Barkerville Beginnings Page 2

  undercurrent of excitement.

  Gold fever. A potent ailment.

  No one paid her any attention until she took a step or two inside. A whistle sounded, long

  and low, and someone commented, “Look boys, we have ourselves a lady.” Someone else said

  “Forget it boys, she’s mine”. Lewd comments and shouts of laughter flew through the air. Her

  face flamed and she fought the urge to turn around and run away. She looked down to gather her

  composure. Hannah. Edmund would not get Hannah.

  Ignoring the comments as best she could, she lifted her head and glanced around to get her

  bearings looking for the ticket agent. A line straggled away from the ticket wicket and she took

  her place behind a harried looking woman, bonnet askew over bedraggled dun coloured curls and

  a half open satchel hanging from her arm. Two young girls stood by her side, one holding a

  baby.

  A clatter of feet sounded; someone pushed into her and she whirled around, ready to berate

  the rude person only to see two young boys backing away. Twins by the look of them. Eyes full

  of mischief, they sidled around her and moved up beside the woman.

  She glared at them before turning to speak to Rose. “I am so sorry,” she said, “these two are

  in such a state this morning. We’re off to Yale and they seem to think we’ll be digging for gold.

  Where are you headed?”

  “Barkerville.” She’d decided on the booming gold rush town because of its remote location

  five hundred miles north east of here. Much larger than Victoria and almost as large, it was said,

  as Chicago. A young woman and a little girl should be able to avoid discovery quite easily there.

  “By yourself?” The woman gasped and fanned herself.

  “My daughter and I are joining my husband. He’s got a claim out there.” An out and out lie,

  but only Rose knew that. She pulled a rumpled letter from her skirt pocket and waved it in the

  air, then jammed it quickly back into her pocket before anyone could notice the decidedly

  feminine handwriting. She’d written the letter herself.

  Because she had no husband and probably never would.

  “Oh dear, where have those two rapscallions gone? Girls, stay here.” Without waiting for an

  answer, the other woman darted off. She soon reappeared, holding the two red haired youngsters

  by their ears, one in each hand. “We’ll leave you behind if you don’t behave,” she warned.

  “We’ll take your sisters and the baby, but you’ll stay here, see if you don’t.” She released them

  and pushed them into place beside the girls. Those two, obviously used to the high jinks of their

  brothers, rolled their eyes and shook their heads.

  Her words had the desired effect, for the boys folded their hands in prayer and looked up

  with soulful eyes. It didn’t last. Soon they were scuffling again, this time pushing into Hannah,

  who started to cry. Sobbing, she hid her face in Rose’s skirts and tightened her little fists in the

  folds of woolen fabric. “Mama, I don’t like it here. I want to go home.”

  “Shhh, poppet,” soothed Rose. “Let me see.” She leaned back and pretended to inspect the

  little girl. “Hmm, nothing that a hug from Dolly wouldn’t solve.” She unbuckled the carpet bag

  and pulled out a porcelain faced doll. Sniffling, Hannah took it and wrapped both arms around it.

  Pressed against the safety of Rose’s skirts, she glared at the two boys.

  The woman waggled her finger at her sons. “Your father won’t be pleased to hear of your

  shenanigans.”

  This time they looked suitably chastened.

  Rose stifled a giggle at their woebegone expressions. She turned to their mother. “You’ll

  have your hands full. How far are you going?”

  “To Yale. My husband has taken a position there. In the Anglican church, the Church of St.

  John the Divine. Why don’t you travel with us? It’s on the way to Barkerville. ”

  “Oh, I couldn’t impose on you.” She glanced down at Hannah, who still eyed the two young

  boys suspiciously.

  “It’s no trouble. I’d like the company.”

  I’d like the company too, thought Rose. She’d already been noticed by a number of men.

  Perhaps her idea to travel alone was not quite as sound as she thought.

  The boys started scuffling and the other woman reached out and snagged them and gave

  them a shake. “Samuel, Peter. Remember what I said.” She sighed then shook her head. “Those

  two need their father to knock some sense into them.” She turned and held out her hand. “Mrs.

  Elvina Sheepshanks.”

  “Rose Chadwick.” Rose grasped Mrs. Sheepshanks’ hand. She may appear frazzled, yet she

  had a firm grip that conveyed a no nonsense personality.

  “Next!” The station agent called out and the other woman moved up to the wicket.

  Soon it was Rose’s turn.

  “I’d like passage for me and my daughter,” she said to the bored looking man behind the

  desk.

  He looked at her over a pair of spectacles perched on the end of his nose. His forehead

  glistened with perspiration and he wiped it off with a grubby handkerchief. “To—?” The

  question hung in the air between them.

  “Barkerville,” she whispered.

  The ticket agent cupped his hand behind his ear and raised his eyebrows.

  “Barkerville,” she repeated more loudly.

  “That’s a rough place for a young woman to be going.”

  “Not at all.” She shook her head. “My husband is a miner. We’re going to join him.” Funny

  how much easier it was to spit that out second time around.

  “I can’t get you to Barkerville. We go as far as Yale. From there you’ll want the Barnard

  Express. But the S.S. Onward is plumb booked full so you’ll have to wait.”

  “But I’m to travel with the Sheepshanks family. The lady in front of me. She just bought her

  tickets. How can the ship be full?”

  “Sorry, there’s no room.”

  “You mean to say Mrs. Sheepshanks bought the last tickets?” What rotten luck and not an

  auspicious start to her getaway. Her heart started to pound at the thought of failure before she’d

  even left Victoria.

  The clerk nodded.

  “How long till the next departure, then?”

  “We can get you to Vancouver later this afternoon.”

  “This afternoon? Is there nothing sooner?” Her voice squeaked and she cleared her throat. “I

  can’t wait until this afternoon.”

  Edmund said he would come back for her answer this afternoon. She’d hoped to be long

  gone from the island by then. Would he think to look for her here at the steamship office? What

  would Mrs. Beadle say if he asked her about Rose’s whereabouts?

  She gripped the edge of the counter and leaned forward. “Please, I must be on the morning

  ship.”

  The clerk shrugged. “Sorry, it’s full. We don’t like overloading the ships because of safety

  and all.” He shuffled his papers and looked pointedly behind her. “Next?”

  Rose still clutched the counter, her fingers locked into position. No, she couldn’t give up.

  She must make the clerk understand her desperation. She glanced around the crowded room

  wildly looking for—what? She didn’t know.

  Mrs. Sheepshanks came over, this time carrying the baby. Her other children were nowhere

  to be seen, but she didn’t look at all concerned over their absence. “You’re white as a sheet. Is

  there a problem?” She leaned in, patting the baby’s back all the while.

  “There’s no room,” said the clerk. “Now you two hurry along.” He frowned and made a

  shooing motion with one ink stained hand.

  “No room? Nonsense. Look at the size of her. She can squeeze in with us. Her little girl can

  sit on her lap.” Mrs. Sheepshanks pursed her lips and impaled the clerk with a lofty stare. “I’ll

  take full responsibility for them both. I’m the wife of the Reverend Sheepshanks and he’s expecting me. You wouldn’t get in the way of the Lord’s work, would you?”

  “Well, if that’s what you want.” The clerk sighed heavily and flicked his gaze upward.

  “It is.”

  With a satisfied nod, Mrs. Sheepshanks smiled at Rose, who unclenched her fingers from the

  edge of the counter and reached for her coin purse tucked into an inside pocket of her carpet bag.

  “How much?”

  “Not enough,” muttered the clerk before naming to what seemed to Rose like an outrageous

  sum.

  “Thank you.” Rose counted out the coins and handed them to the clerk. He tossed them into

  the drawer; she heard them drop one by one with muffled “clinks” as he sorted them according to

  denomination. It seemed forever while he counted and made out the tickets and she glanced

  repeatedly over her shoulder to the door, expecting to see Edmund at any second.

  Finally, the precious papers were in her hand. Passage was more expensive than she

  expected and took almost half of her savings from her job as shop girl. She hoped she had

  enough to buy tickets from Yale to Barkerville. r />
  At least she would be leaving Edmund behind, and soon she and Hannah would be safe from

  his threats. She squeezed her coin purse with shaky fingers, trying not to notice how thin it felt

  all of a sudden.

  However, it wasn’t until she boarded the sternwheeler that she felt truly safe. She took

  Hannah and together they moved to the rear of the top deck. The paddle of the sternwheeler

  kicked up froth in the harbour as the ship pulled away from the wharf. People shouted; others

  waved. Hannah waved back and Rose smiled at the sight of her daughter’s chubby hand poked

  through the railing, flapping her fingers against her palm in an imitation of a wave. As they

  moved into the channel, she took one long look back at the town receding in the distance.

  And froze. Edmund stood at the rear of the throng on the wharf. Had he seen her amongst

  the passengers? Immediately she dropped to her knees and put her arms around her daughter.

  And Hannah? Had he seen the little girl at the railing?

  * * *

  A tremendous crack sounded and the stage coach Rose and Hannah rode in tilted

  precariously and came to an abrupt stop. Rose gathered Hannah into her arms and grabbed the

  leather loop overheard to keep them from falling into the other passengers. Not that there were

  many: just her, Hannah, a man dressed in a fine suit who professed to be a banker and who

  mumbled his name during introductions so she had no idea what to call him, and the Hodgkinses,

  an elderly couple traveling to visit their son. A miner, they solemnly declared as if a miner in

  Barkerville was something special, when Rose knew there were hundreds, if not thousands, all

  with the same goal in mind—to strike it rich.

  They looked at each other. “Well, that’s odd,” said Mr. Hodgkins and his wife tittered, a

  shrill nervous sound that grated on Rose’s ears for she’d already heard it a dozen times today.

  Every time, in fact, the coach lurched over an uneven rut, or the horses strained into their

  harnesses to haul the contraption uphill, or the wheels hit a patch of rocks.

  Was it only a few days ago they bid goodbye to the Sheepshanks and boarded this coach for

  the final stage of their journey? It seemed longer, for today a restless Hannah continually pushed

  Rose to the limits of her patience.

  “Nothing to worry about, folks.” The sing song voice of George Dibbs, the “Barnard’s

  Express Line” driver filtered through the roof. “We broke a wheel. Those Royal Engineers might

  have thought they built the eighth wonder of the world, but she’s a rough road from Quesnel to

  Barkerville.”

  The banker poked his head out the window. “What are we to do?”

  “Well, I’d say, start by getting out.” Dibbs chuckled as if he just uttered the most profound

  witticism.

  The passengers clambered out, Rose and Hannah last of all.

  “I’ll take your little girl.” The driver leaned in and held out his arms.

  Rose handed Hannah down to him then wiggled along the listing bench. Grasping the door

  frame in both hands, she swung her feet through and jumped onto the pot-holed road. She

  stretched her arms overhead, glad for the respite from the jolting, swaying stage coach.

  “I’ll send my helper back, but it’ll take some time to get a new wheel from Quesnel. I

  suggest you folks start walking. It’s not far to Cottonwood House, at most three or four miles.

  You’ll get there faster and will probably all be tucked in for the night before I get this coach

  going again.”

  Dibbs’s helper, a skinny teenager, touched his fingers to the brim of his hat. “On my way,

  boss,” and off he ran.

  “What of our luggage?” Mrs. Hodgkins fanned herself with one pudgy hand. “Is it safe to

  leave it behind?”

  “Hard to say. I’ll be here to keep an eye on things, but you never know who might come

  along.”

  “Right.” The banker strode to the back of the coach and pointed to the baggage boot.

  “There’s a small bag I’d like to take with me. I’ll trust the other with you.”

  “We’ll take what we can, but I’m afraid we’ll have to leave our trunk behind,” said Mr.

  Hodgkins.

  “Are you sure, dear?” twittered his wife.

  “There’s only so much we can carry.” He patted his wife’s shoulder. “Maybe once we reach

  the post we can make arrangements to send someone back for it.” He too walked to the rear of

  the coach.

  Rose with Hannah in tow trailed behind Dibbs who sidled around the coach and quickly

  unstrapped the leather cover on the luggage boot. She stood back, waiting her turn while the

  others crowded around pointing out their bags.

  The banker immediately struck off down the road at a brisk pace, soon followed by the

  Hodgkins, leaving Rose on her own. She didn’t relish the idea of having no company while

  walking, and she eyed her carpet bag uncertainly. She hated to leave it behind, but the unwieldy

  thing would be difficult to carry any distance. For now, she would grab their shawls, for here in

  the mountains it cooled down quickly once the sun set. It shouldn’t take too long for them to

  catch up to the Hodgkins.

  “I’ll leave my bag with you, but could you please take it down for me so I can take what we

  need for tonight?” She pointed out her bag.

  “Yes ma’am.” He swung it from the boot and placed it at her feet. He eyed her from top to

  toe and she felt herself flush at his blatant inspection. She’d not paid much attention to him, but

  now she noticed his shifty manner and dark, secretive eyes.

  “Thank you,” she said stiffly, reaching for her bag. He pulled it back and held it away from

  her. His intent was clear—if she wanted the bag, she would have to approach him.

  “You’re a pretty little thing,” smirked the driver. He let go of the handle and the carpet bag

  thumped into the ground behind him. He took a step forward, arms outstretched. “How about a

  little kiss?”

  Rose’s skin tightened and she glanced around wildly for Hannah. Her daughter picked wild

  flowers at the side of the road, a few steps away. “Hannah, come here.”

  “Leave her be. She’s happy.” Dibbs took another step closer, close enough for him to grab

  her forearm.

  Rose tugged and tried to break free, but the man tightened his grip and pulled her toward

  him. “One little kiss,” he said and made a smacking sound with his lips.

  A wave of rage rolled through her. Here was another man who saw her as easy prey and

  thought to take advantage of her. A red haze shrouded her gaze and, hauling up her skirts with

  her one free hand, she kicked him heel first in the groin as hard as she could. A handy trick

  imparted to her by one of Mrs. Beadle’s other tenants, a sweet young teacher who’d had enough

  unwanted attention of her own and who was happy to share a few tips with the only other woman

  in the rooming house.

  Astonishment rippled through his eyes for a split second, then he doubled over. For good

  measure, she kicked him again in the knee. To her surprise, she must have hit him just right, for

  he fell over, landing sideways in the middle of the dusty road.

  Frantic, she grabbed her bag and dashed towards Hannah, yanking her daughter away from

  the ditch and leaving a little pile of crushed flowers in their wake. They headed down the road as

  fast as she could maneuver the two unwieldy packages—a carpet bag, much too big for her to

  carry comfortably, and a recalcitrant daughter who wailed with every step. “Mama, my flowers!”

  “That is a bad man and we have to run away.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. He still lay huddled on the road although he’d managed to

  roll over. He gazed at her through narrowed eyes. Shivers racked her shoulders at the naked

  anger she saw on his face.

  She’d made an enemy and she had no doubt he would come after her hard once he

  recovered. Or maybe not, she reassured herself. He did have a team and stage coach to consider.