by Tricia Goyer
Do you think Mama would mind Papa being in love with Miss Ellie? I wouldn’t want to hurt Mama’s feelings. Joseph said he doesn’t think it’d be right. He doesn’t like Miss Ellie. When Papa was real nice to her one night, Joseph got mad and left.
What can you do to help us? Will you come visit?
Janey
December 20, 1928
Dear Grandfather,
It must be obvious to you by now how this life wears on me at times—not only the perils of moose and wolves, but also the day-to-day, backbreaking chores. I try to stay positive. In fact, I’m finding satisfaction in my callused hands and muscled arms. Not many women master the ways of the Alaskan wild, but I’m learning (though I definitely haven’t mastered it yet!).
Just when I think I’m doing better, I’ll pull off another terrible blunder. I’m afraid I’ve done something to cause even more frustration for poor Clay. I offended some of his parishioners.
It was a gray day; the icy mist never burned off, even by noon. My muscles ached from splitting wood, and the little ones whined and fussed, refusing to take their naps. Penny’s getting big enough to climb out of her crib, and when after the fourth time she tumbled onto the floor, I lost my patience. “Penny!” I blurted. “You are so naughty!”
In that moment, a troop of Tlingit women, including Patricia—the one Clay has told me about several times—emerged from the misty afternoon into the middle of our parlor. They didn’t even knock, just marched up the front steps and traipsed on in.
I’ve only heard the most favorable reports about Patricia from Clay and the Parkers as well—how much she helped after Adelaide passed, how the children love her, and so on. Linc even told me she’s why Clay turned down your offer to provide a wife—Patricia took care of everything. (Her Tlingit name isn’t Patricia, by the way. We can’t pronounce their sounds, so they kindly take on names we can say.)
Well, she and the other women barged in and started cleaning and putting the house in order. I don’t even know them. They hung the quilts, gave Penny and Zach baths with a sap-smelling soup, swept the floor, washed the dishes, and even cleaned the new outhouse. I tried to help, but they worked so fast, and I couldn’t understand their language. They laughed at how I folded a sheet and took it out of my hand to do it for me.
When the Indian women finally finished cleaning, they cooked. Warm scents of salmon, clams, and wheat cakes breathed life into the musty cabin. There were rutabagas too. Everyone’s favorite (except mine)!
As I opened the door, I heard Patricia say in English (apparently she knows both), “I can see why Reverend needed us to clean. Poor girl.” She must’ve heard me coming because she stopped and smiled sympathetically.
My heart plunged.
Then they served me rutabaga pudding, and I hate to say, but I was not able to keep it down. I was forced to spit it out again in my cloth. Oh, Grandfather, it turns my stomach to even think of that horrid stuff!
Couldn’t the women see their presence proved what a failure I’ve been at this? I thought I was doing better, but obviously Clay doesn’t think so, or he wouldn’t have had them come.
I asked them to leave. I wasn’t very nice or thankful. Rude, you could call me. I wanted my little Alaskan world back to normal. My normal. Not the way Patricia or anyone else wanted it.
But what was I thinking? This is not my world. I have no say if the reverend wants a cleaning crew to do my work. I’m not important here. And as far as Clay is concerned I’m leaving at the first sign of spring.
Ellie
December 21, 1928
Dear Brother Peter,
I’m afraid much of my work with the Tlingits in the outskirts has been compromised. Reverend Martin sent a note with a courier, letting me know his concern.
The women from his parish, led by that saint Patricia, came all the way from Hoonah to help Ellie with the cleaning yesterday. To be clear—and Ellie doesn’t believe this—I did not ask them to come. They wanted to help, and I said it would be fine. It was their idea.
Honestly, I thought it might serve as a respite for Ellie. I think she was overwhelmed by all the work. With the snowfall and the short days, a person can get depressed. I wanted to help her.
Fact is, I don’t need help from her or anyone. I let the Tlingit ladies come only because they seem to like it. I want to parent my children and shepherd my flock. That’s it. I don’t need or want to get married again.
Anyway, the reason for my letter is to tell you the Tlingits and Reverend Martin have requested I come to Hoonah, taking Ellie with me, to discuss how to soothe the offended women.
We leave as soon as the weather clears.
Clay
Chapter Twenty-Two
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Ginny’s hair was still damp when she exited the bathroom. She paused in her steps to hear Grandma Ethel humming in the kitchen.
Grandma stopped stirring something in a bowl and turned. “There you are.”
Ginny hurried forward and planted a kiss on the woman’s soft cheek. She smelled like Olay. Ginny knew that smell. It was the same face cream Robyn used to wear. “Good morning, Grandma.”
“Brett called. He should be here in thirty minutes. He had some errands to do this morning but has a special surprise for you.”
“Really, what?”
Grandma Ethel clicked her tongue. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, now would it?”
Ginny placed a hand on her hip. “My, aren’t you full of vinegar this morning.” She chuckled. “It looks as if you’re feeling better.”
“Yes, I prayed to the good Lord that He’d let me stick around a little longer. I’m eager to finish the story.”
Ginny cocked an eyebrow. “The story? Are you in the middle of a novel? Wow, I bet that novelist would be excited to know his or her book captured you that much.”
Grandma tossed her gray curls from side to side. “No, nothing like that. I want to be around to discover God’s good plan for sending you up here. That’s more exciting than any novel.”
Grabbing a mug and pouring herself a cup of coffee, Ginny smiled. Did she believe that? That God was writing a story with her as the main character?
“You have time to read one more letter before he gets here.” Grandma Ethel’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
Ginny placed two pieces of bread in the toaster. “But don’t you need help?”
“I’m feeling better. Thank you, though.” She pulled out a butter dish from her small refrigerator. “Besides, I can see what letter you have next. I think you’ll like it.” The old woman wrinkled her nose and smiled.
“You know which letters are which?”
“Oh yes. I’ve read them many times. In fact, whenever I need a bit of hope I reread them all again.”
February 20, 1929
Dear Brother Peter,
We’ve had storms. Storm after storm. Even stormed on Christmas, but we all managed to huddle in the Matsons’ parlor and gobble down yuletide fare. The kids acted out the Christmas story. Such a joy to see them learning about Jesus. And we sang carols.
The storms finally let up, and all signs point to a spell of clear weather. We can finally make that trip to Hoonah tomorrow. Tonight, I spoke to Ellie about it. The children all settled, she went to fetch water, and I joined her. It was a beautiful night, clear and cold. As we walked, we talked. She’s easy to talk to, I’m finding. And we laughed out loud together. I confess to a certain comfort in those moments, laughing with her.
I had a notion to tell her how good she’s been with the children. When I mentioned I appreciated her gentle touch with them, well, if her eyes didn’t gleam a bit, teary like. And then she hugged me. My arms wrapped around her, and I didn’t want to let go.
And there you have it. This isn’t working, Brother Peter. Any pretty and kind woman living in close proximity would stir up feelings in a man, even me. But we’ve been hurt too much to risk another loss.
I pushed bac
k then and told her to be ready with Penny at daybreak. We walked back in silence.
But before we retired to our separate rooms, her soft hand touched mine. Said she was sorry. I thought she meant for the hug, but she went on, saying she was sorry about my wife’s passing. She said, “I pray every day I can shower love on the children.” Then she let go of my hand and looked in my eyes. “And on you.” That’s what she said! She covered her mouth and stepped back. “Help you, I mean. Be a help to you.”
Now I fear she’ll get hurt too. All due respect, Brother Peter, this is all your fault.
Clay
Chapter Twenty-Three
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Ginny climbed into Brett’s truck, remembering their first date. He’d won free passes to Knott’s Berry Farm, and it had been their first time there. They’d spent the day running around the theme park like little kids. She smiled just thinking of it. But she had to remind herself this wasn’t a date.
“You know, I’ve been loving those letters, and I was wondering if Grandma Ethel had any photos of the people in them—of Ellie and Clay. Or even old photos of Glacier Bay. It would be cool to see how things looked back then.”
“I think she does somewhere, but you’re not going to recognize anything from around this area. Everything’s changed now.”
“Changed? But there’s still not too many houses or buildings.”
He pulled onto the main road, keeping his speed limit to twenty-five miles per hour. “Oh, the buildings haven’t changed much, it’s the trees. Fifty years ago none of these trees were here. Well, not many. They’ve all sprouted up.”
“No trees?” Ginny glanced around, trying to imagine that. Thick pine forests stretched in every direction.
“The glaciers came down the mountain and wiped everything out. I think it was about three hundred years ago. After the ice receded, things began to grow again and the land could be inhabited. I have Tlingit friends in Hoonah. The stories of when the big glaciers came down have been passed on for generations.”
“But the trees, they’re everywhere,” she said again, still not able to believe it.
“That’s how life is, don’t you think? If given the chance, new life is born from what’s once been stripped away.”
Ginny turned to him, studying his profile. “Yeah.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I like that.”
They’d driven past Four Corners when Brett pulled into a small lot on the left. A few other cars were parked there, in front of an old cabin that had seen better years.
“So…” She turned to him. “Is this a hot hangout spot in these parts?”
“You can say that.” He slipped on a baseball cap and climbed from the truck.
She climbed out too, closed the door, and then followed him to the building. As they neared the steps, he paused.
“I have dinner reservations for us at the Glacier Bay Lodge, but today… well, the historical society is having a work day. You’ve been so interested in the letters, I thought this might be fun.” He mounted the steps.
“Oh… Uh, that does sound fun.” She hoped her words sounded convincing. Inside, her heart sank. She wanted time alone with Brett. She wanted to talk.
He opened the cabin door, and her gaze swept over half a dozen people to a pile of boxes stacked along the wall. She smiled as many turned and waved. The last thing she wanted was to spend all day talking with strangers and sorting through old boxes.
A middle-aged woman approached, and Ginny recognized Linda Parker from the Homeshore Café. Linda swept her up in a hug, and Ginny supposed she should get used to being treated like an old friend by everyone in Gustavus.
“There you are. Brett said he was bringing you by.” Linda brushed her hand through her grayish-brown hair. You remember my husband, Lee?”
Ginny followed her gaze to a man wearing a cowboy hat and vest. His green eyes sparkled. Lee approached, stretching out his hand, and she shook it.
“Hi again, Ginny.” Then Lee reached over and squeezed Brett’s shoulder. “I hope you don’t mind me stealing you away for a bit. There are a few boxes at the hangar I need help with.”
“Sure, no problem.” Brett glanced over at Ginny. “I’ll be right back. Linda will take good care of you.”
She reached out and took his hand, causing him to pause and turn back. His eyes widened.
“Hurry back,” she whispered loud enough for only him to hear. “I came here to see you after all.”
He nodded, and she released her grasp. Swallowing hard, she turned back to the other women. Linda motioned for Ginny to follow her to the boxes. “There is so much good stuff here.”
A younger woman—not much older than Ginny—tucked her hands in her pockets. “I’m not sure if Brett told you, but we’re setting up a museum of sorts. Today we’re going through all the things to find the best of the best.”
“He didn’t tell me. But it sounds great.” She heard a buzzing in her purse. She must be within reach of cell service. The temptation rose to check her messages, but that would be rude. Besides, at this moment she was tempted to text Danny to make arrangements to get her home. And while part of her wanted that, another part told her to wait, be patient.
Linda pulled a lid off one of the boxes. Inside were old photos, a wooden box, a harmonica, and some children’s books that appeared to be at least fifty years old.
“When I look at these items, I don’t see the rust and age,” Linda said. “I imagine lantern light and guitar music, the community sharing fun and laughter in long-ago Strawberry Point.”
Ginny’s ears perked up. “Strawberry Point? Is it near here?”
“Ginny dear, you didn’t know? Gustavus is Strawberry Point.” Linda smiled. “That’s what it was called all those years ago.”
Excitement built in Ginny’s chest. This is the place. Ellie came here. “I was wondering….” she began. “I’ve been reading letters about a young woman named Ellie and a man she came to be a governess for—Reverend Clay Parrish.”
Linda’s eyes sparkled, and she again brushed her hair back from her face. “Reverend Parrish has a wonderful history in these parts. I don’t know about any letters—I’ll have to ask Ethel about that. But you’ll be very excited to learn that the cabin—this cabin—belonged to him.”
“This is Clay’s cabin?” Ginny glanced around, and suddenly the place took on new life. Her heart warmed as she noticed sunlight streaming through the front window and imagined Ellie standing at that very spot, looking out.
“Brett was the driving source behind moving it here,” a woman with short red hair explained. “He did most of the work. When he heard of the historical society’s dream for a museum, he went from house to house, asking for volunteers and donations.”
Ginny picked up some type of metal contraption and turned it over in her hands. “He seems to love it here.” She sighed as she placed it in back in the box.
The other women grew excited about a small locket found in one of the boxes. He seems to love this place more than he cares for me. Not that I blame him.
She sank down on the dusty floor and began to sort through some old records. The dust from the boxes filled the air, and she found herself sneezing every few minutes. Her head started to ache. She didn’t know if it was from the dust or if she was coming down with something.
The women chattered on, and she was certain they’d forgotten she was there until one of them turned to her with bright eyes.
“Been out to the plane crash yet, Ginny?” an older women asked.
“You mean the one outside Juneau? Someone told me about it on my way here.”
“No, that was a commercial jet crash. There was another plane that went down right here in Gustavus. Have you seen that hiking sign two miles out from Mountain View Road?”
“Oh, the one said that says TRAIL?”
“Yes, there is a trail there—or at least a worn spot. If you hike a quarter mile out, there’s wreckage from a plane that crashed h
ere back in the fifties.”
“It was a National Guard plane,” Linda explained. “They were on their way to Anchorage, but weather became a problem. High winds and turbulence prevented them from landing at Annette Island. They headed north to Gustavus, since we had good runway lights and equipment for night landings—even better than Juneau in those days.”
“And they didn’t make it?”
Linda shook her head. “The California pilot wasn’t used to Alaskan conditions and the snow. He circled, missing the runway twice, and on his third attempt the plane went down.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“Everyone was hurt. Thankfully the passengers made it, but all the crew members were killed.”
“That’s so sad.” Ginny placed a hand to her temple, realizing that the headache had grown into a pounding she couldn’t ignore.
The women continued chatting about the plane wreck. Several of them had lived in the area at the time, and some of their friends and family members were the first to respond.
Ginny tried to listen, but the more she sat, the more her whole body ached. Finally one of the women paused and looked at her.
“Are you feeling all right?” the woman asked.
“Actually, I think I’m coming down with something. I’m going to ask Brett to take me back to Grandma Ethel’s house when he gets back.”
“Nonsense. That hangar is a mess. You should see all the stuff stored in there. I can’t imagine it’ll take them less than two hours. Thankfully Kelly was going to meet them and help sort through some things. Still, it might take a while. Why don’t I take you home?”
Kelly. Of course. The pounding in Ginny’s temples grew worse.
She didn’t argue. She said good-bye to the others, and just ten minutes later, Linda was pulling her burgundy SUV into Grandma Ethel’s driveway.
“I’m worried I wasn’t more help,” Ginny said. “But thanks for the ride. I appreciate it so much.” She opened the door. The wind had picked up and the frigid air that blew in chilled her to the bone.