Home at last, p.11
Home at Last, page 11
Luke's hand fell over Mattie's. Instead of letting loose, he left it there. Mattie didn't pull her hand free. Her dark eyes held his. Unable to suppress his ardor, Luke leaned across the table and kissed her.
It was brief and tender. Neither spoke. Their hands remained clasped.
“You do love me, too, don't you?” Luke asked.
Mattie didn't answer.
“Please, Mattie, marry me. We belong together. We always have.”
Mattie's eyes pooled with tears. She shook her head. “I can't.” She slipped her hand out from under his. “I'm sorry, Luke. Maybe I do love you, but I can't marry you. I just can't. If we get married, we're...united, joined. I...I just can't think about you being in the war. I'd be afraid all the time. Living like that would be misery. And I won't go back to Alaska.”
Luke didn't hear her. All he knew was that there was hope and she loved him. “Mattie, it'll be all right. No Japs or Krauts will touch me. And we don't have to move to Alaska. We can live somewhere else. Here is fine.”
“If we get married, we're not just good friends anymore—we're one. Everything will be different, and I know I couldn't bear the thought of you out there...somewhere in the Pacific…” She straightened. “With things the way they are now, I'm not yours and you're not mine. If something happens...nothing really changes.” She stood and walked to the sink. “And you might not think you have to live in Alaska, but you do. I know you. You're part of it. Plus, you have the farm.”
“No. Ray has the farm,” Luke said, unable to keep the old bitterness out of his voice.
“One day it will be yours.” She filled a glass with water and took a drink, then turned to look at him. “I like it here. I'm my own person. I don't worry about what I look like—the color of my skin and my eyes and hair. I don't expect to hear the word Siewash thrown at me. Here I'm just part of the crowd.”
“There must be some way to work this out.”
“There isn't. I've thought about it.” She set the glass in the sink. Without looking at him, she continued, “We're friends forever, but only friends. Let me love you that way. Please.”
Luke couldn't give up. He crossed to her, took hold of Mattie's shoulders, and turned her so she faced him. “No matter where you live, you'll be native. You can't change that.”
“No. You're wrong. Here it's different. People don't see an Aleut Indian. They see me.”
“What about Jasmine? They care that she's a Negro.”
Confusion momentarily touched Mattie's face. “That's different.”
“Why?”
Mattie didn't answer, but her expression was one of resolve.
Luke knew he could not convince her, not today anyway. He took a deep breath and let it out. “OK. But I'm not giving up. One day you'll be mine.”
“No. I won't. I can't.” Mattie strode toward her room. She stopped and turned to look at him. “I'm sorry,” she said, then disappeared through the door, closing it decisively.
Chapter 11
LAUREL TUCKED THE BED COVERS AROUND WILLIAM'S SHOULDERS. “GOOD night, sweetheart,” she said and kissed his forehead.
The little boy reached up and wrapped his arms around his mother's neck. “I love you, and I love Daddy. When is Daddy coming home?”
Laurel hated having William ask about his father. She didn't know when Adam would return. All she knew was that he was somewhere in Europe. Her heart ached at the thought of his being so far away and most certainly in danger. She forced a smile. “God is watching out for Daddy. I'm sure he'll be home before too much longer.”
“What's too much longer?”
“I don't know for sure when he'll be back, sweetie.”
“He has to be here before summer,” William said.
“Summer it is then.” Laurel caressed his cheek. “Maybe winter will pass quickly.” She straightened. “It's time for you to sleep. Sweet dreams.” Quietly she walked out, leaving the door ajar so heat from the stove would warm his room.
She crossed to the firebox and banked the fire for the night. Wind whistled under the eaves and snatched at wooden shingles on the roof. Laurel peered through an ice-encrusted window at the outside darkness. She couldn't see any lights from nearby farms. She felt alone.
Laurel's mind wandered to Adam. He was in another world—a dangerous world. She'd received only two letters since he'd left in January. He'd been assigned to a squadron of fighter pilots and bombers stationed in England but was uncertain if they'd remain at the base outside London or be relocated. He'd complained that there'd been too little action. He was seeking a transfer. Too little action? London is right in the middle of it. Why do men want to fight, to see “action?”
“I don't understand,” she said, crossing to her chair and picking up the sewing she'd left in a basket. She'd been crocheting a doily for her bed stand. Holding it up to the light, she studied her work. The pattern was intricate, and she'd done a fine job, but she took little pleasure in it. Laurel sat. “I just wish Adam would come home.” Resting her head against the back of the chair, she closed her eyes and imagined he was with her. His presence made her feel safe.
A sharp clang and the sound of squawking chickens reverberated from outside. Laurel straightened, alert. “Something's at the chickens!” Pushing out of the chair, she snatched the rifle from its shelf on the wall and rested it against the back door, then threw on a coat and pushed her feet into fur-lined boots. After pulling on gloves, she grabbed the rifle, opened the door, and peered into the darkness. Since the moon wasn't out, she'd need a light.
Returning to the kitchen, Laurel lifted the lantern from a shelf and lit it. Holding it high, she stepped onto the porch and into a frigid wind. It was clear and moonless. The cold cut through her as she headed for the chicken house. Scuffling and squawking emanated from the coop. “Lord, please don't let it be a wolf,” Laurel prayed. “Or a wolverine,” she added as an afterthought, deciding the aggressive animal might be just as formidable as a wolf.
Her feet broke through a layer of ice covering the snow. Each step produced a loud crunching sound, and she was certain whatever was in the chicken house would hear her, but the ruckus continued.
Darkness pressed in, making the light of her lantern seem weak. She gazed into the blackness, wishing the lamp's glow could penetrate the shadows. If one wolf is in the coop, there might be others, she thought. “You're being silly,” she told herself. “It's probably nothing more than an irksome varmint.” Although she knew bears were supposed to be hibernating, she couldn't help but wonder if one might have wandered out. I wish Adam was here, she thought as a fresh uproar erupted from inside the chicken house. She considered retreating, but the chickens were too important. She couldn't lose them.
Laurel moved close to the coop door and stopped to make sure her gun was cocked and ready. She set the lantern in the snow beside the building and noiselessly lifted the latch, then eased open the door.
Quickly grabbing the lantern while struggling to keep her gun at the ready, she looked inside. Glistening eyes stared from the far side of the coop. An animal crouched in the corner. It darted across the floor. Laurel leaped backward, adrenaline shooting through her. She raised the gun! The creature ran at her, then a flash of gray flew past. It was a wolf! No—a fox. Laurel's tensed muscles loosened slightly, and she fired. The animal yipped and fell.
Letting out a breath of relief, Laurel lifted the fox. “You should have stayed away from my chickens.” She scanned the room. Most of the flock was still perched on roosts, looking a little ruffled but uninjured. A few huddled on the hay-strewn floor, pressing their quivering bodies against the wall. The room looked as if it had been showered with feathers. Two hens were dead, and one rooster was nearly lifeless. They'd have to go in the pot.
Laurel put the injured rooster out of his misery and carried the three chickens to the house. She'd have to pluck and butcher them if they were going to be of any use. Weary, she set to work.
After finishing with the chickens, she dragged the fox into the barn. Adam should be here, she thought, momentarily angry. This was too much for a woman to handle all alone. He should have stayed. Almost immediately she recanted the idea. She was being selfish. Adam was serving his country. What could be more important than that?
She gazed at the black sky where brilliant lights flickered. Aren't William and I important too?
A soft voice whispered, “Yes. And you have not been forgotten.”
The flush of guilt returned, and Laurel chastised herself for her lack of faith. Adam would return, and she and William would be fine while they waited. They had plenty of food, wood for heat, a snug home, and good friends and family. Her time would be better spent praying for Adam and the others fighting for freedom. “Forgive me,” she said and headed back to the house.
The following morning Laurel skinned out the fox while William watched. He stroked the fur and talked about the day when he would grow up and be able to hunt.
After stretching the pelt across a board, Laurel rested it against the barn wall. She would flesh it later; now she needed company. The fur would wait a few hours while she visited Jessie and worked on the book. She returned to the house to cook breakfast.
William finished up the last of his mush while Laurel did the dishes. She looked at her son. “You want to go to Grandma's?”
He smiled. “Yes. Is Grandpa going to be there?”
“Uh-huh. You can help him with chores.”
“Can I milk the cow?”
“Maybe. You'll have to ask Grandpa.”
After breakfast was finished, Laurel and William bundled up and set out. Laurel was certain her mother would be more than happy to watch William while she was at Jessie's. She looked forward to spending time with her old friend. After the previous evening's excitement, she needed Jessie's unruffled company.
“Thanks, Mama,” Laurel said, giving William a kiss good-bye. “I'll be back before supper.”
“Why don't you and William eat with us?” Jean asked.
“I'd like that. I've been kind of lonely lately.”
Jean gave Laurel a quick hug. “You should visit more often.”
“I will. Thanks.” She kissed her mother's cheek and headed for Jessie's. It was a clear day, and sunlight glistened brightly off the snow, making Laurel squint. She didn't mind. At this time of year there weren't enough daylight hours, even on clear days. And when clouds hung over the valley, it never seemed to get truly light but looked more like dusk.
In the sunlight her fears of the previous night seemed silly. She knew she shouldn't allow herself to be frightened so easily. Adam had been gone a month, and sooner or later she had to learn to depend on herself and less on others. What if something were to happen to him? She'd truly be on her own.
By the time she arrived at Jessie's, Laurel was looking forward to working on the book nearly as much as visiting her friend. They were close to completing the six-year project Jessie had promised her husband she'd finish. When they'd started, Laurel had thought it wouldn't take more than a year, maybe two, but it was much tougher than she'd expected. And now she worried they wouldn't finish before Jessie died.
She's getting on, Laurel thought. She's failing a little every day. We've got to finish Steward's project.
When Laurel pulled into the drive in front of the small cabin, smoke drifted lazily upward from the chimney. Jessie peeked out the front window and waved. Laurel returned the gesture and climbed out of the car. The door of the cabin opened before she reached the front steps.
“Good morning to you,” Jessie said. “I was hoping you'd come by.” She gave Laurel a warm hug. “Come in. Come in. It's freezing out.”
Laurel stepped into the familiar, friendly home. It was disorderly as always. Crowded shelves and paintings cluttered the walls, throw rugs and well-worn furniture cluttered the front room, and scattered pots and pans and baked goods cluttered the kitchen. It felt just right and friendly to Laurel. Her tension slipped away.
Jessie hobbled into the kitchen. “Let me fix you a cup of hot cocoa.”
“Mmm. Sounds good.” Laurel removed her gloves. “Do you want to work today?” she asked, slipping off her coat and hanging it on a hook just inside the door.
“Oh my, yes. Of course.”
Laurel followed Jessie into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. She watched the old woman, whose hands now shook slightly as she stirred the cocoa. Laurel knew better than to try to help her. Each year Jessie had grown more stubborn and more determined to do things for herself.
Jessie filled two cups with the rich hot chocolate. “Ah, there you are,” she said, handing Laurel a cup and taking one for herself. “Now then, let's sit a minute and chat.” She smiled and her eyes smiled too, nearly disappearing within deep wrinkles. “I want to know how you're faring.”
Laurel settled herself on a settee opposite Jessie, who sat in her overstuffed chair. Jessie sipped her cocoa, then with her eyes bright she said, “We're nearly finished. It's hard to believe. I'd say maybe a couple more weeks of steady work and we'll be ready to send it off to the college. They contacted me. They're waiting and are still very enthusiastic. They have a publisher all set up.”
“I hope they like it.”
“Well, of course they will. We did a fine job on it, and Steward would be proud. He did such thorough research, and I think we make a good team. I just wish he were here to see it completed.” Jessie teared. “His Alaskan Anthology, finished.” She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief she kept folded inside her shirt cuff. “I'm getting sentimental in my old age. But I don't suppose it will be much longer before I join my Steward.”
“Don't say that. I'll bet you're around for a good long while yet.”
“Maybe. But I don't mind going, really. I'm ready.” She paused. “I'm missing Steward more and more. I can hardly wait to see him.”
Laurel understood. Every time she thought of Adam, an ache squeezed her chest, rising into her throat, and she would long to feel his arms, to hear his voice. “I think I understand, but I'll miss you so much. I can't imagine your being gone.”
Jessie smiled. “It's good to be loved. And I thank you, but I'm sure you'll go on just fine without me. You have your own family to think about.”
“Yes. I just wish Adam would come home.” Laurel took a drink of cocoa, then cradled the cup in her hands. “Last night I had a visitor.”
Jessie raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“I was just thinking of going to bed when I heard a ruckus out in the chicken coop. I went to investigate and found a fox along with two dead hens and a rooster nearly gone.” She straightened slightly. “He won't be back. I shot him.”
“I've lost a few hens to pesky critters myself over the years.”
“You ever get scared?”
“Oh, sure. There are dangerous things in this world.”
“I knew I had to go out there and take care of the chickens. I can't afford to lose them. But I was scared. And I was imagining all kinds of things. I feel silly now, but I wish Adam had been there. William and I need him.”
Jessie nodded sympathetically. “Have you heard from him?”
“I received a letter a few days ago. He's in England, hoping to be sent on a mission. He said that very little is happening and he's waiting to get another assignment. He's stationed with a group of pilots but hasn't seen any real fighting. And he's sick of the food and promises that when he gets home he'll even eat rutabagas.” She smiled. “I'll just be glad to get him home.”
“It will be a fine day when all our young men come home.”
“I just don't understand any of it. Why do wars have to happen?”
“There are lots of reasons for war, but I think the main one is man's need for power and domination and his desire for possessions. The big countries want to get bigger, the small countries want to get big, and they all want what someone else has.”
“Why?”
“Man's sinful heart. Throughout time humans have battled for supremacy over one another, and I suppose it will continue to the end of time.”
“It just makes me so mad. I think men like violence. In his letter, Adam sounded disappointed because he hasn't seen more fighting.”
Jessie smiled softly, her oval eyes pained. “I'm sure it's not that Adam likes violence. He knows important things are happening in this war, and he wants to be one of the men recording them. The events of war must be documented. We can always hope that humans will look more closely at history and grasp the tragedy of war and think before they begin another one.” Jessie paused. “And I'm sorry to say it does seem that humankind rather enjoys upheaval.”
“I hate the men who started this war, and I hate that men want to fight.” Laurel's words were vehement and heated, and until she'd spoken she hadn't realized the depth of her emotions.
“I'm not so sure anyone wants to fight,” Jessie said gently. “I'm certain that for most it's a desire to do what's right that prompts them. They recognize that evil stalks and attacks the innocent and vulnerable, and someone has to come to the victims' aid. Where would we be if no one was willing to stand up to our enemies?”
“I know what you're saying, but it's still very confusing to me. And I miss Adam. I want him home.”
“He'll be home. Don't you worry about that. Your Adam is one of those who cares about the ones being tread upon.” She held Laurel's gaze. “He's doing the right thing. You and I need to pray for our brave fighting men, including the ones who write about it all so that people won't forget.”
“I know you're right,” Laurel said. “But I'm afraid for him. The Germans have been bombing London.” Her mind wandered to her husband. Where was he? Was he safe? Was he involved in a battle somewhere? Please come home to me, her heart pleaded.
Chapter 12
ADAM STOOD OUTSIDE THE CONFERENCE ROOM AND WAITED FOR THE BRIEFING to end. He glanced at his watch—0500 he read, then yawned, thinking he could have used more sack time. He wished he were inside getting the story, but rules were rules—no newsmen allowed. He'd been away from his family eight months and still hadn't managed to get on top of a good story; to be part of a real mission. Once more, he thought in frustration, he'd have to wrangle the information out of one of the pilots or crew members. It usually wasn't difficult. A lot of the airmen were happy to tell Adam what they knew. For the most part, the men trusted him, and in many ways he'd become one of them. Still, if he didn't make a mission soon, he might as well go home.
