PETER’S FIRST SENSATION of consciousness was the rocking of his bed. He thought for a moment he must be dreaming. Beds didn’t rock. He heard voices around him, but he felt too weary to open his eyes. He heard someone call his name.
Grace! He knew it must be her.
Struggling, he tried to say her name. Nothing—not a single sound would come from his lips.
Grace, don’t leave me! he silently pleaded.
The next time he awoke, Peter found himself in a hospital bed. The nurse who hovered over him was an unappealing woman whose pinched expression gave him little hope for his recovery.
“I’ll tell the doctor you’re awake,” she said curtly before turning to leave.
Peter thought to say something, but his throat pained him. The smoke had nearly choked out his voice.
The doctor, a thin man with a compassionate look to him, came to Peter’s bed. “My boy, welcome back to the living. You’re at a hospital in Seattle.”
Peter tried to speak, but again the words were hoarse and inaudible.
“Don’t try to talk, son. The smoke has damaged your vocal cords. Just give it few days of rest and fluids, and you’ll be fine.”
Peter nodded. It felt as though his head were three times the normal size. Every movement hurt, and Peter couldn’t help but wince.
“You took a blow to the head. You were fortunate that you weren’t in the water too long. The captain saw you floating and managed to keep you that way until help arrived.”
Wes had saved his life. Pity he didn’t realize Peter didn’t want to be saved. Peter thought of Grace and of how close he had been to joining her.
The doctor gave Peter a cursory examination, then discussed his orders with the nurse before turning to go. “We don’t expect you to be here long. You’re a strong young man. You’ll heal fast.”
The doctor’s conclusion proved correct. Within a week, Peter found himself nearly as good as new and ready to leave. He’d asked the nurse to write a letter to his mother only the day before. He hoped and prayed she hadn’t heard about the catastrophe on the ship. Or that if she had, she wouldn’t have any reason to believe that Peter was aboard the steamer.
Now that he was out of danger, however, he wanted his parents to know where he was and to tell them about Grace. He wouldn’t do that via letter, he’d decided, but he would explain his journey home and let them know he’d be back in San Francisco within the month.
“You have visitors,” the pinch-faced nurse announced. Then turning to Ephraim and Amelia Colton, she announced, “You may see him for ten minutes. No more.”
“Mother!” Peter said, his voice finally regaining strength and clarity.
“Oh, Peter!” Amelia opened her arms and crossed the room to embrace her bedfast son. “We were so worried. Wesley Oakes telegraphed us and had one of his ships bring us up.”
Peter hugged her close, then pulled away to greet his father. “You look like a new man.”
“I feel fit as a fiddle,” his father announced. “But you look a little worn.”
“I’ve had better days, that’s for sure.”
“Oh, we’re so grateful to Wes,” Amelia continued. “We had no idea you were heading home. What of Grace and Miranda? Did you see them?”
Peter didn’t know what to say. He had hoped to avoid the subject of Grace until later. His mother’s imploring expression, however, made it clear she had come for answers.
“Grace is the reason I was headed back to San Francisco.”
“How so, son?” his father asked.
Peter eased up in bed a bit and folded his hands. Drawing a deep breath, he tried to figure out the easiest way to break the news. “Grace wasn’t with me in Skagway.”
“No, we realize that. She and Miranda were to travel north to Dawson City with Grace’s friend Karen Pierce.”
“You already knew?” Peter questioned. “Why would she do that?”
Amelia became quite grave. “She felt you had abandoned her. And after hearing what had occurred between you two, we had no reason to believe it to be other than true. Then later your letter arrived, but of course Grace and Miranda were long gone.”
“Yes,” Peter murmured. “Gone.”
“Well, I’m certain that if you want to restore your marriage, son,” his father began, “you can make your way north, as well.”
“I can’t restore my marriage,” Peter said flatly. He knew of no other way to tell them the truth of the matter than to simply say it. “I’ve had word regarding Grace. It was the reason I was headed home. You see, I didn’t realize she had gone north until a report came to Skagway that she had met with an accident.”
“What kind of accident?” Amelia questioned, her hand going to her throat.
“Grace apparently fell overboard while their boat fought a storm on Lake Laberge. She was lost.”
“No!” Amelia and Ephraim cried in unison.
“What of Miranda?” his mother quickly added.
“I don’t know. Remember, I didn’t even know they were together until receiving your letter. And you never said in that letter where they’d gone. The Northwest Mounted Police were merely sending down a report of United States citizens whose lives were lost in the territory. They would have no reason to speak of Miranda unless she also had been lost.”
“Oh, son, we’re so sorry. How very hard this must be on you,” Ephraim said solemnly.
“I was coming home to tell you and decide what I should do.”
“Poor little Grace. Such a sweet, sweet girl,” Amelia said, shaking her head. “How very sad this news is.”
“It seems unreal,” Peter replied. He looked to his parents, then past them to the door. “I keep thinking that if I concentrate hard enough, she’ll come walking through that door. We first met here in Seattle, you know. It would be rather seemly that she return to me here.” He shook his head and sighed. “But I know she’s not coming back.” How very empty his life would be without Grace.
“This will not be an easy burden to bear,” Ephraim declared. “But we must help one another through the pain.”
“Oh, my poor sweet Miranda. She must be devastated with the death of Grace,” Amelia said, looking to Ephraim. “Oh, what should we do?”
“It’s too late to get north now,” Peter replied. “The snow is blocking the progress of the train. The routes are often impassable from day to day and the rivers up north are freezing up. We’ll have to wait until spring.”
“But that’s over six months away,” Amelia replied. “What will Miranda do in the meanwhile?”
“She’s with Karen Pierce,” Peter said thoughtfully. “Karen is a good woman, and she’ll be just as devastated as Miranda. They’ll comfort each other. There is another matter, however, on which I wish to speak to you both.”
“What is it, son?” Ephraim asked.
“I want to apologize for my behavior. My actions and opinions reflected a poor character, and I now see myself for the man I was and regret it greatly.”
His mother reached out to touch his hand. “We all make mistakes.”
“Yes, but mine has caused the death of someone I loved very dearly. If I hadn’t acted in the manner I did, Grace would be safely beside me instead of lost in the Yukon.”
“You don’t know that.”
His father’s words did little to offer comfort. “The truth of the matter is, while in Alaska I met a man who helped me to see what Grace had tried to make me see all along. The need for God.” Peter looked to his mother and squeezed her hand. “It seems too late, but I have made my peace with God.”
“Oh, Peter, it could never be too late.” Amelia hugged him close. “With God as your comfort, you will know joy once again. Let Him help you through this.”
“I am,” Peter admitted. Amelia released him and smiled. Peter thought of Martin Paxton for some reason. Perhaps it was because Paxton had become Peter’s greatest challenge to his new faith.
“There’s something else,” Peter said. “Martin Paxton was on the Ellsbeth Marie when she blew up.”
“Yes, we know,” Ephraim replied. “He’s dead.”
“Dead?” Peter hadn’t heard this news.
“He was killed in an explosion,” his father answered.
Peter suddenly felt a chill. “I had gone to help a man who was trapped in his room. The door was blocked, and as I pushed it back, I found myself face-to-face with Martin Paxton. I wanted to leave him there.” Peter looked up. “Does that shock you?”
Ephraim shook his head. “I probably would have felt the same.”
“I thought of what Grace had said about forgiveness—about letting the past go so that real healing could begin. I knew if I left Paxton there, I would never be able to heal. I would never be able to face God.”
“What did you do?” Amelia asked.
“I decided to help him. I pushed the door open and fell into the room as it gave way. Paxton called me a fool, kicked me in the face, and fled, pulling the door closed behind him. I was stunned for a moment and struggled to my feet. I’d barely stood when the explosion cut through the room and blasted me out into the water.”
“Paxton’s evil intent kept you alive,” Ephraim replied. “He thought to leave you to die, but it was his own death he met. While you were protected by the walls of the room, albeit only marginally, Paxton was torn apart by the intensity of the blast.”
Peter found the news disconcerting. “What he’d intended for evil, God used for good. My friend Jonas told me that’s often the way it is with God.”
His mother nodded and reached out to touch her son’s face. “Oh, my dearest, I’m so very grateful that God spared you. I could not bear to lose you.”
“I wanted to be lost,” Peter admitted. “I felt no will to live without Grace.”
“But we need you, son.” His father’s words were firm, not sympathetic or even filled with pity. They were merely stated as fact.
“But without her, my life feels useless. There’s nothing to look forward to. My heart feels cold and lifeless.” Peter closed his eyes and laid his head back on the pillow. “I never had a chance to tell her how sorry I was for my actions. I never had a chance to hold her again—to kiss her. She died thinking me a hateful and mean-spirited man.”
“No,” Amelia interjected. “That’s not true. The last words she spoke to us were of her love for you. She was filled with love for you.”
Peter opened his eyes. His vision blurred from the tears. “She was filled with love, period. She knew the love of God, and it permeated everything about her, including me. I wish she could know how she changed my heart.”
“I’m sure she does,” his mother said, her own tears falling freely. “I’m sure she does.”
————
The taste of muddy water and grit in her mouth did little to rouse the half-conscious Miranda Colton. She had no idea where she was or what had happened. She only knew that the icy cold of the water left her numb and leaden.
Oh, God, she prayed, I’m dying. Perhaps I’m already dead. Oh, God, help me.
She heard voices, in a dialect she found unintelligible and senseless.
She felt herself being rolled over and then lifted from the watery grave of the lakeshore. She lay as dead weight, unable to move or even open her eyes.
Is that you, God? Have you come to take me home?
Her thoughts began to fade. Her time was drawing nigh. She smiled at the thought of heaven.