“What’s up with Della?”
“Finally got that surgery on her arm,” Sal answered. “Got it done at that famous clinic in Minnesota, but had to stay a coupla weeks at a recovery center back there before she could come home.”
Sal took a sip of her coffee. “Yup, they treated her right at St. Otto’s. Gotta think of some way to say thanks for the great care.”
“Will her arm be okay?”
“Jest about good as new—at least that’s what they’re sayin’,” Sal answered. “Jest about good as new.”
“So, what brings you to Juneau, another honeymoon for you and Joe?” Mara laughed.
“Wish that was the case,” Sal said, taking another sip of her Kona. “Good coffee, Jane.”
Mara smiled and shifted her foot, which had gone to sleep with Thor resting up against it.
“Nope. Ain’t gonna be no honeymoonin’ this trip,” Sal said. “Gotta clean up Joe’s brother’s estate.”
“Oh … gosh, I’m sorry … I know Joe said he had a brother.”
“Yeah, you know what they say, ya can pick yer friends, but not yer …”
Sal stopped talking for a moment as the two sat in a comfortable silence.
“I guess in the end it all turned out okay,” she said. “At least Stu owed up to his fatherly responsibility and paid fer Della’s surgery, though it don’t no way make up for his abandonin’ her when she was young.”
“Stu?” Mara said, focusing on the somewhat unusual name.
“Yup. Stuart James Michael—Joe’s youngest brother and Della’s father. I guess he lived somewhere along the harbor. Died a lung cancer last week. Wasn’t sick long, either. Just kinda up and died at the hospital back in Minnesota after visitin’ Della.
We got the call the mornin’ after it happened. Guess Della had put Joe and mine’s name on her papers as people to be notified if anything happened to her.”
Mara tried to quell the adrenaline that was racing through her veins at the unbelievable news Sal had just dropped on her. Of course, there was no certainty that it was her next-door neighbor, Stu, who was Joe’s brother, but then, Stu had seemed familiar to her right from the start—and liked to talk using limericks, like Joe.
“What the hell’s wrong with ya, Jane? Ya feelin’ okay? Ya look like ya jest seen a ghost.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
It’s Only Right …
Once Mara had recovered from the shock of learning, not only of Stu’s death, but also of his relationship to both Joe and Della, she met up with Sal again at KonaJane’s to talk about Stu’s memorial.
“Stu lived next door to me,” she said, laughing when Sal was the one who looked surprised this time.
“Well, ain’t much point ta holdin’ a memorial as far as I can see,” Sal said in her usual direct manner. “He’s already fried and Joe gave his ashes to Della, though heaven knows why the hell she’d want ‘em—but I guess bein’ as Stu’s her father and bein’ as he paid for her surgery, I shouldn’t be the one ta condemn Della’s forgivin’ heart. And ya say he was yer next-door neighbor? That’s jest plain weird, Jane. I mean, scary weird, ya know?”
“I’m not sure how long he’s been in Juneau or who he knows, really,” Mara said. “I’ve only known him a few months, and I can’t recall seeing anyone ever visit …”
She stood to clear the empty coffee cups from the table, waiting to see what Sal would say.
When Sal said nothing, she said, “You know, Sal, even though Stu got kinda crotchety near the end—and could be as gruff as any old sourdough I’ve ever met—well, he seemed like a half-decent guy underneath it all, even in spite of himself.”
“Well, half-decent is a step up from what Joe thinks a him,” Sal said.
“I don’t know if you know I’m half owner of a seiner now …,” Mara said.
Sal stood, took the cups from Mara’s hands, and carried them to the sink behind the front counter.
“Good heavens almighty, Jane, course I know ‘bout the seiner.”
Sal was eerie sometimes. Mara didn’t even ask her how she knew. She had had this kind of encounter with the old woman too many times to even question what she said. The only thing she knew with certainty was that Sal was solidly in her corner and so was Joe.
“Well, I was starting to say that Stu went out on the Driftfeather with my business partner, Alex and …”
“Ah, the Driftfeather,” Sal said in a tone that almost sounded reminiscing. “Such a fine seiner. Sound, too. They don’t build ‘em any better …”
Suddenly Sal stopped reminiscing. “So, you was sayin’ somethin’ about takin’ Stu out on the seiner?”
“I’m just wondering if maybe we should have some kind of small memorial, Sal? Invite some of the neighbors and folks around town, you know. No one should die without anyone noticing, it’s just not right.”
“I’ll talk to Joe ‘bout it when he calls me tonight,” Sal said.
“We could have it at my place or even at Stu’s cabin,” Mara said.
“Well, it’d be easy enough bein’ as yer right next door. Ya sure ya want all them folks traipsin’ through yer place?”
“Maybe not, but we could have it at the park across the street, or even at the bar he used to visit right down from where he lived.”
“I like the bar idea. That way, those of us that want some anesthetic to git us through the dang memory fest can, and the rest can say whatever it is they want ‘bout Stu’s sorry good-fer-nothin’ soul—Lord forgive me,” Sal sputtered.
“You talk to Joe and let me know and I’ll take care of the rest,” Mara said. “Now that I own a business, it should be easy to get support from another business owner—at least I hope it works that way.”
“Fair ‘nuff, Jane.”
Walking over to Mara, Sal suddenly put her hands on her shoulders and pulled her downward while reaching up to kiss her on the cheek.
“Yer a good woman, Jane, jest like Joe always said ya was and jest like he said yer pa was.”
A knock on the door broke up their conversation as Mara lifted the shade, turned the closed sign to open, and let in a couple of customers who were trying to come in out of the rain.
“Yes, a good cup of Kona would take the chill off, and I have some homemade chocolate chip cookies and …”
When she looked up, Sal was just outside the door, walking toward the center of town.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Stu’s Memorial
Stu’s memorial ended up being held two weeks later just as planned, with a larger-than-expected crowd gathered at the bar for the Saturday afternoon event. Mara listened as more than one old codger raised a glass to the old fisherman, many citing instances where Stu had lent them a hand while out at sea, and with most mentioning that they wondered where he had gone after retiring several years ago.
“If it hadn’t been for ole Stu towin’ me away from shore, I woulda lost my seiner and the biggest catch o’ the year after that storm,” one old guy, who called himself Dickie, said.
“Well, sure as ole Stu could drink any man under the table, he could sober up faster’n an eagle snatchin’ a fish if ya needed help,” another said.
“Never knew he was even sick. Thought he moved north or somethin’,” a third person said.
All in all, it looked like Stu had left a better footprint on the earth than she—or even his own brother, Joe—had given him credit for, even though she could hardly contain her disgust at the rambling, phony tribute that Lessis gave.
“Many of you here know me from my role as your police officer,” Lessis began, “and I believe most of you would agree that I was fair …”
Mara slid away from the ceremony, ducking into the restroom to escape Lessis’s self-tribute. Maybe, if she were lucky, he would be done when she returned, but unfortunately, he was just getting around to talking about Stu when she got back.
“Stu and I were friends. I think most everyone here knew that. Why, there wasn’t a thing I w
ouldn’t do for the old man if he asked me, although I mostly kept those good deeds to myself.”
Mara rolled her eyes and shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
“It stands to reason that that was the very reason he came to me for help when the cancer first started to rear its ugly head. Though I don’t wanna brag, it was me that got Stu lined up for his trip south, me that set up the trust for his dear daughter, Della—hello Della, darlin’ sure happy you could make it here today—and me who kept word about all the goin’s-on quiet so ole Stu could retain the privacy he valued so much.”
As Lessis continued rambling on about his pivotal role in Stu’s life, Della dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, while Sal brought more than one beer back to the table for herself and Joe. By the time it was Joe’s turn to speak, darkness had descended on Juneau and people were beginning to filter out of the bar.
“I just want to tell you all thanks for comin’ here today and thanks for honorin’ Stu,” Joe said, when it was his turn to talk.
Pausing for several seconds as if to think, Joe finished by saying, “I guess that’s it. That’s all I got to say.” Then he sat down, took a long swig of his beer, stood again, helped Della then Sal up from their chairs, gave Mara a nod, and shuffled out of the bar.
Before they left, Mara managed to stop them for a moment, asking Della if she would be in town for long. Since Joe and Sal would be taking Della back to Glenallen in the morning, there wouldn’t be time for a real visit, but she at least had time to learn that the surgery on Della’s arm was expected to result in a complete return of function, something Della assured her would never have happened without the help of her wonderful father, Stu.
Luckily, Della couldn’t see the look on Joe’s face—a look Mara recognized as something between disgust and resignation. Joe had already filled her in on some of the details of his estrangement from Stu—about how Stu had abandoned Della at birth, and now had apparently bought her love even though it had been he who had looked out for her all these years.
She hugged Sal, then put her arms around Joe and hugged him, too, holding the old man long enough to infuse his spirit with all the love she could muster.
“Thank you for coming and for bringing Della,” she told Joe. “I know how hard it was for you to do and I wouldn’t have expected any less.”
When Joe looked up, his eyes looked tired, revealing an unusual vulnerability to his normally stoic spirit.
“We’ll be seein’ ya soon enough, Jane,” Sal said. “Gotta come back down ta clean out Stu’s cabin and probly put it up fer sale since Della’s still recoverin’ and says she wants to stay near her mother in Glenallen.”
The sight of Alex and Emily coming through the door pulled Mara away from any more talk with Sal, as she went over to tell them how glad she was they had gotten here, even though they had just missed Stu’s memorial.
“Tried our best to make it,” Alex said, “but got slowed down by a storm outside of Cordova and had to hole up for a day.”
And so was the day of Stu’s memorial after which Mara stayed to help the bar owner clean up, handily avoiding Lessis’s attempts to corner her alone in the process.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Past Revelations
Thor was not in is usual spot at the foot of her bed when Mara woke up the next morning. Instead, she found him lying near the front door, upon which he kept pushing gently with his nose. Thinking he needed to go out, she threw on some clothes and prepared to go out early for their morning walk around the harbor.
“Della?” she said, as Thor put his paws up on the shoulders of the slightly built Native woman who was standing in front of her cabin when she opened the door.
“Uncle Joe and Sal are next door looking for some of my pa’s papers,” Della said. “I wanted to see you before we left. Not much chance yesterday at the memorial. It was nice—what you did for my pa.”
“Walk with me?” Mara said, “or do you want to come in for coffee?”
“We can walk,” Della answered.
“I see he’s still got the wolf medallion,” Della said, fingering the handbeaded moose- hide medal that her mother, Mary, had made for Thor.
“And I still have the quill bracelet your mother made for me,” Mara said, showing Della her wrist.
Impulsively, she reached out and hugged the young woman into whose life she had been thrust when she found her bleeding from a gunshot wound in front of the motel where Della had been the night manager.
“My mother married Henry,” Della said, referring to the security guard at the motel.
“He seems like a good man,” Mara said.
“He is,” Della answered.
Della, in every encounter they’d, had been a woman of few words, but she was also one of those rare people who, when they spoke in short sentences, said volumes.
“My mother is happy now.”
“Then I’m happy for both her and for you.”
“She was worried about my arm. Henry was, too. Now it’s fixed.”
“That’s such wonderful news, Della.”
The two women watched as Thor took off after a couple of eagles. It was all in good fun. The eagles regularly liked to sit on pilings along the docks and flushing them was sport for Thor, who liked to watch them fly up and then sit right back down where they had been.
“Uncle Joe, Mary, Henry, none of them could afford it,” Della said.
“You mean the surgery?”
“Yes, the surgery,” Della replied.
“It’s only because of my father I could have it done. He sent me the money when he heard.”
Mara knew that Stu had lived frugally and had no idea what his net worth had been, but if he had seen fit to finally care for the daughter he had abandoned at birth, then perhaps he had come through for Della after all. Better late than never.
“Uncle Joe won’t get over it,” Della said, as she continued to reveal bits and pieces of her life.
“You mean his anger at your father for abandoning you?”
“That and the war and the fire,” Della answered.
“C’mere, Thor,” Mara called, snapping a leash to his collar when he returned. “You can’t be running off like that. You’re gonna get me in trouble.”
As much as she hated to restrict Thor, listening to Della on this rare occasion when she wanted to talk meant that she couldn’t allow running after him to distract her right now.
“What about the war, Della?”
“Mary didn’t tell me about this until lately,” Della began. “Uncle Joe fixed my father up with my mother, then when she got pregnant and I was born, he put his name on the papers and then took off. No one could find him for a long time. I heard Uncle Joe call him a draft dodger. Said he went to Canada. Uncle Joe also said that when my father came back, they didn’t arrest him ‘cause of me.”
“I heard there was a lot of that during the Vietnam War,” Mara said, “Men marrying women and getting them pregnant so the government would let them out of the draft.”
“Then, when my father did come back, he stayed with Uncle Joe and his family for a while.”
“I didn’t know that,” Mara said.
“One day Uncle Joe had to go into Anchorage to the VA. He had to be gone about four days. It was winter and my Aunt Betty sent my father out to get some wood—told him to clean out the woodstove first. My father told her that was Joe’s job, but I guess he did it anyway.”
Mara could almost picture Stu spouting off at Joe’s wife the way she had seen him do to others, and even to herself.
“During the night, the cabin caught fire. My mother said my father put the ashes from the stove in a pile in the snow outside the house instead of spreading them around like you’re supposed to, and when the wind came up that night it kindled the ashes and blew them toward the house. They caught the porch on fire and then the house. Everyone was sleeping. By the time they woke up, it was too late.”
“So that explains the house fire,” M
ara said simply.
“All my cousins and my Aunt Betty were gone,” Della said. “I remember my mother crying for weeks. She said that my father just didn’t take the time to do it right because he didn’t want to tend to the stove. All the time she kept talking about losing her only sister—talking about why she didn’t feel the flames herself bein’ as they were identical twins, and how she could have run to save Betty if she had been a good sister.”
“But how could she have known?” Mara asked.
“My mother and Betty always knew. Everyone always talked about that. But my mother was sick that night and the doctor had given her some medicine that made her sleep, and so she didn’t know. She said it was the first time she didn’t know.”
“It must have been horrible for your mother.”
“For a long time, she wouldn’t talk to no one about it,” Della said.
“And where was your father that night, Della?”
“He was at the bar. When Uncle Joe got home the next day, my father begged his forgiveness, but Uncle Joe wouldn’t listen. The day after the funerals, both my father and Uncle Joe left Hoonah and no one knew where they went. Some say Uncle Joe went lookin’ for my father with an ax. I don’t know if that’s true.”
Mara cringed at the thought, imagining the pain Joe must have endured at learning that not only was his whole family gone, but gone because of the actions of his own brother, be they intentional or not.
“Over the years I heard stories,” Della said. “Sometimes I heard that my father was a fisherman out in the Gulf. He never came back. My mother never said anything bad about him, but she never said anything good either. She just told me he was gone and it was just me and her.
“Once in a while, Uncle Joe would send money. There were stories that he lived on the ferries. Some people said he was a shaman. After my gunshot, he came around and brought Sal with him. They helped my mother care for me, but they only came sometimes.
“One day I got a check in the mail, along with a letter. My father said he had heard about what happened and that he was dying and he wanted to make things right. He said he knew the money couldn’t make up for the past, but maybe it could make for a better future.”
Driftfeather on the Alaska Seas Page 8