had happened. What had been the circumstances? Why her and not Karen Pierce? Not that he would have wished either one dead, but why Grace?
Peter lost track of the time, feeling no interest in his surroundings. He had lost the love of his life. The only woman he would ever love—ever want to spend his days with.
“Why, God?” He shook his head and let out a deep sigh that went all the way to his soul. “Why?”
Boom!
Suddenly the entire room rocked with the impact of the explosion. Peter looked up, uncertain of what had just happened. Another explosion followed close behind the first one, and this time Peter got to his feet and went to the door of his cabin. Flames shot up from the deck below as people screamed and ran for safety.
The black water below was illuminated by the fire on the
Ellsbeth Marie
. Peter tried to make sense of the disaster, but could not.
“Abandon ship!” the call went out. “Abandon ship!”
But to where?
Peter wondered, moving stiffly toward the stairs.
It seemed that only moments passed before the entire ship was engulfed in flames. People fought each other for the few lifeboats that were on board. Peter inched down the stairs amidst the panicked passengers. He caught a glimpse of Wesley Oakes. Charred from smoke, Wesley stood as a pillar of stability in the madness.
“Peter!” he called out, “Get off, man! There’s no time to lose. The
Seamist
is just behind us. She’ll pick up the passengers.”
Peter’s senses seemed to return all at once. He knew he had to get off the ship, but a greater part of his captaining instincts told him to help the other passengers first. He made his way to the flaming deck and, dodging the fire, managed to make his way to where an older woman struggled.
“Here, let me help you,” he said, taking hold of her. He maneuvered the woman to the only lifeboat nearby. Helping her gently, Peter saw her safe, then turned to help the others.
The screams and sounds of panic were terrifying. His own pain seemed insignificant compared to that of a mother who stood screaming for her baby.
“Where is he?” Peter questioned.
The woman pointed down the long deck of flames. “Our cabin—the last one on the right!”
Peter nodded, then darted through the flames and headed in the direction she pointed. He thought only of the child—praying he might not be too late. Thick black smoke bellowed up from the fire, blinding him and stinging his lungs. He coughed and pulled his handkerchief from his pocket. He had to hurry.
The door was locked tight, but Peter would not be stopped. Throwing himself against the door over and over again, he finally felt the wood give way. Gaining entrance to the smoke-filled cabin, Peter tried to see through the illuminated haze. Cautiously feeling his way about the room, he found the cradle. The baby didn’t so much as cry as Peter lifted him from the bed. He tucked the baby into his coat, hoping to shield him from the heat and smoke.
Making his way back down the deck, Peter heard a man pleading for help. “I’ll be right back,” Peter called, seeing that the man’s door was somehow jammed. The man waved his hand from the few inches of space.
“No! Don’t leave me!”
Peter had no choice but to leave the man. He had to return the baby to his mother, otherwise they might both be lost. He accomplished his goal quickly, meeting the teary-eyed woman with a smile. “He seems just fine,” Peter announced, then pulled the still-sleeping baby from beneath his coat.
“Oh, my baby. My sweet baby,” the woman said, pouring kisses over the child’s head. “Oh, thank you. Thank you so much!”
Peter didn’t wait to hear more. Amidst the cacophony of certain death, he made his way back to the man in the cabin.
“I’m here!” Peter called.
“Get me out! The door won’t budge. The blast sent a beam across it.”
Peter pushed at the door even as the dull roar of the fire climbed the wall behind him. The heat burned the back of Peter’s neck, but still he worked to free the stranger.
The door moved ever so slightly, and Peter felt encouraged. The man pressed his bruised face to the door, causing Peter to step back in shock. “You!”
Martin Paxton was unconcerned. “Get me out of here, Colton.”
Peter thought of all that the man had done to harm him. Leaving him to die on the burning ship would be sweet revenge. Frozen in place, Peter contemplated what he should do. Paxton deserved to die.
“Peter, it will serve no purpose but that of darker forces if
you continue this hateful battle,”
Grace had once told him. He could almost hear her sweet voice pleading,
“Please listen to
me. Forgiving Mr. Paxton is the only way to put the past to rest.”
“Colton, I’ll give you whatever you want. Just get me out of here.”
“I want Grace back,” Peter said, shaking his head. “But you can’t give her back to me.”
“Just get me out of here, and I promise to return your father’s business. I never meant to hurt him anyway.”
Peter recognized the pleadings of a desperate man and could only think of Grace’s gentle nature and loving heart. He couldn’t leave Paxton to die. It would negate everything Grace had stood for. Everything Peter now believed in.
Giving it all he had, Peter pressed his body to the wood.
“Just a little more!”
Peter felt his heart pounding against his chest as he pushed with his full weight against the door. Without warning, it gave way, and Peter fell into the room, landing soundly on his back. Looking up, he found Martin Paxton staring down at him, a smirk lining his lips.
“You fool.”
Paxton kicked Peter square in the jaw, then pressed through the opening, pulling the door closed behind him. Peter barely registered what had happened. Dull-headed and struggling to see, Peter got to his feet and reached for the handle of the door just as a third explosion tore through the night and into the room.
Peter felt himself hurled through the air, the walls around him seeming to splinter into a thousand pieces as the blast carried him into the night skies. Something hit Peter hard against the head, and as he began to lose consciousness, he felt the icy waters of the canal engulf his body and pull him down.
It’s only fitting,
he thought as he slipped into oblivion.
Grace drowned. It’s only fitting that I should drown, as well
.
PETER’S FIRST SENSATION of consciousness was the rocking of his bed. He thought for a moment he must be dreaming. Beds didn’t rock. He heard voices around him, but he felt too weary to open his eyes. He heard someone call his name.
Grace!
He knew it must be her.
Struggling, he tried to say her name. Nothing—not a single sound would come from his lips.
Grace, don’t leave me!
he silently pleaded.
The next time he awoke, Peter found himself in a hospital bed. The nurse who hovered over him was an unappealing woman whose pinched expression gave him little hope for his recovery.
“I’ll tell the doctor you’re awake,” she said curtly before turning to leave.