21

On December 24, 1918, she baked Geoff a birthday cake. Not chocolate, but strawberry. She didn’t have any fresh berries, so she used strawberry flavored gelatin. The cake turned out more pink than red, but its mouth-watering aroma made the lodge smell like a bakery. With no food dye to darken the frosting for writing, she etched “21” on top of the cake with a toothpick.

Geoff glanced up from a pile of mining bills. “Can we have cake after lunch?”

“Think you’ll be done with work by then?” She set the cake on the dining room table.

“I wish. Maybe the sugar will make my headache go away.’’

She retrieved a brown paper wrapped box from the kitchen. “Here’s something that might ease your pain.” She held out his gift.

“What’s this?” He put down his papers. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

Her hand stayed outstretched. “It’s customary in my family to give someone a gift if you see them on their birthday. It’s not expensive or fancy.”

“I can’t.” He shifted his gaze to a ledger.

“Take it.” She placed the box on his stump. “You’re the only one who will understand the meaning. I made your gift to pass the time. Nothing more.”

He stared at the box. “I’ll take it if you promise no more gifts.”

“Only handmade,” she said.

He unwrapped her gift slowly as if he was thinking of reconsidering her offer. Crunching up the paper, he tossed it onto the coffee table. Opening the flaps, he lifted out a pillow decorated with needlepoint cards. A king of hearts. A queen of hearts. A jack of hearts. And a ten of hearts.

“That’s the first run I beat you with.” She picked up the wad of paper. “A friendly reminder you haven’t bested me in rummy.”

He grinned. “One of these days, I’m going to beat you with this same hand. Thanks, Runt.”

Grabbing her wool coat from the closet, she headed for the back door.

“Happy Birthday, Old Man.”

Geoff propped his birthday pillow on the couch. “Where are you going? It’s starting to snow.”

“There’s a four-foot fir near the path. It will make a perfect Christmas tree for the living room.”

“We don’t need to decorate.”

“It’s a tradition. My family cuts down a tree every Christmas Eve. And since…” She broke off her sentence. She didn’t want to revisit the traveling argument.

“Then I’ll come along. No sense in breaking tradition.”

She stopped buttoning her coat. Was he feeling nostalgic, too?

“I’ll need legs and my walking stick.” He shifted some papers, hesitated, then waved her on. “It’s too much trouble. You could have the tree decorated before I’m ready to go.”

“Are you bluffing? I’m an expert at those straps.” She dashed into his room before he could change his mind and brought his wooden stilts. “Besides, the fresh air will do wonders for your head.”

He removed his cut-off pants. “You sound like Doc Miller, Jr.”

She held out his left leg. “If the shoe fits?”

“Hah. Funny.” He was strapped and dressed in record time.

As they exited the back door, snow drifted slantwise across the landscape making it seem as if heaven was sprinkling white confetti over the lodge. Geoff gripped his walking stick in one hand and the rifle in the other. She carried an axe and a saw. All in all, they were well prepared and well armed.

“I’m not taking any chances.” Geoff plunged his walking stick into the snow. “There was a black bear nosing around a day ago.”

“Wonder if he likes strawberry cake?” She giggled.

He frowned.

The beast trotted out from snow-dusted fronds.

Geoff pointed his stick at the dog. “I swear, if that animal knocks me over.”

“You’ll swear regardless if he knocks you down or not.” She bent over and brushed snowflakes off her pet.

“No use drying him with your hand.” Geoff balanced on his wooden staff and eyed the beast suspiciously. “He’s going to get wet with this snow.”

“We could bring him inside for the night.” She held her breath hoping for agreement.

“Absolutely not. The porch is sufficient for a wild dog.”

She stopped petting the canine and found the fir tree she had spotted previously. As the saw’s teeth cut into the bark, the scent of evergreen wafted to her nose reminding her of carolers and candle lights.

“Now it smells like Christmas.” She breathed deeply and continued with the saw. Back and forth. Back and forth. Her arm ached. Back and forth. Her arm burned. Back and forth. Fortunately, the fir collapsed onto the trail.

“Tim-ber,” Geoff called like a seasoned lumberjack.

Grabbing the trunk, she dragged the tree through the snow with her non-sawing arm.

“Good thing it’s not much bigger or it would be dragging you.” He tried to match her pace. His wooden shoes packed the snow leaving a trail.

When they reached the porch, she handed him a hammer. “You can nail the planks on for a stand. I’ll hold the tree. I already smell like pancake syrup.”

“That’s not the only thing you smell of.” Clink. Clink. Clink.

“Wet dog?” She leaned in to sniff her hands.

“Summer garden.” Clink. Clink. “I noticed your perfume in the house. I like it.”

Heat flooded her face. His flattery made her feel as tall as the oldest pines. “I opened an early Christmas gift from my mom. She sent a sachet of sweet pea and gardenia.”

He stood the tree on its stand. “It’s nice.”

The tree or her fragrance? She grabbed hold of the trunk and headed for the stairs. “What would be really nice is the scent of warm beast.”

Geoff clutched the hammer in his hand like a weapon. “That’s not on my Christmas list.”

But it was on hers.

~*~

That night they sat by their little tree and opened greeting cards. She opened a card from her family. Her heart warmed at her mother’s legible cursive. Her heart sunk to her toes when she read Ann had begun seeing Marty Hill. Would Geoff be upset if Marty spent more time in Juneau?

“Now here’s a man that knows how to celebrate the holidays.” Geoff held up a card from Brice Todd. “Tropical sun, beaches.”

She glanced at Brice’s opulent card and pictured his blond hair and bronzed body lying on the beach in nothing but shorts, not even sandals. Somehow, the image didn’t entice her as much as it had when they were at the mansion.

“What are you thinking about?”

Her head jerked up. Envelopes fell off the arm of her chair.

“I was thinking about the beach,” she stammered. “How nice it would be to be somewhere warm. I haven’t been out of Alaska.”

“I hadn’t been out of the country until I enlisted.” Geoff rested his arm on her needlepoint pillow. The fir tree looked as if it was growing out of his head.

Is that why he went to war? She placed her family’s Christmas card on the table. Her damp palms had curled the edges.

“Why did you go to war?” She licked her parched lips.

Geoff stopped organizing cards. Glittering ornaments on the top card held his interest.

Oh, why did she blurt that out? “I shouldn’t pry.” She rocked forward. “More tea?”

“No. No tea.” He manipulated his stumps so he sat higher against the back of the couch. “It’s not a horrible secret why I fought. Although, no one brings it up anymore. I met a need.” He glanced at her. “Somewhat like you.”

“Being a caregiver is different than being a soldier. I barely left home.” She finished off a few drops of cold tea. “And our fights aren’t to the death.” She gave a stiff nod to his pressed-lipped grin. She didn’t want to be reminded of her mistakes.

“I read of a need for engineers in Europe.” His index finger rotated round and round and round on the arm rest. “I have no formal degree but practically growing up at Kat Wil, I’d seen plenty of land surveys. Ask me to build a sluice. Done. Beam a tunnel. No problem. Reinforce a trench. Easy.” His fingernail picked at the leather. “I wasn’t supposed to be first defense. But trench lines change. You think a section is British and it spews out Germans.”

“It doesn’t sound very organized.”

His gaze bore through her. “It’s not when men are dying.”

She shifted to the edge of her seat. “I’m thankful it’s over.”

“Over?” He slapped his mutilated thigh. “I thought I’d come back alive. A bit of shrapnel embedded in my skin maybe. Or in a coffin. I never imagined this.” He drew a hand across his uneven legs.

Her conscience ached for all the times she’d cursed Geoff, cursed his foul moods, cursed the work involved in his care. Why hadn’t she tried to understand his war wounds earlier?

Reaching out, she grabbed hold of the arm rest on the couch. “I’m sure your family was proud of you.” I’m proud.

“It was my decision. My father supported it.” He glanced at a Christmas card from his family. “My father has Bradley. Brice’s father wouldn’t permit him to go to war. Brice is his only son.”

Had Brice visited the Chamberses’ mansion that day because he felt guilty that his best friend was an amputee? Is a friend losing his life easier than a friend losing his dignity? She was determined all the more to see Geoff overcome his injuries.

“Did I depress you, Runt?” He shifted closer.

She shook her head. “And if I was sad, it would be my own fault for bringing up the war.” A war she didn’t understand. Europe seemed so far away from Juneau. She had been bitter and selfish about this job. Bitter about relocating to the lodge. Selfish for resenting the care he required. That needed to change.

He continued to stare.

She popped out of the chair. “I’d like some tea.”

“At this hour? You?” He clapped his hands. “Great. You’ll be alert for a game of birthday rummy.”

“If you birthday wished for a win, you’re in trouble.”

~*~

At midnight, the invisible soldiers returned to torment Geoff. At least they had waited until his birthday had ended. Grabbing a blanket and the afghan, she hurried to his room.

“Geoff,” she whispered. She wanted to be sure he was awake, aware, and not aggressive.

“Jo,” he said breathily. “I had a nightmare.”

“Must have been all our trench talk.” She checked his forehead. Clammy but cool.

“Will you stay with me?”

She held up the white covering. “I brought the afghan, so I could curl up on the couch.”

“Curl up at my feet so I know you’re near.”

Was he slipping into another memory? He didn’t have feet.

He sat against the head board. “What time is it?”

“Almost two in the morning.” She lay on her side, on the bed, facing him.

He sank back into his pillow. “Merry Christmas, Jo.”

Wrapping the afghan around her body, she said, “Merry Christmas, outstanding veteran.”

Her veteran.