Beside Still Waters

by AnnaLee Conti

  Within a few hours, eight rescue ships with sufficient space for all the passengers and crew arrived on the scene in response to Sophia’s emergency calls. Thinking the passengers were safer on board, the captain would not allow anyone to transfer off Sophia. The ship’s faulty barometer led the crew and passengers to expect the storm to abate. Instead, the window of opportunity closed as the storm raged stronger.

  If only Captain Locke had allowed them off!

  Forty hours after the grounding, with no rescue boats able to stand by due to the weather, gales of one hundred miles per hour picked up Sophia’s stern and pivoted her one hundred eighty degrees around her bow, which stuck fast to the reef. Her hull was ripped out as it scraped along the reef until she slipped off.

  Engulfed in the frigid Alaskan waters, the ship buckled. The boilers burst, spilling thick oil into the surrounding water that smothered the passengers and crew. When the rescue ships were able to return to the reef the next morning, only twenty feet of Sophia’s mast poked above the waters of Lynn Canal.

  All on board were lost. The newspapers reported that many bodies were picked up from the sea and taken to Juneau for identification and preparation for burial. Divers recovered those entombed in the ship, but many were still being discovered washed up on shores up to thirty miles away.

  Waves of horror washed over Violet as she imagined John’s last minutes of life. Her precious husband lost due to the bad decisions of the captain he knew and trusted.

  That night and for many weeks after, her sleep was haunted by nightmares of John desperately calling out to her. She struggled against high winds and smothering oil to save him but couldn’t reach him. Or she’d grasp his oil-coated hand, only to have him slip out of her grip, leaving her screaming frantically for someone to save him.

  Would she ever be free of these horrific images?

  Chapter 22

  BY MID-FEBRUARY, THOUGH STILL wan and pale, Violet gradually began to regain her strength. A telegram arrived from Juneau to notify her that John’s body had been identified. Dad Barston made arrangements to have the body shipped to Seattle for burial. They hoped that would give them all a measure of peace concerning John’s death.

  The casket was sealed, so they could not view the body. It was too deteriorated by time in the water. No public service could be held due to the flu epidemic. At the cemetery, Violet stood with her in-laws. Silently holding her bitterness at bay, she did not sing or even look up during the brief eulogy. Maybe she hadn’t died physically with John, but her life was over. Numbness pervaded her body and emotions. She took no comfort from the Scriptures or hymns.

  Afterward, a few people approached her to speak words of condolence. They took her hand and said, “He’s in a better place.” Or, “God must have needed him.” Violet wanted to scream back, “But I need him! God has so many other people with Him. Why did He have to take my husband? He was all I had.”

  Others said, “You’ll feel better in time.” She knew differently. She’d lost everyone dear to her. She still missed her parents with an ache that never went away. Each death felt like an amputation. John’s death had cut out her heart too. She’d never be whole again.

  But Violet spoke none of those thoughts aloud. She kept her head bowed, only nodding in agreement with their sentiments that John had been a wonderful Christian man.

  Shortly after the graveside service, a packet was delivered to the house with a note stating that the enclosed letter had been recovered in John’s inner pocket. Though water-stained, with ink smeared in places, it was still readable. It was addressed to Violet.

  S. S. Princess Sophia

  October 24, 1918

  My dearest wife,

  As you probably know by now, Sophia struck Vanderbilt Reef in a blinding snowstorm during the wee hours this morning. Remember how I pointed it out to you on every trip we made down Lynn Canal and lamented that it should be marked with a light? In the darkness and adverse weather, the ship drifted off course, bringing us onto the reef.

  The impact threw us from our berths, but, thank the Lord, no one was seriously injured. I helped the crew prepare the lifeboats, but in such a ferocious storm, it would have been folly to launch them. For now, we are stranded high and dry but are in no immediate danger. We’ll see if we can float off at high tide.

  Nearby ships have been notified by wireless, and eight are now standing by, enough to accommodate all of us, should that be necessary. The passengers are nervous, but there has been no panic. The general feeling is that at high tide the ship will float free from the reef, or we will be transferred to the other ships.

  Due to the storm and the size of the reef, the rescue ships are not able to get near enough for a direct transfer of passengers, although I would have attempted it as the wind has died down a bit. The barometer indicates the storm is abating. For now, Captain Locke thinks we are safer if we remain on board.

  October 25, 0900 hours

  The winds are again rising toward gale strength. Seas are over 30 feet. So far, Sophia seems firmly attached to the reef. They may try to shoot a line by Lyle gun to Sophia to evacuate us by breeches buoy, a canvas seat shaped like breeches hung from a life buoy running on a rope from one ship to another. That’s extremely hazardous, though. I don’t see how nearly 350 people could be transferred by that method, but it may be our only option.

  October 25, 1300 hours

  All attempts to remove the passengers have failed. The storm has forced all the rescue ships to seek shelter. We are alone on the reef. Sophia is taking a tremendous pounding. The noise is awful as the waves batter the side of the ship. She is listing to port. I fear we are in grave danger. I feel I must add the following:

  My darling Violet, should the worst happen, I don’t want you to waste your life grieving for me. I have never regretted my decision to marry you. You have enriched my life with sweetness. I’m only sorry that our time together on earth has been cut short, but we have eternity to spend together in the presence of the Lord. Don’t let sorrow and bitterness destroy you. Have a happy life, my darling.

  I am attaching my will and am wrapping it all tightly in waxed paper and placing it in my inner vest pocket under my coat and life jacket to protect it as best as I can from the elements.

  Goodbye, my love.

  Your loving husband,

  John

  Of course, Violet knew the worst had happened. She wiped the tears from her eyes and turned to the last page. He had written a simple will leaving all of his possessions, property, and finances to her.

  But she’d rather have John. How would she live without him?

  Violet handed the letter to Dad Barston. When he had read it, he asked, “Would you like me to help you with the paperwork for switching John’s property and bank account into your name?”

  “I’d be most grateful,” Violet said. “Not that I don’t know how. I had to help Aunt Mabel, who was quite distraught to learn she was left destitute when Uncle Chester died. And I took care of Aunt Mabel’s estate all by myself. But I feel too overwhelmed to handle this alone.”

  They discovered John had money in the bank, as well as the property in Whitehorse and life insurance. With judicious planning, she would not have to worry about finances for some time. Unlike Uncle Chester, John had provided for her, even after his death. In that, she felt his love. With her current state of health, going back to teaching right away was not an option.

  When she’d been stricken with influenza, it was too expensive to pay rent for an empty apartment. The Barstons had moved her belongings from her duplex to their basement and let her place go. Violet remained with her in-laws. They wanted her to stay, and it seemed the path of least resistance. Because they shared in her sorrow, she felt at ease with them. They comforted one another.

  Grief depleted Violet’s entire being. As her physical strength gradually returned, she helped her mother-in-law around the house. But often she retreated to her room, where she sat staring off into nothingne
ss for hours at a time. Only when Mother Barston prodded her to take a walk with her or to help her in the garden did she come out.

  With the Spanish influenza pandemic peaking in Seattle that winter, death was everywhere. Churches were closed, and social activities were cancelled. Violet didn’t mind. That took the pressure off her to attend. She took up knitting children’s sweaters for the church outreach ministry to a city orphanage, which was now inundated with children whose parents had died in the epidemic, but she adamantly refused to attend church services when the quarantine was lifted.

  By the spring of 1920, Violet had regained her strength and was growing increasingly restless. After dinner one evening, she announced, “It’s time for me to go back to Whitehorse. I need to look after my property there. If the town needs a teacher, maybe I’ll stay on.”

  “You’re always welcome to remain here, Daughter,” Dad Barston said. “Our home is your home.”

  “Yes, we’ll miss you, dear,” Mother added. “We know you need to find your own way, but do come back whenever you can.”

  Violet hugged them both in turn. “Thank you. You’ve been so wonderful to me. I’d never have survived without you.”

  The crews of twelve Yukon River steamers, including three other captains, had been lost with John on Sophia. Knowing she would have enough to deal with, she wanted to avoid the emotional impact their absence would elicit if she went earlier. For that reason, she arranged for passage to Skagway on the Princess Alice in mid-June, well after most of the riverboat crews would have gone north. She packed up her belongings, and Mother and Dad Barston drove her to the dock. As the ship sailed, they waved to each other until the pier was hidden behind an island.

  Violet stood at the rail allowing the strong breeze to pummel her. Her thoughts turned to her first trip to Skagway when John had singled her out. Tears stung her eyes as she visualized the handsome young man with the infectious smile wearing the peacoat and white captain’s hat. The Princess Alice was enough like the Princess May that she could easily track the high points of that first voyage. She promenaded where her memories led and could almost feel John’s comforting presence beside her, laughing at the frolicking orcas at Alert Bay and the grumpy sea lions rudely awakened from their nap on their rocky haulouts along the Inside Passage.

  The last day of her return trip, as they left Juneau and entered Lynn Canal, Violet stood glued to the rail until they sailed past Sentinel Island Lighthouse. Then she hurried to the other side of the ship to watch for Vanderbilt Reef. When she spotted the navigation light now marking the reef, she again heard John wondering why no light marked it. Her stomach churned with anger. Why did they wait until his ship sank? She wouldn’t be a widow if the light had been installed before that fateful night.

  As Alice neared Skagway, Violet remembered her wedding night. Salty tears slid down her cheeks and crusted in the stiff breeze. Then, she’d believed John to be the answer to her prayers. How naïve she’d been to think that God cared about her! He’d given her happiness only to snatch it away a few years later. How cruel!

  Bitterness ate at her soul as she ran to her stateroom, where she remained until the ship docked. She did not join in the excitement at the rails and was one of the last to disembark. That night, she avoided the mission. Brother Paul and Dorothy were God’s representatives, and she was through with God.

  The next day, she led the queue of passengers boarding the White Pass Railroad for the last leg of her journey to Whitehorse. Violet relived their wedding trip. With every clack of the wheels climbing up to the pass, she heard John’s voice describing the scenic viewpoints and the difficulties of construction, but the sights did not inspire her. The trestle over Dead Horse Gulch no longer frightened her.

  The meal at Lake Bennet was identical to the one on their honeymoon trip, but she only picked at it. As the train approached Whitehorse, the first thing Violet noticed was the surrounding green hills alive with wildflowers—the blue of delphiniums and lupine predominant. Snowy mountain peaks rose in the distance. But the beauty did not lift her spirits.

  At first glance, the settlement itself did not seem to have changed much in the nearly two years she’d been gone. A few sternwheelers still sat on skids along the riverbank. Violet spotted the Yukon Belle sitting forlornly on shore, her captain and crew gone forever and apparently not yet replaced.

  With a pang, she realized that Jonesy too was gone. No more friendly greetings. No more cooking lessons. No more of his palate-tempting dishes. At least she had some of his recipes.

  Violet had heard it said that the Sophia disaster took the North down with it. A tenth of the population of Dawson City was lost. Entire families had been wiped out. Nearly every person in the close-knit towns of Alaska and the Yukon had been affected. How many more residents of Whitehorse would she discover missing?

  As Violet walked to her home, she ran into a few residents she knew. They greeted her enthusiastically, but she only waved and said hello, not stopping to chat.

  Her log house stood sturdy but empty. A few wildflowers had bloomed, but the front yard was overgrown and littered with winter’s debris. When she unlocked the door and stepped inside, a musty odor assailed her nostrils. Quickly, she opened the windows to air it out, thankful that the screens were still in place.

  The boy she’d hired to bring her trunk arrived. She had him carry it upstairs and paid him four bits. After two years of disuse, the water pump needed to be primed, so before she sent the teen on his way, she asked him to bring her a bucket of water from the river and paid him the going rate of twenty-five cents a bucket.

  On the way home from the train depot, Violet had seen notices posted that residents should boil and strain even well water before drinking. At least she had a well in the cellar. Not everyone in Whitehorse did. Once the pump was working, she strained the water through cheesecloth, filled the hot water reservoir in the oil cookstove, and lit the fire.

  By now, her watch pin said evening was approaching, but the sun still stood high in the sky. She found the key for the chime clock on the mantel, wound it, and set it at the correct time.

  The chill began to penetrate her lightweight clothing, so she laid a fire in the fireplace and ran upstairs to check that the heat vents were opened. She turned back the quilt to air it out. She could put flannel sheets on the bed later. Next, she unpacked her clothes, hanging her summer dresses on the wall hooks. Leaving her winter clothes in the trunk, she stowed everything else in the dresser drawers.

  Tucked away in the bottom drawer, she discovered a set of John’s woolen winter underwear. Did it still smell like him? She held it to her nose and grimaced at the musty odor. She had very little to remind her of John. All of his personal possessions had gone down with him on the Princess Sophia, so she decided to air out his long johns and keep them. The only photograph she had of him besides the wedding one Dorothy had framed for them was a portrait he’d sat for one winter in Seattle. Violet removed both from her trunk and set them up on the dresser.

  She wasn’t hungry, but she decided to drink a cup of tea before she went to bed. On her way to the stairs, she hesitated outside the closed nursery door until she remembered her vow to never enter again. She’d put that part of her life behind her two years ago. She’d not reopen it.

  Chapter 23

  WHITEHORSE, YUKON TERRITORY, JUNE 1922

  Two years had passed since Violet’s return to the Yukon. The principal had welcomed her back to her position as the primary teacher at the Lambert School. Attendance had dwindled since the Sophia disaster wiped out complete families, including many children, but teaching the remaining youngsters kept her days busy and interesting.

  The nights and weekends, however, were long and lonely. She no longer even thought about attending church services. And rather than go unaccompanied to social activities, Violet stayed in her warm, snug cabin on frigid nights and read her books. They were the only companions she trusted. Not that there weren’t any bachelors eager to
ask her out, but she avoided encounters with the many lonely men in the Yukon. No one compared favorably to John. Besides, she didn’t want to risk loving anyone else. Everyone she loved died.

  The long, cold winter passed. Wildflowers again bloomed profusely on the surrounding hills. School closed for the summer. Violet planted her tiny garden. With the lengthening hours of sunlight, the seedlings flourished. Soon she’d have fresh greens for salads.

  After a morning of pulling weeds, clearing winter’s debris from her yard, and tending the pansies and marigolds she’d planted at her baby’s gravesite, Violet returned to the house to eat a smoked salmon sandwich with a glass of cold tea.

  Frost had covered the ground that morning, but by noon the temperature had soared to near one hundred degrees. The house felt too warm, so Violet sat in her rocker on the screen-enclosed front porch to catch what breeze she could.

  After finishing her sandwich, she dozed off briefly. When she awakened, she picked up the book of poetry she was reading. She and John had often enjoyed it together. Memories still caused a knot in her stomach and a lump in her throat, but the cadence of the familiar lines comforted her. She could almost feel John’s strong arms wrapped around her again. The breeze finally picked up. Though hot, it cooled her.

  The White Pass train whistle shrilled as it chugged into the depot later that afternoon. The sound no longer cheered her as it had when John was alive. Meeting the trains was one of the social activities she avoided. Now, the train whistle only reminded her of her loneliness.