“Look, Jimmy. I can get those flapjacks again,” Oscar said, pressing his finger on the menu.
“We always have them,” the young man said, “I’m Henry. You new in town? I don’t think I’ve seen you, though it sounds like you’ve been here before.”
“I’m Oscar Yates, and this here’s Jimmy Downing. We came all the way from Dawson City.”
Henry seemed astonished. “Up in the Yukon? That’s a mighty long way.”
I nodded. “We’re fixin’ up the Yates’ old homestead, just outta town. It’s gonna be a job, that’s for sure.”
Henry laughed. “I heard it was gone to ruin. You gentlemen sure are bold to take on such a task. But welcome to Port Essington, Oscar, Jimmy. Let me get you something to drink, and I’ll put your order in. You want the flapjacks, too?” he asked me.
“No, I think I’ll have the pork and beans. Them flapjacks taste good, but I feel I need something a more solid to sustain me.”
“Fair enough. You want some bacon with your flapjacks, Oscar?”
“Oh, yes, please. Thank you.”
We settled in, observing the other guests and enjoying the smells coming from the kitchen. So far, the people in Port Essington had been welcoming. T’was a different atmosphere to Dawson City, that was certain—and even to Whitehorse, which was a big city. Port Essington was more of a village, in a pleasant, lucrative spot. The salmon canneries kept folks employed during the milder seasons, and those that worked there went south for other employment during the winter.
Carson and Tim said the railway was coming, and they didn’t know what the town would do when that happened. The railroad was slated to go on the land across the Skeena from Port Essington, and the implications of that would remain to be seen. Tim and Carson were doubtful the town would survive it in the long run. But it would take some time for the railway to be built out here then to get running properly, so the town would be all right for now. And maybe they were wrong.
Folks who stayed for the colder months hunkered down and led slower lives, making the most of the warmer weather so they could take it easy through winter. There was still hunting and trapping, and many of the local indigenous people stayed and made use of Port Essington’s conveniences. Port Essington didn’t have a slum, because the only people who came were industrious, hard-working types who weren’t afraid of the perseverance it took to even get to the place. If you made it, there was opportunity enough to make a go of it. If Oscar and I had to make a home somewhere, this seemed like a promising spot.
Henry brought a plate piled high with fluffy flapjacks and crispy bacon for Oscar and another with a side of juicy pork with baked beans in a little bowl for me. He had already put a basket of fresh-cut bread in the center of the table, and he filled our cups with coffee and milk.
“Can I get you anything else?”
“No, I reckon this’ll do. Thank you kindly,” I said. I gazed at the food laid out and noticed that Oscar’s eyes had gone all hazy. “There you go, looking at them flapjacks like you been starved for weeks.”
He picked up the little jar of syrup that Henry had brought and poured a copious amount o’er the pile. “I feel as though I have been.” He looked at me with a puzzled frown. “We got the ingredients to make these at home?”
“I can make sure we do. You want me to make them for you sometime?”
He nodded vigorously. “Oh yes,” he said, slicing his flapjacks and lifting a forkful to his lips. I watched as he chewed and slurped, my mouth curving with amusement.
“They may not be as good as Miss Annie’s, though.”
“I don’t even care. I reckon they’d be pretty okay.”
We ate quietly, since we were hungry and the food tasted delicious. T’was fine to sit in town at a fine establishment and enjoy a meal together.
Oscar gazed at me as he slowed down and took a break from shoving food into his mouth. “I reckon I want to learn to rope the way you do, Jimmy. Can you teach me that?”
I snorted, finishing up my beans. “What you wanna learn that for? We ain’t got any cattle or sheep.”
“Notnow.Seems like a skill I’d like to know.” He gazed at me, and I knew what he was thinking. My trousers felt tight all of a sudden.
“Oscar,” I said, giving him a look.
“Jimmy, there ain’t no reason I shouldn’t learn it.”
“Sure. I guess,” I said, wiping my mouth. “But first you’d better get used to—what did you say your horse’s name was gonna be?”
Oscar spoke around a mouthful of flapjack. “Onyx.”
“Right. You’d better get used to Onyx and let her get used to you, and don’t try any tricks or nothin’.” I gave him a glare. “I mean, be sensible.”
Oscar grinned, as if there was nothing for me to worry about. “Ain’t I always?”
