Eliza Waite by Ashley E. Sweeney

Author:Ashley E. Sweeney
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: She Writes Press
Published: 2016-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

SHORTY SHARES HIS KNOWLEDGE WITH ELIZA FOR FREE.

“I got one piece of advice for you that’s the most important of all. Don’t get mixed up with the likes of Jefferson Randolph Smith. He’s a filthy, good-for-nothing crook. Used to work for him, but not anymore.

“He’s known as Soapy. Soapy Smith. He’s a conniver and blowhard. And he’s trying to turn Skagway into his own little kingdom. Take it from me, he ain’t doing it the honest way. He’ll try to befriend you, and then he’ll stick a knife in your back when you’ve barely turned your head.”

Shorty mimics a jab.

“You know the old saying, ‘An open Foe may prove a curse, but a pretended Friend is worse.’ Well, that’s Soapy Smith in a wee nutshell.”

Shorty extends the word, “wee.” The lanky Scot pulls a folded newspaper from the chest pocket of his mammoth fur coat, and his stubbed second finger points to an editorial dated last week in the Portland Oregonian:

“Skagway and Dyea have more liars per square mile than can be raked up in any 1,000-mile area elsewhere . . .”

“Just remember that, little missy. Can’t trust a soul. Watch your steps, watch your words, and watch your purse, that’s my best advice to you. They’ll bilk your soul if they can.”

Eliza feels a flush rise to her cheeks.

Who of us is immune from this madness?

Eliza begins to doubt her decision to travel north, but that thought turns from likely to ludicrous; to return to Seattle now she would have to jump ship and swim. The waters that swirl around Cypress reach fifty degrees at the height of the summer. With floating ice in the Inside Passage, Eliza guesses the water here hovers closer to freezing. Even the rain pelts down in freezing rivulets, falling in grey sheets from the ceiling of the sky down to the ever-greyer sea. Eight days of fine mist cause Eliza’s hair to escape the confines of its bun. Not even Jacob’s hat can keep wisps of her coarse copper hair from escaping.

On approach to Juneau, Eliza feels she can almost touch green velvety moss anchored on exposed rocks at the entrance to Stephens Passage. She has her first glimpse of a true glacier and trembles at the thought of crossing one. From the deck of the ship she sees a sign: Juneau Bakery.

Not long until I open my own establishment!

Eliza spends her days planning. She draws rough sketches with a pencil, and uses an eraser liberally. She finds comfort in the loud chugga-chugga-chugga of the ship’s engine. She avoids other passengers, except in the ladies’ washroom, where it is impossible to avoid another human being. She eats sparsely. Talks to Shorty when they happen to pass. Reminds herself that the hunting knife will be her surest friend. Pores over her recipes. Makes lists. Bundles Jacob’s coat around her. Loses herself in raisins and cinnamon and yeast.

Stray scraps of paper multiply in Eliza’s oversized bag. She can almost smell bread rising.

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