MARTIN PAXTON CRINGED at the sight of the four walls. His office and living quarters were the best money could buy in Skagway, but the walls were closing in on him. The weather had turned foul, and for three days it had rained and snowed off and on. There was little to entertain himself with, and now that he knew for sure Grace Colton had gone north to Dawson City, he was up against a major decision. Should he send someone to fetch her back? Should he go after her himself?
He thumbed through the latest packet of mail and shook his head. The game with Grace was growing rather dull. Still, he had his reasons. Money. At the bottom of everything that motivated Martin Paxton, money—and large sums of it—was generally the object that caught his attention. Grace Colton had the potential to be worth a fortune to him.
Of course, she didn’t know that. No one did, short of her father’s lawyer in Chicago, and that man had been paid a tidy sum to keep his mouth shut. No, Paxton was the only one who knew Grace stood to inherit a good sum of money upon the day she legally wed. Not even Mrs. Hawkins knew of the arrangement.
Martin himself had only learned the truth of this after Frederick had passed away. And nothing had ever angered him quite so much. It seemed that while Martin was systematically relieving Frederick Hawkins of his fortune, the man had connived to transfer vast sums of money to his daughter. The trust was untouchable—irrevocable. Martin could only suppose that Hawkins had figured Grace to be rid of the marriage agreement between herself and Paxton when she’d fled to the north. He probably assumed he could give his daughter the money, and once Paxton was out of their lives, Hawkins could reclaim his fortune. But he died instead. He died without telling his beloved wife yet another very important fact of his life. The thought of duping the dead man kept Martin going—pressing him to search Grace out. That and his desire to get even with the brat for making him the laughingstock of Chicago.
Even now he could remember the way people had talked about him in the finer dining establishments. More than once he’d taken a table for dinner, only to watch as those around him caught sight of him and began to whisper among themselves. He heard their snickers and knew he was the object of their scorn. Just as he had been as a boy. But no more.
Still, there he stood at a crossroads. He had the ordeal of Colton Shipping to settle, as well as other enterprises that needed his attention. Several of his investments were doing quite poorly, and without his immediate attention, they were sure to go bust. He could chase after Grace or attend to his affairs, but he couldn’t do both. Not with any real assurance of success.
Getting up from his desk, Paxton walked to the window and looked down on Broadway Street. Tracks for the train had been routed through the heart of town only months earlier. And thanks to his investment along with others, the Pacific and Arctic Railway and Navigation Company would soon be the only reasonable way to make passage north.
The country had made him a very wealthy man. It should have been enough. It should have been satisfactory knowing that he had ruined the man who had destroyed his mother—that he had left that man’s family destitute and miserable. He could probably go on paying Hawkins’ lawyer, and Grace would never know of her good fortune. Martin would continue his revenge without Hawkins’ widow and daughter ever even knowing it. But the revenge was hollow. Martin knew his mother would have been disappointed, even ashamed of the way he’d conducted himself. She would never have understood—but Hawkins did, and that was what counted. Hawkins had used his mother as a mistress, and just when she needed him most, he had discarded her, never to return again.
Martin could still see his mother day after day looking out the door or window. Watching and waiting for Hawkins’ return. After a year had passed, she had begun to fade. The life went out of her in the absence of his love.
Convinced the man had met with great distress or even death, Martin had gone in search of him. It hadn’t been difficult to find Hawkins. Everyone in Chicago seemed to know the man—and his family. He could still remember learning the horrible truth. He remembered seeing the grand family all together in their polished surrey. They were traveling to church, as he recalled. All prim and proper—a family.
Hawkins hadn’t met with death or illness; he had simply dismissed the Paxtons without so much as a good-bye. Martin’s anger started to grow on that day, roaring to life like an unquenchable inferno. Turning from the window, Martin knew the fire had somewhat abated now. There came a time when a plan merited reconsideration. He figured that time had come in the situation with Grace Colton.
He regretted having hurt Ephraim Colton. Martin wasn’t, after all, completely without feeling. Still, the man had to understand that what his son had done—what he himself had condoned—did not come without a price. Perhaps the best thing to do was to let things rest for the time and see where Ephraim Colton would take them. Better still, perhaps to avoid the onset of winter, Martin would make his way to San Francisco and offer magnanimously to affect a solution or agreement.
He smiled to himself. He had earned his weight in gold and then some. He could afford to be generous with his mother’s only friend. And in doing so, maybe he could even drive the wedge a bit deeper between Colton and his wayward son. If Ephraim agreed to never allow Peter to return to the business, if he cut him completely from his life, then perhaps Martin could see his way clear to returning Summer Song. It bore some consideration.
————
Peter Colton considered Jonas’s words on the journey to Skagway. He had thought to force Martin Paxton to deal with him, but Jonas’s steady logic kept Peter in check.
“A grizzly bear doesn’t much care how you go about reasonin’ with him,” Jonas had said. “He only wants one thing, and that’s to kill you.”
Paxton would seemingly love nothing more than if Peter would fall over dead. But truth be told, Peter desired the same for Martin Paxton. Funny how all of his worries and problems might simply disappear with the death of one man.
It could be self-defense, Peter reasoned. Then Jonas’s words of warning would come back to haunt him.
“If you go gettin’ yourself in trouble with the law, you’ll never see that pretty wife of yours again.”
No doubt the man was right. So instead of exacting revenge, Peter would simply mail the letter he’d labored over so diligently. He had written to his parents and Miranda and begged their forgiveness. He wanted—needed—them to understand that he’d never intended to let things get so carried away. He’d hurt them. He knew that much. He could only pray they might forgive him.
Forgiveness. It was a hard word for Peter. Grace had talked about it so often that the word left a bitter taste in his mouth. But that had been before. Before his father’s heart attack and Grace’s disappearance. And it had been before Peter had opened his mind and heart to hear what a godly man like Jonas had to say.
Peter posted the letter, hoping it might reach his folks with great speed. He needed to hear from them—to know that all was forgiven and that they were all right. Leaving the letter behind, Peter took himself to the Second Hand Store down the street. Something had been on his mind since Jonas had first started talking to him about letting go of the past.
“Do you have any wedding rings?” he asked the clerk behind the counter.
“We’ve got a couple,” the man said with a grin. “Find yourself a little gal to marry, did you?”
“I’m already married,” Peter replied. “Just never got around to finding the ring.”
The man chuckled. “Well, here’s what I’ve got.” He plopped down two rings. “Don’t know what you had in mind, but I got these rings off a wealthy woman who was bartering for gear.”
Peter hadn’t thought of the rings belonging to someone else. He really wanted Grace to have her own brand-new ring. “Don’t you have something . . . well . . . something not used?”
The man frowned. “This is a used goods store.”
Peter nodded. “Do you suppose anyone else in town has rings?”
The man shrugged. “I wouldn’t doubt it. There are some jewelers working down on Fourth Street. Making all sorts of doodads and such out of gold nuggets. You might get them fellows to make you a ring.”
Peter thought it just might be exactly what he needed. Thanking the man, he made his way to the jeweler and posed his question.
“I just need a simple wedding band,” Peter told the man.
“Do you know the lady’s ring size?”
Peter’s heart sank. “No.”
“She a big gal or little?”
“Oh, she’s small. Very small. Why, her hand is quite tiny in mine.” Peter held up his hand to demonstrate.
The jeweler slipped into the back and returned with a plain gold band. The small circle seemed to gleam with a life of its own. “That’s perfect,” Peter declared, hoping it would be the right size.
“It should fit, if she’s as small as you say. That’ll be a dollar and thirty cents.”
Peter put the money on the counter and pocketed the ring. “Thanks.”
He drew the ring out once he was headed back to camp. Holding it up to see it in the sun, Peter thought of Grace and how he should have given her a wedding band a long time ago. Why had he put it off? Maybe his actions had caused her to think he was less than serious about their marriage, but that was far from the truth.
Peter loved his wife. He loved her more than life, and it hurt to think she no longer cared for him. After all, if she loved him, why hadn’t she waited for him? Or at least left him a note to let him know where she’d be?
He wondered if Grace was really with Paxton. It didn’t make sense for her to seek his help, but she had accompanied Peter’s father to see him. Perhaps the real problem is that I don’t know her very well, he thought. She had the loveliest brown eyes in the country, and her voice was soft and gentle—warming his heart just with the memory. But those were outward qualities. Peter needed to know her heart.
Rubbing his finger over the ring, Peter’s soul cried out within him. Oh, please let me find her.
————
Jonas had supper on the stove when Peter got back to their tent. They had thrown their lots together, and with the snow collecting in the passes, the railroad’s progress was slowing down. There were rumors that the men would all be laid off and that progress wouldn’t resume until spring. Peter had no idea of what he might do in the meantime.
“So’d you get that letter posted?” Jonas asked, wiping his hands against his pants.
“I did. I also did something else I should have done a long time ago.”
“What’s that?” the man eyed him as if trying to guess his answer.
“I bought Grace a wedding ring. Now if I can just find her.”
“The good Lord is in the business of finding the lost. You might want to ask Him,” Jonas stated. Then, without waiting for further comment, he turned back to the stove. “I’ve got beans and corn bread if you’re of a mind to eat with me.”
“I’m starved,” Peter replied, taking off his coat. He slipped the ring from his coat pocket to his pants pocket and grabbed a tin plate. Peter dished up beans and threw a big hunk of corn bread into the tin as well. “You suppose they’ll close down the line?”
Jonas joined him at the table with his own plate of food. “They just might. It wouldn’t be that strange to have them wait until warmer weather.”
Peter feared Jonas was probably right. He stared at his plate for a moment, then looked at Jonas. “Are you going to pray?”
The older man grinned. “I thought maybe it was about time you did.”
“You may be right at that,” Peter answered, his tone quite serious. “But I think I’ll require a teacher to show me how.”
“Don’t know as I’ve ever taught anything of such value before,” Jonas said. “But I’m game to try.”