Gypsy - Lesley Pearse [163]
Despite the fact that Dawson City was in Canada, because such a big majority of its residents were American there was to be a big celebration with dancing, hog roasts and fireworks. Beth had found a good seamstress and had a new dress made with the pink silk she’d brought over the pass with her.
Jack paused in his work and grinned at her. ‘I guess one day off won’t kill me! Have you seen Theo today? I could do with a hand.’
‘He went to the post office,’ Beth called back. ‘You know what that’s like!’
Getting mail was a big problem in Dawson. It was brought in and out on many boats, but was often dropped off by mistake in Juneau, Haines or any of the little towns along the Inner Passage. With so many thousands of people here, the queues at the post office were so long it could take all day to reach the front, and most came away disappointed that there were no letters for them. Beth hadn’t bothered to queue, for the only people who wrote to her were the Langworthys, and even if they’d got the letter she’d written in Lake Lindemann with the approximate date they’d reach Dawson City, a reply could take a month or more to reach her.
She had written again when she got here to tell them of Sam’s death, but that would still be on the steamer to Seattle.
Theo, however, had gone to join the long queue to send his folks a telegram to let them know where he was. He laughingly said that even if his father and older brother didn’t care, his mother and younger sisters would. Beth privately thought his real motive was to boast he was doing well, knowing word would reach all his old friends.
‘If you see him, tell him I need him,’ Jack said. ‘He’s a lazy devil, never around except when it suits him.’
Beth made no comment. Theo wasn’t pulling his weight, but then he never had. He seemed to think that winning the building lot and handing over the money for the lumber and other materials was enough. Jack had to handle everything, from building the saloon to buying the timber and hauling it here. At night Theo rarely came into the Monte Carlo to hear Beth play, she often had to eat alone, and he seldom came back to the tent before seven or eight in the morning, then slept all day. Sometimes she wondered if he valued her at all.
She decided to walk down to the post office and check how far up the queue he’d got. But as she took the turn off Front Street, she saw him coming towards her through the crowd. She waved, and as he saw her his face broke into a wide smile.
Despite having become a little disenchanted with his character, hardly a day went past without Beth thinking how handsome he was. Even back in the winter, bundled up in a heavy coat, with a hat and a muffler and a thick beard covering half his face, his dark, expressive eyes could still make her heart flutter.
He had somehow achieved the image of the perfect English gentleman even here in this rough-and-ready town. He had shaved off his beard back on the river, and one of his first priorities when they arrived here was to get his hair cut. Wearing a fawn linen jacket, a red cravat at the neck of his shirt and a Panama hat, he could have been on his way to Ascot. Only the mud on his brown leather riding boots spoiled the image, something he groused about almost daily as he cleaned them.
‘You’ve got a letter,’ he called out as they drew closer, and he took the envelope from his pocket and waved it at her. ‘They weren’t going to let me have it as it’s addressed to Miss and Mr Bolton, but when I told them that was Gypsy of the Monte Carlo’s maiden name, they gave in.’
Beth laughed. ‘It’s from the Langworthys,’ she said, recognizing the handwriting even from a distance, and she rushed forward the last few feet to grab it from him. ‘They surely hadn’t got my letter from Lake Lindemann already?’
‘Dawson City’s in the news everywhere in the world,’ Theo said. ‘I guess they decided to write here knowing you’d get here eventually.’
‘It looks as if it’s been in the wet,’ Beth said, for the envelope was stained and the ink smeared.