Gypsy - Lesley Pearse [141]
‘They’re dead,’ Beth said, and suddenly found herself telling him what had happened. ‘I don’t know why I told you that,’ she finished up, feeling embarrassed. ‘I never tell anyone.’
Jefferson shrugged. ‘It will be getting the picture of her, it brings things back. I’ve got a picture like that.’
‘Of a little girl?’
‘No.’ He laughed. ‘A picture of you, taken in here one night. I only collected it a few days ago. It made me think how things might have been, if only—’ He broke off and grinned at her.
‘If only what?’
‘If only I’d been a different kinda man. If only I’d come round to see you after that night and told you how I felt.’
‘How did you feel?’ she whispered.
‘Like I was all brand new again. Like there could be a life without swindling and fast talking. But I guess I wasn’t brave enough to try for it.’
Beth lifted her hand and pinched his cheek tenderly. ‘You were brave enough to tell me now. I’ll tuck that away inside my head and think on it sometimes.’
They talked for a while about the changes in Skagway since she’d arrived, and how it might be in years to come. He asked after Sam and Jack, but didn’t mention Theo.
‘Don’t trust anyone on the climb up the Pass,’ he said suddenly. ‘There’s men up there who look like stampeders, a pack on their back and as dirty as anyone else. They’ll offer you a little kindness, a hot drink or a warm by their fire. But they ain’t real stampeders, they’re con men, and they’ll fleece you.’
She had a strong feeling that these men he spoke of might even be in his pay, but she thanked him for the advice and said it was time she went.
He took her hand as they left the saloon to get his horse from the stable, and the touch of his smooth hand on hers made a tremor run through her.
A man brought the chestnut mare out to him, and as he held it steady, Jefferson stretched out his hand for her foot and helped her up into the saddle. Then, leaping up behind her in one agile movement, he put his arms on either side of her to take the reins.
‘Giddy-up,’ he said, and they cantered down the street, out on to the track to Dyea.
In Skagway, with all its hustle and bustle, the beauty of the scenery all around the town often went unnoticed. But once away from that tumult, with the weak winter sun shining on the turquoise water of the Lynn Canal, and the snow-topped mountains all around, it suddenly came back sharply into focus.
As they jogged along, Jefferson pointed out a couple of seals in the water and a bald eagle perched on a fir tree. Beth couldn’t help wishing that they’d had time before to have a little trip together like this, and really talk.
There were many groups of people trudging along the road to Dyea, some pushing handcarts, their baggage piled high, others using pack mules or horse-drawn carts. Suddenly Beth spotted the boys and their cart up ahead. ‘I think you should leave me here,’ she said. ‘I can soon catch up with them.’
Jefferson jumped down, as lithe as a cat, then, reaching up, he caught her waist and swung her down. But he didn’t let go of her. ‘Farewell, my Gypsy Queen,’ he said. ‘Take good care on that trail, and think of me sometimes.’
He kissed her then, long and hard, holding her as though he never wanted to let her go. Then, breaking away, he leapt back on his horse, wheeled around and galloped off.
Beth stood on the path for a moment or two watching the rear of his chestnut mare, his straight back and black hat, and felt a tiny pang for what might have been.
Chapter Twenty-eight
‘God save us!’ Beth exclaimed as they wearily approached Sheep Camp, the last place they could get firewood or provisions before setting off up the mountain.
They had already endured three days of painfully slow progress as they and a thousand other stampeders hauled their carts and sledges up a pot-holed track from Dyea, which criss-crossed the river several times. Sleet, flurries of snow and the sheer volume of people, carts, dogs and pack animals made the path rutted and treacherous.