[Song of Alaska 02] - Morning's Refrain

by Tracie Peterson

  “But you said we were all made the same in God’s eyes.”

  Zerelda nodded. “That we are. Even so, we needn’t all do the same things.”

  “But the missionaries say that the Tlingits should be like the whites,” Kjerstin pressed.

  Her comment was clearly unexpected. Lydia looked at Kjell and then to Zerelda. “People say a great many things. It doesn’t mean it’s wise or sensible.”

  The ten-year-old was visibly concerned. “But they’re doing God’s work. You said that when people are doing God’s work, they are often misunderstood.”

  Lydia smiled. “I’m glad to know you’ve been listening. It’s true that missionaries are often misunderstood.”

  “And they often misunderstand. Sometimes they simply make mistakes in how they handle things,” Zerelda interjected.

  Lydia frowned. This had long been a bone of contention for her aunt. When Sheldon Jackson and his missionaries moved into the area, Zerelda Rockford had voiced a mix of praise and frustration.

  Her agitation over the way the Tlingits were treated was a frequent topic at the Lindquist table.

  Evie gave Lydia a smile. “I think we all make mistakes. We say and do things we wish we could take back.”

  “So the missionaries are wrong?” Kjerstin asked.

  Zerelda put down her fork. “I believe sometimes they are. They have good hearts and long to do God’s work, but I think some go about it all wrong. They haven’t really bothered to understand the people and their culture because they believe the old ways should be put aside. That leads to resentment and confusion among the native people, and I can’t say that I don’t feel the same way.”

  “Now, now, Zee. We hardly need to get all up in arms at supper,” Kjell said in a good-natured manner. He gave his daughters a wink. “You girls owe me a game of checkers tonight. What say we have our pie by the fire and get started?”

  “Yes!” Britta declared, getting to her feet. She looked to her mother. “May we please?”

  Lydia was surprised that Kjell had suggested such a thing, but it was clear he didn’t want his daughters drawn up in an argument about the politics of serving God. She nodded. “I think that would be just fine. You three go ahead, and I will bring your dessert.” Kjell smiled and pushed back from the table.

  Once they were gone, Lydia turned to her aunt. “Zee, you know Kjell doesn’t like to see the girls in the middle of this. It’s bad enough that folks discuss it at church.”

  “Well, it should be discussed. It’s a problem that has been with us for a long while.” Then Zerelda’s hard expression softened, and she pushed away from the table. “Still, I want to keep the peace. I’m sorry. I simply feel passionate about this matter. I feel so many of the Tlingits are suffering at the hands of the whites, rather than being benefited as so many like to believe. It’s like the Russian church and the Presbyterians are playing a game of tug-of-war with the hearts and minds of the children. Goodness, but it seems almost criminal the way they go at it.”

  Dalton reached out and patted his great-aunt’s hand. “Your love of the Tlingit people is amazing, Aunt Zee. You’ve worked to better understand the people and their culture. You’ve shown them that the love of Jesus transcends everything else.”

  “Speaking of which, I have some more material for quilt squares,” Lydia announced. “Mrs. Vargas brought us what had been collected at church.”

  “That’s wonderful. We’ll have plenty of time to cut squares. The Tlingit girls won’t be returning until fall,” Zerelda replied. “I know they are needed at home for the salmon run and such, but I hate for them to put aside their lessons.”

  “Perhaps they’ll find a way to continue studying at home.” Lydia got to her feet and looked at Dalton. “Would you like more fish?”

  “No, but I’m ready for that pie. I’ve still got plenty of room for that.”

  She laughed as he patted his stomach. “I’ve no doubt.”

  “Well, saving a life is hard work. Gives you a big appetite,” he said in a teasing tone.

  “You were quite the hero,” Lydia told her son. “I think it helps when the person you have to rescue is so pretty.”

  Dalton laughed. “She was also full of spit and vinegar.”

  “I’m sure she was embarrassed by what had happened. Goodness, but the whole town had turned out to greet the new governor, and there she was, making a scene.”

  “I hadn’t really thought of it that way. Just figured she didn’t like me.”

  “And would that matter to you?” Lydia asked.

  His expression grew thoughtful, and then he simply said, “I think it would.”

  Chapter 4

  Phoebe Robbins finished pinning her long blond hair into a neat roll at the back of her head. She stared at her reflection in the mirror for a moment and sighed. She had not wanted to come to Sitka, Alaska. Had it not been for her mother’s pleading, Phoebe would have taken up her grandmother’s offer to remain in Vermont. Her brothers, Theodore and Grady, seemed more than happy to make the trek to the wilds of the frontier. But at fifteen and thirteen, all of life was an adventure to them.

  “If you continue to frown that way,” her mother said, sweeping into the room with fresh linens, “you’ll have permanent lines on your face.”

  Phoebe rose from the dressing table and offered her mother a weak smile. “I’m sorry.”

  “If you’re still fretting over that incident last week when we arrived, why not do something positive instead?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Mother placed the linens at the end of Phoebe’s bed. “That nice young man who saved your life. You told me you regretted how you acted. I have arranged to go meet his mother this afternoon and personally thank him for what he did. Perhaps you could make him a gift of apology—maybe some cookies.”

  She considered this for a moment. “I do owe him an apology. I hardly know what got into me.” She followed her mother out of the room. “But he owes me one, as well. He threw me down in the water. I could have been injured.”

  “Oh, Phoebe. Your embarrassment got the best of you. If you’d not lashed out, he would never have reacted in such a way. Make him a batch of cookies, and he will quickly forget your caustic tongue.”

  Phoebe tied on her apron and moved among the collection of unpacked crates. “Why did Father have to agree to take this job?”

  “You know he’s good friends with Mr. Knapp—Governor Knapp. It was always supposed that if he was appointed to be governor over the district, we would accompany his family and your father would work for him. Personally, I’m glad to have a good friend in his wife. Martha is the kindest of women, and I shan’t grow too lonely with her near.”

  Frowning again, Phoebe wanted to comment that this was all well and fine for her mother, but Phoebe had no real friendship with either the governor’s wife or their children. Who was she to befriend in this vast and desolate country?

  “Besides, we have each other—you and me. We must simply make the best of our situation,” her mother continued. “I believe we shall have a great need for our candles. If our supplies were undamaged on the move here, we shall have to get to work right away.”

  The women in their family had been chandlers for five generations. Her mother had taught Phoebe the various secrets to making candles, along with recipes for a variety of types. It was both fascinating and enjoyable work.

  “I know the people up here use a great deal of oil—whale, seal, and even a type of fish, although the name escapes me. We might be able to utilize some of these things in our candle making.”

  “Yes, but as Father said, getting any kind of supply brought to us from the States will be quite expensive. We may well find it a futile effort.”

  Her mother shrugged. “Perhaps, but I will not disappoint my ancestors and put it aside. I will do whatever I can to continue. Now, why don’t you make the cookies while I continue unpacking the crates. We’ll go to the Lindquists after our noonti
me meal.”

  “Lindquist? That’s his name?”

  “That’s the family name. Kjell and Lydia Lindquist are the parents of the young man who saved you. His name is Dalton.”

  Phoebe smiled. “Dalton.” She let the name slip over her tongue. She could still see his blue eyes staring hard at her. “Very well. I will make cookies for Dalton.”

  They were nearly to the Lindquist house when Phoebe got a case of the jitters. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” she told her mother. There was something about Dalton Lindquist and the memory of his arms around her that greatly unnerved her.

  The older woman laughed and brought the wagon to a stop. “Well, it’s a little late to decide that now. We’re already here. See there, the women have come to greet us.”

  Phoebe looked up to see a dark-haired woman, dressed simply in a white muslin shirtwaist and a dark blue cotton skirt. Beside her stood a much-older-looking woman who wore her hair in a short bob rather than pinned atop her head.

  “Good afternoon, ladies. We are so pleased to have you visit,” the younger of the two women announced. “I’m Lydia Lindquist, and this is my aunt, Miss Zerelda Rockford.”

  “But folks around here call me Zee,” the older woman threw in.

  Phoebe helped her mother down, then turned to smile. Her mother made quick introductions. “I’m Bethel Robbins, and this is my daughter, Phoebe. She’s the one your son, Dalton, saved from drowning.”

  Phoebe bowed her head quickly. Her mother needn’t have reminded everyone of the incident now several days past. How humiliating to have one’s mistakes thrown out for everyone to comment upon.

  “We are very happy to make your acquaintance. We thought it might be nice to have tea out here on the porch since the day is so pleasant. Would that be to your liking?” Mrs. Lindquist asked.

  Phoebe’s mother nodded. “Oh, that would be ideal.” Forgetting about her offering of cookies and the man she’d come to honor, Phoebe instead studied the two-story log house. It was quite lovely.

  Someone had taken great care in the details.

  Lydia Lindquist directed them to take seats at the small tea table. Lovely hand-carved wooden chairs graced the arrangement.

  The backs were ornate with a lovely design of hearts and flowers.

  In Vermont, she had known a family of Swedes who had furnished their home entirely with furniture from the old country. Their dining room chairs were similar to the ones Phoebe now studied.

  “Please be seated,” Lydia instructed. “I shall bring out the refreshments.”

  She and the older woman made their way back into the house while Phoebe took the opportunity to lean closer to her mother. “They seem very nice.”

  “I was thinking much the same. Apparently, they harbor no ill feelings toward you.”

  “And you are certain these are the right people—that their son is the one who saved me?”

  Her mother laughed. “Of course. You know that your father leaves nothing to chance. He knew their names before you had even managed to change into dry clothing.” Mother glanced around. “Such a lovely setting, and so peaceful. I like that it’s well away from the bustle of the docks. Seems we are always inundated with noise in our new home.”

  “It is nice,” Phoebe admitted. “Still, I miss Vermont. I used to think our town so tiny, but compared to Sitka, Montpelier seems huge.”

  “Here we are,” Lydia announced as she came out the door with a large silver tea service. She placed the tray on the table, and Zerelda followed suit by arranging a platter on either side. Phoebe could see that the one held bite-size pieces of dessert, while the other had tiny sandwiches.

  The woman called Zee offered a prayer of thanks, then began pouring tea. “We were happy to meet the new governor. Are you well acquainted with him?” Zee asked.

  Phoebe’s mother nodded. “We have been friends for some time now. I know his wife, Martha, quite well.”

  “And what are his intentions for Alaska?”

  “Zee, they’ve only just arrived. Must we wax political right away?”

  The older woman handed Phoebe a cup and saucer. “You must forgive me. I’m one who always tends to get right to the heart of a matter.”

  “It’s quite all right,” Mother answered in her best diplomatic tone. “I really cannot say what the governor has planned. He is a fair man and very intelligent. I believe he has a good heart, as well.”

  “Has he any experience that would give him knowledge of such a situation?” Zee pressed.

  “In what way?”

  Phoebe could see that Mrs. Lindquist was rather uncomfortable with this line of questioning. Thinking she might change the subject, Phoebe held up her cup. “Might I trouble you for some sugar?”

  “Certainly,” Lydia said. She reached for the sugar service and opened the lid. “You are such a lovely young woman.” Her genuine smile immediately put Phoebe at ease. “May I ask your age?”

  “Phoebe is eighteen,” her mother interjected. “Just this last March. She is my oldest. We have two sons, Theodore and Grady, as well.”

  “We have two young daughters besides our son, Dalton,” Lydia offered. “Kjerstin is ten, and Britta is seven. They should return soon from school. Dalton will bring them, and then you’ll have a chance to thank him in person, Miss Robbins.”

  Phoebe felt her face grow hot. “I’m afraid I wasn’t very congenial at our first meeting. I’m sure he probably told you.”

  Mrs. Lindquist and her aunt exchanged a look that suggested they had no idea what Phoebe was talking about. Great, she thought. He hadn’t said anything, and now she would have to explain—all because she had to open her big mouth in defense.

  “Dalton said very little, actually. He’s a man of few words,” his mother offered. “I’m sure the shock of your accident left him little concern as to your reaction. I can say that if I had fallen into the harbor, I might have lacked congeniality, too.” She smiled warmly, again putting Phoebe at ease.

  Her mother picked up one of the offered sweets. “Phoebe made him some cookies to show her gratitude.”

  “Then all will be perfectly well,” Zee announced. “There are few things that boy likes more.”

  “I find that true of most men,” Phoebe’s mother replied. “Might I ask how long you’ve made your home here in Sitka, Miss Rockford?”

  Zerelda smiled and eased back in the chair. “I’ve been here since before the purchase. When Russia sold Alaska to America, I was already a citizen. I came here to work as a nurse for a German family. The wife took ill quite often and needed constant care. Later, my niece moved here, as well, and we’ve managed to stay on ever since.”

  “My husband, Kjell, was born and raised here,” Lydia added.

  “So you certainly know all there is to know about the place.”

  Phoebe knew her mother had a million unanswered questions. Not the least of which was concerns about the Indians. As if reading her daughter’s mind, she pressed on.

  “What do you know of the Indians here?”

  Zerelda raised a brow. “Enough to know they don’t like to be called Indians. They are Tlingits. The Russians call them the Kolash.”

  “I haven’t seen very many of them. Are they . . . well . . . are there many here?”

  “Quite a few, but this is summer and they are out gathering food. They live in the village for most of the winter, then head out around April, when the herring spawn. They’ll be gone for most of the summer and early fall, hunting and even visiting other kwaans. Those are tribal units of other Tlingits. The group here is called the Sheet’ká kwaan, or ‘inhabitants of Sitka.’ ”

  Phoebe sensed her mother’s discomfort at this comeuppance. “And what are these people like, Miss Rockford? We have seen only a few of them around the town. They are rather frightening with their faces painted black and red. Is this normal, or are they dressed that way for a specific purpose?”

  “It serves various purposes, not the least of which is pro
tection against the sun and insects,” Zerelda replied. “The flies and mosquitoes can be vicious up here, if you haven’t already encountered them. This remedy has served them well.”

  Mother gave a shiver. “Well, they are rather frightening to me.”

  “They are good people,” Mrs. Lindquist said. “Their skill in fishing and herbal remedies is not to be underestimated. I have learned so much since coming here, and a great bit of that knowledge has come from the native people. They have problems, just as anyone would, but I find most Tlingits to be highly industrious. You will learn this for yourself come fall. When they return for the winter, you will find the town quite populated with them.”

  “Are they violent? I heard they’ve had uprisings here. Someone mentioned it on the ship.”

  “There have been issues from time to time,” Mrs. Lindquist conceded. “But all people—white or otherwise—disagree from time to time. We have no further to look than our own War Between the States. Which reminds me—I understand that your husband and our new governor are heroes of that war.”

  Phoebe admired how easily and quickly Mrs. Lindquist moved the conversation away from the controversy of the Tlingit people. She knew her mother was happy to share praise for her father’s accomplishments. He and the governor had both been highly honored for their service.

  The ladies continued to exchange pleasantries until the sound of an approaching wagon reached their ears. Phoebe couldn’t help but feel a nervous anticipation when Mrs. Lindquist announced that her son and daughters had returned.

  “I’d love to show you around the property,” Mrs. Lindquist told Phoebe’s mother. “Would you care to see my home?”

  “Oh, please.” She looked to Phoebe rather conspiratorially. “I was hoping for just such an invitation.”

  The ladies laughed at this. Mrs. Lindquist waved to her children. The little girls leaped from the wagon into their brother’s strong arms before flying up the walk to greet their mother.

  “Dalton promised to take us to see the jellyfish. Can we go today?” the smallest one asked.