Valley of promises, p.1
Valley of Promises, page 1
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Author
Dedication
In Memory of Lucille Bohn
Who invited me into her home and told me her story.
Acknowledgments
Each time I begin a project I am delighted
to watch as partnerships grow.
I owe thanks to many.
Thank you to my cousins, Billy, Kenny, and Sue Hightower, and friend Lucille Bohn who helped bring their homeland to life for me. Their willingness to share their experiences and knowledge helped me see the spectacular and sometimes formidable place called Alaska.
There are also my writing cohorts. They walked through the pages with me, often putting in extra hours so I could meet my deadline. Ann, Billy, B. C., Ellen, Julia, and Shirley, I can't thank you enough. You ladies are great.
And to Vicki Crumpton, my editor, who willingly and skillfully jumped in to make this a better book, thanks for your dedication. I don't tell you often enough how much I appreciate your hard work and your commitment to excellence.
Chapter One
MARCH 1935
MADISON, WISCONSIN
LAUREL HASPER LEANED HER TALL, SLENDER FRAME AGAINST THE weathered porch railing and studied her father. He's always seemed invincible, she thought, trying to swallow the hurt. Now he looked beaten, the droop of his shoulders and his heavy step revealing his grief. The last five years had taken a toll. First the depression, then the drought had drained Will Hasper's spirit and stolen his dreams.
Dirt swirled into the air, dusting last summer's dead cornfields. Merciless sun splintered the haze into thousands of dusky red particles, creating a flaming sunset.
The beauty didn't soothe Laurel. The red cloud represented the end of their farm and so many others. The Midwest ranches were dead, carried away one piece of ground at a time. The air tasted like dust as it had for months. Laurel longed for the day when the air would again hold sweet moisture.
Sweeping off his hat, Will used the back of his hand to wipe grime and sweat from his face. His weary, gray-blue eyes closed a moment. He dropped to one knee, tenderly ran his hand over the dry ground, scooped up a handful of soil and watched it sift through his fingers. The wind caught the particles and swept them away.
Fighting tears, Laurel turned away and looked heavenward. “Why, God? Why?” Bitterness touched her voice. She gazed out at their once fertile farm. Again, there would be no crops, only wind and dust. A dry, frigid winter had sucked the remaining life from the land.
Will stood, planted his hat on his head, and marched back to the house. With little more than a glance at Laurel, he leaped onto the porch and brushed past her. “Laurel, get your brothers.” Pulling open the door, he stepped into the house. “Jean, we need to talk.”
Laurel found her brothers playing in a desiccated apple orchard. Justin and Brian were hanging from a limb while Luke twisted the branch of a dead tree.
“What are you doing?” Laurel demanded.
Justin and Brian quickly dropped to the ground. Luke let loose of the limb, and the dead branch hung limp.
Hands on hips, Laurel continued, “Isn't it bad enough the weather has all but destroyed our orchard? Do you have to finish the job?”
Sixteen-year-old Luke stripped off a piece of bark, then turned a defiant look on his sister. “What difference does it make? Everything's dead anyway.”
“Yeah. Everything's dead,” eleven-year-old Justin agreed, reaching up and slinging an arm over his brother's shoulders.
“It's wrong, that's all.” Laurel hesitated. “The rains might return.”
Luke gazed up at a cloudless sky, then gave his sister an insolent look. “You think so, huh?” His dark looks turned stormy as he broke a brittle branch from the doomed tree and shoved it close to her face. “Do you see any life here?”
“You never know. God can do anything.”
“If he was going to do something, he would have.” Luke shook his head in disgust. “You know, for a nineteen-year-old, you're not too smart.” He cast the stick to the ground.
Laurel thought of a dozen brutal responses but held her tongue. She knew Luke's words came from fear and anger. He loved the farm. How could she fault him for that? “Daddy wants us up at the house.”
The youngest of the boys, six-year-old Brian, ducked beneath the crippled branch, and standing beside his sister, faced his brothers. “It could happen, you know. It could rain.”
Laurel ruffled his thick blond hair. “That's right. Anything can happen.” She headed toward the house with Brian beside her, then stopped and looked back to find Luke and Justin staring after her. “You better git moving if you don't want to feel the strap across your backsides.”
While the children filed into the house, Will stood at the front window and stared out at a fence line choked with tumbleweeds. He didn't seem to notice his family had assembled and were sitting around the wooden dining table waiting for him to speak.
Jean Hasper cleared her throat. Will turned and walked to the table, smiled gently at his wife, then reached out and touched baby Susie's cheek. She giggled and snuggled closer to her mother. He then studied each face at the table, shoved his hands into his jean pockets, and paced the wooden floor. His boots echoed on the aged planking. Finally he stopped, cleared his throat, and looked hard at his family.
“We've had some tough times these past years. Real tough,” Will began. “The land has dried up, the farm is all but gone, and it doesn't look like the weather is going to change, anyway not soon enough for us.” He glanced out the window. “Everyone's suffering. Some of our neighbors have already had to leave. More are going.” Will swallowed hard. “I didn't want to be one of them, but …” He studied the floor, then looked up at his family. “I've been thinking, and I've decided we have to do something, and we can't wait.” His eyes met Jean's. “The government is offering a new start to families like us, folks about to lose their farms and people on subsistence.”
Laurel's stomach plummeted. Her father couldn't be suggesting they leave the farm!
“What kinda new start?” asked Brian.
“Well, they're choosing families who're willing to move.” He hurried on. “I know it'll be hard to leave, but the way I see it, we got no choice.” He hesitated. “I think this is God's answer for us. In fact, I'm sure of it.”
Laurel had seen the ads, but she couldn't believe her father would consider leaving. Hoping she was wrong and needing to hear the words, she asked, “Where? Where are the farms?”
Will didn't speak.
Jean answered softly. “A place called the Matanuska Valley. In Alaska.”
Silence enveloped the room.
“Alaska!” Justin whooped, shattering the silence. “Wow! Alaska!” He jumped out of his chair and started prancing around the room. “We're going to Alaska! We're going to Alaska!” He turned and looked at his father. “Will we see Eskimos and igloos?”
Will chuckled. “Probably not. The Matanuska Valley is farm country. There's good land and lots of timber for homes and barns.”
“Daddy, how do you know they'll choose us? They don't take just anybody,” Laurel said.
“From what I heard, they want hardy folks and having children is a plus. They don't want people who are too young or too old, and the ones chosen should know something about farming.” He shrugged. “Sounds like us.”
Laurel folded her arms over her chest. “And what if they don't pick us?”
“They will. I'm going down to the courthouse first thing tomorrow and fill out the papers.”
Laurel chewed a fingernail. Alaska was at the end of the world! She had plans. When the depression ended, she was going to attend the University of Wisconsin. Tears burned the back of her eyes, but she gritted her teeth and held them back. She wasn't going to cry.
“I know it'll be hard to leave friends, but we'll make new ones,” Will said.
Laurel stared out the window without seeing. Anger replaced sorrow. Without looking at her father, she said, “I won't go.”
For a long moment no one spoke. Finally, Will asked, “What will you do?”
Tipping her chin up slightly, Laurel looked at her father. “I don't know, but I'm not going to Alaska.”
“You need a plan,” Will said. “What do you think you'll do when we move away? There's nothing for you here.”
Laurel didn't know what she was going to do. What could she do? She shrugged.
Will opened his mouth,
“I planned to go to the university in Madison. I want to get my teaching degree.”
“How will you pay for it? You can't make it without family to help. There's no work.” Will swiped his hand through his hair. “Laurel, it's hard to accept something other than our dreams, but fantasies won't put bread on the table. I made less than two hundred dollars last year.” His voice had a sharp edge to it.
Jean rested her hand on Laurel's arm. “Everyone has a right to dream,” she said gently. She turned to her daughter who looked so much like her, thick auburn hair and hazel eyes that radiated strength and stubbornness. “I know this is hard, honey, but we have no choice. We've waited, prayed, and hoped we could stay, but God has another plan for us.”
“There has to be another way. Something …” Laurel searched for a solution, but helplessness and a sense of being trapped trampled over her. She pushed out of the chair and hurried to the door. Hitting the screen with the palms of her hands, she walked out, letting the door slam behind her. Striding across the porch, she leaned on the railing and stared down at a scorched flowerbed. “The rains will come,” she nearly shouted. “They will!” She heard the squeak of the door and her father's steps on the porch. “It can't last. It'll rain.” Unable to hold back tears any longer, she began to sob.
Will stood beside her and rested a callused hand on her back. His voice gentle, he said, “Even if it rained tomorrow, it's too late. It will take more than one good season to bring back the farm.”
Laurel leaned against her father. Immediately his arm went around her shoulders and he hugged her. “I wish we didn't have to do this, sugar. I really do.”
Laurel didn't answer. She couldn't trust herself to speak.
The screen door complained again. Brian hurried to his sister and hugged her about the legs. He pressed his cheek against her floral cotton dress. “It won't be so bad, Laurel. It'll be fun.”
“Yeah,” Justin added. He stood beside Laurel and looked up at her, his blue eyes alight with anticipation. He smiled broadly. “Just think, we'll be pioneers in a new frontier!”
Laurel wiped her tears and tried to smile. She cupped Justin's chin in her hand. “New frontier, huh? That sounds like something you got out of one of your books.” She patted his cheek. Crossing to the old rocker that had graced their front porch for forty years, Laurel ran her hand over the armrest, then stood behind it, rocking it gently. Her grandfather had told her many stories while he rocked and she sat at his feet. She looked at her father. “How can we leave our home? I don't know any other place.”
Will stepped in front of the rocker, caught hold of the arms, and stopped it. His eyes sad, he said gently, “You're old enough to understand that sometimes decisions just have to be made; people do what they must.” He glanced at Jean who stood in the doorway. “Laurel, you're grown now and can go your own way if you choose … and …” His eyes glistened.
Remorse and family loyalty grabbed hold of Laurel's rebellion. “No … I didn't mean …” She rested her hand on her father's. “I'm sorry. You're right. Moving is the only answer. I just didn't want to believe it.” Her eyes traveled over her family. “I'll go.”
Chapter Two
WILL DRAINED THE LAST OF HIS COFFEE, THEN GLANCED AROUND THE ROOM cluttered with boxes and luggage. “You outdid yourself,” he said. “It couldn't be easy cooking in the middle of all this mess.”
“I figured our last meal here ought to be a good one.” Jean smiled, but it didn't touch her eyes.
Will looked at the front door. “Where'd Luke disappear to?”
Brian leaned his elbows on the table, resting his face in his hands. “He said he was going for a walk. He didn't look too good.”
Spearing the last of his eggs, Justin quietly added, “I think he's saying good-bye. You know …”
Will stared at the last of his coffee in the bottom of his cup. “I wish this weren't so hard on everyone.” He stood and deposited his plate and cup in the sink, and offered Jean an apologetic smile. “Thanks for the breakfast. Thanks for everything.” He bent and kissed her.
She caressed his cheek. “We'll be fine.”
Catching Jean's hand, he looked at Laurel and the boys. “We got to remember how God has blessed us. We have a lot to be thankful for.”
Her stomach churning, Laurel stared at her eggs. Thankful? We're leaving our home. How can we be thankful?
Will walked to the door, took his hat off its hook, and planted it on his head. “I better get to it. There's a lot to be done.”
Laurel nibbled on her biscuit and studied her parents. In spite of the hardships, their faith had remained steady. Just as her father was about to step out the door, she asked, “Daddy, are you really thankful? I mean—you're about to leave behind your life, everything you've known.”
Will removed his hat. His short-cropped hair was scrambled, some of it standing on end. He returned to the table and, resting his hands on the well-worn wood, he looked directly at his oldest child. “My life isn't this farm.” He looked at Jean, the boys, then back at Laurel. “My life is you, my family. There's nothing on this earth more important to me.” His eyes roamed the cluttered room, then lingered at the window. “I love this place. It's the only home I've known, but another home is waiting for us.” He straightened. “Maybe it won't feel comfortable at first, but … Well, look at it this way. When you buy a new pair of boots, they feel stiff and uncomfortable for a while, then gradually mold to your foot as you wear them, and before you know it, they're a perfect fit.”
An engine backfired, and the clatter of a vehicle bouncing over the rutted driveway carried from outside. “That'll be Joe,” Will said.
Jean walked to the sink. “It was kind of him to help.”
“He's a good friend.” Will strode to the door and opened it. “Looks like David's with him. That'll make the work go faster. We should be able to get our things loaded and be on the road before the day heats up.” He put on his hat, adjusted it, then looked at Justin and Brian. “Time to finish your packing.”
Jean secured her cotton apron snugly around her waist. “Boys, could you take your bags out onto the porch? After that you can carry the box of toys out. That'll be a big help.”
Justin and Brian raced to the bedroom. Brian poked his head out the door and in a small voice asked, “What about Luke? What about his stuff?”
“He'll take care of it. Don't worry.” Jean walked to the sink, turned on the faucet, and sprinkled detergent into rising water. “I'll wash, you dry.” Susie's wail resonated from the back of the house. “Oh, dear. I'd hoped she'd wait a bit longer.”
Justin jogged into the kitchen. “I'll take care of her. I know how.” He grabbed the baby's bottle of milk out of the ice box and plunked it into a pot on the back of the stove.
“Thank you,” Jean said. “You're a good boy. She'll need changing.”
“I'm eleven. I can do it,” Justin said confidently before hurrying to his parents' bedroom where his baby sister hollered for attention.
Laurel cleared the table while Jean scrubbed and rinsed the dishes, then set them on a towel to dry. The house was oddly quiet. Usually her mother sang along to the radio or hummed church hymns while she worked. Today, the radio had been packed, and Jean was silent. Laurel dried and gently wrapped each dish and cup in paper, then pressed them securely into a box partially filled with wood shavings. She glanced at the old phonograph resting against the wall beneath the front room window. “Mama, we're taking the phonograph aren't we?”
“I don't think there's going to be room. We have a fifteen-hundred-pound limit.” She looked at the family treasure. “It's awfully big. Maybe.”
Justin returned to the kitchen carrying eight-month-old Susie. He was small for his age, so the baby looked big in his arms. He snatched the bottle out of the hot water, sat on an overstuffed chair, and snuggled the baby as she eagerly devoured her breakfast.
David pulled open the front door and peeked inside. He nodded at Mrs. Hasper and smiled at Laurel. “Can I get some help moving furniture out onto the porch?”
“I'm done here,” Laurel said to her long-time friend.
David stepped inside, propping the door with a wooden chair. “Where do you want to start?”
