23

The entire staff of the Curry and most if its guests were standing in the grass by the dock on the Susitna River.

The day had finally arrived. September the fourteenth, 1923.

Allan could hardly believe it. Today, they’d start their journey to Denali.

Frank came up beside him and patted his back. “This takes me back, son. I can’t tell you how privileged I am to have shared this with your father and now with you.”

“Thanks, Frank.” He had an instinct to want to cringe every time Frank called him “son,” but he held himself in check.

The past few weeks had been exhausting but worth it. Nothing could put a damper on the joy he felt to be on his way to a dream. Nothing except saying good-bye to Cassidy.

She’d apologized to him for her treatment of him that day in the dining room but hadn’t resumed their evening walks. Their conversations had been few and far between the past couple of weeks, but she appeared supportive, and he appreciated that effort. The time away would give them both a chance to really think about their future and what they wanted. Allan was confident that he already knew that he wanted Cassidy for his wife, but first he had to settle things with Frank and finally lay his father to rest.

The boat arrived that would take them downriver and south a bit to a better location to cross the ridge to the west. Frank headed toward the boat. “Guess we better get going.” He walked down the dock.

John said good-bye to Thomas and Mr. Bradley and thanked them for their help and support. Then he hugged his daughter good-bye.

Allan couldn’t hear their words to each other, but he noticed a long hug. John waved to the crowd and walked down the dock as well.

Then Cassidy came to Allan. He’d been hoping she would spare a moment for him.

“Hi.” He had nothing profound to say.

“Hi.” She smiled. “Well, this is it, isn’t it?” Reaching forward, she grabbed both his hands in hers. Allan forced himself not to show his surprise. “I’ll be praying for you every day.”

“Thank you. I’m sure we’ll need it.”

She nodded. “Dad gave me your basic itinerary, so we’ll know about where you’ll be. Just be safe and don’t ever risk the weather.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He winked at her.

Tears formed in her eyes. “I’ll be looking forward to when you get back.”

“Me too.” There weren’t words to describe how he felt, but hopefully she knew. And when he returned, he’d tell her.

“Please watch over Dad. He’s . . . well . . . you know.”

He smiled. “He’ll be just fine. I’ll see to it.”

She nodded and reached into her apron pocket for a hankie and an envelope fell to the ground. “Oh, goodness! I’m so sorry. I almost forgot. This came for you just before breakfast.” She wiped her nose and her eyes and handed over the envelope. “Please be careful.”

“I will.” He tucked the telegram into his jacket pocket, certain it was something that couldn’t wait, but he didn’t want Frank to see it. “You too.”

He tapped her nose with his finger and headed to the boat. Waving to the crowd, he wondered if Cassidy would think about him as much as he thought about her.

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The first day passed without incident, although Allan was a bit saddlesore from the number of miles they’d covered. And they’d made it all the way across the Susitna by boat and then the Chulitna River and beyond by horse. Their first camp was made without mishap at the base of the Ruth Glacier.

John’s friends from the Ahtna tribe had a hot meal waiting for them and told them of the journey for the next few days. They’d be snowshoeing once they made it to the top of the glacier, and the sled teams would carry their supplies.

The thrill that rippled through him now was unlike anything he’d ever felt. Here he was at the base of a glacier, with Denali in his majesty towering in the distance. Allan couldn’t take it all in.

Blue ice walls rose from the rock below him in great ripples. Their jagged edges looked sharp and uninviting. He couldn’t help wondering what his dad had thought when he’d first seen this sight.

Their team had left the trees much earlier in the day. John had explained that the tree line was at its height at one thousand feet because of the glaciated land around them.

It was all so beautiful and amazing.

Their camp was several hundred yards away from the actual glacier so that just in case the glacier walls calved in the night, they wouldn’t be buried in glacial ice.

Allan listened to the native Athabaskan tongue flow off the men. John joined in and laughed. What a beautiful language and what incredible people. These men were tough as nails and yet loved to teach Allan new things. The one Allan questioned the most never seemed to lose patience with him. No wonder John was the amazing man he was.

Frank stood up and stretched. He’d been quiet most of the day and went from friendly to wearing a scowl as soon as they’d met up with the Athabaskan party. “I’m tired. I think I’ll hit the hay for the night.”

Allan nodded. “All right.”

After Frank left, one of the Athabaskan men walked over and sat by Allan. “Your friend isn’t very friendly.”

“No, he doesn’t seem to be.”

“But he’s not looking forward to this adventure the way you are, is he?” The man’s eyes twinkled.

“No, he’s not. And you’re right, I’m excited about this adventure.”

“Anyone who respects the Great One like you do will be blessed.” He looked down at the pile at Allan’s feet. “Do you need help with those?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. These are different snowshoes than I’ve used before.”

“That’s because they’re tsistl’uuni.”

“Chist-loo-nee? What does that mean? Do I have the wrong ones?”

The man laughed. “No. These are hill snowshoes. What you will need to climb the glacier.”

“Oh yes. Thank you.” Allan watched intently as the native man demonstrated with grunts. John had told them before they met up with the natives that they would learn the men’s names if and only if the men told them. It wasn’t polite to ask, and they had to earn each other’s trust. Allan found it all fascinating.

The man nodded once Allan finally latched the shoes correctly. “Here.” He handed Allan a paper-wrapped packet. “For your journey.”

“What is it?” He leaned down and took a whiff.

“Natsak’i.”

Allan tried to say it. “Nat-sa-kee.”

The man laughed. “Close enough. It’s smoked salmon strips. To keep your mind clear as you travel up the mountain.”

“Thank you, my friend. This is a wonderful gift.”

The native man walked away and went to his tent. Such fascinating people. Hardworking. Giving. Simple.

As Allan placed the packet of salmon into his coat pocket so he could carry his snowshoes to his tent, his hand brushed on the envelope Cassidy had given him that morning. He’d completely forgotten about it.

With everyone else occupied or asleep, he opened it up.

He read through it three times as a chill settled over him. Glancing at the tent where Frank had gone, Allan thought momentarily about confronting him with the news. He put that thought aside, however. If he caused a confrontation, there was no telling what Frank might do. Was the man’s story about a changed life all a sham?

He glanced around for John and found him on the far side of the camp reloading his backpack. Making his way across the camp, Allan cast a concerned glance at Frank’s tent. Had he murdered Henderson, and if so, why? Had the man threatened to expose him? Perhaps he had simply served his purpose and Frank felt it necessary to get rid of the man. Had that been how he felt about Allan’s father?

The thought of Frank being responsible for actually ending his father’s life sickened him. He had been fully accepting that negligence or even his father’s confusion at high altitude had resulted in Henry Brennan’s death—but murder was something entirely different.

John looked up as Allan approached. He gave him one of his customary smiles, but when Allan didn’t return it, John’s expression sobered.

“Is something wrong?”

Allan prayed for clarity. What was the truth? The Frank of the past, or the jovial story of a changed-life Frank?

Allan squatted down beside John, the weight of the truth hitting him. “We’ve got a killer in our camp.”