by Bonnie Leon
She already felt lonely. With Will and Justin gone, Laurel married, Luke off hunting or trapping most of the time, and Brian in school, the house was empty. Sometimes she felt more alone than ever. It's been nearly a year. When will the healing come? she wondered, feeling discouraged. What would she do when all the children were grown and gone?
That's something better left to another day, she told herself and headed down the stairs. For now, she had bread to bake and washing to do.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she crossed to the overstuffed sofa and plumped a throw pillow. A nap would be nice. Just a little one, she told herself and dragged a blue afghan off the back of the sofa. Lying down, she positioned the throw pillow under her head and pulled the afghan over her.
Sun slanted in a window, and dust particles glistened in its light. She gazed at bare rosebush limbs pressing against the glass and imagined how they would look in July clothed in greenery and red blossoms. Maybe by then her sadness would lift.
A car rumbled up the driveway. Jean sat up and looked out the window. It was Ray. Jean wasn't sure if she felt good or bad about seeing him. The kids have missed him, she thought. Since his argument with Luke, he'd stayed away. At least he wasn't hurt that day, she remembered. The wound Luke had inflicted had been superficial.
Ray climbed out of the car, closing the door firmly. Huddling in a heavy coat, he plodded through the snow, keeping his head down and hands in his pockets. He didn't look like himself.
Jean tidied her hair and headed for the back door, the thought of seeing him lifting her spirits. He knocked before she could reach it. Opening the door, she smiled. “Hello. Good to see you. I was wondering when you were going to get around to visiting. We've missed you.”
“I've missed you all too,” Ray said, his tone serious. “Can I come in?”
Something is wrong. Jean swung the door open and stepped aside. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Is it made?”
“No. But I can make it easy enough.”
“Nah. I don't want you to go to the trouble.” Ray pulled off his gloves and shoved them into his coat pockets, then pushed back his hood, revealing a tangle of dark curls. “Actually, I came by to talk to you about something.” He glanced around the kitchen. “Luke around?”
“No. He's checking the traplines.”
“Good.”
Jean settled on a kitchen chair and folded her hands in front of her. She knew something was coming.
Ray sat across from her and leaned on the table, staring at his clasped hands.
“It's usually best just to say whatever you have to say.”
He looked up at Jean and took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. “Since the last time I was here, I've been doing a lot of thinking. After Will died I only meant to help, not to cause trouble. I … I felt obligated. Will had asked me to look after his family. I never thought we'd become friends, but we did … I think.”
Jean offered an encouraging smile. “Yes. I'd say we're friends.” “Seems my best intentions have gone wrong. I didn't mean to bring trouble, but I have.” He pressed his palms together. “I've been thinking … it would be better if I didn't come around anymore.” His words jarred Jean. “Not come around? For how long?” “As long as it takes for Luke to get over being mad.” “He might never forgive you,” Jean said, trying to absorb this new loss. “Brian and Susie will miss you.”
“I'm going to miss them, but…” Ray shook his head. “Every time I set foot in this place, Luke raises his hackles.”
Jean stared at her hands. “It doesn't seem right, his hatred controlling what we do.”
“It's not, but I don't see any other way.” Ray stood and pulled on his gloves. He was silent a moment, then said, “Well, see ya,” and walked out.
Weeks passed, and Ray was good to his word. He didn't set foot on the Hasper farm, but he didn't dismiss his promise to look out for Will's family. Several times a week Ray sent someone by to check on them and to do chores. They almost always brought gifts of meat or fish.
Jean was grateful, but the visits from others only served to remind her how much she missed Ray. He was very different from Will. He had a quick temper, and on occasion he still bullied his way through situations, but she liked him—maybe it was his straightforward way of approaching life. And she couldn't deny he was a man of honor. He'd promised Will that he'd keep watch over his family, and he was.
With Ray's absence Jean and Luke did not argue as much and the house was more peaceful. But it also felt as if someone had been misplaced. Brian and Susie often asked about Ray and couldn't understand why their friend no longer came to visit. When Jean tried to explain, it only created friction between the two youngest and their older brother.
Occasionally they'd see Ray in town, and he always made time to chat. Susie and Brian would be animated and pleased, but when the visit ended, they were always let down, for each time they would invite their big friend to visit, and he would decline. Jean began to pray that either they wouldn't see Ray while in town or that Luke would have a change of heart. She waited for the right time to talk to Luke again.
Spring arrived, and the cold and snows were tempered by sporadic warm spells. The earliest spring flowers broke through the wet earth, hugging tree trunks and foundations of homes. Breakup was imminent, and the townspeople began to make bets on the exact day and time the ice would break free.
After finishing chores one morning, Luke sauntered into the house. “Morning. Looks like a good day,” he said cheerfully.
This is as good a time as any, Jean thought. “Luke, I was wondering if we could talk about Ray Townsend.”
“What about?” he asked, his voice guarded. “Things have been better since he's been staying out of our way.” He took a chunk of cheese from the icebox.
Jean bit back a retort and poured hot water into the sink.
Luke sliced the cheese and slapped it between bread. “I guess he finally got the message.”
Picking up the knife Luke had used and setting it in the sink, Jean asked, “And what message would that be?”
“That he doesn't belong here and that I'm the man of this house.”
Jean turned and leaned her back against the counter, then folded her arms over her chest. “No. That's not it. The message you gave is that you're not a man yet and you're unforgiving.”
Hurt flickered across Luke's face, then insolence settled in.
“Ray didn't want to cause more trouble between us. That's why he hasn't been around.”
Luke smirked. “I'd say he's scared.”
Jean's anger and frustration boiled up. “I'm ashamed of you, Luke, and if your father could hear you, he would be too.”
Luke's smirk disappeared.
“Ray Townsend isn't afraid of you. He cares about us. He figured he had to stay away to keep the peace.” She briskly folded a towel and slapped it down on the counter. “You're the one causing the problems.”
Luke scowled. “I didn't make the trouble. He did. He should have stayed away from the beginning. He wasn't welcome here, and he knew it.”
Jean pressed her hands down on the counter and waited for a wave of rage to pass. Taking a deep breath, she turned and crossed to her nearly grown son. Resting her hands on his shoulders, she said softly, “I miss the young man I used to know—the one who loved life and looked for the best in people, the one who was quick to forgive.” She could feel the sting of tears. “Luke, hate is eating you up. The fine man I know is disappearing right before my eyes.”
Luke stared at his mother, then shrugged away. “I'm not naïve like I used to be. A man like Ray Townsend doesn't deserve forgiveness. I'm responsible for this family. I'm just trying to protect you. I'm sorry you can't see that.”
Jean smoothed the towel, hoping to quiet her growing anger, “Luke, it's an honorable thing to feel responsible and protective, but my life and this farm are not your responsibility. They're mine.” Luke started to say something, but
Jean held up her hand. “I will finish,” she said sternly. “Your behavior will not be tolerated any longer. You are old enough to know better. And you need to know that God will hold you accountable for your behavior. He doesn't look kindly on hatred and bitterness. I won't have you interfering any longer. Do you understand?” When Luke didn't answer, she repeated, “Do you understand?”
“Yeah, I understand,” he growled, shoving two sandwiches and two apples into a bag.
“Alex and I are going to the river.” With that he left, slamming the door behind him.
Jean stared at the door. She'd prayed and prayed, but still he clung to bitterness. What would happen to him? Lord, you have to do something.
“Hey, what's with you?” Alex asked, leaning against the bridge.
“Nothin'.” Luke stared at the river, hands stuffed into his coat pockets.
“Right. You've been bad-tempered all morning. Even though it looks like we might win that bet, I think the breakup's starting today.”
Luke clenched his teeth. “It's Ray Townsend. He's trying to weasel his way into my family, and my mother can't see it. She thinks he cares.”
“Maybe he does.”
Luke looked at his friend. “You really think he could? He murdered my father.”
“It was an accident, Luke. Your father's the one who insisted on going. And he decided to stay with Ray. Ray didn't make him.” Alex glanced away, then continued. “He should never have taken an old rifle like that. He knew better.”
“I never thought you'd turn against me. I thought you understood.”
“I do, but you've got to let go of the past. Let go of your hate. Your father's death wasn't Ray's fault.”
With a look of astonishment, Luke said, “I can't believe it. He got to you too. I thought you were smarter.” He shook his head. “Seems I'm the only one who can see the truth.”
“Maybe you're the one who's wrong,” a soft voice said from behind Luke.
He whirled around to face Mattie. “What do you mean?”
“It doesn't make sense that everyone else is wrong and you're right.”
“You don't know Ray Townsend the way I do.” Luke glowered. “I don't want to talk about it anymore.” He returned to staring at the river.
“Anything happen yet?” Mattie asked.
“Nope,” Alex said. “Just a lot of groaning and popping.”
Luke cut in. “Why do you think I'm the one who's wrong?”
“I thought you didn't want to talk about it,” Mattie teased, her dark eyes smiling.
Clenching and unclenching his jaw, Luke's eyes followed the curves of frozen ice. They looked like ribbon candy.
“It's just that everyone else thinks he's fine, including me.” She stepped in front of Luke and met his eyes. “People change.”
“Not him.”
A loud pop fractured the air.
“I just wish you would think about it, Luke. He's different.”
“And, of course, I'm the one who's wrong.”
Neither Mattie nor Alex said anything. They watched the ice.
“You two can think what you like.” Luke strode down the bank and leaped across the soft ice along the river's edge and onto more solid ice.
“What are you doing?” Mattie asked, her voice shrill. “Get off the ice! It could go at any time, and the water's deep here.”
Ignoring her warning, Luke said matter-of-factly, “It's a little soft, but I'd say it's got a way to go before it breaks loose.” He walked out farther.
Alex followed his friend, stepping carefully and feeling his way.
“Hey, you boys get off the ice!” a man called. “You loony?”
Suddenly Alex's foot broke through. He jerked it up and shook off water. “We better get out of here.” He turned and headed back.
The ice shifted. Alex stopped and stood completely still.
“Get out!” Mattie yelled.
Luke gingerly headed toward shore. “It's ready to go.”
Alex took another step. His foot broke through again. He stepped back and stood completely still, studying the ice. It creaked and groaned. A crack appeared with a splintering sound. “It's gonna go!”
A fissure widened, and the ice writhed and slanted upwards, tossing Alex into the frigid water. He disappeared, then his hooded head bobbed to the surface and he gasped, grabbing for a handhold. The ice was slick, and he couldn't get a grip to climb out.
The frozen river was moving beneath Luke. He lay on his stomach and crawled toward his friend. “Hang on, Alex, hang on!” He searched for something to hold out. Spotting a limb, he shouted, “Mattie! Throw that to me!”
She quickly climbed down the bank, grabbed the small branch, and chucked it toward Luke. It landed several feet away, but he cautiously moved across shifting ice, grabbed it, and headed back for his friend.
Alex beat the water with his arms. “I can't get out! I can't make it!”
“Yes, you can! Grab this!” Luke called, sliding the limb toward Alex.
He grabbed for the branch, but his fingers wouldn't close around it. Ice and water swirled around him. He disappeared.
“Alex! Alex!” The native boy reappeared. “Grab hold!” Luke shrieked. “Do it! Now! Forget the cold. Look at me! You can do it!”
Alex's eyes locked with Luke's.
Luke knew he was saying good-bye. “No!” he shrieked. “Live!”
The young native man's arms slapped the water, and he tried to swim toward his friend. A chunk of ice rammed him and he disappeared again.
“Alex! Alex!” Luke searched the water. “Come on! Alex!” His friend was gone. Luke pressed his face to the ice and sobbed.
“Luke, get out of there,” a man called.
Luke looked up to see Tom Jenkins standing at the river's edge.
“Get out, or you'll be next.”
Luke tried to refocus, but all he could see was his friend—dying. It was his fault. He ought to be the one dead.
“Luke! Come on! Get out of there!”
Still on his stomach, he crawled across the moving ice. Tom threw a rope and pulled Luke toward shore and onto the bank. Shivering, Luke pulled his knees to his chest and sat staring at the place where he'd last seen his friend.
Mattie sat beside him crying.
Luke draped an arm around her shoulders and stared at the river. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”
“I can't believe he's gone,” Mattie said between sobs. “How could this happen?”
“I shouldn't have gone out on the ice,” Luke said, remembering the day he'd met Alex, his first Alaskan friend.
Tom Jenkins clapped a hand on Luke's shoulder. “I'll take you on home, son. This isn't anyone's fault. Things just happen.”
Luke wished he could believe that. Tom lifted him, but his legs felt as if they didn't belong to his body as he stumbled up the bank. He climbed into Tom's truck and watched as Mattie joined the others searching the river for Alex's body.
As Tom drove away, Luke stared at the distant mountains and wished he'd never come to Alaska.
Chapter 30
TAKING LONG STRIDES AND LETTING HER ARMS SWING FREELY AT HER SIDES, Jean headed for town. The June sunshine felt good. She took in fields dotted with yellow buttercups, purple cress, and white starflowers. She couldn't remember feeling this happy in a very long time. A flock of tiny birds skittered away as she approached the fence they rested on. A truck flew by, bouncing over the rough roadway, but Jean didn't slow her steps as she entered town.
Celeste stopped sweeping the mercantile porch and said, “Morning, Mrs. Hasper. How are you?”
“Good. Wonderful, in fact. You?”
“I'm well,” She leaned on the broom. “How's Luke?”
“Still not himself. It'll take him a long while to get over Alex's death, if he ever does.”
“Time will take care of it.”
“I'm sure you're right,” Jean said with a smile, wishing she were confident of that. “Alex's death has added to Luke
's cavern of unhappiness.”
Jean stepped into the post office. “Good morning, Mrs. Wilkerson.”
“Hello, there,” the plump woman responded. “You look chipper this morning.”
“I feel chipper. It's a beautiful day.”
The door opened, and Ray Townsend walked in. “Hi, Ray,” she said, feeling slightly flustered. He looked good. His wide shoulders seemed broader than she remembered, and he wore his coat open and his shirt tucked in. His curls were cropped short, and his beard was neatly trimmed. He looked almost refined. If she were meeting him for the first time, she'd never guess he was a mountain man. She wondered if Celeste had something to do with the change or if another woman had entered his life.
“Howdy,” Ray said. “What are you up to on such a beautiful day?”
“Oh, just mailing a letter to an old friend.” She set the letter on the counter. “You?”
“I'm going to do some fishing. They're running heavy right now.” He leaned on the counter.
“Where you going?”
“To Cook Inlet. I've got a spot I go to a couple times a year.”
“I wish you luck.” Jean glanced out the window. “You have perfect weather.”
“Have you fished in the inlet?”
“No.”
“Then I'd say it's time you did. I'll show you some real fishing.”
“Oh, I don't know. Laurel's waiting for me. She's watching Susie.”
“I'd sure enjoy the company,” Ray pressed.
“It sounds fun, but… well… I thought we were supposed to keep our distance.”
Mrs. Wilkerson dropped the envelope in her mailbag. “I'd go,” she said. “Not that it's any of my business, but…” She smiled and her cheeks rounded. With a shrug, she waddled toward the back of the building.
“It's just fishing. I won't be at the house.”
Jean wanted to go but knew it would only stir up trouble. “I don't know. Luke's still upset over Alex dying and—”
“It's been too long since we've had a good chat. Fishing is the perfect way to catch up.”