“They have a different kind of riches.”
“That’s for sure!” Norman chuckled. “Alma was already like a big sister to Kristina when I arrived in Narvik. Kristina was only a year younger than I. By the time Alma and Tennes immigrated to America, Kristina and I had fallen in love. I was old enough to remain in Narvik and worked on a fishing boat—until I heard tall tales of big money to be made fishing in Alaska. I wanted to make my fortune.” He rolled his eyes.” When I left, Kristina promised to wait for me.”
Norman scrubbed his hand over his face. “And she did. Only, at the cannery where I worked, alone and lonely, I got entangled in a pretty girl’s web of lies. Her guardian believed her and forced me at gunpoint to marry her. I really tried to make a go of our marriage, but she only wanted to have fun. When I was out fishing, she’d leave our babies at home alone and go dancing.”
“Oh, Norman, no!”
“Ya! When I found out, I threatened to take them away from her if she did it again. She was running off with another man, taking my babies with her, when his boat sank in a bad storm.”
Violet’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry!”
“Losing my little girls devastated me. When Kristina found out, she wrote me a sympathy card. We began corresponding again. She forgave me.” A sob tore from his throat. “Can you believe it? She forgave me.”
Violet realized that Norman had found it difficult to forgive himself. “Just as God has forgiven us,” she said softly. Would she have been as ready to forgive as Kristina? Then she recalled the proverb, “Love covers a multitude of sins,” and added, “She must have loved you a lot.”
Norman studied her. “I like talking to you, Violet. You understand without me having to spell everything out. Do you mind?”
“No. I think it’s good to be able to talk about our loved ones.” Maybe someday she’d talk about John.
By then, they had reached the Mendenhall River. They stood silently and listened to the water gurgle over rocks as it deepened and the milky river full of flour-like glacial silt churned toward the sea.
Violet hated to break the companionable mood. “I guess we’d better go back. I think the children will be ready to head home soon. They’ll probably sleep like hibernating bears tonight.”
“And I have to get up at dawn to leave for the fishing grounds.”
“This time of year, that means what, three or four a.m.?”
“That’s about right. Arise at first light and get underway by sunrise, which is about four a.m. tomorrow. But we’ll be back in ten days or so. Depends on how the fish are biting. We’ll try to time it so we can be here for church on a Sunday.”
“I’ll be glad when they finally build that bridge they’ve been talking about. Then Alma and I could get together sometimes while you’re out.”
“She’d certainly like that. I’ll encourage her to ride the ferry over for the day every so often.”
“Good idea. I’m sure Daniel would be happy to pick her up at the dock.”
“Oh, she likes a good hike—as long as it’s not raining.” Knowing that Juneau was part of a temperate rain forest, they both laughed.
So engrossed in conversation, Violet wasn’t paying close attention to where she walked. She stepped the wrong way on a stone and would have fallen if Norman hadn’t grabbed her in his arms to steady her. She felt the tingle all the way down her spine. Shaken, she jumped away and stammered, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Norman grasped her elbow as they continued.
To keep her mind off her heightened awareness of his nearness, she prattled on. “Next week, the Penningtons and I are going to Strawberry Point at the entrance to Glacier Bay to pick wild strawberries. Do you think Alma would like to go along? You said she gets seasick, and we go by boat.”
“As long as it isn’t stormy, she’d love it. She enjoys picking berries.”
“We won’t go if it’s nasty weather.”
“Ask her. She gets lonely without Tennes and me.”
“I will.”
As they approached the group, they saw that Daniel had gathered everyone around the fire for a time of devotions. Norman and Violet slipped in behind everyone just in time to join in singing, “’Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus.”
“Do you know the story of this hymn?” Violet whispered.
Norman shook his head.
“It was written by Louisa Stead,” Violet said. “She, her husband, and little girl were picnicking on Long Island Sound in New York, when they heard screams. A young boy was floundering in the water. Mr. Stead ran to the rescue. Louisa and her daughter watched helplessly as both Mr. Stead and the boy drowned, leaving them destitute. Louisa learned to trust God for her every need, and He saw them through. After Louisa wrote this song, she and her daughter went to South Africa as missionaries.”
Norman dashed moisture from his eyes. “Such meaningful hymns are often born out of tragedy, aren’t they? Do you know the song, ‘Safe in the Arms of Jesus’?”
Violet nodded.
“Kristina told me the story of that song. Fanny Crosby wrote it after her only child died in his crib when he was just a few weeks old.”
Violet gasped. “Like my Elizabeth!”
Norman’s head snapped around. “So that’s how she died!”
Caught up in her own thoughts, Violet murmured, “So it has happened before. I’ve always wondered if I could have done something to prevent it, if I caused it somehow.”
Norman placed a comforting arm around Violet’s shoulders. “Of course not! Picture Jesus snuggling your Elizabeth in His arms. That’s what helps me cope with the deaths of my two girls.”
Chapter 32
ONLY LATER, ALONE IN HER room, did Violet realize with a jolt that Norman had put his arm around her. He’d hugged her. She’d been so preoccupied with the similarity between the deaths of Fanny Crosby’s baby and her Elizabeth that she’d only felt the comfort he’d offered.
She hadn’t been that close to a man since John had hugged her goodbye nearly sixteen years earlier. Leaning into Norman’s strength had felt so good, so right. She had to admit she was attracted to him.
Was he attracted to her too? His sister seemed to think so. Violet laid her hands alongside her face. Just thinking about Alma’s comments made her blush.
And Norman had sought out her company.
Stop it! She mustn’t read more into his actions than he intended. He’d said talking to her helped him. And he’d acted spontaneously to comfort her—in the same way he’d hug Angie or Julia. That’s all it was. Besides, she was not going to risk the pain of loving and losing again.
Yet, all night she tossed and turned. In her fitful dreams, John kept fading into the background, or he would somehow morph into Norman. It felt like betrayal.
As the first red rays of sunrise peeked around the room-darkening curtains, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of her bed. The hands on her alarm clock stood at four o’clock. Norman would be getting underway. She wouldn’t see him for a couple of weeks.
Good! Time enough to regain control of her fickle emotions.
In spite of the early hour, she turned on the diamond willow lamp she’d brought with her from her cabin in Whitehorse. She felt restless and uneasy and began to pace the room. A phrase she’d heard John use from time to time on their steamer trips to Seattle popped into her mind—“There’s a sea change coming.” He said he’d read it in Shakespeare’s The Tempest in college. Whenever he sensed a change in the weather, he’d say that. These past ten years, she’d been content in her roles as surrogate mother and schoolteacher. Did this restlessness signal a sea change in her life?
How much longer would Cally be able to do all the cooking? As the church grew, the Penningtons needed to spend more and more time ministering to their congregation. What would become of the children if the home had to close? What would she do?
Fear of the unknown clawed at her belly. As a young woman, she’d boldly taken
charge of her life and left certain poverty in Boston for adventure and opportunity in the wild Yukon Territory. Everything unraveled when Elizabeth and John died, and she’d floundered so long she thought she’d never regain control. Here with the Penningtons, she’d found security and fulfillment. Was she ready to be cut loose from her moorings again?
Picking up her Bible from beside the lamp, she slipped into her spindle rocking chair. She might as well have her personal devotions and get dressed. To ward off the early morning chill, she pulled her shawl around her shoulders.
Hoping for a helpful word from the Lord, she opened to the ribbon she’d placed where she’d left off reading the day before—Isaiah 43. As she began to read the words the Lord had spoken to Israel through the Prophet Isaiah thousands of years before, she almost heard the voice of her Savior speaking them directly to her:
Fear not: for I have redeemed thee;
I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine.
When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee;
And through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee.
When thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned,
Neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.
For I am the Lord thy God, the Holy One of Israel, thy Savior.
Farther down in the chapter, verses 18 and 19 leaped out at her:
Remember ye not the former things, neither consider the things of old.
Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth;
Shall ye not know it?
I will even make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert.
God had certainly seen her through the waters of death and the fires of tribulation. “Will you trust Me to do a new thing now?” He seemed to ask.
She laid the Bible back in its place. “Oh, Lord, my God and my Savior! As the hymn says, ‘I need Thee every hour.’ I put my trust in You. If a sea change is coming, so be it. Help me not to worry about my future. I relinquish control of my life to You. With You as my gentle Shepherd, I will not be afraid. I will follow where You lead. When I stumble, lift me up. When I am weak, make me strong. In the meantime, I will continue to do what You have given me to do. Strengthen me for the tasks to be accomplished this day. In Jesus’ name, I pray. Amen.”
She arose and stepped to her washstand. Pouring water from the pitcher into the basin, she splashed it on her face to erase the tears. As she patted her hands and face with a hand towel, she studied herself in the small, wood-framed mirror that hung on the wall.
No, she was no longer the fresh young girl who’d married John, but at thirty-seven, she saw no silver in her light brown hair. Her complexion was still clear, no wrinkles. Only a few laugh lines crinkled at the corners of her eyes when she smiled. “This cool, damp Alaskan climate slows the aging of the skin,” she’d overheard Cally tell Mary, whose skin was amazingly young looking at the age of forty-five.
Violet braided her hair and wound it around her head, pinning it securely. She dressed in sturdy clothes suitable for the hike up Mount Roberts she’d promised the teenagers if the weather was good today. In the kitchen she found Cally already starting breakfast.
Cally glanced up from cracking eggs into a large bowl. “Good morning, Violet. I thought we’d have sourdough pancakes today.”
“Oh, yummy! That’s just what we need to get us off to a good start on our hike up the mountain.”
“That’s what I thought. Why don’t you get a bottle of blueberry syrup out of the pantry? There should be at least one more from last summer’s batch.”
“Any time now, we should be able to pick more berries. We’ll have to plan an outing.” Violet headed for the pantry. When she returned with the syrup, she stood the bottle in a pot of water and set it to warm on the cookstove.
“Are you feeling all right this morning, dear?” Cally asked.
“I’m okay. Just a bit tired. Had a restless night.”
“Anything on your mind?” When Violet didn’t answer right away, Cally added, “You and young Mr. Pedersen looked quite serious at the bonfire last evening.”
“I guess we probably did.” Trying to steer Cally away from what she sensed was coming, Violet said, “We discovered we’re both orphans.”
“Oh, something else you have in common.” Cally stopped stirring and studied Violet for a moment. “I was only fifty-three when Mr. Calebrand died. I still miss him. Life’s lonely without a mate. I wouldn’t turn down a nice man like Mr. Pedersen.”
“He hasn’t asked. Besides, I don’t plan to ever remarry.” Violet lowered her voice and murmured, “Too painful when you lose them.”
“It is, but I still believe the old saying, ‘Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’” Cally’s face turned pink. “Well, I’ve had my say. And that’s all I intend to say on the subject. It’s your life.”
She turned away and tossed a few droplets of water onto the griddle to test its temperature. They sizzled, and Cally spooned out batter to form four hotcakes.
Violet stepped up behind her and touched the aging woman on the shoulder. “Thank you, Cally.” She felt the stiffness in the thin frame relax.
Violet hadn’t realized how frail the older woman had become. She turned toward the dining room to set the table.
Yes, one way or another, a sea change was coming.
After breakfast, the older children hurried through their chores. The girls made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for sack lunches and filled up several canteens with water since the hike to the top and back would take all day. Jackets tied around their waists, they left the house.
Fluffy white clouds studded the blue sky that arced between the mountains on Douglas Island and those on the mainland. Except for a few patches of glistening white near the peaks, the winter snow had disappeared. Yet, Violet knew they were in for a rugged hike.
From the house, the hikers headed toward the Fifth Street School and veered left on Franklin and up to Sixth Street. After a few more blocks, they ascended the stairs along the steep street named Starr Hill on the lower slope of Mount Roberts, past the clapboard bungalows with wide, enclosed porches and broad, low dormers built for the miners and mill workers. There, they picked up the trail that wound up for a mile through lush, old-growth evergreens, where the scent of Christmas filled the fresh morning air.
Eagerly, they trotted up the first few hundred yards of the trail, stepping carefully over protruding tree roots that formed natural stairways in places. Before long, though, winded by the steep mountainside, their steps slowed. They stopped for a swig of water. Being careful to avoid the prolific devil’s club, beautiful with its wide leaves and red berries but vicious with thorns, Violet rested on a mossy log alongside the trail. Though she didn’t see any birds, she heard their sweet singing.
Rustling in the undergrowth drew her attention. A bear cub? She jumped up. “Let’s go!”
At that moment, a hoary marmot scurried across the trail. It jerked to a stop, rose on its haunches to sniff the air, and scurried into the brush on the other side.
Violet let out her breath. “Don’t forget to make lots of noise. We don’t want to surprise a bear.”
Warily, the girls peered around into the vegetation, while the boys scoffed at their timidity.
After a little over a mile, the group broke out of the timber into open alpine brush. As they climbed higher, the trail passed through patches of multi-colored wildflowers, grasses, and low bushes that alternated with boulders and loose rock. Up ahead loomed Father Brown’s Cross, named for the Jesuit priest who, with a group of volunteers, had carved out this trail at the turn of the century.
From there, a panoramic view of the length of Gastineau Channel unfolded far below. To the north lay the Chilkat Mountains, Glacier Bay, and the entrance to Lynn Canal. A bald eagle soared overhead. To the south were Taku Glacier and the Inside Passage.
Fishing boats appeared as tiny white dots on the maze of waterways be
yond the channel. Violet wondered if one of them might be Norman’s. Violet’s stomach fluttered, but she shook her head to clear away the thought. She’d been enjoying this carefree hike and didn’t want to think about anything serious right now.
From the cross, they still had three miles of a steady rocky climb to the top. The trail was full of false summits. Between Gastineau Peak and the summit of Mount Roberts ran a long ridge that dropped four hundred feet like a saddle between the two, and they had to cross a large patch of snow.
With the summit in sight, a surge of energy carried them to the top. To the east, magnificent Silver Bow Basin, where gold had first been discovered in 1880, spread out below, with more mountains beyond.
So intent on their goal, they hadn’t noticed the clouds piling in over the peaks, leaving them just below the ceiling. The air was now quite chilly. Gusts of wind buffeted them. Donning their jackets, the teens drank more water and headed back the way they had come. At the saddle-like ridge, they stopped to eat their sandwiches.
Just as they were finishing, the mist began to envelop them. “We’d better go before we lose our reference points,” Violet said, as she took herself to task for not paying more attention to the skies. Silently, she asked the Lord to hold off the storm until they were safely down.
Descending on tired legs was not as easy as Violet had expected. Her thigh muscles screamed with fatigue. She’d be sore the next day. But the group didn’t dare slow down. The swirling mist was thickening fast. As soon as possible, they must get below the timberline where the trail was clearly marked.
No one spoke. All concentrated on getting off the mountain.
What must have been a couple of hours later, Ben, who was in the lead, called out, “There’s the cross!”
The teens quickened their pace. Violet calculated that the trail ran two and a half more miles from the cross to the Basin. Starr Hill was closer. It would probably be raining by the time they straggled home, but at least they’d be safe.
As they exited the trail at the top of Sixth Street, they discovered Daniel’s touring car waiting for them. With a whoop, they all scrambled into the vehicle just as the downpour let loose.
Beside Still Waters Page 24