By the time they finished carrying their supplies and extra blankets to the house, the fog had rolled in like a juggernaut. Smokelike trails became a solid bank that obliterated sea, sky, and even the well-secured Sea Sprite, adding to Ariel’s growing concern. She and Jean staggered under the weight of an enormous log and heaved it into the fireplace, making flames roar up the chimney. He also started fires in the small woodstoves in both bedrooms.
Ariel put a kettle of water to boil on the enormous kitchen woodstove and warmed bedding in front of the living room fireplace then made up their beds. When she returned to the kitchen and Jean, who had obligingly offered to start supper, she forced a laugh and commented, “This is deluxe camping out.”
He turned from a skillet of sizzling bacon. To Ariel’s surprise, he didn’t join in her laughter. After a long moment he said, “Ariel, you know you’ll be as safe with me here as though I were your father.”
Her mouth fell open. “Of course, Jean. There was no need for you to say that.”
“Oui.” He smiled and turned the bacon slices, leaving Ariel to thank God for the integrity of his big, wonderful heart.
They spent a happy evening discussing a multitude of things. Their Christmas Eve wedding. How they’d return to Dixon Cove Christmas afternoon. How terribly Ariel missed not being in Alaska for the previous summer’s fish run and canning season. They talked of excursions, always in the north. “I want to visit or revisit every inch of Alaska,” Ariel declared. “I can hardly wait to get on snowshoes and skis, perhaps even train and enter a dogsled race, although not the Iditarod.”
Jean’s dark eyes gleamed. “Not without me!” Teasing gave way to the poignant expression that hinted of depths waiting to be explored. “God willing, we shall have many years to do all the things you mention and more.” When he kissed her good night at her bedroom door, he promised, “Next time we’ll be together.”
In perfect love and trust, Ariel gazed into his face. “I know.” The look he gave her remained in her dreams long after she fell asleep.
To Ariel’s relief, which she saw reflected in Jean’s face the next morning, the capricious fog soon fled before a brisk wind that sprang up shortly after a pallid winter sun appeared. Only a few festoons remained, hanging like the gray moss that beards giant trees in the endless northern forests. Jean and Ariel made short work of breakfast and packing. Their return trip to Ketchikan proved uneventful. When they arrived, a dozen lounging men, Carl and Swen among them, lounged on the dock.
“Morning,” Jean sang out.
A hateful laugh sounded from one of the men who stood back of the others. Ariel recognized Thad Olson. She thought of his confrontation with Jean a few days before and shuddered. His expression shouted that more trouble lay ahead.
Her father’s former cannery superintendent elbowed his way through the crowd and sneered, “Come far?”
“From Dixon Cove,” Jean briefly explained. “Fog caught us yesterday afternoon.” He docked the Sea Sprite as skillfully as Emmet Carey parallel-parked his fancy car.
“Shut up, Olson, you’re drunk,” Swen bawled. Face anger-black, he took a step toward Thad with Carl at his heels. A murmur of approval swept through the crowd.
Ariel swallowed. Hard. She had seen a few dock fights, and the mood of the moment boded well for a full-scale brawl.
“Not so drunk I can’t see what’s plain to be seen,” Thad gloated, an evil look creeping over his face. “And I shore ain’t seen no fog. Have the rest of you fellers?” He shot Jean a venomous look even more insulting than his taunt.
Jean sprang to the dock, but not fast enough.
Thud. A mighty splash closely followed Swen’s blow. Olson’s heavy body hit the water. He bobbed to the surface, bellowing like an enraged polar bear and cursing at the top of his lungs.
“Shut your dirty trap, or I’ll finish what my pard started,” Carl bellowed. Swen nodded, nursing his skinned knuckles.
“If he can’t, the rest of us will,” a burly fisherman threatened. “No one talks that way about Ariel. Jean Thoreau either. If they say there was fog at Dixon Cove, there was fog. Olson, either you haul yourself out of the water and apologize or be on the next steamer. We ain’t forgot how you walked out on us on the eve of last year’s run.”
A low, menacing murmur went through the crowd. Men surged forward.
“Wait!” Ariel stepped to the dock. “He’s drunk and not worth listening to.” She cast Olson a withering glance that brought dull red to his face. His unexpected bath had evidently sobered him up enough to sense danger, for he struggled to shore, grumbled, “Sorry,” and shambled away.
“Thanks, boys.” Jean put his arm around Ariel. She rejoiced when his smile shone white in his lean, tanned face. “I guess some folks just judge everyone by themselves. By the way, you’re all invited to a wedding come Christmas Eve. Ariel and—”
“That isn’t necessary,” a haughty voice cut in. “Such a small service doesn’t require that kind of reward.”
Jean’s fingers bit into Ariel’s shoulders. He took an involuntary step backward. “Who are you?” he hoarsely demanded over the top of her head. “What right do you have to say who shall or shall not come to the wedding?”
“Every right in the world,” the stranger said. “I am Emmet Carey, Miss Dixon’s fiancé. Now if you will excuse us, we have a previous engagement.”
Chapter 9
Ariel couldn’t believe her ears. Emmet here? Impossible! She had thought Aunt Rebekah’s curt message would penetrate even his tough skin.
“Want we should dunk him too, Ariel?” Swen offered.
“Yeah, give it to him, the stuck-up swell,” a loyal Dixon employee called.
Ariel tore herself free from Jean’s grip and whirled. It wasn’t a nightmare. Emmet Carey stood a few feet away, perfectly turned out and wearing the blackest frown she had ever seen cutting deep lines between his brows. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, her voice colder and more jagged than broken icicles.
Emmet stroked his smooth-shaven chin. “I think my telegram explained sufficiently. I do not intend to engage in a lengthy explanation in front of these men or this buccaneer who has the audacity to lay hands on your person.” He glared at Jean.
“Wot’s he talkin’ about?” Carl wanted to know.
“Beats me.” Swen scratched his head with a long, callused finger. “But we’re standin’ by in case she needs us.”
Ariel ignored them. “I received no telegram.” Never in her life had she been angrier. She glanced at Jean. To her amazement, not a trace of anger flickered in his eyes, and amusement lurked in their depths. What a contrast between the self-important Californian in all his sartorial glory and Jean, carelessly clad, with a crimson kerchief at his neck. A laugh rumbled deep in Jean’s throat then bubbled out like lava from a volcano. Ariel recognized it as the laugh of a conqueror, a man who refused to allow lesser mortals to drag him to their level.
The next moment, Ariel’s laughter ran out like a silver chime and aligned her alongside those with whom she had grown up. “This buccaneer’s name is Jean Thoreau, the man I’m going to marry,” she announced.
When Emmet only crossed his arms and glared, Ariel repeated, “I am going to marry Jean.”
The fishermen cheered. All but the intruder joined in the thunder of congratulations. When the crowd at last fell silent, Emmet raised his chin and said dismissively, “I will speak with you at the home of your father. Your aunt will talk reason into you.” He turned on his heel and marched toward a waiting taxi. Carl, the irrepressible, fell in a few paces behind him in a ludicrous caricature of Emmet’s walk. It set the watching crowd roaring again.
Jean cocked an eyebrow. “Shall we beard the lion in his den?”
“Yes, but it isn’t going to be fun!” Ariel bit her lip. An unpleasant interview lay before them. Yet why should it be? She had broken her engagement to Emmet before she knew Jean Thoreau was still alive. She owed her former suitor nothing. Father
, give me the wisdom to handle this. Peace returned, and a reassuring grin from Jean when they climbed the path to the Dixon home helped immeasurably.
Armed with prayer in one hand and love for Jean in the other, Ariel smiled and entered her home. Her heightened awareness made the living room look like the stage setting for a melodrama. Her father relaxed in a chair. Rebekah lay in her nest of blankets. Molly’s brown face peered in from the kitchen. Emmet paced the floor with military precision, now and then stumbling over the giant bearskin rug before the fireplace. Ariel could feel Jean’s breath on her neck from where he stood behind her.
“Here you are at last,” Emmet snapped. “Ariel, before you explain your actions, I suggest you read this. Aloud, if you like, since it hasn’t been opened.”
“We aren’t in the habit of opening messages not addressed to us,” Tom growled.
Ariel felt anger spurt but opened the yellow telegram and read,
“YOU WIN Stop. ARRIVE BY PLANE TOMORROW Stop. FIND PRIEST OR MISSIONARY TO MARRY US Stop. WON’T AFFECT MOTHER’S ARRANGEMENTS Stop. REAL WEDDING VALENTINE’S DAY, AS PLANNED Stop. HAVE GONE TO GREAT EXPENSE AND INCONVENIENCE BECAUSE OF YOUR STUBBORNNESS.”
Priest? Missionary? Mirth bubbled inside Ariel like coffee threatening to boil over, but she swallowed hard. Was Emmet so ignorant of Alaska he thought the only ministers available were the traveling priests and missionaries of gold rush days? She threw the paper to the floor. “I can’t understand why you came at such expense and inconvenience. I made it clear in California that I didn’t intend to marry you. No, don’t leave,” she ordered when the others moved restlessly. “Emmet has drawn you all into this. You have a right to know the end of it.”
If Emmet heard her, he gave no sign except to stop pacing. “The end will be when we get out of this accursed country and back to civilization. Can you imagine how I felt, finding you the reason for a brawl by a bunch of louts?” He shuddered and rolled his eyes. “I considered bringing Mother with me. Thank God, I did not. She would never tolerate such a scene.”
A quick movement brought Jean to Ariel’s side. She clasped his muscled arm and squeezed a silent warning. His arm slowly relaxed under her touch, and he said, “Those so-called louts would defend Ariel’s honor to the death.” Although spoken softly, the words dropped into the hushed room like ice crystals.
“If Ariel had been here waiting for me, where she should have been, there’d have been no need for such a degrading performance,” Emmet flared. “Neither would she be the subject of gossip.”
Like a bolt of lightning, Ariel knew what to do. Thank You, Lord. “The important thing is not what others think, Emmet. Do you believe Jean and I are guilty of wrongdoing, even in the slightest degree?”
Dull color suffused his patrician face. “Are you mad? Of course not! No woman in her right mind would risk losing the Carey fortune by besmirching her reputation with such an escapade.” He drew himself to his fullest imposing height. “Anyone can see Thoreau’s in love with you. I trust it’s enough for him to keep mum.” He shrugged. “Anyway, it’s a long way from Ketchikan to San Diego.”
Ariel’s father leaped from his chair in a mighty bound. “That will be enough, you insolent pup. Concerning my daughter and son…” He shot a glance toward Jean, whose arm remained imprisoned by Ariel’s strong grip. “Their actions are beyond reproach. Yours aren’t. Clear out of here before I forget I’m a God-fearing, peace-loving man and throw you out!”
“I’ll help,” Rebekah volunteered in a voice that showed she meant what she said.
Ariel wanted to cheer. She bit her lip to keep from howling at the look on Emmet’s face. He whipped toward Rebekah, clearly aghast at high treason from the one person present he’d obviously counted on as his chief ally. His mouth flopped like a beached whale. No words came.
Not so with Ariel. Jean’s laughing question from the day before rang in her ears, as loud as if he had just spoken. “Ariel. Lioness of God. Will you defend me like the mighty beast from which your name is taken defends its young?” Her vow: “I will defend you to the death.” The first chance to keep that vow had come.
Ariel released Jean’s arm and stepped in front of him. She leaned back against his strong chest, both arms outspread to keep him from attacking Emmet. She felt his heart beat, the great heart that so easily shed insults to himself but gave no quarter for those aimed at her.
“Thanks, Dad. You too, Aunt Rebekah, but I’ll handle this.” Exaltation filled her. “Emmet, Jean Thoreau is farther removed from the tawdry world in which men and women dally with the sacred things of life until they slip into infidelity than Ketchikan from California. Jean would die before uttering one word or committing one act that would cast reproach on my name.”
“Well, bravo for him.” The red in Emmet’s face receded to pallor, but his set jaw showed he refused to bow to the inevitable. The next instant, he abandoned his sarcasm and donned the boyish, winning smile that had once set Ariel’s heart aflutter. “This place has mesmerized you, Ariel. Think. What has this fisherman to offer, compared with my wealth and—and love?” The word slipped out as if reluctant to drop from his lips. “I do love you, you know.”
Anger fled. Pity filled Ariel’s tender heart. It stilled the accusations that hovered on her tongue, truths she had fully intended to hurl against his arrogance. Jean’s love for her was pure and selfless, enduring, akin to God’s love for the world. Emmet based his love on her outward appearance, how well she would fit into his world, the children she would bear to follow in his footsteps. A rare flash of insight told her the futility of trying to make Emmet understand.
“Forgive me for not knowing my own feelings,” Ariel impulsively said. “If I had, all this unpleasantness would have been avoided.”
“You actually care for this man?” Emmet challenged.
“With all my heart.” Ariel turned to Jean, who magnificently rose to the occasion and extended his hand to Emmet. “I loved him as a child but thought him dead all these long years.” She held her breath. Would the breeding and good sportsmanship ingrained in Emmet since childhood be strong enough for him to finally believe any girl in her right mind would turn down a Carey for a French Canadian fisherman?
Emmet ignored Jean’s outstretched hand. His jaw set in the stubborn line Ariel knew so well, face darker than the storm clouds that often plagued Ketchikan. His hands clenched. A tiny muscle twitched in his cheek. After what felt like a lifetime, he looked at his watch, the same watch he had worn the day the errant snowflake came to San Diego and freed Ariel from prison bars she hadn’t known surrounded her.
“I believe my pilot can still reach Vancouver if we start now.” Emmet squared his shoulders, gave a stiff nod, and marched out the door.
Ariel realized the nod was the only outward sign of Emmet admitting defeat that she would ever get. I can be thankful for even this small token. It truly means he is out of my life forever. A flash of discernment brought a new thought: Perhaps that small nod indicates a crack in the Carey shell of pride. If so, there may be hope for Emmet to someday find happiness with another young woman. I just thank God it won’t be me!
When Emmet’s footfalls across the wide veranda and down the steps ceased, Aunt Rebekah cleared her throat and announced in a good-riddance voice, “That’s that. Now let’s talk about the wedding.”
Chapter 10
Every passing hour erased a little more of Emmet’s visit from Ariel’s mind. To her relief, Thad Olson had also disappeared. “Gossip has it he decided to spend the rest of the winter elsewhere,” Carl reported.
Swen echoed Aunt Rebekah’s unspoken thought. “Good riddance.”
Ariel appreciated her faithful friends refraining from questioning Emmet’s short stay in Ketchikan even though she saw curiosity in their weather-beaten faces. Their unusual tact made her laugh.
December scurried toward the 24th in a mixture of weather: rain and wind, occasional light snow, and brilliant winter days that set Ariel’s heart sin
ging. She had refused Rebekah’s offer of a complete trousseau. “I have everything I need, even a wedding dress. Remember that gorgeous ivory silk from San Diego?”
“Are you sure you don’t want white, beaded with pearls?” Rebekah asked.
“Jean likes me in ivory.” Ariel smoothed the soft flannel of her favorite outfit.
“Then ivory it shall be.” Mist crept into Rebekah’s eyes. Ariel suspected her aunt was remembering the day she became wife to her beloved Frederick.
“Most everyone in Ketchikan wants to come,” Tom complained at one point. “What are we going to do with them?”
“Hold the wedding in the biggest hall in town and invite ‘em all,” Rebekah advised. “Ariel and Jean are part of this town. Folks deserve to be at their wedding.” She sniffed. “You’re not sending out engraved invitations with admittance cards, are you?”
Tom raised his hands into the air at her suggestion. Ariel giggled but sobered when she saw a wary look in Jean’s eyes.
“I know you don’t regret giving up Emmet, but are there any twinges over the lack of fuss and feathers?” he whispered when they were alone.
“Not a single twinge.” She happily leaned against his shoulder. “I’m right where I belong. Besides, I do have the fuss and feathers. Auntie fusses over the details and Molly’s giving us a patchwork quilt with a pattern of wild geese flying. She made it years ago and put it away for me.” Ariel shook her head and another giggle erupted. “Can you imagine the heir to the house of Carey sleeping under a handmade patchwork quilt? You don’t mind that it was originally meant for a different groom?”
“Who says it was?” Jean looked mysterious. “Molly had never heard of Emmet Carey when she made the quilt. Maybe, like your father, she thought I’d come back someday.” His black eyes twinkled. “She always did have a spot in her heart for me warmer than her big cookstove!”
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