In the Shadow of Denali

by Tracie Peterson

  He just about spewed lemonade on that one. “Well, I don’t know, anything about his sparkling eyes, but let’s keep praying for him, shall we? God’s the only one who can fill the void in Allan.”

  “Deal.” Cassidy stuck out her hand.

  He shook it.

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “For what?”

  “For always being there and always listening.”

  “Anytime, Cass.” He hadn’t used her nickname in a long time. She’d grown up so fast and into such a beautiful and delightful woman. Eliza would be proud indeed. “Now, did I hear something about dessert?”

  She giggled. “You and your sweet tooth . . .”

  A knock sounded at the door.

  “Come in.” Father and daughter spoke at the same time. Cassidy laughed again and walked over to the tray.

  Allan peeked in and smiled. “I just wanted to see how you were doing and if I could keep you company for a while, but I see you already have a better visitor than me.”

  “Nonsense.” Cassidy handed John a spoon. “Please stay. In fact, Dad would probably love to hear how your morning went while he eats his dessert.” Her eyes had a new sparkle in them. One John couldn’t miss.

  John smiled to himself. Oh, to be young again.

  “Don’t go getting all spoiled on me, but I admit I made your favorite—chocolate mousse.” She handed him a bowl. She turned to Allan. “And I have another one right here, if you’d like it, Allan.”

  John raised his eyebrows as he took the first bite. To separate Cassidy from her chocolate was quite an ordeal. The fact that she offered it up freely spoke boatloads to him. He looked from one to the other.

  Allan accepted the dish with a nod. “It’s one of my favorites as well, so I won’t pass it up.” He glanced at the tray. “But what about you? Isn’t this yours?”

  Cassidy took her fork and pointed toward John’s bowl. “Nope. You go ahead. I’ll just steal a bite or two from Dad.”

  John enjoyed the lively conversation about the guests and the fun things Cassidy was concocting in the kitchen, but after a few minutes, she gathered up the dishes.

  “I’ve got to get back.” She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. “You and Allan have a nice visit, and then I think you need a nap. You look tired.”

  He shook his head. “Only because I am.”

  She smiled and left the room.

  John looked at Allan. “What’s on your mind, son?”

  “I was wondering if once you are recovered, we could continue the plan to climb up McKinley—Denali.” Allan cleared his throat. “I know we have plenty of time, but I had an idea. I was hoping we could work at two different routes to see which one would be best suited for other climbers in the future.”

  “That’s an excellent idea.”

  “I know you understand that I want to climb the mountain myself for personal reasons, but I’ve had three other men—guests from the hotel—ask if expeditions up the mountain would be offered in the future.”

  John nodded. What he’d always hoped for, in fact. “We don’t need to wait for me to recover to plan. We can start now.” He tried to sit up straighter, the adrenaline and excitement pushing past the pain. “I’ll need you to go to my room and on the shelf above my desk, there’s a dark brown leather book next to my mother’s Bible. Go get that and bring it back.” He rubbed his hands together. “This is just what I need to get my mind off being laid up.”

  The hour with John had been exhilarating. After he’d grabbed the book, they’d pored over John’s notes together. The man was meticulous and had research from every angle of the great mountain. The maps were glorious. And Allan could taste it. He would finally, truly follow in his father’s footsteps. He imagined his father sitting with John and going over the same details. He could almost feel his presence when John described the dangers of climbing on the glaciers. Had his father felt the same surge of excitement when John showed him the best places to make their camps?

  Allan gave a sigh. Dad, I wish I could have been there with you. Maybe then you’d be here now, with me.

  Their dream of climbing Mount McKinley together would never come to fruition, but at least he could honor his father by climbing it in memory of him. When he’d first talked to John about planning an expedition, his heart hadn’t been right—and he didn’t feel the true excitement that he felt now. But something else had changed too. While he couldn’t pinpoint the reasons, it didn’t matter.

  “No matter how much planning goes into the climb and the equipment needed,” John said as he absent-mindedly rubbed his abdomen, “things always go wrong. Harry Karstens would tell you that himself. You try your best to plan for the worst, but sometimes the worst isn’t at all what you thought it would be.”

  “How so?”

  John continued to rub his stomach. “Well, for me, and I think Harry would tell you the same was true on his climb, you think of things like how to deal with the storms and wind. You know there are certain problems you’ll face, like crevasses opening up where you least expect it or avalanches. You’re less expectant of tent seams ripping and having no way to repair them or of oil stoves clogging—even setting the tent on fire. Then there are the bodily things. Fingers and toes that never quite seem to thaw out.”

  “You lost two toes, I recall Cassidy mentioning.” Allan couldn’t imagine how difficult that must have been.

  “I did, but it’s not unusual. Frostbite will do damage to your face and extremities and in some cases you could lose a finger or toe. You try to take care of those things, but it’s difficult to master some of the day-to-day work with heavy gloves and mitts on your hands. You soon learn that even ordinary things like relieving yourself becomes an exercise not without its dangers.”

  Allan stretched his arms. “You’re right, those are things I honestly hadn’t given a lot of thought. Dad and I did several mountain climbs together, but never were they as high or isolated as this.”

  “And that’s the danger I think we’ll find with so many of the folks who come here to climb. I fear that it won’t be long before throngs of people will make their way up here and just climb without much planning or a guide. They’ll figure it to be no more dangerous than their other climbs.”

  “You really should work with Superintendent Karstens and create some kind of a guidebook, John. Then even if the people do come without bothering to check in with Mr. Karstens or seek to hire someone to guide them, at least they’d have the book.”

  John gave several slow nods as he seemed to consider this. “You know, that isn’t at all a bad idea. In fact, it’s something you could even sell along with your outdoor gear.”

  “I like that idea. Maybe a series of books based on various climbs.”

  “Why limit it there? You could create books that would give detailed listings for hiking trails and let the reader know the degree of difficulty and what amenities are available—you know, like fresh water, sheltered camping, paths to accommodate horses or pack animals. Those kind of details might very well save lives.”

  Allan slapped his leg, getting caught up in the excitement. “My father used to say that with all the modern conveniences, a lot of folks no longer know how to live off the land or survive in bad situations where there’s no one else to help them, and very little in the way of equipment. We could teach folks how to make a shelter out of nothing but pine boughs and how to find dry wood and kindling in a rainstorm. We could detail how to set up a fire to benefit them the best for cooking and heating.” He had to admit the ideas were coming faster than he could share them. “I remember my dad telling me that starting and maintaining a good campfire was paramount to deeming the success or failure of survival. We could even teach folks how to start a fire when matches aren’t available.”

  “And then how to make certain the fire is extinguished before leaving the area. I’ve seen some sorry situations arise from carelessness in that area,” John admitted.

  “You know, I really
think we have something here. Especially where Denali is concerned. Most would be unaware the tree line is at one thousand feet. So the lack of wood for fires and shelter will make for even harsher conditions. There aren’t very many men who could offer true wisdom regarding the climb and what’s needed to make it successful. Even if we start small and just create a booklet, I think this would be a very useful thing. We could work on it throughout the winter.”

  “Then you plan to stay?” John raised his eyebrows.

  His question caught Allan by surprise. He hadn’t really considered that possibility. He knew at some point he would have to go back to Seattle and deal with the problems at hand. Not only that, but there was the matter of his personal possessions and other things he’d need to start a new life in Alaska.

  He couldn’t help but grin. “You know what, John? I just might.”

  “Well, may I offer a bit of advice?”

  Allan was taken aback. “Of course you can. I think you know that by now. Next to my father, you’re the only man I respect enough to listen to.” He smiled. “What is it?”

  “Pray about it.” John held up his hand as if expecting a protest from Allan. “I know you’ve had some rough waters where the Almighty is concerned, but, Allan, you will never be happy until you put those matters to rest. Allow for the fact that even though you don’t understand Him or still have questions regarding why He allowed your father to die, He still knows best and is quite willing to show you what’s best.”

  “But . . . well . . . I’m still so angry with Him.” Allan surprised himself by being willing to speak the words aloud.

  “Then forgive Him.”

  Allan shook his head. “Forgive God?”

  John smiled. “Well, not exactly. God doesn’t need our forgiveness, after all. But since we’re human and think in such ways, it might help you to consider it. See, forgiving is all about letting go—about giving over our right to retribution. It isn’t approval, like some folks think, and therefore won’t offer it. It’s a release.” A weariness came to John’s expression. “And until you find a way to let it go—you’ll always be stuck in the same place.”

  As Allan walked back to the equipment shed to prepare for this afternoon’s hike, his thoughts drifted to Cassidy and of staying in Alaska. Mostly, however, he thought of John’s words regarding forgiveness. John was wise—like Dad. Dad always stressed the importance of forgiveness. Over the years since losing his father and enduring the war, Allan had truly given little thought to forgiveness. Now since coming to Alaska, it seemed that issue was all he could think on. And while he’d learned to forgive John—even seek his forgiveness—Allan wasn’t sure how to go about making things truly right between himself and God.

  If Cassidy were here, she’d no doubt tell him it was simple. Just do what needed to be done. Life seemed very straightforward for her—and John. He envied them that and the love they shared.

  The relationship Cassidy had with her father was special—just like Allan’s with his father had been. But the Ivanoffs had something different. Perhaps it was due to the death of Cassidy’s mother or maybe because they lived in such an isolated location.

  Their love for one another seemed so easy and sure. And their laughter, happiness, and sunshine really did seem to radiate out of Cassidy’s skin. The more he got to know her, the more he realized that her optimistic and shining outer shell truly was a reflection of her inside. She wasn’t offering up pretense. She spoke her mind and shared her feelings without being overly concerned about how someone might take it. It wasn’t that she sought to be cruel either. She just wanted the truth on the table, as his father might have once said.

  John and Cassidy hadn’t known that he’d been outside the cracked door listening to their earlier conversation about him. Or how their words had affected him. Was God really the only person who could fill the void inside of him? Allan would have adamantly said no a few months ago. Now he wasn’t so sure. Especially after witnessing the strength in John. And in Cassidy as well.

  She attracted him like no one else ever had. But she thought he was a brooding man. That didn’t conjure up images of romance.

  But even so . . . it was apparent she liked him. But found him lacking.

  He looked up to the brilliant blue sky for guidance.

  Maybe he needed to learn how to let his smile reach his eyes.

  19

  The summer sun of August in Alaska beat down on Cassidy’s head. Even in the evening hours, the heat could be brutal. She fanned herself as she walked next to Allan, both to cool her face and to keep the mosquitoes from it.

  How could it already be the twenty-second of August? In the past two weeks, a lot of things had changed at the Curry. The Annex behind the T-shaped building of the hotel was now housing overflow. The night cook and his staff were having to increase their preparations so the kitchen would be ready for the following day. Mr. Bradley was even talking about the need for additional cooks for the next summer, much to Mrs. Johnson’s protests. He assured her she’d still be in charge, but the woman had only harrumphed and exited the room. Cassidy couldn’t help but smile at the memory. Mrs. Johnson might put up a fight, but in the long run she’d come around.

  Besides the endless hours of work required in the kitchen, there was the laundry and its problems. The laundry now serviced up to thirteen thousand pieces a month between the railroad dining cars, the Anchorage and Nenana hospitals, and the hotel. The hotel alone accounted for half that number of fresh linens. There wasn’t just bedding to consider, but kitchen and serving towels, cleaning and polishing rags, aprons, tablecloths, and linen napkins. There were also the staff’s clothes and of course the towels and washcloths for all of the bathrooms. Cassidy knew the laundry worked round the clock to meet the needs, and Mr. Bradley felt additional staff was needed there as well.

  The differences at the hotel weren’t the only changes. Cassidy and Allan spent more time together visiting with her dad in his room while he recovered. Then they began taking him for short walks once he was up to it. The last few days, Dad was walking without a limp but still tired easily. And as he would head back to his room in the evenings, she and Allan would continue their walk together. They fell into the new routine easily, and Cassidy marveled at the ease in conversation.

  Allan smiled more often now too. Especially when he talked about their plans for a Denali expedition and the guidebooks they were working on. The more time she spent with him, the more she liked him, and the greater urge she felt to pray for his heart. What had been a dear friendship to her was already becoming much more than that. She couldn’t be certain, but Cassidy feared she’d already fallen in love with him.

  Could she lose her heart to Allan Brennan?

  “Your dad was telling me about ‘Cassidy Lane’ this afternoon.” Allan’s steps were slow down the path. He looked at her with such warmth. “How does it feel to have a dangerous cliff named after you?”

  That was another thing. He made her laugh quite often, and she loved it. “I guess I could take it a couple of different ways, but I’d like to think that it’s endearing rather than ominous.”

  “I agree. I thought the story was quite charming. Apparently, my father did too.” He clasped his hands behind his back as he walked and his smile faded a bit.

  “Your father sounds like he was an amazing man.” This topic always threw Cassidy for a loop. Her own father loved to talk about Henry now—but in a positive and almost joyous tone. It always seemed the opposite for Allan. His memories were fraught with sadness and pain. But maybe that was because no one ever encouraged it to be otherwise.

  “That he was.” Allan turned toward her again. “I wonder if there’s some ridgeline up there that I can name in my father’s memory?”

  “You never know. You might get up there and find the perfect spot. There are many places that have been named by those who’ve gone before. I’d bet my father would remember someplace where your dad was particularly happy or in awe of th
e scenery.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Allan responded. “I hadn’t considered that possibility.”

  Cassidy drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You must have been quite special to your father.”

  Allan cocked his head to one side. “Why do you say that?”

  “Dad told me you were the only son in your family. Sons have a special place in their father’s hearts.”

  “Daughters do too.” He smiled. “My dad was always doting on my two sisters.”

  “Oh, I agree, but you must allow that there is something unique between a father and son. I always wished Dad could have had a son.”

  Allan surprised her by laughing. “I think he’s more than content with what he has in you. You light up his world.”

  “But I’m sure he misses having a son.”

  “How can he miss what he’s never had?”

  “I miss my mother and I never had her.” Cassidy saw him wince and wished she could have taken the words back. She began walking again, uncertain what to say.

  Allan easily caught up with her. “I’m sorry, Cassidy. I didn’t think before speaking. Of course you miss your mother, but don’t you see—she existed. The memories of her were able to be shared with you, and even though you didn’t have a chance to know her personally, you’ve learned to know her through the hearts of others.”

  “I never thought of it that way.”

  “It makes a big difference. Not that a person can’t long for something. I’m not saying that at all. I long for a great many things. I’m sure your father would have loved a son, but when I watch him with others—even in how he deals with me—I think he has found great purpose with the sons of other men.”

  “He does love people. He always has. He’s always been so generous with his time and love. There isn’t a person back in our village who didn’t love him.” She smiled at a memory. “In fact, my father could have remarried many times over. There were always women who tried to win his affection.”