sinner just by hearing them.
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