CHAPTER SIXTEEN

 

“She’s beautiful Sam.” Lizzy McLeod leaned over the cradle and tickled her baby sister’s chin. “Was it a hard labor? What was the delivery like? Did it hurt much?” She fired questions at her stepmother, dropping her parcels to the floor forgotten.

Jenny watched the family reunion from Sam’s bedroom doorway, feeling more than a little out of place. Although dark like her father, Lizzy McLeod’s face held an exotic quality, a fineness of line and stature that made her a rare beauty. Sarah, younger by several years, was the picture of her father, except light-haired and blue-eyed.

“Does she cry much at night?” Sarah asked with a skeptical frown.

Duncan and Sam exchanged knowing glances. Apparently, Sarah McLeod always shot straight from the hip.

“And how was your trip up with the mail carrier?”

Sarah’s sober expression melted into a broad grin and sparkling eyes. “Just wonderful, Pa, we raced through the snow and the trees whizzed by.”

“I should shoot young Harper for allowing you to make the trip over the pass with him this time of year.”

“Don’t scold him, Pa. We made him bring us. We really did. He was in Skagway and we just couldn’t wait for you to come for us.”

“Despite his youth, he’s a constable in the Mounted Police. The pleading of two young women shouldn’t make him do anything.”

As if on some silent cue, all three McLeod women turned to stare at Duncan as if he’d just uttered the most insane piece of nonsense they’d ever heard.

“Duncan. Think of what you’re saying,” Sam scolded with a smile.

Duncan looked uncomfortable for a moment then smiled sheepishly. “I suppose you want me to say I’d have given in to the likes of you two if I’d been Harper.”

“Of course you would have, Pa,” Sarah said with a frown that said how could he have done otherwise.

Sam guided Lizzy by the elbow over to Jenny. “Lizzy, this is Miss Jenny Hanson. She’s a friend of Finnegan’s.”

Lizzy seemed nonplussed by the fact Jenny was a ‘Miss’ with a baby and no ‘Mr.’ “I'm very pleased to meet you,” she said with a smile and a raised eyebrow. “So, you’re a friend of Uncle Mike’s?”

“Yes.” Jenny grasped Lizzy’s extended hand, surprised at the strength in the young woman’s slim fingers.

Speculation sparkled in Lizzy’s dark eyes. “A very good friend?”

“Finnegan was kind enough to bring me up from Skagway on his mail run.”

Disappointment replaced curiosity. She’d obviously expected more. “Oh.”

Sam caught Lizzy’s arm and led the three of them away from where Duncan and Sarah leaned over the cradle. “Miss Hanson has a business proposition she’d like to discuss with you.”

“Sam, we can do this later,” Jenny said, feeling oddly out of place.

“Nonsense, now’s as good a time as any.”

Jenny looked up into Lizzy’s expectant expression. “I’ve recently moved here and I’d like to open a seamstress shop. Sam tells me you’d like to do the same. I thought we might go into the venture together.”

Lizzy’s eyes snapped with pleasure. “I’ve dreamed for so long of having a shop of my own, sewing my own designs. And I’d love to have a partner. Pa glowers and frowns every time I talk about doing it on my own.”

Snowflakes swept into the room as the door burst open and a bundled figure stepped inside. “Uncle Finnegan!” Lizzy and Sarah chorused and flung themselves at him. He caught them in both arms, clasping them to his heavy fur coat while they covered his cheeks with kisses.

“Has the big city spoiled the two of you?” he asked, setting their dangling feet onto the floor.

“You know I love the Yukon,” Lizzy said. “And now I'm going to have my own dress shop.” She turned a dazzling smile on Jenny.

Finnegan followed her gaze to Jenny’s face. “You are?

“I want something of my own, something good,” Jenny said.

He watched her for a moment, taking in this new information. They’d told no one of their plans, hoping Frank Bentz, if he was indeed alive, would show himself. At the same time, Finnegan pursued every wisp of evidence, every whisper of rumor hoping to find someone who’d seen the gambler since his miraculous rebirth.

“I think that’s a good idea,” he finally said.

Lizzy grasped Jenny’s elbow excitedly. “We’ll begin our plans tomorrow.”

* * *

 

Duncan stood in ankle-deep snow, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, pipe clamped in one side of his mouth, a pencil in the other. Freshly milled boards lay at his side and a gaping square hole yawned from the front of the barn’s hayloft.

“I'm building Sam a trellis for roses,” he mumbled around his mouth full when Finnegan walked up to his side.

“In February?”

“Can’t wait till the last minute.”

“What about the hole in the barn?”

Duncan glanced up at the barn, then back to Finnegan. “Don’t buy the story, huh?”

“Not for a minute.”

Duncan removed the pencil from his mouth and dropped it into his work shirt pocket. Then he took his pipe out of his mouth and grinned. “Sam talked me into making the top half of the barn into a place for Jenny. Think she’ll take us up on it?

Finnegan looked up at the tall structure. Here, she’d be watched over. Sam was only a few steps away in case there was a problem with the baby. She’d be out of the hotel and out of the dishwashing business. It was a nearly perfect solution, the only drawback being he couldn't live there with her yet as her husband.

“Come look at this.” Duncan grinned and led Finnegan around to the back. A half-finished stone chimney stood against the side. “She’ll have a woodstove upstairs and I’ll have one downstairs when Sam runs me out of the house.”

“You’ll have to think of an awfully good excuse to get her here.”

“The lying I leave up to my missus,” he said, clamping the pipe stem between his teeth. “That’s her territory.”

* * *

“Duncan wants to rent it out and I don’t want just anybody back there. It’s taking quite a bit to house everybody, what with the baby and the girls coming back soon. I thought of you right away. We could be such a help to each other.”

Jenny stared at Sam over her steaming cup of tea and wondered how much of the spiel she’d just heard was true. They felt sorry for her, thought she couldn't look after herself and little Michael. They didn’t know how close to the truth they were. Working in the kitchen at night and tending Michael at the same time was proving impossible. Clattering dishes kept him awake and she lived with the constant fear someone would spill hot water on him. This was a way out. Would her pride let her take it?

“Let me think about it.”

“Please Jenny. We could take turns keeping the babies. And Sarah and Lizzy would help. It would be so much easier on you. And me,” she quickly added.

Jenny assessed her options. She could dip into her savings and move to another hotel, but that would dwindle the nest egg she’d saved. She could sell the cabin and add that to what she already had, but even that wouldn't last for long. Her only hope was to help Lizzy get the dress shop established. And she’d need extra hands to help with that. The very help Sam was offering.

“All right, it’s a deal.”

Sam leapt from her chair and embraced Jenny, spilling her tea across the already dingy rug. “Duncan says you can move in on Saturday. He’ll have everything ready by then.”

 

* * *

 

Jenny jarred awake to the baby’s wails. Scrambling to get to the dresser drawer that served as his bed, she stumped a toe against the leg of the bed and swore under her breath. Michael was red-faced and squalling breathlessly by the time she picked him up. Opening her gown, she placed him at her breast, but he refused, crying louder.

She checked his diaper and found him dry and clean. Even walking the floor did no good. A rough knock came at her door. When she opened it, the desk clerk glared at her over his glasses. “Mrs. Hanson, you are going to have to do something about that brat of yours. I’ve had three complaints already.”

“I know. I don’t know what else to do.” She bounced the baby as she spoke, making his cries bob up and down in pitch.

“Well, think of something or you’ll have to leave this establishment.” He raised his glasses and peered at the baby, illuminated in the faint glow of the hall lamp.

“That child has smallpox!” He backed away into the center of the hall. “You’ll have to get out of here.”

Jenny stepped into the light and pushed back the baby’s blanket. Round, red spots covered his face and chest.

“If you don’t get out, I’ll have the constables throw you out,” he threatened in a quivering voice.

“You can’t throw a baby out into the cold night.”

“I’m not having you stay and start an epidemic in my hotel, either.”

“You couldn’t talk the Mounted Police into something like this.”

“If the constables won’t come, I know men who will,” he said, edging toward the top of the stairs.

Jenny quickly gathered her things and the baby’s rather than risk his threats. The clerk pressed his back against the wall and waited for her to pass before slamming shut her room door.

“Don’t stop. Go right on outside,” he ordered clumping down the stairs behind her.

She stepped out into the cold and Michael stopped crying for a moment as the cold air struck him. She had no where to go and snow was beginning to fall. There was a surgeon at Fort Herchner. And Finnegan was there. She turned and trudged toward the fort at the end of the street, using moonlight as her guide. It must be well past midnight, she thought sleepily, noting all the street lamps had been extinguished.

Two sentries guarded the fort entrance.

“Is your surgeon here?” she asked, shielding the baby against the increasing snow.

“No ma’am. He’s down at Skagway.”

“Could you get Constable Finnegan for me?”

Eyeing her warily, the constable led her to the main barracks, now quiet and dark. “Wait here,” he said and disappeared inside.

“Finnegan.” Someone shook his shoulder, stirring him from a deep sleep and a dream about Jenny.

“What?” He sat up and wiped a hand across his face.

“There’s a woman and a baby outside to see you,” Constable Harper whispered furiously.

“A woman and a baby?” he parroted, realization beginning to dawn.

“Does the young’un have red hair?” a voice in the dark said and a round of chuckles echoed in the room.

Pulling on his pants, Finnegan half hopped, half walked to the door as he followed the sentry outside barefooted.

“Jenny! What are you doing here?” he asked, running a hand through his hair. “Why are you out in this weather?” He gazed off at the thickening snow.

“The baby’s sick,” she whispered. “The desk clerk threw us out of the hotel because he thinks it’s smallpox.”

Finnegan shut the door behind him. “Are you sure that’s what it is?”

“No. That’s why I’m here. I don’t know how to tell. Do you?”

“I don’t know. Wait here against the wall out of the snow. I'll be right back.”

He moved quickly and soundlessly gathering his clothes, boots and coat. Then he left the barracks and finished dressing on the porch. “We’ll go to Duncan’s.

“No. What about Skye?”

“Not in their house. In the new room over the barn.”

They made their way down the street, heads bent against the driving snow. Duncan had built a set of stairs to the top floor of the barn. Finnegan helped Jenny up, holding her arm to keep her from slipping on the slick steps. The odor of fresh, new wood poured out when he pushed open the door. A single lamp sat on a small table. Finnegan quickly lit it and replaced the chimney. Soft light poured forth.

“Give him to me,” he said, taking the baby from her arms and laying him on the table alongside the lamp. He pulled away the layers of blankets. Tiny gooseflesh popped up on the baby’s skin, sprinkling the fiery red blotches.

“I don’t think it’s the pox,” he said, rubbing a finger across the sore. “It looks different. But I don’t know what it is.”

“We need willow bark for tea to keep his fever down,” Jenny said, “and I don’t have any.”

“We can buy it in the store now. It’s called aspirin. But I wouldn’t know how much to give a baby. I think the best thing to do would be put him in a bath to keep the fever down. The surgeon’s in Skagway, but we’re expecting a new lad in a day or two, right out of medical school.”

“A day or two might be too late.” Her eyes were huge and dark in the poor light, fear rolling off her in waves.

He re-wrapped the baby carefully and cradled him in his arm. The chill of being undressed had momentarily stopped his crying, but now he frowned and pitched in anew.

“Poor little lad. You shouldn’t worry your Mama this way,” he said as he tucked the blanket securely around him.

“I don’t think I could bear losing him.”

Finnegan looked up to meet her eyes and was reminded again of the frightened innocent who’d stolen his heart so many years ago. “Don’t think about that. Not even for a second. Understand?”

She nodded and Finnegan put the baby into her arms. “Hold him until I get back. I won’t be long.” He disappeared out the door, only his muted footsteps remaining behind and then silence.

He was back in a few minutes, his arms loaded with wood. He strode to the far end of the room and knelt before a small, black woodstove she hadn’t noticed before. The firebox clanked as the wood struck the sides. Finnegan struck a match and soon had a fire going.

“I’m going up to Duncan’s for a pan and the other things we’ll need.”

She caught his forearm. “You can’t go in there. You might give it to them.”

“I’m not.” He started away, then turned back and kissed her. “Don’t worry,” he whispered and disappeared for the second time leaving her alone with the silence and her fear.

* * *

Thwack.

Something struck the bedroom window.

Thwack.

Duncan stirred beneath the quilts, hooked his arm around Sam’s waist and hauled her against him, spooned in the curl of his body.

“What was that?” she whispered in the dark.

“What was what?”

“That.”

Thwack.

Duncan threw back the warm covers and padded to the window. Something sailed toward him and hit the window with a splat, leaving lumps of snow clinging to the glass.

“What the hell-“ Duncan yanked open the window and dodged another snowball that splatted against the side of the house.

“Duncan, what’s going on?” Sam asked, sitting up in bed.

“Finnegan’s downstairs throwing snowballs at the house.” Duncan poked his head outside. “What's wrong?"

“Come downstairs,” Finnegan said, looking up.

Duncan shut the casement and scrambled around for his pants and boots.

“Duncan. What is it?”

“I don’t know. Something’s wrong,” he said as he hurried out of the room and down the stairs.

Cold swept in as he pulled open the door. Finnegan stood on the walkway, several feet from the porch.

“Jenny's baby’s sick,” he said before Duncan could ask. “It could be the pox. They're upstairs in your barn. The hotel threw her out when he started to cry.”

Duncan stared at Finnegan remembering, and knowing he did, too, the epidemic they’d endured in the Blackfoot village in the winter of ’96 and the ensuing terrible, lingering deaths.

“Damn.” Duncan looked down at his boots.

"This was the only place I could think to bring her."

"No, of course you did the right thing. What can we do?"

"I need a pan and a bucket for water so we can keep his fever down.”

“Finnegan, what’s the matter with the baby?” Sam came out onto the porch, pulling her wrapper closed.

“He could have smallpox. I don’t think so, but I’m being cautious.”

“She can’t stay out in the cold with a baby. You bring her in here right now.” Sam squirmed past Duncan and started for the steps.

“Sam. No.” Duncan grabbed her arm.

She turned around. “Why?”

“Because Finnegan and I both know what an epidemic of the pox does. He’s right. They should stay isolated until we know.”

“You can’t possibly think to leave her up there with no heat, no bed, nothing.”

“Finnegan’s taking care of them. This is the way it has to be. Think of the girls.”

Sam looked between them, panic and hopelessness on her face.

“Jenny decided this before I did, Sam,” Finnegan said. “She knows this is what is best.”

“What do you need?”

“I’ve told Duncan what I need.”

“Then I’ll just add a few things you don’t,” she said as she brushed past Duncan and went back inside.

In a short time, Finnegan’s arms were loaded down with blankets, a pan, a bucket, two cups and a package of tea. Sam had laid on the porch for his second trip a pillow, clothes for the baby and soft cloths to bathe him with.

“That young surgeon we were expecting is in Skagway. Steele got a wire yesterday afternoon. It’ll take him a day or two to come up with the mail carrier. I’ll send him over as soon as he arrives.”

Finnegan nodded, his arms loaded.

Duncan propped a hand against the porch post hating the helplessness he felt at his feeble efforts. At his side, Sam shivered, her trembling quivering against him. “Come get us if you need us,” he said.

Finnegan waded through the snowfall, soft, new snow filling up his partially untied boots. He shoved open the door with his foot and stepped into the room, his arms laden with supplies. Jenny stood by the stove, swaying with the whimpering baby.

She turned as he entered, her eyes shadowed and large.

"Any change?"

She shook her head.

"I'll get some snow to melt." He dropped his load of things and took the kettle and the bucket back downstairs to fill with snow.

The kettle steamed on the stove while Finnegan went back to the McLeod's front porch to retrieve the rest of the things Sam had set out for him. When he returned, a rocking chair sat amid various other things including more blankets and a dresser drawer for the baby to sleep in. By the time he'd transported all upstairs, Jenny had filled a pan with snow and was pouring hot water from the kettle over it. She knelt by the pan, laid the baby on a blanket and unwrapped him. Finnegan saw her pause and fear cross her face as the last of his wrappings fell away revealing the extent of his illness.

Red and angry, the blotches covered the tiny body, barely a finger's width of skin not affected.

"He's burning up with fever," she said, lifting him free of his diaper and easing him into the tepid water. The move brought a fresh round of squalls.

Finnegan took off his coat and hat and hung them both on a nail by the door. Then he rolled up his sleeves and stepped to her side. “Here, let me.”

She surrendered easily, as if relinquishing responsibility, if even for a short time, was a much needed relief. Finnegan’s hands replaced hers in holding the slippery infant. Jenny moved a short distance away, leaned against the warm wall and crossed her arms over her chest.

Finnegan scooped water into his hand and let it trickle over the baby's tiny chest. Michael gasped, eyes wide, and stopped crying. Finnegan chuckled, his heart doing an odd flutter in his chest.

"When I found out I was pregnant, I considered not having him," she said softly. "Now I can't imagine life without him."

“No, I don’t suppose you could.”

"Did you ever want children?" she asked, as he dribbled more water over the baby's angry, splotched skin.

“Not until I met you.”

She met his eyes briefly before he turned his attention back to the baby.

“My sister and her family lived with us for so long that I felt like I’d already raised a family by the time I left home. And then you came along and made me want all kinds of things I hadn’t wanted before.”

“Do you think he’ll die?” She hadn’t meant to ask the question out loud, only allow it in her heart and she was surprised to hear her words echo in the empty room.

“I don’t know,” Finnegan answered honestly after a pause.

He lifted the now calm baby out of the water, quickly wrapped him in a clean diaper and blankets and handed him to Jenny. She shed her coat, fed the baby and tucked him into the dresser drawer to sleep.

Finnegan sat down and leaned against the wall, warm from the glowing stove. “Come here.” He raised an arm to indicate a place for Jenny. She wriggled into the space by his side and he draped an arm across her shoulders, snugging her against his side. Held so, safe and warm and exhausted, she soon fell asleep, leaving him to stare at the shadows alone.

His fingertips began to tingle from lack of blood flow. He raised his arm, eased away from her and laid her on a quilt he’d drawn close for later. Restless with worry, he stood and checked the stove. Then he checked on the sleeping baby, curled into an angelic pose, one fist tucked beneath a pink cheek. He reached out a finger to touch him, then thought better and withdrew his hand.

He walked to the wide front window that looked out over Duncan’s house and the ridges of mountains beyond. A clear night and a full moon did great justice to the distant rugged peaks, touching each summit with a frosting of luminescent snow.

Movement in the shadows below caught Finnegan’s eye. He squinted into the darkness that lay between the barn and Duncan’s house. A solitary figure stood halfway the distance, bundled in a heavy coat, the glowing end of a cigarette delineating him from the surrounding shadows. Hands shoved deep in pockets, the figure seemed to be studying the barn, making no move to enter or to leave. Suspicious, Finnegan walked to the door, eased it open and stepped out onto the stair landing. But the figure was gone, swallowed by the night, leaving behind only a wobbly path of footprints in the snow.

 

***~~~***