Allie Pleiter - Yukon Wedding

I’ll do whatever it takes to stay here, she told herself as she pulled the cabin door shut behind her with a declarative slam. Whatever it takes.

She turned and looked at Mack through the cabin’s only window. Even if it takes him. The tears she’d held in finally burst out in sobs so great they shook Georgie as he clung to her side.

He stood perhaps a hundred paces from her home, staring at her closed door. The patient, dark expression on his face mirrored the way he looked that awful night Jed died. She’d cursed him that night two months ago, cursed their plans to carve a wholesome community out of the greedy scramble that Alaska had become. She’d gone so far as to accuse Mack of urging Jed on too far, of leading Jed to his death as if he’d sent the avalanche himself.

Mack had stood there then, dark and silent as he was now, letting her call all sorts of guilt down on his head, without a single word of dispute. Mack hadn’t killed Jed; Jed’s own greed led him to his death, driving him to the point where he ignored the Indian guide’s advice to stay off the trail that Sunday. He seemed to accept her hate as his penance for not keeping Jed from his foolish self.

She hated the thought that his repeated proposals were just more of the same penance—obligation rather than affection. Affection would have followed her into the cabin, swept her off her feet with some dashing kiss and spun her around the room like the world’s finest prize, the way Jed had done.

As it was, obligation stood in her front yard, angry but immovably resolved, like some sort of monument to their mutual resignation.

Mercy, Lana, she lectured herself in her mother’s voice, you can’t hate him like this. It’s no way to start.

Lana wiped her eyes. Alaskan women never admitted defeat. Alaskan women figured out how to carve a life from the harsh realities around them. If she wanted to be an Alaskan woman she needed to steel herself and face facts. And the fact was Mack Tanner was her only option if Georgie was to have a decent home and father.

Stepping into a future she hoped was worth her present pain, Lana pulled open the cabin door. “You’d best come inside and settle things.”

Mack couldn’t even believe he had to ask. “Why did you finally agree to my proposal?”

Lana looked surprised, as if it was obvious. Why were women always so impossible? Why would something so cryptic as why one proposal gets accepted when the previous six were declined be obvious?

She broke a biscuit in half and handed it to Georgie as he sat on the rug. For the hundredth time Mack looked into the tot’s dark eyes and saw Jed’s face stare back at him.

“Would you like me to say it was your irresistible charm?”

Glory, she was infuriating. “I think I’m entitled to the truth, don’t you?”

“Truth. Oh, that’s an ideal to be sure. We’ve got far too much of it up here, and loads more deception besides, wouldn’t you say?”

Odd as the paradox was, Lana had a point. Alaska overflowed with deceived folks slamming up against the harshness of truth. It was part of the reason he’d come here with Jed, to build a town that gave folks the truth about surviving the Chilkoot Trail. Treasure Creek had no saloons and no swindlers, only good, honest folk bent on equipping stampeders for the very real dangers ahead.

They’d founded Treasure Creek with a single building—the church, as a matter of principle—but God had blessed their efforts and Treasure Creek was growing almost faster than anyone could manage. Every man they convinced to leave off the foolhardy pursuits of the gold digging was a victory to Mack. Every ill-prepared or deceived man who died up there seemed a tragic, preventable loss.

Losses like Jed. “Why?” he repeated, more softly this time. She’d clearly been up all night and crying besides, so it can’t have been an easy decision. She deserved whatever tenderness his baffled surprise could muster.

Lana straightened her spine, resolve settling her expression into a quiet he’d not seen on her before. “There wasn’t another way,” she said matter-of-factly.

He’d known that all along. Spirited as she was, Lana wasn’t made of strong enough stock to go it alone. Nevertheless, it jarred him to hear her put it so bluntly. He didn’t know what he expected from the moment, but it wasn’t this. Her answer was more surrender than agreement. It wasn’t as though he expected enthusiasm, but her tone couldn’t help but confirm marriage to him was a last-chance proposition.

Mack stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I was thinking it might be best if we went off to Skaguay to marry. Day after tomorrow. Skip trying to do the wedding here and just keep it private. I’ve got some business in town anyways,” he added, afraid to admit he was doing it mostly for her sake. “So I thought maybe the Tucker sisters would take Georgie for a day or two. You could do some shopping while you’re there. Things for the house and all.”

Suddenly it felt brazen to refer to the fact that she’d be moving in. Which was nonsense—of course she’d be moving in—but it just opened up a whole, wriggly issue of what kind of marriage he had in mind. He’d been clear about it before: he was offering his protection without expecting anything—anything in return. She just never seemed to believe him. The air in the cabin grew hot and prickly, and he looked around the room in the gap of silence. It was one of Treasure Creek’s nicer cabins—he and Jed had seen to that—but nice by Treasure Creek standards was a far cry from what he knew Lana was used to. What Lana had wanted.

In what Jed had always referred to as “the high times,” the Bristow place was lush and showy. Now, despite how little she had, Lana still managed to add fancy touches. The crude table in her cabin always had a tablecloth, even if it was cut from an old skirt. She always carried a handkerchief everywhere she went. He thought it ridiculous when she’d sewn a ruffle to the oilcloth that covered the cabin window to make it look more like a curtain. Now he couldn’t picture her windows without it.

“There’ll be no…expectations,” he reassured her again, feeling ridiculously awkward. “Our arrangement is purely for your protection. And Georgie’s.”

Lana took forever to answer. And even before she did, she gestured for him to sit down at the table, then arranged herself carefully opposite him. She smoothed the worn little tablecloth out with her hands. “I suppose Skaguay would be a good idea.”

“Still, I want you to know I intend to do this up right.” He’d buy her a fine wedding dress, good meals and they’d stay in a nice hotel far from the seedy side of town. Of course, Skaguay didn’t really have a nice part—the entire city was a wild, lawless den of thieves—but it was also one of the few places nearby where things of any civility could be had. Refinements were important to Lana, and he owed her that much.

Mack also knew, without her saying it, that a town-wide, smiling-faced wedding in Treasure Creek would be more than she could bear. This marriage was raw, difficult territory for both of them. A little privacy was the only decent thing to do under the circumstances. That, and the very practical consideration that there wasn’t anyone capable of legally marrying them in Treasure Creek. Mack knew the town needed a preacher, but now Mack personally needed to ensure that more than his impassioned but unordained preaching filled the pulpit at Treasure Creek Christian Church. “We can have a fine meal and some new clothes. Get some nice things,” he repeated, getting back to the subject at hand. “For you. For Georgie.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’ve made my decision, Mack. There’s no need to lure me in.”