4

John walked toward the manager’s office, hoping for a few minutes with Mr. Bradley. It had been a long day and tomorrow would be even longer. Seeing young Brennan had turned his world upside down. For years, he’d been able to push aside the horrible loss of Henry Brennan, but the appearance of Allan brought it all front and center.

Their meeting had taken a great strain on John. It was apparent the young man was agitated—even angry. And who could blame him? No doubt there were unanswered questions, and the only man he’d had to talk to was Frank Irving—a man John knew to be nothing but trouble. John thought to put the matter out there for discussion, but Allan didn’t seem willing. At least not yet. Sooner or later, they’d have to discuss it. As to how he would deal with it . . . John didn’t have a clue. Maybe Bradley could give him some guidance. This situation affected him as well, since they were both employees, and John had never lied to the man.

Voices echoed out of the office. Apparently his planned conversation wouldn’t be happening right now.

“The hollandaise was completely ruined, the meringue inedible, and the fried fish had to be refried to get the raw flour off. Our poor dinner patrons had to wait an extra three minutes for the next course! Three minutes, Mr. Bradley. As you know, that is completely unacceptable.”

John entered the office and saw their manager appearing grim.

Mrs. Johnson stood on the other side of the room with her hands on her hips, Cassidy to her right with her hands folded in front, and Thomas to the right of her, his head down. “Mr. Bradley, I’m just asking for a reprieve. I’m no longer vexed about the flour incident—although it will probably take days to clean that dust out of everything—but with the city paper people coming through, I need perfection to—”

Thomas sniffed but kept his head bowed.

The head cook lowered her arms to her side and sighed. “I just could use a few days without a mishap. The kitchen is no place for trial and error, so either he goes or I do.”

Bradley looked over at Cassidy. “Miss Ivanoff, are you able to provide the help our chef needs in the absence of Thomas?”

Cassidy nodded at the manager. “While I can’t fill Thomas’s shoes or lift the heavy items he hauls for us each day, I am willing to help in any way I can.” She cleared her throat. “But Thomas is very valuable to us, sir, and is a good worker.”

The gangly orphan boy lifted his head a little at that.

“Thomas . . .” Mr. Bradley came around his desk. “I know—we all know—that you are working very hard here for us. But I also understand that Mrs. Johnson has a valid plea. It’s not completely fair to burden the assistant cook with extra work either.”

The young man nodded.

“Your timing couldn’t be more inconvenient, Chef Johnson, but—”

John moved forward. “I’m sorry to intrude, Mr. Bradley, but perhaps I could be of assistance.”

Bradley extended an arm to him. “Certainly, John. What ideas do you have?”

“Well, I’m not quite sure I understand all that has happened”—he’d definitely have to ask Cassidy about the flour incident later—“but I do know that Mr. Brennan just arrived, and while he will no doubt be a big help the next couple days with the dedication of the park, we could also use extra hands on our trip. There’s quite a lot of equipment to be hauled and set up. Perhaps young Thomas could assist me for a few days?”

Relief washed over the young man’s face. He closed his eyes, as if waiting for the judge to rule.

Mr. Bradley nodded. “Mm-hmm. I like the idea.” He walked back around his desk. “Yes. I think that will be a good solution.” He looked up at his head cook. “Is that satisfactory, Chef Johnson?”

Mrs. Johnson gave a curt nod. “Yes, Mr. Bradley. Thank you.”

The boss looked at Cassidy again. John watched several expressions go across her face as the manager spoke to her. “Do you have anything else to say, Miss Ivanoff?”

“Only that”—she turned and smiled at the woman beside her—“I believe Mrs. Johnson and I agree in saying that Thomas hasn’t done anything on purpose to upset the kitchen; neither has he done anything with malicious intent. He’s just had a few . . . accidents. But we appreciate his work.”

Always the peacemaker and looking out for those less fortunate. His Cassidy. She had a heart of gold.

Mrs. Johnson stiffened. “I don’t need anyone to speak on my behalf. Thomas is loved by all the staff, but a kitchen isn’t run on sentiment. I need proficiency and order.”

“But you will allow him to come back to work for you?” Mr. Bradley asked with a raised brow.

The older lady harrumphed. “I’m not unreasonable. After a few days, yes, I’m sure we will all be right as rain.”

“Good, then, it’s settled. Don’t let me keep you from your duties in the kitchen.” Mr. Bradley sat in his chair. “I’d like a few moments to speak with Thomas and Mr. Ivanoff.”

John caught Cassidy’s eye and winked at his daughter before she followed Mrs. Johnson out. That girl had her hands full with the harsh woman, but if anyone could handle Mrs. Johnson, it was Cassidy.

Mr. Bradley waved John closer. “John, thank you for stepping in.” He got up and walked over to Thomas. “I’m sure Thomas will work hard for you the next few days. He’s a good listener. Just make sure he keeps his feet under him at all times.” The boss patted the young man’s shoulder and walked out to the front desk.

Long arms and legs didn’t hide the hunch in the boy’s shoulders. What had he gotten himself into? First, he’d have to keep Thomas busy, but he’d also have to keep him out of trouble as well. And if he’d learned anything from his daughter’s stories, it was that his work had been cut out for him. “It’s all right, son. I won’t bite.”

“Yes, sir.” He toed the floor with his boot.

“You do know that I’m Cassidy’s father, right?”

The boy looked up. Just as tall as John himself, the boy—no, the young man—finally looked him straight in the eye. “No, sir. I didn’t.”

“Well, she’s told me a lot about you. And it’s all good.”

“Thank you, sir. Miss Ivanoff has been very good to me since Mr. Bradley hired me on.”

“Glad to hear it.” He gripped the young man’s shoulder. “Now, why don’t we discuss how you can help me tomorrow?”

“Yes, sir.” The boy relaxed.

“The original plan was for this large delegation to go to the entrance of the park via the railroad and then travel twelve miles on horseback to the Savage River camp for the ceremony. But we heard last night by telegram that because of a late-arriving train, they will not be able to travel that far. They’ve changed their plans, and Superintendent Karstens is working frantically to move all the equipment back from the Savage River. Now the event will take place at the park entrance right off the railroad. That’s why they’ve asked for our assistance. We’re not only taking up food and additional items that are needed, but we’ll be helping to set up the chairs, tables, and anything else. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

John walked over to the window and peered to the north. “This will be a huge boon to the national park, this territory, and the railroad, Thomas. Did you know that last year only thirty-four people visited the national park? The year before that, it was only seven.” He turned and pulled out his pocket watch. “And now we will have the largest group ever to come through to dedicate the park, followed by the President to complete the railroad. These are exciting times.”

“Yes, sir. I’m ready to help, sir.”

John stuck his right hand into his vest pocket. “That’s good to hear. But let’s go over a few things, all right?”

Thomas nodded.

“First, don’t hesitate to ask me questions if you don’t understand what I’ve instructed you to do. Second, Mr. Brennan will also be in charge of you, so listen to him well.” John watched for wariness in the boy. “Third, let’s slow everything down. Take a bit more time to do things. The terrain will be much rougher, and you’ll need to take your steps carefully. Work hard, and together with prayer, we will get through this.”

“Yes, sir.” There was a light in the young man’s eyes that hadn’t been there before. He stood a little taller and straightened his shoulders. “I’m a man of prayer too.”

John smiled. “I’m glad to hear it, Thomas.”

“I’m not real good at praying with a lot of fancy words, but I pray a lot.”

“Fancy words aren’t necessary. If they were, God wouldn’t listen to most of us.”

Thomas seemed to consider this a moment. “When would you like me to report to you in the morning?”

“Let’s get started at five.”

“Yes, sir.” Thomas smiled. “I’ll do my very best, sir.”

“I’m sure you will.”

He turned and headed toward the door but tripped and dropped his hat. As he went to pick it up, he fell on his face. After a brief moan, the boy stood again and found his voice. “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again, sir.” Redness crept up his neck and face.

“It’s quite all right, Thomas. Like I said, just take your time.” He had to work to keep from chuckling out loud. No wonder poor Mrs. Johnson was beside herself with exasperation. “Say, you know what I used to tell my daughter when she was constantly tripping over her own feet?”

“Yes, sir, I know.” The young man gave a lopsided grin. “I guess the floor just needed a hug.”

As the train pulled into the McKinley National Park station early the next morning, Allan was surprised at how little had been built here. Wasn’t this the glorious and grand entrance to the national park he’d longed to see for six years?

But instead, he was greeted by a few small shacks, and what appeared to be some hastily erected tents. The park headquarters was no more than a shanty, and the only structure of any size was a log roadhouse. Curry had been tiny compared to the great cities of the United States, but the Curry Hotel hadn’t been lacking in anything. Even in the middle of nowhere. But here? It seemed a bit of a letdown to Allan’s high hopes. He wondered if his father had felt much the same when he came through. None of these buildings were even here at that time. Neither was the railroad.

The group from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle might be a tad disappointed. But Allan kept his thoughts to himself. They couldn’t even see the mountain from here—why didn’t they have the ceremony at another location? There had been some spectacular views from the train. But maybe that’s why originally they were going to the Savage River to have the ceremony. He looked back to the west. He knew off in the distance stood a most magnificent sight—Mount McKinley. And he was missing it.

John carried several large baskets, followed by Thomas, who hauled chairs.

Thomas gave him a wide grin. “Did you see McKinley? Isn’t it huge?” He didn’t stop to get Allan’s answer.

And Allan could only nod. The mountain was incredible. The massiveness of it—its sheer presence was intimidating. He’d climbed mountains in the States and yet nothing could even compare.

“I need you to help Thomas get these chairs assembled,” John said as he passed Allan with another load. “The mountain isn’t going anywhere. You’ll get to see it again.”

The words hit Allan hard. His father had said the same thing. In fact, it was one of the last things he’d said to Allan.

John continued. “The delegation should be here by eleven, and I don’t need to remind you that we need to make a good impression.”

Allan could only nod. He hadn’t expected this to be so hard. Why hadn’t he just gotten everything off his chest yesterday when he’d had the chance? Now he’d had too much time to mull it over, and all that had accomplished was to make him angry. He needed this job. But would he be able to keep it after he confronted John?

Through the hours of the morning they worked, and the heat became more intense.

Watches were checked as anticipation grew. The group had been known to dedicate several national parks in the great nation of the United States, so to have them come to Alaska was indeed an honor.

Out of the corner of his eye, Allan saw Cassidy Ivanoff speaking with Mr. Karstens and her father. It appeared the two men had great respect for each other, but why wouldn’t they? They were two of the few men to ever successfully climb to the summit of the mountain for which this great park had been named.

A slight breeze kicked up a whirl of dirt and Cassidy reached up to secure her hat, her dark hair coiled in a knot at the base of it. While he’d only known her a day, something tugged at Allan when he looked at her. But he couldn’t put a name to it. The Ivanoffs were a fascination and fear for him all rolled into one. Perhaps he only felt that tug because she was the daughter of the man who’d left his father to die on Denali. Allan felt bile rise in his throat and forced it back down. If he didn’t confront John soon, he’d explode.

“John Ivanoff should be jailed for murder. The man left your father to die on that mountain. He didn’t even care enough to search for him.” Frank’s words haunted him.

What if Frank’s story was true and John was completely responsible for his father’s death? What if it wasn’t true? Over the years, Frank’s story had changed and he’d gotten more livid to the point of refusing to speak of it. And if the storm that hit them was as bad as he implied, how did he even know what happened? Could his father have still been alive when the others left him?

That thought was even more horrifying. Containing his emotions became the hardest battle of all. Allan felt like he was in a fog, not able to discern reality from nightmare.

The only bright spot in this horrid dream was Cassidy. Her sunny, positive disposition had a brilliant effect on everyone around her. Even though he didn’t want it to. Could she really be the daughter of a murderer?

Allan shook his head. John didn’t actually murder his father. But from what he understood, the man did leave his father to die on that mountain. And what role did Frank truly play in all this? As soon as the thoughts entered his mind, his gaze was pulled back to the Alaska Range and beyond that, its tallest peak. Would he ever know the truth?

“Allan!” John waved. “Come join us, I want you to meet the Seventymile Kid before the delegates detrain.”

He had little choice but to put his thoughts aside and do what John bid. Approaching the trio, Allan admitted a sense of awe in meeting Harry Karstens. The man was a legend. He’d participated in the Yukon gold rush, making big money carrying supplies up the ice staircase carved out for those going north to seek their fortunes. He’d earned the nickname “Seventymile Kid” after spending time on the Seventymile River searching for gold. But more impressive, Karstens had been part of the very first successful ascent of McKinley.

“It’s an honor to meet you.” Allan extended his hand.

John interjected. “I apologize. If you’ll excuse us, Cassidy and I have something to attend to.”

“Of course, we can talk later.” Karstens tipped his hat. “Cassidy, it’s always a pleasure.”

Once they were gone, the clean-shaven Karstens grasped Allan’s hand in a firm grip. “I’m more than pleased to meet you. I knew your father. Good man.”

The comment took Allan by surprise. “You did?”

“Indeed. Met him on more than one occasion, in fact. First ran into him at the store in Seattle. Then we met in Anchorage a couple times. We shared a lot of common interests.” Karstens’ expression sobered. “I was very sorry to hear about his death.”

Allan swallowed hard. “Father loved it here. We wanted to one day make the climb together—after I returned from the war.”

“It’s a grueling climb and definitely not for the faint of heart, but you would have enjoyed it together. Your father loved a challenge.” Karstens shook his head. “When our team made that first ascent, we had more than our share of trouble.”

“I’d love to hear about it sometime. Frank never told me any details of the actual climb, and while I did read about your expedition with Hudson Stuck, I’d love to hear about it from you.”

“I’d forgotten about Frank.” A frown etched the man’s face. “I can’t say I had the same experience with him that I did with your father.” He cleared his throat. “So . . . John tells me you’re up here to assist him. It’ll test your mettle to be sure, but if you stick it out, I think you’ll never want to leave.”

“I’m already quite besotted, sir.” Allan looked in the direction of the great mountain. “In fact, I hope to follow in my father’s footsteps and climb Denali one day. So I’ll need all the advice and stories you have time to share.”

Karstens slapped him on the back and his mood seemed to lighten. “I’ll do what I can. You don’t smoke a pipe, do you?” His eyes twinkled.

The question took Allan by surprise. He cocked his head slightly. “A pipe?”

The park superintendent chuckled. “My carelessness with a pipe started a fire that destroyed a good portion of our supplies. Burned our baking powder and sugar, and let me tell you what—when you’re up there at fifteen thousand feet, it’s not like you can just go buy some more.”

The train let out a whistle as it approached, stealing everyone’s focus.

“Well, it looks like the important folks are here.” He gave Allan another pat on the back. “We’ll talk some more later.”

As the train puffed its way up the line to the station, everyone gathered at the platform to greet their prestigious guests. Allan tried to put aside Karstens’ comment about Frank, but it was hard. What had he meant in saying that he didn’t have the same experience with Frank that he’d had with Allan’s father? Karstens wasn’t keen on the man—that much was clear.

The delegates began to emerge and the real work began. Greetings went round and round as the people stretched their legs, commented on the beauty of the mountains, and spoke of the events of the day.

After refreshments were served by Cassidy and her staff, a rotund gentleman worked to hush the crowd. “Thank you, yes, thank you, ladies and gentlemen.” He held up his hands until all was quiet. “I’d like to introduce our speaker for the dedication of the park today, Mr. William Hester, Jr.—the son of our esteemed president of the Eagle.”

The applause was exuberant as Mr. Hester took the primitive stage. His words were eloquent, and Allan found himself greatly moved that this group of people would care so much to come all this way. He hoped they could look beyond the rustic conditions to the beauty around them. He watched the people listen and offer polite encouragement.

One particular reporter with a camera seemed focused on Cassidy. She appeared completely unaware of the man taking pictures; instead her attention was focused on Mr. Hester. As Allan studied her, he understood why the photo fellow was so enraptured. Cassidy had such stunning features. Dark hair and dark eyes, the lines of her face were elegant . . . noble even. His shock upon first arrival had obviously rendered his senses useless.

All too soon, applause brought his attention back, and Allan realized he’d missed the entire speech as Mr. Hester cleared his voice and spoke louder. “I’d like to conclude by stating that on this date, the ninth of July, in the year of our Lord, 1923, I declare that Mount McKinley National Park be formally dedicated to its rightful owners, the people of the United States.”

Everyone stood and offered hearty applause.

Mr. Karstens, attired in his superintendent’s uniform, addressed the crowd next. “Thank you all for coming. We’d now like to invite you to a mountain sheep barbecue to conclude our ceremony today.”

Allan applauded with the rest of the group and then felt a tug on his elbow. Turning, he realized it was John. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t realize you needed me.”

“Nothing to apologize about. I just wanted to let you know that after the meal, the delegation will be boarding the train and heading to Fairbanks. After we help Karstens and the rest of the staff to disassemble the tents, he’s allowing us to use a few horses and head into the park for a bit. This time of year, it will be light on into the night. It would be good for you and Thomas to see all of this for future reference.”

“Yes, sir.”

John walked toward the press delegates and then shook hands with many of them. Allan watched with mixed emotions. The man before him seemed nothing like the man Frank had described to him all these years.

His thoughts warred with each other. Last night, Allan hadn’t gotten a lick of sleep because of it. Morning came all too early, but he put a façade in place, determined to do his best for the day. But behind it, a seething anger wanted to build over the death of his father. And yet John wasn’t a man Allan wanted to hate. Quite the contrary.

Frank had declared John to be inept and callous. But nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, those qualities seemed more likely to fit Frank than John. All of his adult life, Allan had been wary of Frank, yet he chalked it up to some sort of displaced frustration that Frank survived when his father hadn’t. Still, the ruthlessness about Frank always left a sour taste. Another reason why he couldn’t stand to be at the factory working with the man.

In contrast, John seemed more like his father . . . Henry.

But even so, how could he ever respect and learn from the man who’d taken everything from his family? It seemed like just another of God’s cruel jokes.