Gold Rush Baby. Dorothy Clark
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nodded, her gaze solemn. “I will not tell them you follow your heart.” She glanced over her shoulder, stepped closer. “Go to the back of the school, then beyond the cabins to Dunkle’s farm—where the goats are penned. Walk straight to the trees on the mountain. There is a path in the woods my people use to go to the waterfall. You will not be seen.”
“Thank you, Teena.” Viola gave her a quick hug, then opened the door and stepped outside.
“I will pray.” The door closed.
The soft words brought comfort, hope. She walked through the back lots toward the school, slipping in and out of the dusky light as the shadows of the buildings covered her. The sound of the sheriff’s voice, the mumblings of the crowd trailed after her. She shivered, wished for a jacket, though the night was not cold. The chill was inside her.
At the school she paused in the shadows, swept her gaze over the cabins, then stepped out into the fading luminance and crossed the open area toward the Johnson brothers’ cabin. There would be no eyes gazing out of windows there. Last week she had mended a rent in Uriah Johnson’s tent so he could take it with them on their trek up the Chilkoot Trail to the gold fields. She kept to the left side of the cabin, using it as a barrier to hide her from the Tucker cabin. If Frankie looked out a window and saw her, she would come to investigate. And she could abide no more delays. She moved on past the Monroe home, and once beyond the cluster of cabins, quickened her steps to the Dunkle farm.
The goats gamboled over to the fence to greet her. Tears clogged her throat. Goldie’s feeding bottle was at home. How would… She forced down her imaginings and ran to the edge of the woods at the foot of the mountain, then stepped into the welcome darkness. Silence pressed in on her. Help me find the way, Lord. She moved forward slowly, searching through the dim light for the Tlingit path. The feel of forest loam pressed firm beneath her feet, assuring her she had found it. She turned and followed in the direction of the waterfall.
She had to reach the cemetery before the sheriff and the others arrived. Before the kidnapper came.
Chapter Two
The water roared over the mountain ledge in a silver deluge that washed the face of the layered rock, foamed over and slithered through the piled boulders, then whispered its way into the creek flowing toward town.
Toward the cemetery.
Viola shivered, studied the deep shadows beneath the towering firs. She spotted no one lurking in the depths, and moved forward until the woods opened onto a small clearing and she could see the fence. And the gate.
She should have stayed and made the sheriff listen to her. What if the kidnapper was expecting a woman? What if he saw Mack coming and sensed a trap? Bile burned its way into her throat. She leaned back against the massive trunk of a tree, its branches laden with yellow leaves, and closed her eyes. Please, Lord. She’s a helpless little baby. Please protect her.
A violent shaking took her. Tears stung her eyes. She took a deep breath, blinked them away, and opened her eyes and stared at the gate. If there was one thing her past had taught her, it was that tears never helped. The light grew dimmer, slid toward deep purple. Twilight back home. Nearly midnight here.
A figure emerged out of the shadowed distance, strode across the cemetery and stopped by the gate. She watched Mack Tanner sweep the woods with a long, searching gaze, willed him to hurry and do what the kidnapper asked. He pulled a small bag from his pocket, held it aloft, then bent from the waist and placed it on the ground at the foot of one of the gate posts, turned and walked off the way he had come.
It was done. Now they had only to wait. Where were Thomas Stone and Dr. Calloway and the sheriff? She scanned left and right, saw nothing but trees and rocks and shadows. Where was the kidnapper? What if he didn’t come? What if he’d seen one of the men? Or her? What if he left with Goldie? The shaking took her again. She shouldn’t have come. She should have listened to the sheriff and stayed at home. Maybe…
Movement at the edge of the woods caught her eye. Her heart jolted. Was that him? She stared into the shadowy gloom formed by the thick growth of trees, made out the blanket-wrapped bundle the man carried, a gun in his other hand.
Lord, don’t let him see me. Keep Goldie safe.
She pressed back against the tree trunk, felt the rough bark bite into her palms and back, the pulse throbbing at her temples and the base of her throat. Footsteps neared, turned away, stopped. Where was he?
She strained against the silence, broken only by the sibilance of the creek flowing by. Her ears failed her. So did her lungs. They were as frozen as the glaciers atop the high mountains. She inched her head to the left. He was there, crouched behind a pile of huge rocks, looking toward the cemetery.
Time stopped. She dug her nails into the bark to hold herself from running to him and snatching the baby away. She stared at the bundle. It was quiet…still. Why wasn’t Goldie moving? Or cooing? She loved to wave her little fists in the air and chatter her baby talk. Fear seized her, dropped like a rock into the pit of her stomach. Rage burned away the ice in her lungs. She took a deep breath, clenched her hands. If he had hurt the baby…
She jerked, yanked her head back. He had glanced her way. Had he seen her? She checked to make certain her long skirt was hidden, inched her head to the right and peered around the opposite side of the tree trunk. What was he doing? Heart pounding, she watched as the man rose to a half stoop and moved toward a dead tree beside the pile of rocks. He placed the bundle in the hollow base of the tree, gave another scan of the area, then, gun raised, stepped into the small clearing and walked toward the cemetery.
She held her breath and waited. I’m coming, Goldie. Oh, baby, don’t be afraid. I will get you as soon as he is far enough away that I can get across the clearing. No! She jerked her gaze toward the movement on the right, saw a man slipping through the trees toward the stones. Toward the bundle. They had set a trap. There were two of them! They had never intended to return Goldie. Could she reach the baby first?
She grasped her skirts, lifted the hems, then let them fall and leaned back against the tree again. The distance across the open area was too great. She would follow the man. She glanced toward the kidnapper. He was opening the gate, reaching down for the gold. When he turned back, she— Her thoughts froze, focused on the sheriff who was edging around the small building in the middle of the cemetery.
A stone flew out of the woods and crashed against the pile of rocks. She jumped, gasped.
The kidnapper looked up, spun around and raced back toward the stones.
The sheriff shouted and gave chase.
Goldie! She had to get her! Viola whirled, saw a man break from the woods and sprint toward the rocks. Thomas Stone!
The kidnapper stopped, raised his gun.
“No! Don’t—”
The report of a shot slammed against her ears, echoed off the mountain. Thomas Stone lurched, ran forward, grabbed the bundle and ran back into the woods. He had saved Goldie! Joy flooded her. She grabbed her skirt, lifted her hems. Another shot rang out. The kidnapper staggered, fell. She turned and ran. Shouts, grunts and curses followed her to the woods.
Thomas Stone was sitting with his back to a tree, the unwrapped baby in his arms. He smiled when she skidded to a stop, dropped to her knees and reached for the baby. “She’s all right.”
Viola nodded, clutched Goldie to her breast and looked at him. “Thank you, Mr. Stone. I—” She stared. The left side of his shirt was soaked with blood. “He shot you.” The whispered words brought a crooked grin to his face.
“It appears so.” He tried to rise, grimaced, sank back and closed his eyes. The blood stain spread.
Her heart clutched. “Don’t move, Mr. Stone. I’ll get the doctor.” She put Goldie on his outstretched legs, lurched to her feet and ran.
“He’s coming around, Viola. He’s going to be all right.”
Her