Treasures of the North by Tracie Peterson

Author:Tracie Peterson [Peterson, Tracie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2000-12-31T11:00:00+00:00

17

—[ CHAPTER SEVENTEEN ]—

KAREN STOOD OVER a pot of hot water playing referee to a washboard and her best Sunday blouse. It came as an amazing fact that she was so clumsy with such a simple task. She had once been responsible for washing all of her things, but after a time in the Hawkins household, she had been relieved of such duties. She had been happy when such menial tasks were passed to servants, but now she wished she were more competent with such handwork.

The afternoon was quite lovely, however, and if a person had to be battling the laundry, Dyea was a very scenic place to do it. There weren’t very many businesses, and in spite of the multitudes of people passing through, the area wasn’t nearly as lawless as Skagway.

People passing through seemed to be her biggest problem, however. No one stuck around long enough to suggest whether they’d met up with her father or not. They were hurriedly passing from Skagway to the Chilkoot Trail with Dyea as nothing more than a resting-place. Or they were returning dejected and broke from the trail, with no time for the nonsense of talking with Karen about her missing father. She found herself lost in thoughts of what they’d do if she couldn’t find him. She worried even more that he might not even be alive. If he was dead, what would she do? There certainly wasn’t enough money to return to Seattle. Besides, did she really want to return to Seattle? I don’t know how we’ll get through the winter, she thought. If we can’t live in a proper house, with the necessary articles to protect ourselves and keep warm, we might all die.

Casting a glance toward the mountains, Karen couldn’t help but feel the hypnotic lure of their beauty. It was a kind of madness, someone had said. A kind of sickness that got into a man or woman’s blood and refused to be purged. It was as she stood pondering this very issue that Bill Barringer chose to again appear in her life.

‘‘Karen! Karen!’’ Bill called out as he trudged down the muddy alleyway with two other men.

Karen felt an electrifying tingle go up her spine. Bill was back! That had to be good. He’d been gone for weeks, and the days were getting colder, the threat of snow gradually giving everyone concern for their future. He ambled down the road, however, as if the weather and timing were of no concern.

Karen noted that none of the men seemed in too much of a hurry. The smaller of the two was clearly a native. His shoulder-length black hair stuck out from an exaggerated white felt bowler, while the rest of his costume was a mix of heavy canvas pants, woolen jacket, and handmade knee-high boots. Their companion, a big, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and a thick mustache, appeared similarly dressed, with a rifle and pack slung over his back.

‘‘Bill, have you found my father?’’ Karen asked, unconcerned with awaiting introductions.

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