Where Heaven Begins (3 page)

T
he savior of Elizabeth’s handbag began to walk away before she found her voice. “Mister, wait!”

From several feet ahead the man turned, pushing back his hat slightly and looking her over. Elizabeth wondered if perhaps he thought her one of the loose women heading for the gold fields. Surely not! Who could think such a thing, the way she was dressed? No matter what he thought, she had to at least thank him, but…“What about that man you threw into the water? He could drown!” she called to him.

The stranger frowned. “Who cares? Any man who steals from a woman is worthless anyway. You of all people shouldn’t be concerned with what happens to him.”

“But…he’s a human being. If he drowns, I’ll be responsible!”

“What?” He grunted a laugh. “He stole your purse, and
I’m
the one who threw him into the water.”

Elizabeth glanced toward the spot where the man had been thrown off. She noticed a couple of men helping him climb back onto the wharf.

“There, you see? He’s wet and mad, but he’s all right. The water probably helped sober him up,” the stranger told her.

The voice was closer, and Elizabeth turned to see him standing right before her. It was then she realized he was a good six feet tall and well built. She backed away slightly. “Well, I…I’m glad, in spite of what he did. And I thank you, sir, for recovering my handbag. All the money I have in the world is in it.”

He grinned and shook his head. “Then I suggest you take that money and put it inside your girdle or your camisole, someplace where a man can’t get to it so easily.” He frowned teasingly then. “Unless, of course, you’re not the prim-and-proper lady you appear to be.”

Elizabeth reddened. “I beg your pardon!”

He tipped his hat. “Just some friendly advice, ma’am.” He started away again.

“What’s your name?” Elizabeth called after him.

Again he turned, removing his hat and running a hand through his thick hair. “Clint Brady.”

Still feeling heat in her cheeks, Elizabeth nodded to him. “Well, thank you again, Mr. Brady. I’ll…take your advice.”

Brady looked around and stepped closer again. “You headed for Alaska?”

Elizabeth nodded. “Yes. My brother is building a church in the Yukon. I am going to join him.”

The man frowned, his blue eyes revealing true concern.
“Alone?”

Elizabeth glanced down at his gun and suddenly wondered if she was revealing too much information. Still, he’d risked his life to get her purse back for her. “Yes.”

“And your brother approves?”

“He doesn’t know. I sent him a letter, but I’ll be well on my way by the time he gets it. He’ll have no choice in the matter. He’s all the family I have left and I’m going. God will get me there safely.”

Brady’s eyebrows arched quizzically, and Elizabeth could see he thought she was silly to make such a remark. “He will, will He?” He chuckled. “Well, ma’am…what’s your name, anyway?”

“Elizabeth Breckenridge.”

“Well, Miss Breckenridge, it’s nice to have so much faith, but if I were you, I’d still be more careful of my money. And I’d find a guide of some kind. The trip to the Yukon is daunting for the strongest of men, let alone a woman on her own. You able to carry a thousand pounds of supplies on your back up a mountainside?”

Elizabeth swallowed. “Well, I…I’ll find a way. Perhaps I’ll find a guide once I reach Skagway…and a mule or a horse.”

“Mmm-hmm. And how are you going to know who to trust?”

She held her chin higher with pretended confidence. “I’ll know, that’s all. However, I doubt I have enough money to pay a man for such work anyway. Perhaps someone will take me for the cost of his own supplies…grubstaking, I think they call it.”

Brady nodded. “That’s what they call it.” He looked around the crowd as though watching for someone in particular. “Come on. I’ll walk you back to your bags, if they’re still there.”

“Oh, my goodness! I forgot all about them! What if someone has stolen them!” Elizabeth began a rushed walk back to where she’d left her things, and Clint Brady walked beside her.

“They’re probably all right,” he tried to assure her. “Believe it or not, most of the men headed for the Yukon are just common good men, a lot of them family men who respect proper ladies.” Elizabeth’s bags came into sight. “There, you see?”

“Thank you, Jesus,” Elizabeth said as she hurried up to the bags and picked them up. People were now boarding the
Damsel
. “I’d better get on board.” She looked up at Clint Brady. “Thank you again, Mr. Brady. I didn’t even ask if you’re all right.”

“Oh, I’ve been through worse, believe me.”

“Oh, my.” She glanced at his gun again. She wanted to ask more, but it might seem too intrusive; besides, there was no time. She had to get on board. She smiled nervously and nodded a goodbye, turning and climbing the wooden plank that led to the steamer’s wooden deck. The
Damsel
was one of the larger steamers available, painted bright yellow with white trim, three stories of expensive cabins looking inviting. Again, Elizabeth wished she could afford a cabin, rather than staying below deck.

Only God knew how she was going to reach her destination safely—or if she would reach it at all. She had to
keep the faith. Whatever was God’s will for her, so be it. Fate, or more likely God, had led her this far.

She stood at the rail of the ship for several more long minutes, staring out at the hilly streets of San Francisco. So many memories there, mostly good ones until her father had been murdered. And Mama. Her eyes stung with tears. Mama! She might never again be able to visit her mother’s grave. Oh, how she missed her! She could not imagine finding happiness here ever again. Her only hope for that was to be with Peter.

Her heart rushed faster when the steamer again blasted three short whistles from its tall smokestacks. Several black men working along the wharf unwrapped heavy rope from around thick wooden dock posts and tossed them to the deck of the
Damsel
. Elizabeth noticed again what a montage of races mingled at the wharf, and that many of them had boarded the
Damsel
. Negroes, Chinese, painted women, a couple of men who looked Indian, perhaps even Eskimos. She realized that in all the years she’d lived here, she really couldn’t tell one Indian tribe from another. She only knew that most of the California tribes had become nearly extinct from war and disease. And, of course, there were many Spaniards among the crowd and several on board.

She realized that the members of Christ Church were nearly all white, and that many of them did not openly welcome other races. Her father would have welcomed anyone, and he’d died going out to find those who truly needed to hear God’s Word. Since his death the church had strayed far from what her father meant it to be. He would expect his children to love and welcome other races, for he’d
often preached that Christ taught that all should love one another, no matter how different that other person might be.

She turned to glance around at those who’d boarded the
Damsel
, and there were those very three women! And standing there talking to them was none other than Clint Brady! She’d not even noticed him come aboard.

So, he, too, was going to Alaska. To look for gold? She suspected it was for some other reason. Why did he wear a gun at his side? She couldn’t remember seeing a badge on the man, but maybe he was a lawman. That would explain why he knew how to handle her attacker. He obviously had a good side to him, or he wouldn’t have helped her…but he also had a violent side…and apparently a sinful side, or he wouldn’t be standing there talking to harlots!

Why did that bother her? It was ridiculous to care. He glanced her way, and again she felt that little jolt to her heart, that little, uneasy feeling that Clint Brady had some kind of connection to her…some strange reason for coming into her life in such an odd way.

She turned away. How silly! Besides, the man might only be going as far as Seattle. Still, why did she actually feel relieved that he was on board?

Slowly the docks of San Francisco Bay began to disappear into the cold mist. The sound of other steamers’ shrill whistles pierced the thick fog that began to shroud the
Damsel
.

She was on her way.
Stay with me, Jesus. I’m so afraid. My strength and courage come only from You.

E
lizabeth studied her Bible by lantern light, the only kind of light available on the lower deck, although the cabins and upper decks had electric lights, for what that was worth. For the first two days of the trip men grum
bled that the lights constantly dimmed or went out completely.

Elizabeth could barely sleep because of the deck’s vibration, due to the steamer’s engines rumbling directly beneath her. Added to that noise was the noise of others talking, particularly the painted women who were situated only a few feet from her. The first night they’d laughed and visited half the night, talking about things that made Elizabeth feel like a sinner just by hearing them.

Then last night the women had put up a makeshift tent made of blankets, and one of them lay inside the tent groaning in pain most of the night. The other two sat just outside the blankets whispering about something. Elizabeth assumed the woman groaning must be sick to her stomach from something she ate.

She fished through one of her carpet bags and took out a bottle of ink and a pen, as well as a notebook she’d purchased before leaving San Francisco. She had decided to keep a diary of her journey, partly to keep herself occupied so she wouldn’t think about all the frightening things that could happen to her, and also because if she died on this journey, someone might send the diary on to Peter as a keepsake. She began by writing a note as to what to do with the journal should she not make it to Dawson.

She set her pen aside when she noticed that one of the painted women was coming toward her with what looked like a wadded-up towel.

“Miss?”

Elizabeth swallowed. Should she be seen associating with such women? Don’t forget the adulteress, and how Jesus forgave her. She capped her pen and set it and her diary aside. “Yes?”

The woman crouched closer, and in the lantern light Elizabeth realized the woman was not much older than she was!

“My name is Collette. My friend in the tent over there that we set up, her name is Francine.” Collette kept her voice lowered. She looked around, as though keeping a big secret. “My other friend there is Tricia, and we were all wondering…I mean…we’ve noticed you reading a Bible and all…and maybe you know enough about it to…well…pray over a dead body.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened in surprise. “Did Francine
die?
”

“Oh, no, miss,” Collette answered in a near whisper. “I think she’ll be all right. We have experience in these things. That’s not what we’d want you to pray about…except, of course, if you’d be so kind as to do that. Francine just lost a baby. I’ve got it right here in this towel. There’s not much
to it, but, well, you know, it just doesn’t seem right not to pray over it, ’cause it’s still what’s left of a little human life. But me, I’m not much good at such things, so I thought maybe you’d consider coming up top with me and saying a prayer before I drop it into the water—kind of a burial at sea I guess you’d say.”

Elizabeth felt her heart pounding in her chest.
Dear Lord, help me know what to do!
This woman of the streets was asking her to pray over an illegitimate child delivered by yet another prostitute! “I…well, I…”

“I know it seems awful to somebody like you, but like the Good Book says, we’re all God’s children, even this tiny little bit of life that’s hardly recognizable. I sure don’t intend just to throw it in the garbage.”

Elizabeth wondered at the fact that the woman seemed to understand a little bit about God and the Bible, and she actually respected the bit of life she held in the towel. She felt ashamed about worrying what others would think of talking to such women. God surely was placing this duty in her hands, and so she would pray over the poor little soul in the towel. She reminded herself as she stood up that her father would have done the same. “I…of course I’ll pray over the baby, and I’ll pray for its mother. Are you sure she’s all right…physically, I mean?”

“I think she’ll be all right, but there’s an awful lot of bleeding. We’re getting off in Seattle to get her some help. It’s kind of you to ask.” Collette leaned a little closer. “And we understand somebody like you wouldn’t want to be seen consorting with us, so I won’t bother you after you do this one thing.”

“It’s all right. My father was a preacher, and he used to minister to people along the Barbary Coast.”

Collette brightened, raising painted eyebrows. “Well, he must have been a real good man.”

“Yes, he was.” Elizabeth realized she needed to think about what God’s love truly means. “Let’s go to the main deck,” she told Collette.

Nervous and unsure, Elizabeth led Collette to the main deck. It was early morning and the sea was quite calm today. They managed to find a place away from others, as many men were still asleep and not milling about. Elizabeth touched the towel and prayed for God to bless the bit of life inside and take him or her into His arms for blessed eternity.

“‘Suffer the little children and forbid them not to come unto me,’” she said after praying, “‘for of such is the Kingdom of Heaven.’” She noticed tears in Collette’s eyes.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Collette hesitated, then turned and threw the towel overboard. Gradually the towel soaked into the water. Collette turned and gave Elizabeth a quick hug. “I’ll be leaving you now. You’re a kind woman. What’s your name, honey?”

“Elizabeth…Elizabeth Breckenridge.”

Collette nodded, then turned and left. Elizabeth felt confused by why Collette would live the way she did if she believed in God. She realized she had so much to learn about real people and real life.

She breathed deeply of the morning air and looked up at the sky. It was then she saw him…Clint Brady…watching her. Surely he’d seen her with Collette. What was he thinking? And why did she have this feeling that
he was
always
watching her? He gave her a smile and a nod and turned away.

Elizabeth looked back out over the ocean. She could no longer see the towel, and it struck her that just as that tiny bit of life was now in God’s hands, so was hers.
“Lord, just don’t send me more than I can handle,”
she murmured.
“But I do have so much to learn. Just show me the way.”