by DiAnn Mills
“I’ll do it, but thanks, ma’am.” Wyatt exaggerated his drawl. “Much obliged.”
“I hope you don’t think that’s a southern accent,” Shana said crushingly. “Even southern Alaska would scorn it.”
“A humble thing, but my own.” He fished a pair of worn moccasins from his parka pocket, slid them on, and disappeared in the direction of the bathroom. His curly golden hair shone in the firelight when he returned on silent feet, then hunkered down in front of the fire next to her chair and held his hands to its warmth. “Wonder if the Hollow gets blizzards.”
“They get snow, but it probably doesn’t last like ours.” Shana stared into the leaping flames, wondering how to open a subject they must discuss—now, while Dad was in the kitchen watching Mother make dried-apple pies. “Wyatt?”
“Yes?” His sapphire gaze turned toward her.
She found herself strangely tongue-tied and mentally chastised herself. The young man before her was no stranger. She had shared her innermost thoughts with Wyatt Baldwin since they both learned to talk. Perhaps that was why she felt differently. All the long years she believed he was as open as she, Wyatt had carried the secret of his confession to her father. In some indescribable way, that secret, now that it had been revealed, had built a barrier.
Never one to back away from hard tasks, Shana crashed headlong into the invisible wall. “You mustn’t go to North Carolina if it’s only to follow me,” she said in a low voice. Head bent, fingers laced together, she added, “I may not ever be able to care as—as you do.”
Really, an unfamiliar little voice mocked inside. Then why did your heartbeat quicken when Wyatt called you his ladylove? And why is your face redder than wild strawberries in summer?
Wyatt’s gaze was steady. “I’ll take my chances.”
Another wave of red shot up from the rolled-back, white collar of Shana’s warm woolen gown. Wistfulness crept into her voice. “I wish you wanted to go for the reason I do,” she faltered. “Don’t you see? If it’s just for me, you may find everything horrid and be sorry you ever left Tarnigan.” She raised her head until her troubled dark gaze met his. “I will feel it’s my fault.”
For once, Wyatt’s happy-go-lucky personality gave way. He reached up from his position on the rug and lightly touched her fingers before clasping both hands around his knees. He waited a long moment before he spoke. When he did, his face set in the lines of a man.
“Shana, I appreciate your honesty. We’ve never lied to each other and we won’t start now. I wish I could tell you I feel as called to the Hollow as you.
I don’t. I do have a tremendous curiosity about the place. I always have. God speaks to His children in different ways. Perhaps my belief that I have to go with you, coupled with the desire to see the place my father loved and served, is the Lord’s way of nudging me in the right direction.”
Again he fell silent. She considered what he had said. If only—
Wyatt broke into her musings. “I never want to make you feel uncomfortable. We’re too good of friends for that. Now that you know my feelings, we don’t need to discuss them further.” His gravity slipped and he gave her the lopsided smile that changed him back to the boy she knew far better than the determined man she had just glimpsed. “One thing. If I forget and come out with endearments—such as ladylove, sweetheart, or darling—” He shrugged. “Well, just ignore them. I’ve been thinking those words for a long time—but that doesn’t mean you’ve given me the right to use them.” He broke into a hearty laugh, the last thing she expected.
Shana’s hands flew to her flushed cheeks. She scrambled from her chair. “Wyatt Baldwin, you are outrageous!” she gasped.
He bounded to his feet. Strong arms inexorably drew her to him. Too surprised to struggle, Shana stood quietly. Wyatt’s head bent. He whispered, “Then just this once, I may as well be totally outrageous.” His lips touched hers, lightly, reverently. For the space of a heartbeat, Shana stood stock-still, filled with wonder at the kiss. She felt the hard beat of Wyatt’s heart, felt his arms tighten as if he would hold her in a circle of protection forever.
A second, an hour, an eternity later, Bern Clifton’s rumbling laugh in the kitchen separated the couple as effectively as a knife slicing bread. Wyatt’s arms dropped to his sides. Shana stepped back. “How could you?” Her face burned with shame. After telling him she didn’t care the way he wanted her to, how could she have submitted to his kiss? What must he think?
Tears of rage came. Without another word, she turned and ran—as much from her own traitorous self as from Wyatt.
He caught her at her bedroom door. “Don’t run away from me,” he said huskily. “I won’t do it again. Not until you tell me it’s all right.”
She found her voice. “What kind of an apology is that?” she cried.
He proudly flung back his head. “I make no apologies, Shana. Saying I am sorry would deny my love. That I will never do.” He wiped away a lone tear that escaped her tight control and left a silver streak on the girl’s smooth cheek.
The gentle touch almost proved Shana’s undoing. Feeling the need to sort out the new emotions rising within her, she opened her bedroom door and stepped inside. Wyatt backed away, but his gaze never left her face. Just before Shana closed the door, she saw a slow smile form on the lips that had kissed her so tenderly.
She flung herself to her bed. How could she face Wyatt again, she wondered in despair. His action had changed everything. No longer were they boy and girl, carelessly playing together in a land both harsh and wonderfully satisfying. Wyatt’s inexperienced kiss had roused the sleeping womanhood in Shana as nothing else could have done. She tried to whip up resentment. “How could he, Lord?” Her attempt at fury failed miserably. There had been nothing rude in Wyatt’s kiss, only the need to stake his claim, to let the woman he desired for his mate know the depth of his feelings.
What about her own feelings?
Unwilling to answer the pounding question, Shana hastily rose from the bed, rebraided her hair, tied it with the scarlet ribbons she loved so much, and smoothed her collar. If the dark eyes peering back from her mirror shone more brightly than usual, if color streaked her face, surely Dad and Mother would not notice. Wyatt must not. If he did, it would give far more significance to the little tableau in the living room a few minutes ago than Shana desired. With a quick prayer for strength, she swept out her door and into the living room.
The room stood empty and quiet, and both relief and disappointment swelled in her heart. She swallowed hard. Too bad if Wyatt had gone, just when she’d been prepared to pretend nothing out of the ordinary had happened. What was a kiss anyway? Her heart thumped against her ribs. She hated dishonesty, even when it was only herself she lied to. She could not write off as trivial an incident that had affected her so deeply.
She walked to the kitchen on hesitant steps. A cheerful room, it boasted windows on two sides, a colorful tablecloth and chair covers. “Where’s Wyatt?”
Sasha looked up from her pie making. “He said he had to get home.” She expertly pared extra dough from the plate she held aloft in one hand. “Did you get things settled between you?”
The innocent question set Shana afire. “I—I think so.” They had, hadn’t they? “He knows I’m making no promises. He also is intensely curious about the Hollow.” She seated herself in a chair next to her father, who took his nose from a medical magazine long enough to raise a quizzical eyebrow. “Dad, is it really all right to let him go with me?” A dreadful thought occurred to her. “You don’t think the people in the Hollow will feel we are doing something wrong by coming, do you? Together, I mean. After all, we aren’t married or related.”
“I’ve given it some thought,” Bern admitted. “Your friendship has always been accepted here in Tarnigan. But the Hollow? Dr. Aldrich will know of course. Since the War and Armistice, conventions have been shaken. I don’t know how much it’s affected the Hollow. I do know they lost boys and men in the conflict.”<
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“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Sasha put in, dark eyes confident. “If it’s God’s will for you and Wyatt to serve Him there, He will work things out.” Her busy hands stilled. “I’d think anyone Dr. Aldrich sponsors would be given a fair trial. After that, your and Wyatt’s own decorum will determine the way you are treated and whether you are accepted.”
“Well spoken.” Bern reached out a long arm and pulled his wife to his lap. “I do have a concern, Shana. You’re a well-trained nurse and physician’s assistant. What does Wyatt think he’s going to be able to do in the Hollow?”
He posed the same question later that evening when the Baldwins braved the continuing storm and dropped by. “You can’t just tag along after Shana,” the doctor bluntly told Wyatt.
“I know. I wish I’d spent less time trapping and hunting and more time learning medicine from you and Dad, like Shana did,” Wyatt mourned. “I can’t change that, but I can follow you around and study. In short, take a crash course between now and spring. It will give me enough medical knowledge to intelligently follow orders. Right? Thanks to you all, especially Mother, I also have a good general education.” He smiled at pretty Inga, who had carried out a regular program of schooling for him, Shana, and other Tarnigan children. “Maybe the Hollow can use a teacher. If not, I always have these.” He flexed his muscular arms. “Shana might need a cabin of her own. So might I, and I’m just the person who can build them.”
Wyatt restlessly shifted position and frowned until his silky, golden eyebrows came together. “There’s just one thing. Would it be better if we arrived in the Hollow separately? Once we get to Vancouver or Seattle, I could hang around and take a later train.” Hot color flooded his face. The apology he had withheld earlier flashed a wordless signal to Shana. “I don’t want to do anything to dishonor you.”
Shana shrugged the question away, not wanting to face the implication behind his words. But she did not want her witness to God’s love to be marred by Wyatt’s presence. Her mother gave her a small serene smile, and Shana sighed, remembering what her mother had said earlier. As usual her mother was right: If this was God’s will, then He would take care of all the possible problems. There was no point worrying.
Chapter 4
Shana Clifton always remembered the months following her call to a distant place as a time of waiting, bittersweet, filled with both anticipation and regret. Once the fateful letter committing Wyatt and her to their mission sped on its way by coureur de bois (woods runner), Shana threw herself into holiday preparations with all her usual fervor. Every passing day brought a pang. She might never again spend Christmas in Tarnigan. Even if she someday completed the work God had for her to do in that faraway land and returned, things would never be the same. Time had a way of altering even the most beloved patterns.
With Wyatt’s help, Shana smothered Nika Illahee in fragrant evergreen boughs, hauled in on a sled pulled by the prancing Kobuk. Satin ribbons as scarlet as the girl’s cheeks formed bows and loops against the dark greenery. Candles stood waiting in every window, ready to be lighted on Christmas Eve in honor of the Christ Child.
Sasha busied herself with sewing simple gowns of sturdy material, their only beauty in the workmanship of nimble fingers. She whisked the dresses out of sight when Shana raced into the room, saving them for her daughter’s Christmas birthday. Costly garments would set the girl apart from the women of the Hollow, so Sasha laid aside fine laces and contented herself with bits of bright trim on collars and pockets.
Only Shana’s heavy silk traveling gown hinted at the riches she and her mother had inherited from Shana’s grandfather, Nicolai Anton. Money from the sale of priceless furs Nicolai had taken in fair trade with Indians and trappers had helped provide much-needed medical equipment for Tarnigan. More than enough remained to carry Shana to her destination. She could live as comfortably as surroundings warranted, even supplement Dr. Aldrich’s equipment, if necessary. Wyatt had saved most of what he earned by trapping, so he also had no pressing need.
If tears dampened the garments Sasha created with such loving care, only God knew. Along with wealth, the proud conqueror Nicolai had passed down a heritage of fortitude and endurance that silenced inner protest. Even an aching heart must respect the code of the north, the unwritten rule stating men and women must stand or fall according to their own choices.
Neither would Sasha allow Shana to carry away the memory of sighs and tears. She raised her chin and buried the loneliness creeping into her heart like permafrost under the tundra. She stored away each trilling laugh, every sight of girl and dog tussling on the wolfskin rug before the fire, each tender good-night kiss. In the months or years when obedience to God’s calling separated mother and daughter by thousands of miles, Sasha would lift her memories from the treasure chest of her soul, and stroke them like nuggets in a chain of gold.
“Wyatt will care for her,” Inga whispered to Sasha on Christmas Eve when the families joined others in the small church first pastored by Bern Clifton’s father, who had been buried a few years before, not far from Nicolai Anton.
“I know.” Sasha pressed her friend’s fingers. Long years of friendship coursed between them—and the strength God gives those who love and trust Him.
Shana saw the look the two mothers exchanged, and her own heart was comforted. The two women would sustain one another in the loss of their children. Shana stared at the candlelit altar, wondering at herself. In the time since she accepted God’s calling, a strange thing had begun in her life. Her body remained in the land she loved, acutely aware of all she was leaving. Her parents. Kobuk. The Baldwins. Her Indian friends, especially Strongheart and his lovely wife Naleenah. Yet at times she felt curiously detached, as if her spirit had already taken flight and gone.
Only Wyatt knew how Shana felt. She would never forget the poignant look in his eyes when she haltingly tried to explain. “I understand, Shoshana. I am the same.” He raised his head and stared at the distant Endicotts, eternal watchmen over the valley in which Tarnigan lay. “I believe our hearts and minds are separating from what we hold dear to help make the actual parting less painful.”
In a flash, Shana realized the truth of what he said. “Is this God’s way of ensuring we will actually go?”
“Perhaps.” He turned from the mountains, dropped gentle hands on her shoulders, and looked into her eyes. “Or His way of reminding that when His Spirit lives in us, we need not fear the future.”
Shana said through trembling lips, “I am glad you are going with me, Wyatt.”
“So am I.” His blinding smile sank deep into her troubled heart. The next moment he changed from philosopher to facetious. “About time you admitted I’m a pretty handy guy to have around. Race you home. On your mark. Get set. Go!” This time she had no head start. Wyatt outdistanced her by a few steps.
Now the fragile moment shimmered in the candle-lit church. Shana bowed her head and silently prayed, God, we can’t know what’s ahead. Help us take comfort from knowing You do. I still don’t know why You’re sending me so far away from all I know and love.
A startling thought broke into her prayer. Was this how Jesus felt when He left His Father to come to earth? How could God stand it when He sent His Son, not to the warm welcome Shana and Wyatt would surely receive, but to a hostile world? What great love God had for His children to send Jesus to die for them! How could anyone refuse to believe in God, after He sacrificed His only Son?
How small her own sacrifice, when compared to the giving of Jesus’ life!
Joy to the world! The Lord is come;
Let earth receive its King;
Let every heart prepare Him room,
And heaven and nature sing,
And heaven and nature sing,
And heaven, and heaven and nature sing.
Joy to the world; the Savior reigns.
Shoshana Noelle, a rose born on Christmas Day, could sing no more. The peace and joy that first dawned in a rude Bethlehem stable
flooded her soul. No matter what lay ahead, she could bear it—and bear it joyfully. She looked at Wyatt and thrilled to his deep voice singing the ageless carol. The same exaltation that had come to her shone in his uplifted face. His hair glinted in the candlelight, and his wide shoulders were set straight and strong. No wonder Mother had confidently placed her in his care!
A sense of awe stole through the girl. Tease he might, irritate her he surely would, yet the love of such a man was not to be taken lightly. On this Christmas Eve, more than ever before, Shana accepted the truth. Wyatt Baldwin, not quite twenty-one, was a man, full-grown and master of himself. The fact he had turned that mastery over to the Lord only increased his worth.
As though he sensed her intense regard, his gaze turned toward her. His blue eyes darkened. For a moment, Shana felt he was a stranger, an exciting man she scarcely knew. Her pulse sped, and she hastily looked away. When she glanced back, her childhood companion smiled down at her. Yet the disturbing glimpse of unknown, unexplored depths haunted Shana, and set her heart on tiptoe thinking of what lay ahead.
Christmas Day passed in a flurry of snow and laughter, with tears just below the surface. New Year’s Eve came and went, ushering in sub-zero weather that froze the snow-covered valley to a rock-hard surface. One day as Shana ran beside a sled drawn by Kobuk and his mates, her face bright with the joy of exertion, the sharp premonition of homesickness to come struck her heart with such force that she stumbled and fell behind the dogs. Next winter she would be far away in another land. Why, she had only been in Fairbanks a few times, and never as far as Vancouver, British Columbia, but soon she would be thousands of miles from her home.
Jesus left His home, too, she reminded herself, recollecting her Christmas Eve experience. Again she felt herself withdrawing from the only life she had ever known, the sense of distance insulating her from pain.