At the Rainbow's End by Jo Ann Ferguson Page A

us to start.”
    She turned to look up into Joel’s face, smiling to see him so close. He leaned over her, one hand on either side of her shoulders. She traced the fine lines of his face with her eyes, delighting in the face she had looked at so often in the precious photograph.
    When she saw his lips descending to cover hers, she shivered with anticipation, eager for an expression of the love she had longed for during the long and difficult voyage to this frontier. She lifted her arms to place them around his shoulders.
    With a strangled moan, he moved away, stood, and turned his back on her. A muted oath drifted to her. She slowly rose, rearranged her clothes into a semblance of freshness, and walked to where he stood.
    â€œMr. Houseman, good morning.” She knew her words were inane, but she did not know what else to say to this puzzling man.
    â€œGood morning?” He said, laughing, “You’re the lady I expected you to be. Shall we go? I know we’ve had no breakfast, but there’s more food and an escape from these flying bloodsuckers on the claim.”
    â€œYes, of course.” She folded the blanket and handed it to him. While he tied it on the back of the horse, she wondered if he truly had intended to kiss her. She had been sure he would, but now he acted as if nothing had happened. When he looked at her, she lowered her eyes and moved to stand beside him. She had no idea how to handle this baffling situation.
    They renewed their journey with the same silent determination to put miles behind them, but that changed quickly. The miners they were passing now were not strangers to Joel and greeted them, coming out of their cabins at broadening daylight to return to work. Although each man appraised her closely, no one said anything to her other than a brief good morning. Making no effort to introduce her to the others, her companion hurried on. She wondered if it was the yearning to return to his work that made him increase the pace.
    An aura of nervousness billowed out around him, made obvious by the whiteness of his knuckles gripping the reins and the straight, grim line of his mouth below his mustache.
    They walked down a hill into a valley which must have once been beautiful. Like the rest of the countryside around the rivers flowing into the Klondike, the land had been stripped of everything lovely. In the distance, she could see an unbroken line of claims, announced by sluices and plumes of smoke from cookstoves. She felt a pang at the loss of what had been here.
    Shaking her head to dislodge these gloomy thoughts, she asked herself why she cared about such things. They were not here to admire the scenery. They were here to realize their dreams of finding gold and discovering a life together.
    She had to cling to trees as the slope dropped away steeply. Joel could not assist her. All of his attention was needed to help the overloaded horse down the hillside. She remained far behind them, but the gentle, consoling words he spoke to his steed gave her some solace. Her future husband was a kind man.
    At the base of the hill, he waited for her to draw even with him, then nodded to show he was pleased she had managed the slope without mishap.
    Soon they entered a clearing exactly like many they had seen on their journey. Samantha hid her dismay when he reached for the pack on the horse. This must be home. She tried not to show her disappointment as she saw the barely chinked log walls of the hut, topped by a roof of canvas to prevent moisture from dripping inside. A second cabin was attached to the first. It had the luxury of a window, fashioned in the peculiar style found in Dawson, of empty bottles held together with hardened mud, light could filter through it into the small house.
    When the door swung open she could not hide her surprise. A man walked out to cross the muddy yard. He was taller than Joel, and his dark hair shone in the sun as brightly as her own. His eyes were the