Rebekah snickered just as the voice said, “You’re welcome, but I’m not the waiter.”
It yanked Ariel’s attention from her soaked skirt to the man who stood beside the table. She stared at the slim, dark-haired man smiling down at her and rubbed her eyes. Was she hallucinating? She sprang to her feet.
“Who, what…Jean? Jean Thoreau?”
“Hello, Ariel.”
Why hadn’t she recognized his voice when he first spoke? Ariel fell back into her chair. “I thought you were dead!”
Jean Thoreau’s dark eyes shadowed. “I am so sorry. It’s a long story—”
Rebekah interrupted. “One that can wait until after breakfast, I’m sure.” She held out her hand. “I’m Rebekah Patten, Ariel’s aunt. I am glad to meet you, Mr. Thoreau. Won’t you join us?”
The smile that had lingered in the back of Ariel’s mind for twelve lonely years flashed. “Thank you.” Jean seated himself beside Ariel. “I’ll get acquainted with your aunt while you change your skirt.”
Ariel rose and stumbled to her cabin, still dazed by Jean’s Lazarus-like return. Two questions haunted her: Where had Jean been all this time? How did he happen to be on the very ship bearing her home?
The questions beat in her brain through an interminable breakfast, making it hard to swallow. At last Aunt Rebekah fixed her gaze on Jean and said, “Now, Mr. Thoreau, if you will be good enough to tell us your story? You seem to be very much alive. In fact, I’d say as Mark Twain did, that the report of your death was greatly exaggerated.” Her smug expression reminded Ariel of a Dixon cat who had roused Molly the cook’s ire for licking the meringue off a lemon pie meant for company.
“Alive, well, and the superintendent of the Dixon Cove cannery. Tom had errands he wanted done in Seattle but couldn’t get away, so he sent me. He said you were sailing on this ship.” Jean’s musical voice matched his warm smile. He turned to Ariel. “I promised to come back, you know.”
She pleated her napkin, hoping he couldn’t hear the loud thump of her heart. To her horror, the question that had haunted her for years escaped her lips. “How could you forget me? Us?”
Desolation filled Jean’s eyes. “I didn’t forget. I thought you had forgotten me. Every day I expected a letter.”
“How could we write?” Ariel protested. “No one knew where you had gone or why you left Ketchikan!”
“I know that now. I didn’t then.”
Aunt Rebekah tapped her fork against her water glass. “Young man, I suggest that you start at the beginning.”
A brooding look darkened Jean’s face. “Who knows where it began? Perhaps when ma mère, my mother, realized her only son had fallen in love with Big Tom Dixon’s daughter. She and mon père, my father, respected the boss greatly but feared he might feel a trapper’s son wasn’t good enough for Ariel. They couldn’t bear to have my heart broken and prayed it wouldn’t happen. When word came from friends who wanted us to move to Nova Scotia, my parents saw it as an answer from God.”
Ariel’s throat dried. “And so you went.”
“Oui. I didn’t want to leave. When we reached Nova Scotia I wrote to you again and again. I even wrote to your father, asking if you didn’t care to correspond. No answer came. A boy’s hope dies hard, but eventually our companionship seemed like a dream, except for my promise to return.”
Jean’s face twisted. “Mon père died shortly after we reached Nova Scotia. Before ma mère died a few months ago, she confessed their fears—and gave me the letters I had written all those years before.” The knuckles of his clenched hands showed white. “She said she didn’t want to face her Maker bearing the secret of what she had done.”
Rebekah leaned forward in her chair. “You mean false pride kept you and Ariel apart?”
“Please do not judge my parents too harshly, Mrs. Patten. Sickness had taken my bothers and sisters. After ma mère’s funeral, I headed west, not knowing what I would find. I went straight to your father, Ariel.” Jean’s white teeth flashed in a broad smile. “Tom and Molly made the Lost Son’s homecoming pale by comparison.”
“I don’t understand,” Ariel said. “Why didn’t Dad tell me you came back and were running the cannery? He must have known that I…” She couldn’t go on.
The poignancy in Jean’s dark eyes sank deep into Ariel’s soul. “By the time I arrived, you were already betrothed.”
Chapter 3
Ariel felt as if the breath had been pulled out of her. The next instant, Jean’s husky voice cut through her agitation. “The most beautiful words I ever heard were those in your telegram.”
Rebekah leaped into the conversation. “Trot out the fatted calf. Stop. Coming home. Stop. Will sail on…” She broke off and laughed. “Mr. Thoreau, I have a feeling we are going to be friends. Good friends.”
“Oui.”
Ariel’s heart ached. Unless she was sadly mistaken, a fifteen-year-old boy’s deep feelings had grown into a man’s devotion. Jean’s expression showed how much he’d suffered. How could she have fallen prey to Emmet’s courtship? Thank God for the misplaced snowflake that had brought her to her senses!
“What did Tom say when he heard your story?” Rebekah wanted to know.
Jean’s somber expression changed to mirth. “He slammed his fist on the table and bellowed, ‘Blast the Thoreau pride!’”
Ariel felt herself relax. “That sounds like Dad. What else?”
“He shook his shaggy head and said my parents evidently did what they felt best, but they had been wrong. Tom had prayed for my return, knowing nothing else could remove the sadness from your eyes, Ariel. He told me I was the son he never had.” Jean stopped and cleared his throat. “When he said you were betrothed, I wondered why I had come back until he added that I was an answer to prayer. He needed me as superintendent.”
Before Jean could share further revelations, two fishermen Ariel knew well strode into the dining room and unceremoniously seated themselves at the table.
“Ariel Dixon, what’s this about you packin’ it in and leavin’ us?” Carl, a mackinaw-clad giant, demanded. “Is your fee-ann-see too good fer the likes of us?”
“Naw. No Dixon’d pick a pup like that,” Swen, similarly clad, asserted.
Ariel felt her face flame. Reluctance to discuss her broken engagement before she could tell Jean the whole story swept over her. She cast an appealing glance at her aunt, wondering what she thought of the free and easy way these men who had dandled Ariel on their knees since babyhood talked.
Rebekah shook her head, as if reading Ariel’s mind. “You can trust Ariel’s judgment. I can’t imagine her going back on old friends or her country.”
“Course she wouldn’t. Carl’s a dunderhead,” Swen affirmed.
“Never said she would,” Carl quickly put in. Ariel saw his keen gaze fasten on her bare ring finger. “Don’t look like the feller reeled her in.” He guffawed. “The way I figger, if a gal ain’t tagged, it’s open season.”
Two pairs of blue eyes twinkled and Swen added, “If me and my pard wuzn’t fishermen and old enough to be yore daddy, we’d be campin’ on your doorstep, Ariel.”
The hearty approval made her blink. “Don’t forget. Dad’s a fisherman too.”
“He’s the hardworkin’est, slave-drivin’est man in the north. Fair though. Treats everyone the same.” Carl grinned across the table at Jean, who had remained silent during the exchange. “Here’s another just like him. We put up a bigger pack this year with Jean Thoreau running the cannery than we ever did with Thad Olson bossin’ us.”
Smile wrinkles creased the corners of Jean’s eyes. “I can’t take the credit. We not only had a record fish run, but Olson’s selling out to the competition gave us an added incentive. Mrs. Patten, these men and others like them kept the fish coming so fast that if Tom hadn’t already stocked up on extra cans, we’d have run out halfway through the season! I hope all this talk of fish isn’t boring you.”
“Not at all.” She smirked. “Why don
’t you and Ariel go do some more catching up? Carl and Swen can entertain me. I imagine they have some exciting fish tales.”
Carl let out a war whoop. “Lady, we’ll tell you stories that will curl your hair.”
“Good. See you later, Ariel. Nice to meet you, Jean.” She waved dismissively.
“She c–called you J–Jean,” Ariel stuttered when they reached the door.
“Why not? It’s my name.”
Ariel laughed and caught looks of approval from the three at the table. “You don’t understand,” she explained after she collected her parka from the stateroom and preceded him up the companionway to the deck. “In all the time I was with Aunt Rebekah in California, I never heard her call someone she had just met by his first name.” She felt curiosity rise and overcome her unwillingness to pry. “What did you talk about while I was changing my skirt?”
Jean laid one hand over his heart. “Ah, that must remain our secret.” He bowed and crooked his elbow. “Does mademoiselle wish to take a constitutional?”
Ariel slipped her hand under his arm then stood on tiptoe so Jean could hear her over the mournful cries of low-flying gulls. “Did you really miss me?” She saw his face whiten as they walked to a sheltered spot near a lifeboat.
“You will never know how much.”
A memory from long ago surfaced in Ariel’s mind. A ten-year-old boy with a wicked fishhook imbedded in his hand. His face had paled then too. Yet he made no outcry when Tom pressed the hook deeper to release its cruel clutch, then removed it with his knife. Ariel remembered how hard she had cried, hot tears that dripped on the wounded hand. Now more tears gushed: tears for the children they had been, the long separation, even for their reunion.
Jean whispered the words he’d spoken years before. “Don’t cry, Ariel. It will be all right.” He turned her to face him. “I have come back, chérie. Is it too late?”
“No.” She felt him tremble when he gathered her into his arms. She heard him whisper, “Thank You, God.” His lips, cool and slightly salty from ocean spray, touched hers in their first real kiss.
Hundreds of miles lay between them and Ketchikan. Yet Ariel felt she had come home to a familiar, safe harbor after a long and stormy journey.
The tossing waves, deep ravines, silver threads of waterfalls that Ariel had loved since childhood took on new beauty for her in the wonder of a dormant love that sprang to full bloom. No longer did she impatiently wish to reach Ketchikan. From the shelter of her beloved’s encircling arm, she beheld again the land of her birth, the land holding her future. She reveled in the knowledge that whatever storm winds blew, God and Jean would be there to protect her. No wonder she had been unable to equate the excitement of being chosen by Emmet Carey to the love she now hugged close! Prayers of thankfulness for being delivered winged up to heaven from her overflowing heart.
Ariel also rejoiced that Aunt Rebekah was outspoken in her approval of Jean. “A real man,” she privately announced to Ariel while the two women stood watching a spectacular sunset over the water. Jean had disappeared after telling Ariel she needed time to inform her aunt of the change in nephews. “I hope you have sense to see it.”
Ariel hugged her arms across her chest. “I do. I’m going to marry him.” She flung her arms wide. “I want to shout it to the heavens.”
Rebekah sniffed and said in a passable imitation of Mrs. Carey, “Ree-ah-lly, my deah. Have you no couth? Our family does not shout our feelings to the heavens. Or anywhere else, for that matter. You must learn to conquer your ill-bred habits.”
“Couth? What kind of word is that?” Ariel demanded when she could stop laughing.
“Uncouth is a word, so there should be a couth,” her aunt informed her.
Ariel gave her an impulsive hug. “You really don’t like Mrs. Carey, do you?”
Rebekah’s face took on a pious expression. “As a good Christian woman, it’s my duty to love everyone. The truth is, I can’t abide her. Never could. She’s the kind of woman who makes me want to throw something at her smug face. Preferably something that squashes!”
Ariel gaped.
“Close your mouth, my dear. Gawking is dreadfully unbecoming,” Rebekah said in her natural voice. “Ariel, I hope you realize how narrowly you escaped settling for second best.”
“I do. I would have, if it hadn’t been for that snowflake.” She couldn’t go on.
Rebekah patted her arm. “I can’t wait to see your father’s face when you tell him about you and Jean, although I suspect he won’t be surprised.” She grinned mischievously. “How I wish I could be a mouse in the corner when Emmet and his mother discover you threw away the chance to really ‘be someone’ for love of a French Canadian fish cannery superintendent!”
“You’re absolutely gloating over the storm that will break, aren’t you?”
“Guilty as charged.”
“So am I, especially since I already am someone—a special someone loved by God, Dad, Jean—”
“Don’t forget me,” Rebekah interrupted.
“As if I could.” Ariel hugged her again. When she saw moisture fill the older woman’s eyes, she realized how deeply Rebekah cared and tactfully changed the subject. “So what do you think of our voyage?”
“Like stepping back in time. It’s so unspoiled. I only regret that Frederick and I never came. He would have loved it.”
Ariel’s gaze followed her aunt’s pointing finger to the brilliant star clusters hanging low in the settling dusk. “It’s hard to believe even heaven can be lovelier than this. Yet the apostle Paul reminds us that understanding of the things God has prepared for those who love Him has not even entered the heart of man.”
“I believe Frederick is there waiting for me to come. That is what sustains me.” Rebekah’s voice broke, and she walked away.
Ariel didn’t follow. Such sacred moments must remain in the locked chambers of the heart. She hugged the knowledge and went to find Jean.
Chapter 4
Ariel rejoiced that the day their ship steamed into Ketchikan, the cloud-dotted heavens smiled, free of the village’s legendary rain. “Instruments recorded nearly fifty-four inches for the record month of November 1917,” she explained to her aunt, exulting in the crisp, northern air that stung her cheeks. She shaded her eyes against sun sparkles on the water. And against the tears that threatened when she saw her father waiting for her on the dock.
“So you’re here,” he said, after Ariel disembarked and threw herself into his embrace. He gave her a smile that rivaled the northern lights. “Welcome to Ketchikan, Rebekah. For a while there, I thought we’d lost Ariel.”
“Far from it.” Rebekah turned her nose up. “My niece changed kayaks in midstream. I am happy to announce that Jean Thoreau has replaced Ariel’s former fiancé.” Satisfaction oozed from every word. “I couldn’t be more pleased.”
Ariel saw the wonder, relief, and delight that played tag over her father’s rugged features. “Thank God for that.” He released Ariel and grasped Jean’s hand. “She’s yours, son.”
“Of all the…it was Jean all the time?” Carl hollered from behind Ariel.
“Course it was, dunderhead,” Swen called. “Anybody’d know that.”
“You didn’t, you old barnacle,” Carl retorted. Ariel could hear them still arguing as her father ushered Rebekah, Jean, and her into the Dixon family car.
“We have close to four hundred automobiles in Ketchikan,” Tom announced. “Also fourteen miles of road.” He laughed his powerful, contagious laugh. “Of course, each just stops where the wilderness begins.”
Rebekah gasped. “I’ve never seen the like.”
No wonder, Ariel thought. San Diego has nothing like this short, wide road along the Tongass Narrows’ silver curves that winds through hemlocks. Or houses that cling to the side of the mountain.
“No flowers now, but wait until summer,” Tom promised. “You’ll stay, right?”
Rebekah’s voice showed gratitude for the instant, unque
stioning welcome. “Not too long this time, but I’ll come back if I may.” Ariel watched her aunt crane her neck to see better and rejoiced when Rebekah showed no nervousness as the big car climbed steep, narrow streets until it reached the Dixon home.
Sight of her beloved home made Ariel feel she had been gone for years, not months. She gloated at the contrast between it and the adobe mansions in California. Long and spacious, with weathered shingles of silvery gray, the house blended into a background of ferns and aspens that led to a magnificent forested slope. Far below, Front Street bustled with fishermen and women, native and white, all waiting for the fish run when the canneries opened and offered work. Curio shops and stores, heavily concentrating on fishing supplies, flanked both sides of the street. Ariel’s pulse quickened. Fish. The life’s blood of Ketchikan.
Rebekah laid her hand on Ariel’s. “It’s everything you said.”
From her position behind her father, Ariel’s gaze met his in the rearview mirror. Rich and renowned Rebekah Patten might be, but her present expression showed she was truly a kindred spirit.
To Ariel’s great joy, in the days that followed, Rebekah became part of the family and won Molly’s friendship. Perched on a high stool in the well-provisioned kitchen, she confessed that she had longed to cook for years but was afraid of offending her servants if she encroached on their territory.
“Frederick inherited them,” Rebekah explained. “They depended on us.”
Molly’s brown face glowed, and Ariel hid a snicker when the cook produced an enveloping apron, handed Rebekah a pan of vegetables, and set her to peeling. “If the Careys could only see you now,” Ariel teased.
“I wish they could,” her aunt replied. She vigorously beat potatoes with a masher. “I’m having the time of my life. Who needs fancy dress balls and teas with little cookies so small that what doesn’t stick in your teeth falls down your front?”
“You’re a fraud,” Ariel accused when a flush reddened her aunt’s cheeks. “All these years, I’ll bet you’ve just been itching to kick over the traces.”
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