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      Chapter Seven

      Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.

      —St. John 14:6

      Where heaven begins. That was how Peter had described this land, and Elizabeth was beginning to see what he meant as the Damsel chugged past some of the most magnificent scenery Elizabeth had ever seen. Because of the stale stench below deck, she’d spent most of the past three days above watching the landscape, often pulling her cape close around her against the cool, misty air. The weather had become totally unpredictable as the steamer moved through fjords bordered by mountainous islands that appeared to have no beaches. It looked as though the deeply forested slopes simply rose from the sea straight upward.

      The mornings were chilly, often followed by a very warm midday as the sun appeared through the mist, and yet it could rain within minutes of sunshine, followed by bright sun again. Every day it rained in spurts, and she had to keep an umbrella with her at all times.

      Most of the almost crushing crowd of men on board seemed to have no interest in the gorgeous landscape beyond talk of how much gold lay beneath the distant mountains. She saw a different kind of treasure there, visions of God’s beautiful heaven. She realized how right Peter had been in saying that he would be needed at the gold seekers’ final destination, for surely there would be hordes of people there who might be hungry for God’s Word: people like Collette, who needed to hear about God’s forgiveness, men who needed to know that gold was not their God, and men like Clint Brady, who needed their hearts healed by God’s love.

      Why couldn’t she get him off her mind? Why couldn’t—

      “Miss Breckenridge?”

      Elizabeth turned at the words, spoken in a deep voice, Clint Brady’s voice. A quick rush of cool air sent a shiver through her, and she drew her cape closer again as she looked up into steel-blue eyes. “Yes?”

      He stepped up beside her and leaned on the deck rail. “I have to tell you that I was hoping you’d change your mind and get off at Portland.”

      Elizabeth frowned in surprise. “Why? You don’t even know me. Besides, it’s really none of your business where I’m going.” She stood next to him, leaning against the railing. Both watched the deep-green mountains as the Damsel made its way through currently calm waters.

      Clint paused long enough to fiddle with something. Elizabeth waited, not even looking at him, but soon she smelled smoke as he let out a long, deep breath. She glanced at his hands hanging out over the railing, and noticed a cigarette between his fingers.

      “Ma’am,” he finally spoke up, “I don’t think you have an inkling of what you’re in for. Even I can only guess, from what the rumors are. Either way, it’s not an experience for a proper young lady like yourself. A good deal of men who make this trip won’t manage to even get over the first pass to Dawson. The Canadian North-West Mounted Police are demanding that men tote a good thousand pounds of supplies, because last winter hundreds of men died either trying to get over the passes or from starvation on the way or once they reached Dawson. It’s a trip a lot of men can’t withstand, let alone a woman alone who doesn’t have near the necessary strength to tote a backload of supplies for hundreds of miles. And if that alone isn’t enough to make you turn back, you’re headed into country where you’ll often be caught alone with a pack of men who haven’t seen a woman for months. Even the most proper among them would be tempted to forget gentlemanly behavior.”

      Elizabeth felt a warmth coming into her cheeks at what he was suggesting. “I told you before that God will provide. I trust Him completely, Mr. Brady. Somehow He will help me reach my destination safely.”

      She heard him give an almost moaning gasp signaling his disbelief. He clearly felt that she was probably stupid and naive to believe what she was saying. He took another long drag on his cigarette.

      “Perhaps you don’t know much about God and putting your trust in Him, Mr. Brady, but I—”

      “Oh, I know all about those things,” he interrupted. “I know all too well about trusting God, and how He can completely fail you. Don’t preach to me, ma’am. I’m just trying to prevent you from suffering or maybe even losing your life, that’s all.”

      Oh, the bitterness in his comment about God! What was the story behind this man? She remained confused about why he would care about her, and she again asked him that very question.

      Clint shifted as though uncomfortable with the entire conversation. “Ma’am, I don’t even know why myself. I guess it’s because I had a wife once, about your age, and she met with a terrible misfortune. I saw you standing all alone on the dock back in San Francisco and have watched you ever since. I’m worried your simple trust in God is going to make you do something very foolish. It’s obvious you aren’t very well schooled in life in the real world, and since I don’t have much of anything else to do on this journey till I reach Dawson, I figured I’d occupy my time with looking out for you…kind of a leftover from not being there for my wife when she needed me.”

      So, this had something to do with his wife. Was the life he led also related to what happened to her? She swallowed, not sure just what to say. “Well, Mr. Brady, if you want to go out of your way for me, I suppose I should tell you I appreciate it, but I certainly don’t expect it of you or anyone else. It’s very kind of you to think of me that way, and I’m deeply sorry for whatever misfortune hurt your wife. Is she well now?”

      Another pause, another long drag on the cigarette. “She’s dead.” The words came flatly, angrily.

      “Oh, I’m so very sorry. Truly I am.” It was all beginning to make more sense now. Was his wife murdered? Was he searching for her killer?

      “I should have made that point in the first place.” He sighed and cleared his throat. “I, uh, just want you to know that if you need anything, you can ask. And if I were you, I’d pack some kind of handgun.”

      Elizabeth had to smile at the very thought of it. “Mr. Brady, that would do me no good. For one thing, I can’t afford one, and for another, I wouldn’t use it anyway. I could never in my life shoot at someone.”

      “Not even if they threatened to steal everything you own, or steal what’s most precious to you?”

      “Most precious?”

      She looked up at him curiously. He faced her and rolled his eyes, now appearing rather better-humored. “You don’t know what I’m talking about?”

      Elizabeth thought a moment, then turned away. “Oh!” She felt ridiculous, embarrassed, angry with him for mentioning such a thing. “God would never allow such a misfortune. Thank you again for your offer, Mr. Brady, but I’ll be fine.”

      He leaned closer. “I meant what I said. Other men might offer the same thing, but I wouldn’t trust any of them, understand?”

      She drew in her breath, drinking in a bit of courage along with it, and faced him again, hoping her cheeks weren’t too flushed. “And why should I trust you and not all the others?”

      He looked her over in a way that made her feel safe and warm. It disturbed her to be unable to ignore the fact that he was incredibly handsome. Wasn’t it sinful to notice such things about a man?

      “Maybe because I’m the one who risked his life to help you out at the docks,” he told her. “I didn’t see anyone else doing that. Maybe because I’ve handled some pretty bad characters and know more about that than most of the men on this ship. Maybe because I know how to handle my fists and a gun, which I guarantee you are going to need before this journey ends. And maybe because your God intended for me to notice you. You said yourself that He would be sure you get to Dawson safely. Maybe I’m the reason.”

      She raised her eyebrows in surprise and grinned. So, he did still believe, at least a little. “Are you saying God brought us together?”

      He gave her a rather sneering smile. “If He did,

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