Rosanne Bittner - Where Heaven Begins

After nearly a half hour of staying close enough to be seen in spite of the fog, they swam off to the distance, disappearing into the mist. Only minutes later their show was replaced by the antics of a huge herd of chattering dolphins that jumped and rolled and played alongside the ship. The comical sight made Elizabeth and others laugh, and it seemed the blue creatures were laughing with them. They reminded Elizabeth of little children.

It felt good to laugh. Elizabeth glanced around to see if Clint Brady might also be watching the dolphins. She saw him standing farther down along the ship’s rail, and yes, he, too, was laughing. She whispered a little prayer of thanks to God for creating something so sweet and beautiful that it could make a man like that forget whatever was burdening him and genuinely laugh, if for just a few moments.

She quickly looked away so he wouldn’t catch her watching him, for she suspected he’d fast lose his smile if he knew she’d seen him actually enjoying himself. As little as she knew about him so far, she was pretty sure he’d be stubborn about admitting any kind of brief happiness. Mr. Clint Brady was determined to be mad at the world and at God.

The dolphins disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared, and again the ship was shrouded in thick, cold fog. It was unnerving to know there were islands and rocks and other ships all around, as they’d been watching other steamers ahead of and behind them throughout their voyage. In just one more day, so she’d been told, they would make Skagway, and she would be more than happy to get off the Damsel and out of the worsening conditions in the lower deck.

“One more day, fellas,” a man nearby shouted.

All the talk was of Skagway and White Pass and Chilkoot Pass and the cost of horses and gear and hope that those who’d gone before had “left some of that there gold for us.”

In the distance she could hear another ship’s steam whistle. The Damsel sounded her own wail in reply, the steam pouring from her stacks only adding to the denseness of the fog. Something about the thick mist made the whistles seem louder than normal, and the other ships’ haunting horns seemed all too close.

Suddenly Elizabeth could barely see past her hand, couldn’t even see those standing next to her.

How close were other boats? They were in fairly narrow fjords now, no room for error. “God, protect us,” she whispered. She’d no more said the words than she felt a jolt, and in what seemed no more than a second she felt the rail on which she leaned give way. She was falling…falling…

She hit the icy water, and the weight of her leather shoes and many layers of under slips, her dress and her fur cape…all caused her to sink…sink…ever deeper.

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.