Dark clouds had moved in and blotted out the sun. The break in the storm had been only a brief respite, and bad weather threatened once more. The idea of spending another night away from the cabin held little appeal.
Erik picked up the pace, pushing on.
Iya trudged along beside him chattering nonstop. Her sullen mood of the day before had disappeared.
Anna lagged behind.
Erik waited for her every now and then, each time asking if she was all right.
Anna would nod and wave him on, but as the hours passed his concern grew. She was not all right.
At midday, when they stopped to rest and eat, Anna looked feverish and worn-out.
Erik offered her a drink of water, but she took only a small sip and handed it back.
Iya grabbed the cup and held it out to her sister. “You need more.”
Anna tried to answer, but all that came out was a barely discernible raspy voice. Taking a shuddering breath, she managed a small smile and took the cup. She sipped the cold liquid.
While he portioned out dried meat, Erik’s gaze returned to Anna.
She was sick, but he knew very little about doctoring. Plus, the stubborn woman refused any help.
Anna declined the proffered meat.
“You need to eat something.”
She took a piece and nibbled on it until a cough shook her. She drank the rest of her water and then held out her cup for more. More coughs overtook her body.
Erik refilled it.
She quickly swallowed a mouthful and stopped hacking.
“You look flushed.” Erik reached out to feel her forehead.
She deflected his hand. “I am fine,” she croaked. “We go now.” Unable to hide her weakness, Anna trembled as she pushed to her feet and headed in the direction of the cabin. She left her pack in the snow.
Erik picked it up and carried it along with his own as he followed Anna.
Iya plowed through the snow alongside him. She no longer chattered, but kept her mouth in a tight line and silently watched her sister.
“Why does she have to be so stubborn all the time?” Erik asked. “She’s sick and she knows it. She needs help.”
Iya looked up at him, eyes frightened. “You think she is bad sick?”
“I don’t know.” No need to scare the little girl more after what she’d just been through. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. No need to worry.” Under his breath he said, “Stubborn woman, though.”
“Elders in village say same. Anna is not like everyone else. Always fight ...” Iya stopped and searched for the right word. “Rule?”
“She does that all right.”
“I hear story of her father. He from outside. Maybe that is why?”
“Who was her father?”
“He came from across great sea, I think.”
“You mean a Russian?”
“Yes. He did not stay with us. He went home on big boat.”
That explains her looks.
Erik and Iya trudged behind Anna for a while.
When she stumbled, they quickly caught up with her. She moved sluggishly and stared at the snow in front of her, not seeming to see anything else.
Let me help you, Erik wanted to scream at her. Instead he said, “Let’s stop and rest for a while.”
Either unwilling to give in to her affliction or too sick to have noticed Erik’s suggestion, Anna plodded forward. With each step, she seemed to grow weaker. Finally she stopped. Another bout of coughing shook her body. She staggered, swayed, and sank to her knees.
Enough is enough. Erik dropped his trappings. “Mule-headed woman,” he muttered, frustration masking fear as he took a couple of long strides to close the distance between him and Anna. Supporting her with one arm, he yanked the glove off his free hand with his teeth and rested it against her forehead. “Holy smokes, Anna, you’re burning up!”
Another coughing spasm. She nearly toppled forward.
Erik caught her and gently lifted her slight frame, cradling her in his arms.
She leaned against him, seeming unaware of his presence. The heat from her body radiated through her clothing.
He looked down at her fevered face and love and compassion swept through him in a flood. He gently caressed her bruised cheek. “We’ve got to get you home.” He set Anna down and quickly strapped the larger of the two packs onto his back. “Iya, do you think you can drag the other one?”
Without a word, the little girl took hold of the smaller pack and started walking. She stopped and looked at Anna and then Erik. “Will she be all right?”
If he lied to the intuitive little girl, she would know. “I hope so. I just don’t know.” He gently took the young woman in his arms and set off through the deep snow. As he fought his way through what seemed like an endless wilderness, questions and doubts bombarded his mind.
Memories of his mother’s last days assailed him. Her small, frail figure dwarfed by her overstuffed featherbed. Not frightened by her impending death, only concerned for her son.
Tears washed his eyes at the memory of her last hours.
He’d been sponging her face when she reached up and caught his hand. Erik looked into her weary eyes. Sorrow, thick and heavy, welled up from deep inside. His mother spoke in a whisper. “Soon I will meet the Lord face to face. How glorious.” For a moment her eyes seemed to see beyond the small, dark room, and they glistened bright with hope. She turned her focus back on her son and caressed his cheek with a parchment-like hand. “Do not grieve too long.”
Erik kissed her palm and pressed it against his face. “I’ll get you more laudanum.”
“No. No more of that,” she protested weakly. “I just want to look at you.” She searched her son’s face, eyes filled with pride and hope. A soft smile lingered as she fell into a peaceful sleep.
After his mother’s death, Erik’s father seemed to give up and soon yielded to the ravages of smallpox as well.
The aloneness Erik had felt then reared up, bringing with it fresh grief. He’d done everything he could, but it hadn’t been enough.
He looked down at Anna. I don’t know what to do. I’m no doctor. What if she dies, too?
And yet his mind argued. Get hold of yourself. This isn’t the same thing. She’s going to be fine.
When he’d been a boy, his mother had tended him when he was sick. Memories of her nurturing care filled his mind. She always knew what to do.
If he could remember every detail …
Like sunshine breaking through a cloud, peace filled him. The Lord, the greatest Healer of all, stood with him to help.
Erik’s legs burned and his arms ached as he trudged on. When he saw the cabin, he whispered a prayer of thanks.
“Hurry!” Iya called over her shoulder as she ran ahead and pushed open the door.
With relief Erik crossed the last few yards to the cabin.
Iya laid out a bed of furs.
Erik gently settled Anna’s small, limp form on the soft pallet. As he did so, his arm brushed against her abdomen, which was hard and swollen. Was this something to do with her being ill? What could it—and then he knew. She was with child.
How had he not noticed before? Everything she had been through and never a word. If only she had told him he would have seen that she was better cared for. He wouldn’t have allowed her to work so hard. And then ... those men.
He accepted another hide from Iya and tenderly covered Anna. Would her being sick hurt the baby?
It was so cold inside that a sheet of ice enveloped the walls. A hot fire would fix that.
Once Erik was confident he’d made Anna as comfortable as possible, he started a fire in the hearth and tended it until heat radiated into the chilled room. He added another large log to the flames.
Iya knelt next to her sister and wiped her brow. “She is so hot.” Fear laced the little girl’s voice.
“Iya, get back. Stay away from her.” His voice came out harsh.
Iya stepped away, sat on the floor, and looked at Erik with a hurt expression on her face.
“I don’t want you to catch what she has. You won’t be able to go near her until she’s well.” He knelt next to the youngster and gave her a squeeze.
“Is Anna going to die?”
“Of course not. We’ll take good care of her.” Erik checked on Anna and touched her face. She’s hotter than ever. Dear God, help her. Show me what to do.
He wiped her face with a cool, damp cloth and laid it across her hot forehead before he prepared a meal.
If his stomach was growling from emptiness, then Iya’s must be as well.
After setting the coffee pot in the coals, he sawed off a frozen chunk of caribou and placed it in a pot of water, which he slid into place over the fire. The meat would make a good meal and the broth would help sustain Anna.
When he’d been ill, his mother kept him bundled up to keep off any chill and had fed him broth.
Anna moaned and threw off her covers. “Hot. So hot,” she mumbled.
“It’s your fever.” Erik knelt next to her and tucked the covers about her again. He took the warm cloth off and rinsed it in cool water, then sponged her face again. “Here, this will cool you. Don’t worry, you’ll feel better soon.”
She seemed unaware of his presence.
The hours dragged by, and Anna grew worse. Erik tried to get her to drink some of the broth he’d made, but she refused. When he offered water, she only choked on it. Her breathing became shallow and more labored.
Iya sat in the far corner stitching a garment.
Each time Erik glanced at her, the little girl’s frightened eyes were trained on her sister.
Hour followed hour and Erik cared for Anna, rarely leaving her side. Even when he rested his body, his eyes seldom left her, as if just watching her would be of some help. It was foolishness, but he was afraid to let down his guard. So, sipping a cup of coffee, he leaned his elbows on the table and continued his watch as she fought for life.
Weary, head aching, Erik removed the cumbersome dressings Anna had made for him and ran his hands through his hair. When he brushed against the wound on the back of his head a sharp pain reminded him of all that had happened over the last couple of days. And now, watching Anna suffer, he wished he’d killed the man who had taken her.
Iya came close and, in her most grown-up voice, said, “I will help you.” She stood next to Erik and examined the cut on his scalp, wet the cloth, and wiped the wound clean. “That is better.” She patted his hand.
Love for the little girl filled him. Erik circled his arm around Iya and held her close. He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. Each time he looked at her, he was reminded of his unavoidable betrayal—one day he would leave her.
Iya wrapped her arms around Erik. “You do not take care of yourself.”
“But you take good care of me. And it’s time you got some sleep. I will stay up with Anna.”
Iya planted a kiss on Erik’s cheek, crossed the room to her bed, and climbed beneath the covers. She watched her sister for a while, but finally her eyes grew heavy and she slept.
Erik refilled his cup with coffee and sipped the overcooked brew. Staring down at the dark brown liquid he considered dumping it out, but the bitter drink was what he needed. It would help to keep him awake.
He leaned his arms on his thighs and returned to watching Anna. She was no better.
How could he help? Again, memories of his parents’ long, painful deaths traveled through his mind and fear flared. What made him think Anna would live when his parents hadn’t? He’d been no help then, either.
“God, where are You? How do I pray?” He rubbed his face with his hands. “I want her to live. And I know that You can do anything. This is not beyond Your power. Please, save her life.”
He glanced up at the shelf where his Bible lay.
It held the answers to his questions and offered the comfort he sought, but he didn’t want to read it.
No matter how hard I pray, You snatch away the ones I love. His eyes fell upon Iya. Would she be next?
Then, almost against his will, God’s quiet voice whispered to him. “I have always loved you. I have always been at your side. ”
Erik tried to shut out the voice, but it came again.
“Am I not enough?”
God had been an ever-present source of strength and comfort. And He had never promised life would be easy, only that He would sustain Erik through the burdens and the trials.
The voice came again. “I will never leave you—I will never forsake you.”
Erik buried his face in his hands and sobbed. “Forgive me. I am weak and have no faith. Please, forgive me.” With resolve, he set his coffee aside, pushed to his feet, and went to the shelf for his Bible.
As he flipped through the pages, his eyes fell upon 2 Timothy 1:7. “For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.” Erik reread the passage. What did it really mean? His God was one of power and of love, providing strength and steadiness in times of trial. The enemy was the author of fear.
Erik turned to Philippians 4:6-7. “Be careful for nothing; but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God. And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.” Erik read and reread the verses and, finally, the peace he longed for enfolded him. Overwhelmed by the knowledge that the God who created the universe was also a Friend who cared about his life. Erik wanted to weep. God knew all things, the beginning and the end, and only He knew what was best for His children.
Even what was best for the baby Anna carried.
The baby … natives had different ideas about relationships between men and women and were not bound by the morality of the American culture. They expressed love and affection openly. He’d been offered the company of more than one native girl since coming to Alaska.
It makes no sense to hold what’s right in her world against her. She has done no wrong. Natives marry young. Maybe she was married to the father.
As he contemplated the idea of a child, a new fear settled in the pit of his stomach. By the look of her size, she would have to give birth here without the aid of a midwife or a doctor.
Erik’s heart raced. He knew less about birthing babies than he did about treating illnesses.
Erik fought to push down his fear. God had known what lay ahead for Anna many months ago. He was in control.
Erik closed his eyes. “Lord, I know my worrying about all of this won’t help, so I’m giving it to you. I trust you.”
Anna turned in her sleep and was shaken by another bout of coughing.
Erik quickly slid to the floor beside her, wiped the perspiration from her face, and gently rubbed her back until the coughing subsided. He gazed at her, taking in her dark lashes against flawless bronze skin, picturing the broad smile he’d grown accustomed to. His chest constricted and a painful lump lodged in his throat.
He loved this remarkable woman. Lord, if You will only let her live. I can’t watch her die.
Images of what her future would be like with a white husband flashed through his mind. An impossible situation. It could never work. Anna in the white man’s world? He’d seen how natives were treated. That wasn’t going to happen to her. He could never reveal how he felt. Never.
He stayed with Anna through the night, sponging her face and praying. Wondering how he would find the strength to leave her when the time came.
Two full days passed with no improvement.
On the morning of the third day, Erik woke to Iya’s shout of, “Erik! Erik! Anna is better!”
Still groggy with sleep, Erik pushed himself up on one elbow. He’d fallen asleep at Anna’s side. Gazing at her, he tried to clear his mind. And then, all of a sudden he was wide awake. She did look better. He touched her face. It was cool. The fever had broken and her breathing sounded easier, too. He smiled. “She is better.” He jumped to his feet and jubilantly lifted Iya into the air.
The little girl giggled as Erik twirled her about. “Can I care for her now?” Iya asked.
“Not yet, little one.” Erik stroked her hair. “But soon.”
Anna’s weak voice interrupted their merrymaking. “Thirsty.” Her voice sounded as dry as fall leaves.
Erik immediately set Iya on her feet and, using a tin cup, dipped out water from a pan. Kneeling next to Anna, he cradled her upper body and held the cup to her parched, cracked lips.
She gulped down the refreshing liquid.
“Not so fast. Only a little at first. You’ve been pretty sick.” Silently he thanked God for her recovery. With a husky voice, he said, “You scared us pretty good. For a while there, we didn’t know if you were going to make it.”
Anna managed a weak smile. “Iya?”
“She’s fine. Just worried about you.”
Iya smiled and waved from across the room. “Erik not let me come close. He not want me to get sick.”
Anna smiled at her. “That is good.”
“Do you think you could handle some broth?” Erik asked.
Anna nodded weakly.
After warming some soup, he filled a cup, knelt next to Anna, and gently slid his arm behind her shoulders. Lifting her slightly, he placed the cup to her lips.
She took a couple of sips, then her eyes met Erik’s. They were no longer filled with anger or mistrust but with something he couldn’t identify—admiration? She held his gaze until Erik’s discomfort forced him to look away.
He cleared his throat. “How about a little more?”
Obediently Anna drank more of the broth. Seemingly exhausted by the effort, she lay back down and slept. Her breathing no longer labored, she rested quietly.
In the following days, Anna regained her strength. Erik and Iya took care of all the chores until she insisted on resuming some of her daily tasks. Erik only grudgingly relented.
One evening after dinner, he leaned back in his chair. He’d been thinking about Anna and Iya’s abduction when he said, “You must’ve gotten it from that fella in the tent.”
“Gotten it?”
“You know, your sickness.”
“I think you are right.” Anna turned back to her sewing.
“He hurt Anna,” Iya said.
Anna flashed a look at Iya that told her to shush, but it was too late.
Erik leaned forward on the table toward Anna. “What did he do to you?”
“He did not hurt me.” Anna kept her eyes on her sewing.
“That is not true,” Iya said. “He did.”
Erik held his gaze on Anna and waited for an answer.
Her skin reddened. She set her sewing on the table and looked at Erik. “He did not hurt me. He tried.” She glanced at Iya. “He touched me. That is all. I do not want to talk about it.” She ferociously snatched her sewing back up and poked her needle through the tough hide she was working on, making it clear the discussion was ended.
Erik forced himself to be still despite his anger. Every fiber of him wanted to lay hold of the man who had attacked her. He pushed away from the table and poured himself a cup of coffee, stood in front of the fire, and stared into it. He should have killed those two while he had the chance.
“Vengeance is mine.” The voice echoed through his mind.
Yes, they would pay consequences for their actions. God knew the blackness of their hearts and He would punish them.
He looked up to find Anna staring at him.
She quickly looked away and playfully tweaked Iya’s nose. “Time for sleeping.”
Iya frowned. “I not tired.”
“Time to sleep.” Anna shuffled her sister off to bed. She hugged her tightly and then tucked her under the covers.
“Would you sing me a song?”
Anna sat back on her heels. “Which one?”
Iya closed her eyes for a minute. “The song of spring that Mama sang?”
“You remember it?”
“Yes,” Iya whispered.
Anna clasped her hands in her lap, closed her eyes and, with her voice barely more than a whisper, chanted a tune in her native tongue.
Erik’s anger subsided and he sat. The words sounded strange, but the melody and richness of Anna’s voice transported him to a place of beauty and peace.
Iya joined in, her voice blending effortlessly with Anna’s.
The sweetest sound on earth.
Soon Iya’s eyes closed and only Anna’s voice filled the cabin. The song faded and the room became quiet.
It ended too soon. “What were you singing about?”
“The song speaks of sunshine and flowers. The return of birds. Melting snow and warm earth. Life and death.” Her eyes glistened. “My mother used to sing it when I was small.”
Anna’s grief stirred in Erik’s heart. “It’s beautiful. I wish I understood the words.” He emptied his cup, placed it on the table, and let out a heavy breath. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”
Anna never took her eyes from Erik as she waited for him to continue.
“Could you come and sit at the table?”
She crossed the room and joined him. “This is serious?”
“Yes.” Erik studied his hands, folding and unfolding them. How did he say what needed saying?
Anna moistened her lips and waited.
“I know about the baby,” he blurted out.
Anna straightened her spine and her eyes shifted away from him momentarily. When she looked back, she was unable to hold his gaze and looked down at her lap. Quietly, barely loud enough to hear, she said, “It is Kinauquak’s and mine.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She looked up, eyes defiant. “Why should I tell you?”
“I ... I just thought you should. I mean, I’m responsible for you.”
“Do not worry about me or the baby. We will be no trouble. I will care for it.” Anna tilted her chin up, eyes now full of fire.
I went at this all wrong. But what else could he have or should he have said? Now, how to salvage the conversation. “I’m not upset about the baby. I’m just worried. I understand about you and Kinauquak. I know you loved each other.”
The challenge in Anna’s eyes faded.
“When will it be born?”
“When the snow melts.”
“There are no villages nearby, and we will still be here.” Erik stated the obvious. When he received no response he continued, trying to control the panic he felt inside. “When your time comes, who will help you?”
“I do not need help. I know what to do.”
“But what if there’s a problem? What if something goes wrong?”
“I help my mother and others many times.”
She was going to be stubborn no matter what he said, so Erik let it go, shaking his head in frustration. “I’m tired.” He got up from the table, lay down on his mat, pulled a wool blanket over him, rolled to his side, and stared at the wall. His mind churned with questions and concerns. He had no answers and so he prayed.
Show me how to help and not hurt. And protect Anna from harm.