Griffin
At one time, I’d spent many a night sleeping beneath the stars. With the Pinkertons, I’d played at being a cowpuncher, chased outlaws across the desert of Arizona, and hunted for fugitives amidst the wilds of the Sierras. But aside from our Egyptian expedition, I’d spent the last several years sleeping in beds with firm walls around me.
Still, my heart thrilled at the prospect of once again testing myself against the wilderness. The howls of wolves, echoed by the howls of our sled dogs, formed a familiar music. The fresh-cut spruce boughs beneath my sleeping bag released a raw scent, which beckoned to some primitive part of my brain. When I awoke the next morning, I found the condensation from my breath had frozen in the fur lining of the bag, despite the warmth of my body and several others in the tent.
The guides were already seeing to breakfast, and Jack had slipped from the tent. His movement must have awakened me. Close to the tent flap, Iskander sleepily pulled on his boots.
I sat up and reached over to shake Whyborne’s shoulder. “Time for breakfast.”
“Bring it in here,” he mumbled from the depths of his sleeping bag.
I grinned and prodded him. “Not likely, lazybones. If you’re not up in five minutes, I’ll come back and tip you into a snow bank.”
“You’re a terrible person and I hate you,” he muttered. And didn’t move.
I shook my head and pulled on my boots, which had remained in my bag with me to keep them warm and safe from the dogs. I slithered out of the tent to find Jack crouched by the rebuilt fire, boiling water for coffee. My brother glanced at me. “Dr. Whyborne doesn’t seem impressed by Alaska,” he remarked.
“As I said our first night here, Whyborne isn’t one for roughing it.” I set about opening the cans of beans for our breakfast, and got a nod of thanks from him.
“But you are?” he guessed.
“It can be...enlightening, I suppose. To test oneself on such a journey.”
“I think that’s what brought me here.” Jack set the opened cans in the coals to thaw. “Staying in one place, putting down roots...well, I would have remained in Missouri, if that’s what I wanted.”
“You gave me your coat,” I said. Jack shot me puzzled look, and I clarified. “When you were adopted off the train in Missouri. You wrapped it around my shoulders and told me to be good.” The coat had been the last thing I’d possessed of my birth family, when I stood shivering and alone on the railroad platform.
Jack laughed. “I’d forgotten. My new mam was angry about it, when the old man brought me home. Said he might at least have picked one they wouldn’t have to spend money on.”
I was all too aware of how fortunate I’d been. Before they’d turned their backs on me for the crime of loving Whyborne, my adoptive parents treated me as their own child. But I’d heard stories, rumors, and knew not all of the children from the orphan trains had been so lucky. “I’m sorry.”
“Water over the dam and all that.” Jack poked at the beans. “The Hogues had seven children of their own already, and the biggest farm in the county. Adopting me was cheaper than hiring another hand. I could have stayed, though. Grown up, married a local girl, had children of my own.”
Such a life had almost been mine. Would have been, if I’d not given into temptation. Or, rather, not been caught doing so. Bending over the milking stool in the neighbor’s barn while their eldest son fucked me hadn’t been the wisest decision I could have made.
Or perhaps it had. Could I really have been happy as a farmer, married to cousin Ruth or some other woman? I would have liked to have children, but it was hard to imagine I’d ever have been truly content.
And I’d never have met Ival, of course. Certainly I couldn’t regret that.
“Why did you leave?” I asked.
Jack snorted. “What, live my whole life ten miles from where the train left me? Break my back farming, always at the mercy of the next hailstorm or drought? See the same faces every day for years on end? I knew early on it wasn’t for me.” His eyes warmed with memory. “A circus came by one spring. Half the town was ecstatic for some entertainment, and the other half thought they were the devil’s own come to tempt us. As for me, I loved it—the color, the sounds, the people. When they left, I went with them.”
“You never mentioned this in your letters.” I poured coffee for us both. “Only that you’d traveled a great deal.”
“I did. I left the circus eventually. Wandered around the west for a time. I’d stay in a town for a year, or six months, then find myself on the move again. When word came of the strike on the Klondike, I thought, ‘why not?’” Jack shifted one of the cans of beans about in the coals. “I worked in Skagway for a while, until I managed to run afoul of Soapy Smith. I won’t say I was sorry to hear when he was gunned down. From there, I went to Dawson, and then to St. Michael. I’d been thinking about leaving Alaska altogether when I met Nicholas. He wanted to look for gold farther north, so I joined him.” Jack bit his lip, staring for a moment at the coals. “He has a way of making a man believe in himself. Believe he’s meant for more in this world than just drifting through it.”
“I look forward to meeting him,” I said.
“I can’t wait to introduce you.” Jack’s expression remained melancholy, though. “Maybe you’ll see things differently, after talking to him.”
I wanted to ask what things, but something about his look made me think I wouldn’t get a straight answer. I only said, “He’ll make a sourdough out of me, will he?”
“Dear heavens, don’t even joke about such a thing,” Whyborne said. He slumped down on the rough-hewn log between us. The bright green light of the aurora emphasized the dark shadows beneath his eyes, and made the puce scarf about his neck look even more horrid, if possible. “Even Egypt was preferable to this wretched place.”
Jack’s mouth tightened. “Don’t worry, Dr. Whyborne. I’m sure it will be worth it in the end.”
Jack rose to his feet and left to check on the dogs. “I wish I was so certain,” Whyborne muttered. “Is the coffee ready?”
I passed a cup to him, but my attention remained on my brother. Why did he seem upset at Whyborne’s comment? Did he feel Whyborne insulted his home? Or did he simply look at Whyborne and see a soft scholar, the pampered son of a rich man? A complainer who moped about while everyone else did the hard work?
I hoped not. I wanted them to like one another. And perhaps our time on the trail would give Jack the chance to see past any superficial assumptions he might have made.