Charlotte chuckled. “I’m always up for an adventure.”
At about half past four that afternoon, the S. S. Princess Patricia departed for Seattle on its “night cruise,” featuring sunset dining. After the evening meal in the large salon, Violet stood at the rail and studied the waves on the Strait of Georgia, tinted cerise and orange by the setting sun. As the sea splashed up like sparkling gemstones against the bow, she breathed in deeply, savoring the salty tang. John would have loved this.
Guilt suddenly clenched her stomach. She’d been so preoccupied with her own grief these past few years that she hadn’t given John’s parents much thought. John would be very disappointed in her for not writing and visiting them more often. Would they be glad to see her? Finally, the fresh air and weariness overcame her, and she retired to a tiny stateroom for the night while the ship sailed down Puget Sound.
Early the next morning, the steamer docked in Seattle. Violet stood at the rail, suitcase in hand, and quickly spotted John’s parents waiting for her on the pier. As soon as she stepped off the gangplank, Mother Barston enfolded her in a hug. “It’s so good to see you, dear.”
John’s dad grabbed her in a bear hug. “It’s been too long, Daughter.” His voice sounded huskier than normal.
A rush of love filled Violet’s throat. She swallowed back tears at being greeted so warmly. “I’m sorry it’s been so long. All I can say is I haven’t been myself these past years.”
“We understand, dear.” Mother Barston hugged her again. “We’ve all been through a lot.”
“Let’s get you to our automobile.” Dad Barston grabbed her suitcase and led the way. Violet and Mother linked arms and followed.
“How are you, Violet?” Mother sounded a bit hesitant.
“I’m much better now. I have a lot to tell you.”
Except for pointing out changes in the city over the past few years, they said little until Dad parked in front of the house and carried her suitcase up to John’s room.
“Have you eaten breakfast?” Mother asked.
“No. We arrived so early there wasn’t time.”
“I thought that might be the case. How about some blueberry pancakes?”
“Oh, you remembered my fondness for those.”
“I’ll have them ready in a jiffy.”
“I’ll set the table.” Violet pulled flatware from the drawer and plates from the cupboard and carried them to the dining room.
When she returned to the kitchen, Mother was already dropping spoonsful of batter on the griddle. “There’s freshly squeezed orange juice in the icebox. And take out the bottle of blueberry syrup. I remember you like it warm. Set it in a pan of water on the stove.”
“Shall I make tea?”
“I have fresh milk in the icebox.”
“Oh, that will be a treat. We have only tinned milk in the Yukon. I probably haven’t had fresh milk since I left Seattle.”
Soon all three of them were seated around the table. Dad prayed, thanking God for Violet’s return and asking His blessing on the food. They ate silently at first, savoring their breakfast. Then Violet told them all about the events of the summer and her plans for a new life.
“We’re happy for you, dear, aren’t we, Father?”
“I’m just happy to see the light in your eyes again, Daughter—whatever put it there.”
“You’d love the Penningtons. Why don’t you come to Juneau to visit me and see the home after I get settled?”
“Maybe next spring,” they said in unison.
After breakfast, Violet helped Mother clean up the dishes while Dad read the newspaper. When they joined him, he put the paper down. “What would you like to do today, Violet?”
“One thing I want to do while I’m here is visit John’s grave.”
“Of course! Whenever you’re ready.”
“I think I’d like to go now. Then maybe we could go berry picking in the mountains? That’s something I haven’t done in years. After my encounter with that bear in the hills around Whitehorse, I’ve been afraid to go alone.”
Dad rose to his feet. “Okay. Let’s take advantage of this sunny weather.”
They quickly changed into berry-picking clothes, loaded buckets into the trunk, and set off.
At the cemetery, Dad showed Violet John’s grave. “I hope you like the stone we bought.”
They stood in front of a granite headstone engraved with an anchor entwined in rope and a quote from Hebrews 6:19: “This hope we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and steadfast.” Violet read the rest of the inscription aloud:
In loving memory of
John R. Barston
Captain of the Yukon Belle
He lost his life at the age of 30 on the
S. S. Princess Sophia
Oct. 25, 1918
Until the Resurrection
Tears filled her eyes as she clasped hands with John’s parents standing on either side of her. “It’s perfect. He’d like it.” After a bit, she whispered, “May I have a few moments alone?”
“Certainly, dear.” Mother patted her arm. “Take all the time you need.” And they withdrew to a bench down the path a little ways.
Violet gazed at the stone, allowing the tears to flow. “Oh, John, how I’ve missed you! You gave me the most wonderful three and a half years of my life. You were the best husband a woman could ever have. But I’ve grieved long enough. In your letter written on the ship, you told me to be happy. I think you’ll be glad to know that I’ve finally found a new purpose in living. I’ll never forget you. I’ll never stop loving you. So long for now, my love.” She leaned down and traced the letters. “Until the Resurrection.”
She wiped the tears from her eyes and walked toward the Barstons. “I’m ready.”
Yes, she was ready to face her future.
Chapter 28
JUNEAU, ALASKA, 10 YEARS LATER, 1933
Rain had fallen steadily for two days, but this morning Violet awoke to silence. The patter of raindrops on the tin roof had ceased at last. Dressing quietly and pulling her woolen shawl close around her to keep out the chill, she tiptoed downstairs to take advantage of the opportunity to breathe in the clean, crisp air. The top buds of the flaming fireweed had opened days ago, signaling the end of summer. Soon school would start, and the early mornings would no longer be hers alone.
She stepped out the front door of the children’s home and scanned the panorama before her. Through a frame of tall evergreens, she glimpsed the rising sun as it cast gem-colored sparkles across the turquoise waters of Gastineau Channel. The dissipating tendrils of fog revealed snow, like powdered sugar sifted atop a cake, on the mountain peaks of Douglas Island, a huge hunk of land so close that residents could row across to Juneau on the mainland. Words of praise and adoration to God for His love demonstrated in His creation spilled from her lips.
In a few weeks, she would mark the tenth anniversary of her arrival in Juneau. Ten years. Could it be possible? Where had the time gone? Gratitude for her ready-made family of orphans welled up in her heart. She had immediately fallen in love with them, and they showered her with affection in return. And next week, she’d meet her new class of fourth graders.
Charlotte Childers had taught for a year in Whitehorse before returning to Vancouver. That summer, Violet made one last trip to Whitehorse to sell her log house and say a final goodbye to Elizabeth and her Yukon friends. Over the ensuing years, she and the Barstons had taken turns visiting each other, and she always stopped by to see Charlotte on her way to Seattle. They continued their friendship by correspondence.
“Thank you, Lord, for this challenging life You’ve called me to.” It was not the one she expected to have when she married John, but she loved teaching, and that, along with caring for the orphans in this home, fulfilled her.
As much as she loved the children, she also loved the early morning hours before they stirred from their warm beds. Only then did she find the solitude to commune with God. Violet hummed a
few bars of the hymn, “I need Thee every hour, most gracious Lord . . . ” She depended on Him daily for strength. Without Him, her losses would still haunt her.
Her quiet time often included talking things over with John. Although the love of the children and her friendship with the Penningtons and Grandma Cally had assuaged the terrible grief and despair of those early years after his death, she still missed him fiercely. In her mind, she’d pose her questions and dilemmas to him. Of course, he didn’t actually speak with her, but his past words of love and wisdom resounded in her memory and often suggested solutions.
Padding footsteps and murmuring voices drifted out to Violet as the family stirred from slumber. “Thank you, Lord, for this new day. Give me Your wisdom that I may be Your hands and feet in serving this family You’ve given me.”
After breakfast and family devotions, a knock sounded at the front door. Violet, who was nearest the door, rose to answer it. On the porch stood a tall, dark-haired man about her age, dressed in a plaid wool flannel shirt and dungarees. Though his clothes were clean, a faint fishy odor emanated from him. A fisherman probably.
What struck Violet, though, was the anguish clouding his sapphire eyes. She knew that look. It was the same expression that had haunted her own eyes in the months following Elizabeth’s and John’s deaths. Her heart reached out to the stranger in silent prayer as she asked, “May I help you?”
“I’m Norman Pedersen. Is Mr. Pennington in?” The man’s voice quivered with emotion. Violet detected a Scandinavian accent. “I need to talk to him.”
“Certainly.” She swung the door wide and gestured for him to enter the foyer. “Wait here while I call him.”
Daniel had overheard. Immediately, he said, “Children, quickly carry your plates to the kitchen and go outside through the back door to enjoy the sunshine.” He met Mr. Pedersen in the foyer and ushered him into the living room while Violet, Mary, and Cally scurried away to wash the dishes.
In his distress, Mr. Pedersen’s voice carried all the way to the kitchen where the women worked in silence. “I’m a fisherman, and I live in Douglas.” His baritone voice trembled. “My wife drowned in June—fell off the dock in Douglas after grocery shopping in Juneau and became entangled in old nets under the water. My three-year-old daughter saw the whole thing.”
“I’m so sorry. Is she all right—”
Mr. Pedersen seemed not to hear him. “I needed to finish out the fishing season—it’s how I make my living—but it wasn’t safe to take a three-year-old on a fishing boat without her mother. I didn’t know what to do. I had no one to care for her.” His voice broke, and Violet heard muffled weeping.
“We’d be happy to take her in here,” Daniel said.
“It’s too late!” The anguish in his tone was unmistakable. “I wish I’d known about your home two months ago. Friends recommended a childless couple who ran a hotel in downtown Juneau. They agreed to care for Evie—my daughter.” Mr. Pedersen’s voice choked up again.
After a few moments, he continued, his voice still rough with emotion. “All summer, I visited her every time I came in with a load of fish and paid them, as we’d agreed. She seemed happy and well cared for. The last time in port, I told the Parkers I’d be taking Evie with me in two weeks when the season ended. Yesterday, when I went to the hotel to pick her up, they were . . . gone!”
The man’s voice hitched higher on the last word, and sounds of great distress filled the house. Violet could hear Daniel murmuring words of comfort to him. Finally, Mr. Pedersen blurted out between huge, wracking sobs, “They took her. She’s gone!”
In the kitchen, Violet, Mary, and Cally immediately stopped what they were doing and, joining hands, began to pray that God would comfort their visitor.
Regaining control of his emotions, Mr. Pedersen said, “Friends at my church in Douglas said you’ve lived in Juneau for quite a while and know a lot of people. They hoped you might know Jack and Louise Parker at the Gold Dust Hotel and could suggest where they might have moved.”
In a subdued voice, Daniel said, “Oh, Mr. Pedersen, I wish I did.” Silence ensued until Daniel asked, “Have you notified the authorities?”
“Please call me Norman. Yes, but there’s not much they can do. The new owners paid cash. They have no idea where the Parkers might have gone.” More muffled weeping interrupted the conversation. “How can I go on living without my wife and now my daughter too?”
“This is truly a dark hour for you, Norman. I’m very sorry for your losses.” Daniel cleared his throat. Violet envisioned him putting his arm around Norman’s shoulders. “But I want you to know that God cares and understands. He wants to comfort you. And He knows where your little girl is. May I pray for you?”
Norman must have nodded his agreement, because the next thing Violet heard was Daniel’s voice lifted in prayer.
A few minutes later, Daniel poked his head in through the kitchen door. “Mary, could you rustle up some coffee? Then come and meet Norman, all of you.”
“We couldn’t help but hear his story,” Mary said. “The poor man!”
While Mary made coffee, Cally laid a few oatmeal raisin cookies on a plate. “I was saving these for dessert tonight, but the poor fellow is probably too upset to eat much. Maybe these will tempt him and provide a little nourishment as well.”
From the kitchen door, Violet scanned the yard. The children were happily engaged in various activities. Marie, the little Tlingit girl who had first won her heart, was now fourteen. She was pushing the youngest girl, Angie, on the swing. Several younger boys were building forts in the sandbox while Esther, the Penningtons’ ten-year-old daughter, had used a long stick to draw squares in the dirt so the girls could play hopscotch. Two older girls were playing jacks on the steps, while Ben and the older boys were shooting marbles in the dirt.
“Everyone’s happy and accounted for,” Violet announced as she closed the door behind her.
Mary carried the coffeepot, sugar bowl, creamer filled with tinned milk, and teaspoons on a tray into the living room and set it down in front of the two men. Cally and Violet followed with the cookies and mugs. “We thought you might enjoy some oatmeal cookies with the coffee,” Mary said.
Daniel smiled broadly. “Norman, this is my wife, Mary. And these two ladies are Cally, short for Mrs. Calebrand, and Violet.”
Norman rose. “Nice to meet ya.” He nodded politely as he shook hands with each one.
“We couldn’t help but hear your story, Norman,” Mary said. “We’re so very sorry for your tragic loss. We’ve been praying for you in the kitchen.”
When Norman shook Violet’s hand, a heightened sense of awareness she had not experienced since John’s death surged through her. Was it possible that the part of her she’d thought died with John could roar back to life? Feeling as though she were being unfaithful to him, she quickly withdrew her hand.
She had decided long ago never to remarry. Losing loved ones was simply too painful to risk it again. Although several men had asked her out over the past ten years, no one had tempted her to break her resolve. She was content to teach school and care for other people’s children for the rest of her days. She would not entertain romantic thoughts now and tamped down the unwanted feelings, discounting them as empathy.
Besides, the poor man was overcome by grief. Still, she couldn’t ignore how handsome he was. Though his skin had been roughened by exposure to wind and sun, he was a fine-looking man with his full head of wavy dark hair, Nordic features, and vivid blue eyes.
He was taller than John. She had to tip her head back a bit to look directly into his eyes. Her own filled with tears at the raw pain she recognized there. “I understand what you’re going through, Mr. Pedersen. Ten years ago, my baby girl died suddenly. A few months later, my husband lost his life when the Princess Sophia sank in Lynn Canal.”
Norman’s eyes widened as he gaped at her momentarily before finally blurting out, “Ya! I heard about that wreck. A terrible thing! I’m
sorry.” Abruptly, he sat back down and gulped his coffee, ignoring the cookies.
Had she done the right thing telling him her story? She’d only meant to sympathize. She stirred sugar into her coffee and took a sip.
Norman set his mug back on the table and rose. “I’ve taken enough of your time. I need to keep looking for my daughter. Thank you, Mrs. Pennington.” He nodded at Cally and Violet.
Escorting Norman to the door, Daniel asked, “Did you check at the steamship office to see if they have any record of the Parkers and your daughter leaving by steamer?”
“That’s where I’m headed now.”
“Show your photograph of Evie to them and to everyone you meet around town. Maybe someone will remember seeing something.”
“I will. Thanks for listening . . . and for the coffee.” They shook hands.
“We’ll continue praying for you, Norman.” Daniel opened the front door. “Please keep in touch. If we’re not here, look for us at Bethel Church on Seward Street. We have Sunday school and worship on Sundays and services every evening.”
“I will.” Norman trudged down the steps and headed back toward downtown.
Chapter 29
VIOLET SPENT THE WEEK PREPARING her schoolroom and lesson plans for her new class of fourth graders at the Fifth Street School. In spite of her busy schedule, Norman’s anguished eyes haunted her. She understood the hurt and prayed for him often.
By the time the weekend came, Violet was ready to relax. But Saturdays were work days at the children’s home. Getting everyone out the door in time for Sunday school would be impossible if the groundwork was not laid on Saturday—giving baths, washing hair and tying it up in rag curlers or braids, setting out clothes for each child, and polishing shoes. Even the children had chores—sweeping floors, dusting furniture, cleaning the bathroom. Violet’s job was to supervise the children as they did their assigned tasks.
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