William Johnstone - Winter Kill

“Just some dancing and conversation, that’s all,” Conway said with a grin. “That’ll give us some good memories to hang on to when the temperature is forty below, the snow is ten feet deep outside, and there’s a bear trying to get into the cabin to eat us!”

“When you put it like that,” Frank said dryly, “it almost makes me want to go hunt for gold, too.”

Chapter 11

The dance was scheduled for that night. Fiona gathered the young women and spoke to them about it. Most of them were feeling better now as they became more accustomed to the motion of the ship, and all of them agreed that they could go along with the plan, even Gertrude. “Those prospectors had better keep their hands to themselves, though,” she said. “I’m a respectable woman, even if I am a mail-order bride!”

“Mr. Morgan assures me that they’ll be on their best behavior.” Fiona looked at Frank. “Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “If they give any of you any trouble, just let me know.”

Word got around the ship about the gathering. Frank overheard some discussion of it among the crew, and he wondered if some of the sailors planned to show up and ask the women to dance with them, too. That could lead to problems. The gold-hunters might feel that the sailors were horning in and take offense to it. He didn’t think it would be anything he couldn’t handle, though, so he didn’t mention it to Captain Hoffman.

The captain must have heard about it on his own, because he sought out Frank late that afternoon. “I hear there’s going to be some sort of soiree on deck tonight involving those young women of yours,” Hoffman said.

“Well, they’re not exactly my young women,” Frank said with a smile. “There’s just going to be a little dancing and some conversation with Pete Conway and the rest of those gold-hunters.”

“My crew has heard about it, and some of them resent the fact that they weren’t included in the arrangements. They’d like to know if they can dance with the young ladies as well.”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” Frank said. “That’s up to the young ladies. I promised Mrs. Devereaux there wouldn’t be any trouble, though.”

Hoffman nodded. “Perhaps it would be best if I spoke to my officers and had them pass the word to the men that they should avoid the activities. That way, there’ll be no chance of anything going wrong.”

“Do whatever you think you should, Captain,” Frank said.

It was possible that the whole thing would have to be canceled, he thought. The sky was still overcast, and there were occasional squalls of cold rain and sleet. The Montclair had no ballroom or salon. It was a working ship, transporting people and cargo, and it didn’t make pleasure cruises or cater to wealthy passengers.

But just before sunset, the clouds thinned and the chilly wind began to die down. It looked like the weather was going to cooperate, at least as much as it could at this time of year and at this latitude.

Soon after dinner, Frank led Fiona and the young women up on deck. Lanterns had been placed on the hatch covers, and while the setting wasn’t exactly what anyone would call festive, it had a certain air of celebration about it.

Conway, Neville, and the rest of the cheechakos were waiting with smiles of anticipation on their faces. They had scrubbed their faces as well, some of them had shaved, and a few had even put on suits. Conway was one of them. As the young women looked over the group of men, Jessica Harpe giggled and said under her breath to Meg Goodwin, “Look at that big blond one. Isn’t he handsome?”

Fiona overheard the comment and said, “Don’t get too attached to any of these men, ladies. Remember you have husbands-to-be waiting for you in the Klondike.”

Conway stepped forward and gave an awkward little bow. “Mrs. Devereaux, ma’am,” he said. “Ladies. Thank you for joining us this evening.”

“Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Conway,” Fiona said in a cool, formal voice. “May I present Miss Goodwin, Miss Harpe, Miss Donnelly, Miss Boulieu…”

Fiona went down the line, introducing all the women. Conway, who seemed to have taken on the leadership of the cheechakos despite his youth, responded by introducing all of the men, starting with himself and Neville. Frank stood off to the side, smiling to himself at the stiffness of it. One good thing about getting older. He had long since passed the point where he felt uncomfortable around women. He knew better than to think that they could no longer hold any surprises for him, but at least all those courtship rituals didn’t mean much to him anymore.

“Charlie here plays the fiddle,” Conway said, gesturing toward one of the older prospectors. “He’s going to provide some music, if you ladies would care to dance.”

“Are you asking?” Jessica said.

“Well…I reckon I am. Would you care to dance with me, ma’am?”

She held out a hand to him. “I’d love to, thank you.”

The fiddler grinned and took out his bow. He lifted the instrument to his shoulder, tucked his chin over it, and began to saw on the strings. The notes were a little harsh and discordant, but they were music, the only real melody likely to be found on this rugged ship steaming northward toward Alaska.

Conway took Jessica into his arms, being careful to leave some space between their bodies, and they launched into a rough waltz. The rest of the women paired up with the cheechakos and began to dance as well. There were more men than women, so some of the gold-hunters had to wait their turn.

Fiona sidled over to Frank. “What about you?” she asked.

“What about me?”

“Are you much of a dancer, Frank?”

“Well…not really. I can manage not to step on a gal’s feet if I try hard enough, but that’s about it.”

Fiona took his hand. “I don’t believe you. I’ve seen how you move. You have a natural, fluid grace about you.”

“Maybe when I’m drawing a gun…”

“Nonsense. Come on. We can’t let these young people have all the fun.”

She wasn’t all that much older than the other women, he thought, but he supposed that being a widow, she felt more mature. He went along with what she wanted, taking her in his arms and twirling her around the open area of the deck that served as a dance floor.

The fiddler seemed to be tireless, going from one raucous tune to the next with scarcely a pause and stamping his foot in time to the music. The young women switched back and forth among the cheechakos so that all the men got a chance to swing them around the deck. Sometimes one of the gold-hunters would get impatient and cut in on another while a dance was going on. Frank thought a time or two that this might cause a ruckus, but the men seemed to know that if a fight broke out, the impromptu social would be over. They restrained any irritation they felt.

When the fiddler finally had to take a break and rest a little, the men and women stood around talking. The cheechakos seemed to enjoy that almost as much as the dancing. After a while, the fiddler was ready to go again, and as he lifted the fiddle and bow, the men claimed their partners.

The fiddler had scraped out only a couple of notes, though, when he abruptly stopped playing. Frank turned toward him to find out what was wrong, and saw more than a dozen members of the ship’s crew striding along the deck toward them. The sailors had an air of grim determination about them.

“Oh, no,” Fiona breathed beside Frank. “I was afraid this might happen.”

“I was worried about it, too,” he told her. “Captain Hoffman had a talk with me and promised he’d keep his boys in line, but I reckon they didn’t really listen.”