Ashes and Ice by Tracie Peterson Page B

a job he wanted, but obviously God had given it to him for a reason.

—[CHAPTER EIGHT]—
    KAREN WIPED HER HANDS on her apron and looked out the window of the Gold Nugget’s kitchen. Steam fogged the windows on the inside, while ice frosted them on the outside. It was useless to try to see out.
    “Fretting ain’t gonna bring them here any faster,” Mrs. Neal chided. The older woman dumped a huge wooden bowl filled with bread dough on the floured counter top. “Workin’ will keep your mind off the rumors. I’m sure that Mr. Ivankov and Mr. Barringer are just fine.”
    Karen pushed her hands into the dough and began to mechanically knead the mass. “I just want to know if the slide was as bad as people are saying. That last guy said over three hundred people are dead.” She fell silent, an image of Adrik Ivankov coming to mind.
    “Adrik might be up there,” she murmured, trying hard not to sound worried. “But I doubt Bill would be. After all, he left us before Christmas. He might have gotten held up by the weather, though.”
    “Now, then, the world is full of might be’s,” Mrs. Neal chided. “No sense frettin’ until you know something for sure.”
    “I know you’re right, but I can’t help it. I’ve had nothing but trouble since coming north. I don’t know that I can bear losing anyone else.” Karen’s voice broke as she pushed the dough aside. “I need a breath of air.”
    Wiping her hands on her apron, Karen turned and grabbed her shawl. “I’m going to check on Leah.” She left the aromas of the Gold Nugget kitchen behind and stepped out into the yard behind the building where Leah Barringer was supposed to be splitting wood. Leah was nowhere in sight, however.
    The wind whipped up the edges of the shawl, causing Karen to tighten her hold. Spring thaw wouldn’t come for at least another month or two, and the elements were rising up just to make themselves known. Karen sighed, silently longing for warm weather. Looking down the alley to see if Leah might have gone visiting with one of the neighboring proprietors or their help, Karen found the place surprisingly deserted.
    Karen felt her pulse quicken. Only the day before the fire, Leah had been the center of some much undesired attention. Drunken miners had thought her rather pretty and accosted her on her walk from church to the store. Karen and Jacob had been delayed at the church, helping to organize plans for Easter. When they came upon Leah, backed against a wall with smelly, dirty men on all sides of her, Jacob and Karen were livid. Karen could only hope they weren’t repeating the scene.
    Heading down the alley, Karen called to the girl. “Leah! Leah, where are you?”
    She heard the girl crying before she spotted her hiding behind a stack of crates. “What’s wrong?” Karen questioned, kneeling in the mud beside Leah. The cold muck seeped through her layers of skirt, petticoat, and woolen hose. “Are you hurt? Has someone bothered you?”
    “No,” Leah sobbed. “I’m just scared.”
    “What are you scared about?”
    “Papa.” The single word needed no further explanation.
    Karen reached out and lovingly touched the girl’s cold cheek. “I know you’re worried about your father, but we haven’t heard anything that would indicate he was in the avalanche. Besides, you know how rumors are. Things are seldom as bad as they seem.”
    “But I feel it here,” Leah said, pointing to her heart. “I just know Papa’s in trouble—that he’s hurt.”
    “You can’t know that,” Karen said, trying her best to sound convincing. She wasn’t about to tell the girl of her own concerns. “Don’t borrow trouble. Besides, your papa should be well on his way north.”
    “Karen, is God mad at us?”
    Taken aback, Karen cleared her throat nervously. “Why would you ask that?”
    Leah looked up, her dark brown curls falling in ringlets to frame her face. Her blue eyes were huge, pleading with Karen for answers. “Mama used to