Where Heaven Begins

Chapter Nine

And Jesus said unto him, Receive thy sight: thy faith hath saved thee.

—St. Luke 18:42

“Lizzy.”

Mama?

Elizabeth was sure she’d heard her mother calling her. No one else ever referred to her as Lizzy. She searched the dark waters. Nothing. Was her mother calling her home to heaven? Should she allow her lungs to give up and just breathe in the icy water, allowing herself to drown?

“The Father is with you,” her mother told her.

Something strong bumped her, then grabbed her, lifted her. She was near the point of passing out from holding her breath, and from futile efforts to bring herself back to the water’s surface. She felt herself rising, rising now instead of sinking. Someone had found her! Who? How many others had fallen overboard when the railing broke?

Thank you, Jesus!

In the next moment her head broke above water and she gasped, desperately gulping air, blessed air. She was alive!

“Hang on to me!” a man’s voice commanded.

She obeyed, still not even aware of who it was. He clung to her with one arm and used his other arm to swim.

“Kick your feet a little,” he told her.

“I can’t swim!”

“Just kick your feet the best you can.”

This time the words were shouted. She obeyed, surprised that kicking her feet actually helped. She dug into a muscled back with her right hand as she clung to whoever held her. “Don’t let go!” she found herself begging, her words coming through chattering teeth.

The arm holding her tightened. “I didn’t jump into this ice bath just to let go of you after finding you,” he shouted in reply.

Clint? It sounded like Clint Brady! Had he also fallen in from the broken railing, or had he deliberately dived in after her? Those thoughts flickered through her brain as she struggled against the cruel cold of the water and kept kicking in spite of the weight of her dress and shoes. Between the heavy fog and the water splashing into her eyes, she could barely see a thing, including the man rescuing her. A small boat appeared out of nowhere, and the man led her to it, lifting her slightly.

“Grab on!”

Now Elizabeth could hear other voices, men yelling for help. Two men in the boat reached for her, and the man who’d helped her put his hand on her rump and gave her a boost. She managed to climb over the side of the smaller boat and literally fall into it.

“Hello!” one of the men in the boat shouted. “We’re here! We’ve got a boat. Swim toward our voices.”

Coughing and shivering, Elizabeth managed to sit up and stare over the side of the boat. What had happened to Clint?

“You’ll be okay now, ma’am,” one of those in the boat told her. “We got rammed by another steamer, but the Damsel will make it to the closest island. We’ll get help right quick, and we’ll still make it to Skagway.”

Breathless, Elizabeth couldn’t even answer. She recognized the man as one of the Damsel’s crew. Another man removed his pea coat and put it around her shoulders. Elizabeth very gladly pulled it closer, wondering if she would ever feel warm again. She continued gasping as she waited, watching for Clint to emerge.

After a few minutes two more men came to the side of the boat. To her relief she could see Clint was one of them. The fog seemed to be lifting slightly, enough that she realized Clint had gone out to save someone else. He helped the man to the boat and left yet again, seemingly immune to the cold water.

Minutes later he again returned with yet another man. This time he climbed inside after the man he’d helped. He fell to the bottom of the boat, breathing hard, and Elizabeth noticed he wore only a shirt and pants—no jacket, no gun and no boots or even socks! Surely he hadn’t fallen in accidentally at all. He’d taken a moment to half undress so he could swim better, having every intention of rescuing as many as he could.

He sat up and put his head in his hands, still breathing deeply, and there came another cry for help, somewhere in the fog. Clint stood up and dove off the small boat again.

“Clint!” Elizabeth screamed.

Moments later he returned with a third man. Both of them climbed into the boat.

“I hope…that’s all of them,” Clint panted.

“It’s a mighty fine thing you did, mister,” one of the crewmen told him.

“Where did you learn to swim so good?” one of those he’d rescued asked.

“Lake Michigan,” Clint answered, “a long time ago. I wasn’t so sure I’d have the strength I needed, it’s been so long.” He took several more deep breaths. “Good thing I got the last of you. I was about out of breath.” He coughed and glanced at Elizabeth. “You all right?”

“I think so. Oh, Clint, how can I thank you enough? First my handbag, now this—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he waved her off. He coughed again, then sneezed. “Let’s get back to the Damsel,” he told one of the crewmen, who began rowing.

The crewmen and others from the ship began shouting back and forth to each other, and in moments the Damsel, its back end sitting low in the water, came into sight. Another ship sat close by.

“She’s takin’ on water, but she’ll make it to the closest island,” one of the crewmen repeated. Men on board threw down ropes, and the crewmen rigged them to trollies on each end of the smaller boat, tossing the ends back up to the deck, where men began hauling the lifeboat upward in even jerks until it was high enough for the passengers to climb onto the deck.

Clint helped lift Elizabeth, and she couldn’t help being aware of his strength. Men on deck helped her the rest of the way up, then helped Clint climb on deck. Those he’d rescued were already telling others what Clint had done and what a good swimmer he was. There came a round of thank-yous, and Clint took Elizabeth’s arm.

“You’re coming to my cabin whether you want to or not. No arguments! You’re getting out of those wet clothes and under some covers, and then you’re going to pray you don’t get sick.”

The words were spoken with such command that Elizabeth didn’t even consider arguing. She had to half run to keep up with him as he directed her to the wooden steps that led to cabins on the second level. She lifted her soaked dress and managed to climb the stairs, feeling more and more weary with every step, worn out from her struggle, shivering fiercely from the cold. She followed Clint through a door.

“What about the steamer? Isn’t it sinking?” she asked Clint.

“They said we’d get to the closest island, and I believe them. Other ships will come along to help us. They’ll figure it out.” Clint closed the door. “Meantime, we’re on the second level. We can probably stay right here until help arrives.”

We? “I…what will I change into? What about my things below?”

“I’ll go get them for you. You get yourself undressed and under those covers.”

“But…I don’t have anything to wear!”

Looking rather disgusted, Clint dug through a duffel bag and threw a shirt at her. “Put this on and just get under the covers. I’ll be back.”

Still soaked and shivering himself, he left before Elizabeth could say a thing. She looked around the tiny room, lit by a lantern and warmed by a small, potbelly stove. She could see glowing embers through the partially open vent. She felt totally bewildered, full of questions, as she began undressing.

Realizing Clint could come back any time, Elizabeth hastily removed her dress, her many slips, her now-squishy high-button shoes, her stockings, and her camisole. Her money fell out. She gasped and quickly gathered it up, looking around for a place to put it, then turned and shoved it under the feather mattress of Clint’s narrow bed.

She then removed her wet drawers. “Oh, dear Lord!” she lamented. She was completely naked, but how else was she to dry off and get warm? Still, she was in a man’s cabin, about to crawl into a man’s bed! How humiliating!

She hurriedly put on the shirt he’d given her, which was far too big. It fell past her knees, but as far as she was concerned, it still didn’t cover her legs enough. Elizabeth looked around again, noticing Clint’s six-gun hanging over the back of a wooden chair, looking so intimidating and dangerous. She noticed a towel lying beside a bowl and pitcher, and she grabbed it up to dry her hair as best she could, taking out the few pins left in it.

Suddenly she felt nauseated and dizzy. She crawled under the covers, pulling them over herself and settled into the pillow, relishing the warmth of the room, the comfort of the first bed she’d slept in for over a week. She could smell Clint’s scent in the pillow, a very pleasant, manly scent, much nicer than the smells below deck. The room itself smelled of cigarettes, leather and wood smoke.

She watched the red coals of the stove, and thought what a blessing fire could be.

“Thank You, Jesus,” she whispered, “for fire, for saving me…for Clint Brady.” Oh, how wonderful felt the warmth of that potbelly stove! She thought about hearing her mother’s voice. “Thank you, Mama,” she whispered.

Chapter Ten

Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.

—St. Matthew 10:31

Elizabeth stirred, for a brief moment remembering lying in bed at home in San Francisco, the smell of bacon cooking downstairs, knowing her mother was in the kitchen preparing breakfast. She loved those moments, the peace, the feeling of love and safety.

In seconds she came fully awake, realizing she was not in her own bed at home at all and gradually remembering where she really was. She lay still a moment, blinking open her eyes to see through the porthole in the steel door of the cabin. It was light out. How long had she slept? She turned over, at first watching a small fire in the potbelly stove, then realizing through the bit of light that came through the porthole that a man was sitting on the floor near the stove, quietly smoking. He had long legs and wore denim pants.

It was only then that she became fully aware of where she was and what had happened. She jerked the blankets to her neck. She put a hand to her hair, realizing it was entirely undone.

“Good morning,” came Clint’s low voice.

Elizabeth thought a moment. Morning? The accident had happened midmorning. Had she slept such a short while? “I…good morning,” she answered, feeling embarrassed and awkward. “What time is it?”

He took a long drag on his cigarette, then reached over and flicked it through the slats of the wood burner. “About nine-thirty.”

Elizabeth frowned. Nine-thirty? “But…it was later than that when I fell overboard.”

“Yup.” Clint sneezed before continuing. “About twenty-two hours ago.”

“What! You mean it’s the next day?”

“Yes, ma’am. You’ve had a right good sleep.”

Astounded, Elizabeth put her hand to her mouth. “I don’t believe it!”

Clint stretched, sneezed again, excused himself. “Well, it’s true. We’ve been stranded here since the accident. They’re hoping to load some of the passengers onto the next ship that comes by, then more on the next and so forth, till we’re all off and on our way to Skagway. We ought to be able to get off later today and make Skagway by tomorrow morning.”

Elizabeth rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling. “Oh, I’m so embarrassed, and so sorry! Where on earth did you sleep last night?”

“Outside under the stars. Doesn’t bother me much. I’ve spent plenty of nights sleeping on the hard ground with a saddle for a pillow. I just now came in to get warm.”

Elizabeth struggled to untangle her thoughts. She pulled the blankets clear up to her nose. “This is terrible. I’m so sorry, and so embarrassed.”

“You already said that, and I have no idea why you think that way.”

“But I’ve put you out…and what must the other men think, me sleeping here in your cabin.”

He sneezed yet again, then cleared his throat. “They can think what they want. Besides, most of them are only concerned with how soon they can get on another ship and get themselves to Skagway. They’re all pretty upset that they’ve had a setback, all anxious to get to their gold. I can tell you right now that most of them won’t find any. I can think of a lot of ways to make good money a lot faster and with less discomfort.”

By killing wanted men? She wanted to ask.

Clint leaned forward and rubbed at the back of his neck, squinting slightly as though in pain. Then he sneezed again.

“Are you catching a cold, Mr. Brady?”

He reached toward a saddle bag and pulled out a handkerchief. “I’ll be all right.”

She watched him quietly a moment. “You could get very sick, after what you did yesterday. Those men and I owe you a lot, me especially. That’s the second time you’ve helped me.” Her throat swelled with a sudden urge to cry. “I was so sure I was going to die. How can I ever, ever thank you enough?”

He shrugged. “I just reacted. I used to be a pretty good swimmer.” He leaned his head back against the wall.

“I think I remember you saying something about Lake Michigan to someone. Is that where you learned to swim?”

He waited a moment to answer. “I was a kid,” he finally told her. “I grew up near Chicago. Then my folks got tired of city life and moved to Nebraska to farm. My mother died when I was seventeen, my father the next year, which left me on my own. I didn’t much like the humidity and the mosquitoes in that part of the country, so I headed for California. I’d heard others talk about how nice it was there.”

Elizabeth listened to the sound of heated wood snapping and popping in the stove. It relaxed her. “My parents came west from Illinois, too, only farther south from Chicago. I never got to see the Great Lakes. Are they as big and beautiful as I’ve heard?”

He drew a deep breath. “From what I can remember. It’s been years. I do remember that Lake Michigan was so big that you couldn’t see the other side of it. Big ships, much bigger than this steamer, would dock in Chicago, bringing goods from practically all over the world, mostly from Europe and, of course, from places like Boston and New York City.” He rubbed at his eyes. “But that was a long time ago. Chicago is probably all changed and a heck of a lot bigger by now.”

“I’m sorry about your parents. It must have been hard for you. It sounds like you had no brothers or sisters.”

“Neither one.” The air hung quiet for a moment. “I still miss them sometimes. They were good Christian people.” He sneezed again and kept rubbing at his eyes.

Elizabeth was surprised at his reference to “good Christian people.” This man apparently had had a Christian upbringing. What on earth had turned him to the life he led now? Youthful curiosity left her dying to ask, but good manners meant not prying into other people’s business, especially not a man she suspected gave such information only when good and ready.

“I’m sorry you’re not feeling well,” she told him. “If you will leave for a while I’ll get dressed, you can have your bed back.” Privately she thought how wonderful it would feel to stay in the bed all day. “And again I’m sorry to take it from you for so long. I must have been far more exhausted than I thought. All the time I’ve been on this boat I’ve barely slept for all the noise and stench below, and worrying about someone trying to rob me. And then nearly drowning yesterday…” Again she remembered her mother calling to her. “My mother’s sweet spirit must be very strong.”

Clint frowned. “What do you mean?”

Elizabeth turned on her side and curled up. “She called to me. She’s the reason you jumped into the water, you know…my mother…and God.”

He grunted a laugh. “They were, were they?”

“I’m serious, Mr. Brady. They used you to help me.”

He simply chuckled wryly and shook his head.

“You don’t believe in the spirits of dead loved ones being able to reach out to you?”

He took several long seconds to answer. “Maybe…sometimes.” Again he sneezed. He took a moment to blow his nose. “I’m surprised you believe in such things. Isn’t it anti-Christian to believe in spirits?”

“Oh, on the contrary. For one thing, we don’t really die anyway, not those who truly have loved and served God. We just travel heaven’s pathway to a beautiful home filled with peace and flowers and the glory of God. I like to believe that since our spirits simply take on a new form and live on with God, He allows us to hover close to our loved ones still living on earth and to help them however we can. God surely has enough to do. I believe He uses our spirits to help Him with His constant vigil to protect and love His children on earth.”

He shook his head again, grunting a little as he stood up and stretched. “Well, I don’t see where He does a very good job of protecting those still on earth. And me managing to find you like I did was just a quirk—nothing special.”

She smiled softly. “You don’t really believe that. The other men you helped were thrashing and yelling, easier to find. But me, I was sinking far below the surface, yet you found me. No one could ever convince me that God and my mother didn’t have something to do with that.”

Clint rummaged in one of his own carpet bags and pulled out yet another clean shirt. He began unbuttoning the one he wore, and Elizabeth’s eyes widened when she realized he was going to take it off in front of her! Other than black men working on the wharf in San Francisco, she’d never seen a man with his shirt off! She pulled the blankets over her head. “Mr. Brady!”

“What?”

“Couldn’t you wait until I’m gone to change your shirt?”

This time his light laughter sounded genuine. “You’ve never seen a man with his shirt off?”

“Of course not!”

“Not even your father or your brother?”

“Heavens no!”

Elizabeth heard the soft rustle of clothes. “Lady, your situation is even worse than I thought.”

Elizabeth waited, refusing to uncover her eyes.

“You can look now,” he finally told her.

Slowly she pulled the covers away to see him wearing a shirt and a leather vest. He was leaning over pulling on socks and boots.

“I think these boots have dried out,” he told her as he finished dressing. “By the way, in case you didn’t notice, I brought your things up from below, and I laid your wet clothes around the room to dry out.” He sneezed again. “I’ll leave for a while and you can dress and go to the kitchen and get something to eat, such as it is. At least you can get some hot coffee. You might as well pack up as best you can and be prepared to leave the ship later today. Next stop is Skagway. It’s a good thing you got some rest. You’ll need it when you reach that town. Rough and lawless, they say.” He straightened. “Did your money survive?”

“Yes, it’s under your mattress.”

He grinned and shook his head again. “Don’t tell me you thought I’d steal it.”

“Well, I…I just wasn’t sure where to put it.”

He chuckled. “Just make sure you stuff it back into your camisole.” He winked. “Where it’s dang sure safe.”

He walked out the door, and Elizabeth wanted to crawl through the cracks in the floors and disappear. She looked around the room to see that Clint had indeed hung her clothes all about the cabin to dry—including her camisole, under slips and drawers!

She closed her eyes in humiliation.

Chapter Eleven

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: Now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

—1 Corinthians 13:12

Skagway, August 20, 1898

Clint could see the outline of Skagway in the distance, visible only because of smoke and steam from the stacks of other steamers docked there. The crew of the Damsel had managed to keep the steamer’s leak in check enough to bring the ship into the “jumping-off” town with the help of a tugboat sent from there. That meant that everyone on board the Damsel could stay there and be towed in, much to the chagrin of some who were bent on getting to the town a day sooner.

Clint wouldn’t have minded if not for the fact that waiting the extra day had meant letting Elizabeth Breckenridge sleep in his cabin one more night. Try as he might, he couldn’t get the picture of her in his bed out of his mind.

If ever his resolve to resist temptation had been tested to the limit, the last two nights had been it. He’d managed until now not to think about how long it had been since he’d been with a woman. After Jenny was killed, all desire for any other woman in his life had left him. After a matter of time, he’d not even cared about being with easy women, let alone giving one thought to truly having feelings for any woman ever again.

So why had Elizabeth Breckenridge changed all that? It made him so angry he could spit. This was never supposed to happen to him again. For one thing, it was dangerous to care. That meant risking having his heart shattered yet again, and it wasn’t even mended from the first disaster. Besides that, he was full of too much hatred and anger to find room for caring about anyone. He hadn’t even cared about himself for the past four years. How many times had he wished that in pursuit of a criminal he’d get shot and killed so the pain in his heart would go away forever? Then he could be with Jenny…and little Ethan.

There came the sharp pain again, so real that it made him grasp the rail and bend over. For months now he’d managed to stop thinking about his son altogether. Maybe, just maybe, he could have gotten over Jenny, if only he still had his little boy…his sweet, innocent, joyful little blue-eyed, blond-haired son named after his daddy. From the day he’d had to look at that beautiful child lying dead he’d never again used his real first name, because every time someone would call him Ethan he’d think about that baby. He used only his middle name now. That helped some.

A hard sneeze brought him out of the pain of the past long enough to remember how lousy he felt today. This was the worst cold he’d ever experienced, and it hadn’t helped sleeping on the deck last night. It had rained, as it seemed to do several times a day in this place, but at night it was a cold rain that went to the bone. He’d covered himself with a tarp, but the dampness had enveloped him anyway. Every bone and muscle in his body ached. It hurt to breathe, hurt even more to cough, hurt to look at bright light, hurt to move at all.

As soon as he reached Skagway he hoped to find one available hotel room where he could stay in bed for a day or two before heading into God-knew-what in his effort to reach Dawson. He could only hope that the holdup wouldn’t mean missing his chance to corral Roland Fisher. If he somehow heard Clint was after him, he might slip away.

Life sure had taken a strange turn since he’d first tackled the man who stole Elizabeth’s handbag. Something about this whole trip just didn’t seem right, kind of like he suddenly was not in full control of his life. Elizabeth weighed on his mind like an anvil, and try as he might, he couldn’t keep from feeling like he should watch out for her. He thought he’d be glad to reach Skagway, where he could let her go her own way. If that meant she’d really be dumb enough to try to reach Dawson this late in the year, then so be it. And yet the thought of it drove him nuts. How could he let her try to do that alone? Stupid as the idea was, he had to admire her gumption…and her unending faith that God would help her.