The journey up river had almost finished Amy. She’d used every ounce of her strength, tapping deep inside for the courage to go on, knowing she would soon rest in Papa’s house.
As she rushed toward her home, a whisper on the wind, one she didn’t care to heed, told her to wait on the Lord. She’d heard this ever since she’d awakened after the accident in Seattle, determined to leave the city, but she’d ignored it. Yes, God might be trying to make things easy for her, but she didn’t need easy. She could take care of herself.
Her legs wobbled as she forced them forward. Her ribs punished her for running. She clutched them to quiet the pain and held herself erect by sheer will. It shamed her to rely on someone else. She should have been able to take care of herself.
Shaking off her fear, Amy reached for the grizzly pelt that kept the wind out of the cracks in the door.
She hesitated, remembering her manners learned from the McGraws. It was home; she should just go on in. But she’d been gone so long. She stood on the slab of gray rock centered in front of the door and knocked, her fist muffled by the bear skin and the rugged door frame. No one came to the door, and her jaw tightened with impatience as the moment stretched. Why had Papa stopped writing? Why had he worried her like this for so long?
“Amy, maybe we should—”
“Should what, Braden?” She whirled to face him. “I am home. This is the end of my journey. There is nowhere else for me to go.”
No one answered her knock on the log framing the door, so she pulled back the pelt and shoved on the door. It was firmly latched. Papa hadn’t even had a latch on the door while she lived here!
Her fear was too much to face, so she grabbed hold of a flicker of annoyance and turned it to anger. Pounding on the door, she glanced up at the smoking chimney. Someone was here but not Papa. He wouldn’t abide stifling smoke when he could breathe the pure Alaskan air.
If he was here, he must be sick. If Papa couldn’t come to the door, then she’d beat the door down and go in uninvited.
“Papa, it is Amy! Open this door!” She hammered with the side of her fist on the saplings that had been lashed together into a tidy door, heavy enough to keep out the winter wind and a pack of hungry wolves.
Suddenly it flew open. Braden caught her before she fell into the arms of a stranger. The man who stood before her was certainly not her father.
“I dunno an Amy. Beat it!”
The door began to swing shut. Amy threw herself forward and blocked it open. Her ribs hurt from the impact. On a gasp of pain, her vision blurred. “What are you doing here? Where is my father?”
The man’s eyes narrowed, lost in a full beard and coarse, knotted hair. He sneered at her. Teeth bared green and broken. “No father in this place. Now git!”
Amy spoke quickly. “My papa, Petro…Peter Simons, owns this cabin. Tell me where he is.”
The man quit sneering. He quit trying to get his door shut. His eyes were suddenly cold, and he studied her intently. A vile smell rolled off the man and out of the cabin. When Amy had lived here, the cabin had a clean, woodsy aroma.
“No need to get riled, mister.” Braden shifted slightly so his shoulder blocked the man who had invaded Amy’s home.
The man’s conniving eyes slid toward Braden, and with a little clutch of her heart, Amy knew only Braden’s presence kept her safe. That whispering voice had warned her. God knew of the danger. But Braden was here, although it galled her that she needed him.
“Pete Simons din’t have no kin. He lived alone long’ez I knew him. And he never made no mention of any daughter. No woman is gonna come in here layin’ claim to what’s rightfully mine.”
“Yours?” Amy’s temper built until she was too upset to be afraid. “That is a lie! It belongs to Peter Simons.”
“It did ’til he sold it to me.”
Amy gasped. “Papa sold the cabin?”
“Sure as shootin’ he did. Got me a bill of sale’n ever’thin’.” The man looked her up and down in a way that made her skin crawl. “An’ I knew Pete for years. Never heard him talk of a daughter. Who put you up to makin’ a claim to my place?”
Her father loved this cabin. He wouldn’t have sold it, because he didn’t see it as belonging to him. Her father had been deeded this place by an old Russian friend. Papa loved his rugged life and carved out a home here. No bill of sale would convince her differently.
Then Amy thought past all her anger. “Where is my father? If he sold you the cabin, then he must have moved on somewhere else. Tell me where he is.”
The man crossed his arms. “You expect me to believe you’re Pete’s daughter ’n you don’t know he’s dead?”
Amy gasped. “No! No, I do not believe you. I would have heard!”
Amy backed away from the awful words. Braden slipped a strong arm around her waist.
“I don’t b’lieve you’re his daughter. You’re on my property, and I want you off. The next time you hammer on my door, I won’t come unarmed.” The man glanced again at Braden then turned his cruel gaze on her.
Amy shuddered to think what might have happened if she’d come here alone.
The man gave her one last wild glare and then stepped back and slammed the door in her face.
A cry ripped out of Amy’s throat, and she launched herself at the door. Braden caught her around the waist and swung her away.
“Stop. We have to get out of here. You heard what he said about a gun. Let’s go. I’m sorry about your da, but you can’t stay here.”
Amy looked up at Braden and met his sad eyes. She’d known he carried a weight, though he’d carefully avoided talking about anything personal. His sadness came from grief. She recognized it because it echoed everything she felt.
“You have lost someone, too,” she whispered.
Braden’s eyes darkened as if a cloud had gone over the sun and turned the blue sky gray. He held her gaze silently; then at last, as if it hurt to move his head, he nodded.
She had no one in the world who cared if she lived or died. Nowhere in the world to call home.
“Papa.” Her knees buckled, the world swirled around, and her vision faded to black.
Braden caught Amy as she collapsed, and swung her into his arms. He held her close, saw the utter whiteness of her skin. The frail woman weighed next to nothing, so he lifted her a bit higher in his arms.
“ You’re my strength, Braden.”
His strength hadn’t been enough for Maggie. Now, without any wish to provide it, he’d have to be the strength for Amy. He turned back toward the river. Ahead, he saw Wily disappear around a curve in the ever-narrowing water. The days were nearly split twelve hours of dark, twelve hours of light this time of year. It was just past noon, the sun high in the sky. They had miles to go, and darkness would catch them soon enough.
Alaska, the land of the midnight sun. What had he been thinking to come here?
Ian expected him. There’d been time to write, assuming a letter got out this far, but no time to get a response. Braden hadn’t left immediately after Maggie died. He couldn’t abandon his father that way, even though every day spent in the house where he and Maggie had lived with his parents and little sister was pure torture. Braden had stayed three months, finishing spring work; then he’d walked away before he could fail anyone else. Deep inside, he knew walking away added to his failures.
When he announced his plans to live in Alaska, his mother cried and scolded. Da turned quiet and spent a lot of time in the barn. His sister, Fiona, harangued him with her quick Irish tongue. Still, he’d left. Staying hurt too badly.
When he rounded the river bend, he saw Wily ahead, pulling his umiak as if it were a well-trained dog. The river flowed slightly deeper here. Braden couldn’t see any rocks through the crystal clear water. He could ask Wily to let Amy ride, but he wouldn’t. As much as he resented the burden she’d added to his life, her grief was too new. Only a monster would expect her to endure it alone.
Just for today, he’d be her strength.
“Your brother’s house is up that slope.”
Braden’s head came up and followed the direction indicated by Wily’s gnarled finger.
He’d made it. They’d been walking for nearly twenty hours now, with only the most meager moments to rest. But they were here at last. Wily had taken him nearly to his brother’s back door.
In the full moonlight, Braden made out a cabin barely outlined against the trees.
“I’ll see to the load. You get the little one out of the night air.” Wily had smeared some flat, strong-smelling leaves on his skin and insisted Braden do the same and also use it to protect Amy. Though the swarm of bugs didn’t bite, they buzzed around Braden until the air was thick with them.
Amy, her faint changing to a more natural slumber, had slept the afternoon and evening away in Braden’s arms.
“Thanks. Come on up to the house for the night.”
Wily shook his head. “Downstream’s a sight faster’n up. I’ll sleep at home tonight.” Then the grizzled old man had given Amy a worried look. “Uh, mister, I’m right sorry I didn’t warn Amaruq about her pa. I thought she knew. I’m never one to talk out of turn. But I’d a spared her that if ’n I’d a known she ’spected to find her father to home.”
With a shake of his head, Wily turned and began unloading the umiak.
Amaruq? What did that mean? A native word of affection for Amy, most likely. Braden turned toward Ian’s house. He followed a path that climbed and twisted into the forest. Hoping Amy’s extended unconsciousness came from simple exhaustion and shock and not something more serious, he reached Ian’s door. “Ian, open up!”
A shout of joy sounded from inside the cabin. “Merry! He’s here!”
The door flew open. “Braden, it’s great to—” Ian, standing there in red flannel long johns, quit yelling. His expression faded from pure happiness to worry as he looked at Amy. Then he slung his arms around Braden awkwardly, trying not to squish Amy, but as if he couldn’t contain his need to make contact.
“It’s so great to see you. What happened? Who is she?”
Before Braden could speak, a pretty brunette in a hastily donned blue gingham housedress came dashing up from behind Ian. Ian stepped back just inches from Braden as if he couldn’t bear to be farther away. A furrow cut through Ian’s brow.
“You look done in, Braden. Let me take her.” Ian reached for Amy, but Braden shook his head and angled away from Ian.
“Thanks, but I’m fine. I’ll take her the rest of the way.” Empty arms seemed like an extension of an empty life, and Braden couldn’t face letting go right now. Bleakness washed over him.
“ ’Tis a long walk from Skaguay.” Ian stepped back a bit and laid a hand on Braden’s shoulder.
Braden nodded. “I’ve left some supplies on the shore.”
“This is Meredith.” Ian tipped his head at his pretty, brown-haired wife. Ian’s smile glowed with affection. Jealous pain slashed through Braden’s heart.
Meredith nodded with a welcoming smile. “You must be exhausted. Is the woman hurt? Does she need medical care?”
Braden shook his head. “This is Amy Simons. She planned to return to her father’s home. Peter Simons owns a cabin a few miles down river.”
Ian nodded. “Knew him. He was an old trapper who’s been here longer’n most anyone except the Eskimos. Never heard tell he had a daughter, though. Of course, he didn’t talk much. Rumor had it he died last winter.”
“Amy just found out.”
“Let’s get her inside. We can talk.” Ian stopped and turned toward the river. “Say, is there coffee in those supplies?”
“We got one letter from you this year. Ma got so excited she sent everything you asked for and more. Let me lay Amy down. Then I’ll see to it.”
“You’ve got to be hungry.” Ian nodded toward the house. “Let’s get Amy to bed. Then you can eat while I holler for Tucker to help haul in the goods.”
Braden knew of Meredith’s twin, who had staked a claim nearby. “I didn’t come here to make more work for you, Ian.”
“If there’s coffee in that pack you brought, I’ll carry you down to the riverside, dancing all the way.”
Braden scoffed. “That I’d like to see, little brother.”
Grinning, Ian said, “I hardly qualify as your little brother anymore.”
Braden noticed how broad Ian stretched across the shoulders these days. That kind of muscle came from long days swinging a pick for gold and an ax for wood. Braden wanted that kind of work. He wanted exhaustion that made him forget the torment of his memories.
Braden followed his brother into a tiny bedroom and lay Amy on the rumpled sheets. Ian and Meredith had obviously been long asleep when he arrived. Meredith pushed past him as he let his burden go with surprising reluctance.
Meredith busied herself fretting over Amy. He saw strength in Meredith’s slim shoulders. She’d make a fine partner.
He couldn’t stop his mind from turning to Maggie and all her frailties and complaints about the rugged life. The guilt hit him with an edge as keen as an ax. Feeling as if he were betraying her memory, Braden decided that tomorrow he’d start earning his keep. He wouldn’t be a burden to his brother. He wouldn’t.