Then last night the women had put up a makeshift tent made of blankets, and one of them lay inside the tent groaning in pain most of the night. The other two sat just outside the blankets whispering about something. Elizabeth assumed the woman groaning must be sick to her stomach from something she ate.
She fished through one of her carpet bags and took out a bottle of ink and a pen, as well as a notebook she’d purchased before leaving San Francisco. She had decided to keep a diary of her journey, partly to keep herself occupied so she wouldn’t think about all the frightening things that could happen to her, and also because if she died on this journey, someone might send the diary on to Peter as a keepsake. She began by writing a note as to what to do with the journal should she not make it to Dawson.
August 10, 1898…This is only my third day, and we should make Seattle very soon. This part of my journey is, of course, the easy part, but I will try to make note of what happens every day. So far, other than when a thief tried to steal my handbag before I could board the steamer, things have been quite uneventful.
I am camping here below deck with Chinese and Indians and even three painted women whose occupation I suspect is unmentionable. One of them is sick. I have no idea…
She set her pen aside when she noticed that one of the painted women was coming toward her with what looked like a wadded-up towel.
“Miss?”
Elizabeth swallowed. Should she be seen associating with such women? Don’t forget the adulteress, and how Jesus forgave her. She capped her pen and set it and her diary aside. “Yes?”
The woman crouched closer, and in the lantern light Elizabeth realized the woman was not much older than she was!
“My name is Collette. My friend in the tent over there that we set up, her name is Francine.” Collette kept her voice lowered. She looked around, as though keeping a big secret. “My other friend there is Tricia, and we were all wondering…I mean…we’ve noticed you reading a Bible and all…and maybe you know enough about it to…well…pray over a dead body.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened in surprise. “Did Francine die?”
“Oh, no, miss,” Collette answered in a near whisper. “I think she’ll be all right. We have experience in these things. That’s not what we’d want you to pray about…except, of course, if you’d be so kind as to do that. Francine just lost a baby. I’ve got it right here in this towel. There’s not much to it, but, well, you know, it just doesn’t seem right not to pray over it, ’cause it’s still what’s left of a little human life. But me, I’m not much good at such things, so I thought maybe you’d consider coming up top with me and saying a prayer before I drop it into the water—kind of a burial at sea I guess you’d say.”
Elizabeth felt her heart pounding in her chest. Dear Lord, help me know what to do! This woman of the streets was asking her to pray over an illegitimate child delivered by yet another prostitute! “I…well, I…”
“I know it seems awful to somebody like you, but like the Good Book says, we’re all God’s children, even this tiny little bit of life that’s hardly recognizable. I sure don’t intend just to throw it in the garbage.”
Elizabeth wondered at the fact that the woman seemed to understand a little bit about God and the Bible, and she actually respected the bit of life she held in the towel. She felt ashamed about worrying what others would think of talking to such women. God surely was placing this duty in her hands, and so she would pray over the poor little soul in the towel. She reminded herself as she stood up that her father would have done the same. “I…of course I’ll pray over the baby, and I’ll pray for its mother. Are you sure she’s all right…physically, I mean?”
“I think she’ll be all right, but there’s an awful lot of bleeding. We’re getting off in Seattle to get her some help. It’s kind of you to ask.” Collette leaned a little closer. “And we understand somebody like you wouldn’t want to be seen consorting with us, so I won’t bother you after you do this one thing.”
“It’s all right. My father was a preacher, and he used to minister to people along the Barbary Coast.”
Collette brightened, raising painted eyebrows. “Well, he must have been a real good man.”
“Yes, he was.” Elizabeth realized she needed to think about what God’s love truly means. “Let’s go to the main deck,” she told Collette.
Nervous and unsure, Elizabeth led Collette to the main deck. It was early morning and the sea was quite calm today. They managed to find a place away from others, as many men were still asleep and not milling about. Elizabeth touched the towel and prayed for God to bless the bit of life inside and take him or her into His arms for blessed eternity.
“‘Suffer the little children and forbid them not to come unto me,’” she said after praying, “‘for of such is the Kingdom of Heaven.’” She noticed tears in Collette’s eyes.
“Thank you, ma’am.” Collette hesitated, then turned and threw the towel overboard. Gradually the towel soaked into the water. Collette turned and gave Elizabeth a quick hug. “I’ll be leaving you now. You’re a kind woman. What’s your name, honey?”
“Elizabeth…Elizabeth Breckenridge.”
Collette nodded, then turned and left. Elizabeth felt confused by why Collette would live the way she did if she believed in God. She realized she had so much to learn about real people and real life.
She breathed deeply of the morning air and looked up at the sky. It was then she saw him…Clint Brady…watching her. Surely he’d seen her with Collette. What was he thinking? And why did she have this feeling that he was always watching her? He gave her a smile and a nod and turned away.
Elizabeth looked back out over the ocean. She could no longer see the towel, and it struck her that just as that tiny bit of life was now in God’s hands, so was hers. “Lord, just don’t send me more than I can handle,” she murmured. “But I do have so much to learn. Just show me the way.”
Chapter Six
Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of God; and every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God.
—1 John 4:7
Seattle, August 11, 1898
Elizabeth stood beside the railing of the Damsel’s main deck watching supplies being unloaded and a very few passengers disembark at Seattle. Even more men and supplies waited at the dock to board. Among those leaving the steamer were Tricia, Francine and Collette, who stopped at Elizabeth’s side for a moment before leaving the ship.
Collette wore a rather plain dress, but it was cut low enough to show sinful cleavage. “We’re going to find a doctor for Francine,” she told Elizabeth.
Elizabeth glanced at Francine, astonished at how young she, too, looked—as well as how pale, with dark circles under her eyes. “I hope you feel better soon,” she told the girl.
Francine nodded a thank-you and looked away, covering her head with a shawl. She left with Tricia, the only one of the three who appeared to be perhaps as old as thirty.
Collette patted Elizabeth’s arm. “Francine truly appreciates you praying over that poor little
