Page 75 of A New World for the Irish Daughter

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “We’ve come this far, and I don’t even mean just from Juneau. I’ve been thinking about our whole lives—Ireland, New York, Chicago, San Francisco… we’ve done it all, Brendan.”

“We have,” he agreed. He sounded wry, and Maggie couldn’t help but laugh.

“I feel like I’ve dragged you on a wild goose chase, across the whole country,” she said.

“You have,” he replied with the same wry note in his voice, “but I’ve wanted to go. I’ve always told you that.”

“I know.” She paused, and then added softly, “I’ve always known.”

It felt as if they were hovering near a greater truth than that, but Brendan said nothing more and neither did Maggie, even though she wanted to. After a few moments of silence, she rolled back onto her back, and so did Brendan, and she must have fallen asleep because the next thing she knew, she was blinking in bright daylight, the air inside the tent was stifling, and Brendan had already risen to see to their preparations.

An hour later, they were loading up to take the scow out onto the lake. Dozens of other miners were doing the same with their own boats, eager to start their journey, and Maggie realized they would make up quite the flotilla as they all headed toward the mouth of the river.

At first, it felt easy. They stood in the middle of their boat, surrounded by rucksacks and saddlebags, and paddled out into the middle of the lake and then toward the headwaters. The river flowed swiftly, carrying them along at a pace that would have alarmed Maggie if the waterway hadn’t been so straight and calm. It was over seventy miles to their first set of rapids, and she let herself enjoy the sight of the mountains rising steeply on either side, gashes of granite bisecting endless, verdant stretches of spruce and pine, a few other boats visible on various parts of the river, so it almost started to feel like a picnic.

Once, she leaned over and dipped her fingers in the water, shocked by how icy it was, although she realized she shouldn’t have been. Just a few weeks ago, the river had been completely frozen.

Brendan estimated they made thirty miles on their first day, and they camped at a flat point with several others, a small settlement of tiny tents in a vast and indifferent wilderness, its beauty both awe-inspiring and frightening at the sheer, utter expanse of it.

The next day, they made the same distance again, and Maggie let herself start to relax, just for a little while. Maybe, she thought, this really was the easy part of the trip. At least, itcouldbe.

At Mile Canyon, they found another small encampment of tents, with a ruddy-faced young man offering to pilot boats down the half-mile of the White Horse Rapids, before walking up to do it all over again. He charged five dollars per boat, a sum Maggie and Brendan paid gladly.

“Women usually walk along the shore,” he told them as he inspected their boat, shifted a few boxes to distribute the weight more evenly. “And then meet us at the end.”

“That’s a very sound idea,” Brendan said firmly, giving Maggie a friendly glower.

“And what am I to do, if the boat breaks apart on the rapids, and I’m all on my own?” Maggie asked, trying to sound good-natured, rather than frightened.

“Your concern on my behalf is overwhelming,” Brendan joked, but Maggie could see by the tense way he held himself how anxious he was. “If that happens, you’ll have to join some other miners until you reach Dawson.” He took the oilskin bag he kept their money in from around his neck. “I’ll give you this, just in case.”

“Brendan—” Maggie protested. She felt a clutch of panic at the thought of the very real danger he was in.

“No,” the young pilot, who had introduced himself as Jack London, interjected. “It’s a good idea.”

Wordlessly, Maggie took the little bag and put it around her own neck. She wanted to say something more, something about how she felt, even if Brendan wouldn’t. But the opportunity slipped away before she could seize it, and Brendan was stepping into the scow with determination, along with Jack.

“All right, then,” the river pilot said cheerfully. “Let’s be off!”

Maggie watched, her heart feeling as if it were beating its way up her throat, as they pushed off from the shore and steered toward the swirling water of the rapids. Within a few seconds, the boat was caught in the current, the bow lifting so high into the air that Brendan stumbled back and water foamed over the sides.

Maggie pressed her hands to her mouth, terror-stricken, but then the boat came down on the other side, the water receded,and Brendan steadied himself. From the shore, Maggie heard Jack London laugh.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she turned and started to walk along the shore, picking her way through the long grass, trying to keep the boat in sight, but it was soon swallowed up by the dips and curves in the river, and she could see it no more.

She walked for half a mile under the warm spring sun, and despite her anxiety, she enjoyed the warmth, as well as the peacefulness of the scene. All around her, the world stretched endlessly—meadow and mountain, river and rock and sky. There was nothing else, nothing for hundreds and hundreds of miles. It was an incredible thought.

Finally, after about twenty minutes, she made it to the end of the rapids, and a sob escaped her when she saw their scow pulled up on the shore, and a soaking-wet Brendan laughing and shaking hands with Jack London, who pocketed his five dollars and, whistling, walked up the way Maggie had just come to do it all over again.

“Good Lord.” Brendan turned to her with a smile as he swiped his wet hair from his eyes. His clothes were clinging to his body, and he was already starting to shiver. “I wouldn’t want to do that again. I thought I was a goner at one point, but Jack just laughed like he was on a child’s merry-go-round.”

“You should put on dry clothes,” Maggie said. She wanted to hug him, but, for some reason, she didn’t dare. “Before you catch a chill.”

“Too right,” Brendan agreed. “But then we should keep on. Jack said if we can push to Lake Laberge, there’s an encampment on Policeman’s Point.”

“Policeman’s Point?” Maggie asked in surprise. “Surely there aren’t police all the way out here?”

Brendan nodded. “There’s a mounted police station there. They check your boats to make sure they’re seaworthy, but since we made it through the White Horse Rapids, I’d say this one is!”