6

APRIL 30, 1935
BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

“Tony”—the weasel of a man twisted his hat—“we got a real situation on our hands. And I ain’t goin’ to prison.”

The idiot rambled on and on about what facts the coppers had on the robbery. While the information was good to have, he didn’t need a sniveling rat raving like a lunatic for the whole world to hear. “What are you saying, Simms? You’re going to squeal?” He leaned forward across the table. All business.

The weasel’s face went white. “No, I would never do that to ya, but those Pinkertons are gettin’ closer. I got a tail. I just know it. They’re sendin’ stuff to the cops, and I can’t go back to Chicago.”

He drummed his fingers on the silk-covered tabletop, the diamond-studded gold ring on his pinky adding an extra thump. The man in front of him had been useful, yes, but now he appeared to be more of a liability than a help. If he was right and someone was on his tail, the stupid man could lead the authorities right to him here in Boston. That was a completely unacceptable thought. He’d worked too hard to plan things out and wasn’t about to let it all fall apart now.

“Simms, I think you’re right. You can’t go back to Chicago. It wouldn’t be prudent.”

The flunky nodded. “I knew you’d see the problem right away, boss.”

“I do see the problem.” And it sat across the table. The thorn in his side. He looked Simms in the eyes. “And as you know, I’m very good at eliminating problems.”

Simms looked around him in an anxious matter. “So you got a plan?”

“I do indeed.” A plan to pin it all on Simms. After all, even dead guys could be convicted.

He straightened his tie. A change of scenery was in order. Somewhere out of the country, off the map. Not easily accessible.

Yes. Maybe it was time to go see his brother for a while.

He allowed a slow smile and tapped his breast pocket. What had seemed a stupid letter earlier about family members being chosen for a fresh start now held more merit. Just needed to clean up a few things here first. “Simms, I’ve got an idea. We need to relocate you—get you somewhere you can lay low. I know the perfect place. Let’s take a drive.”

“Aw, thanks, Tony. I knew you’d understand. Can we pick up my girl too? We’re supposed to get married, and I wouldn’t want to leave her behind.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want her wondering what had happened to you.” The smile widened. Two for the price of one and there’d be no one left who could identify him. A perfect setup.

MAY 1935
MATANUSKA VALLEY

Gwyn sifted through the small stack of mail in her hands in front of the station. The fresh air of spring was finally upon them, and she so enjoyed the warmth from the sun. Daylight increased by several minutes a day at this time of year, and she wanted to spend as much time out of doors as possible. Especially if it was in the garden. She loved to help things grow.

Her shoulders slumped as she spied a return address. Another letter from her mother. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d received two letters in the span of a year. Had she . . . ever? Gwyn stood and debated whether to open it now or not. Could it be urgent? Could something have happened to Grandfather?

The snow had melted this first week of May, but it would take time for the ground to absorb all the moisture. Gwyn lifted each boot to relieve it from the mud’s suction. Taking a step forward, she chewed on her lip. It wouldn’t do any good to wait, so she might as well open it.

The perfect penmanship reminded her of the time she’d seen a copy of the Declaration of Independence firsthand. The calligrapher had done an immaculate job.

Her mother demanded the same perfection.

Dear Gwyneth,

It is apparent that you do not care about your family anymore. Since you have decided not to respond to my last letter, I’ve decided that I don’t have time to wait for your letters or news. Not that you ever have any in that horrible little country. I should have known that your childish selfishness in wanting to stay with your father was an indicator of your attitude toward me. All those years I raised you in less than adequate circumstances and this is the thanks I receive in return? Well, young lady, I have much better things to do with my time. Your sister, Sophia, is loving and gracious. Even though she is the prize so many men seek after, she tells me how often she worries about leaving me alone. She wants to serve me as long as she can. That is what a true daughter’s heart should be—and that is exactly why I am here with my own dear father.

Your grandfather is still weak, but the doctors will be trying a new treatment next week, hoping to help him rally. Sophia called off her engagement—the man was hideous and a liar. She deserves so much more than a simple doctor anyway. As much as your beloved sister and grandparents would have loved to see you, there’s no need for you to come now. Stay in your precious little Alaska. I don’t have time to worry about your future any longer. I have my hands full with our many social obligations and the constant care of your Grandfather Titus.

If you care to check on any of us, you know the address, but I won’t promise the reply will be speedy.

Mother

Gwyn’s temper flared. Her mother was the queen when it came to making Gwyn feel guilty. Words fashioned in such a way that she would stagger under the weight of them until she was convinced she’d committed whatever “crime” her mother charged. Why did it always work? And the comment about the “simple doctor” was unneeded. In fact, it was downright hateful!

It was true Gwyn had just received the letter a couple weeks prior, and she did decide not to respond. How could her mother have known?

Was she a horrible daughter because of that? Gwyn couldn’t remember one time she’d ever done anything right in her mother’s eyes. Not one. And now she was the bad daughter for not following her mother back to her snobby family.

“And what about loyalty to my father? Mother can see validity in forsaking her own family to care for Grandfather Titus but sees only betrayal in my staying here to assist Father.” There were clearly two sets of standards being applied, but wasn’t that always the way with people like her mother’s family? The socialites and moneymakers of the world had only one consideration, and that was one of self. As far as Gwyn knew, her grandfather had never cared about anything as much as he did his bank account and investments.

More guilt pooled in her stomach. She shouldn’t think such nasty thoughts about her relatives, but Mother’s family only cared about their mansion, how many motorcars they owned, and which friends had the most money and influence. They lived daily to see their name mentioned in some positive manner in the society pages of the newspaper. They placed value not on people, but on their bank balances, on how much they could acquire while the rest of the country suffered in hunger and poverty.

Gwyn thought back to the first years of the Depression after Mother went back to Chicago. Her early letters had been filled with derogatory comments about the poor, and how she hoped they’d all get shipped off somewhere so they wouldn’t mar her beautiful city any longer. The begging got on her nerves.

Grandfather Titus had lost relatively little compared to the fortune he still hoarded away, yet the doctors believed the market crash had caused his heart attack. Losing two nickels was enough to send him into a rage. Gwyn remembered hiding behind her father’s coat as a small child when the butler had asked Grandfather for a raise. Grandfather flew into such a fit about the man’s ungratefulness that he smashed a vase against a wall, sending the butler running for the door.

And then Gwyn made the mistake a couple years ago of asking why her family didn’t help the poor and unemployed, since they had more than enough. Mother informed her that Grandfather underwent a horrible relapse after hearing his granddaughter’s inconsiderate words in the letter. She was commanded to never ask such a thing again. Didn’t she know how long he’d worked to amass the family name and fortune? If people like the Vanderbilts and Rockefellers could build an empire out of nothing, then anyone could. If the poor lacked vision or drive to see such success, why was that the fault of the wealthy? It served no purpose to hand out money to those who didn’t care enough to fend for themselves. After all, once the handouts started, the impoverished would soon come to depend upon them. Such dependence would in turn be the ruin of those who’d spent a lifetime building their fortunes. Didn’t Gwyn understand this? Didn’t she care about the family’s survival?

Survival? They lived in the wealthiest part of Chicago! With servants and enough food to feed hundreds every day. Gwyn huffed at the rock she kicked. Why did her family infuriate her so?

Persuasion, one of her favorite Jane Austen novels, came to mind. As Gwyn walked home, her anger grew. Just like the snobbish Elliot family in the book, Gwyn’s family wouldn’t help those less fortunate because they were looking out for themselves. Willing to go only so far in giving up their way of living and appearance. The Elliots had gone so far as to accrue mountains of debt to keep living the same way. The 1929 crash proved that many had done likewise in America. The battle to keep up appearances had brought about the collapse of more than one fine family.

The story similarities didn’t end there. Gwyn had never thought about the likeness between herself and the heroine, Anne Elliot, until today. Anne was quiet and sensible and surrounded by a snobbish family. She was also unappreciated and forgotten, almost abandoned.

Abandoned. That was how Gwyn had always felt. While she had a father who loved and adored her, provided her with stability and consistency, her mother deserted her. The woman poured everything into Sophia. Always. Gwyn never measured up. She was always too dirty, too ordinary, too clumsy, too . . . too Gwyn. And that wasn’t good enough for Edith Hillerman. Ever.

A train whistle sounded in the distance. Her heart raced. The first contingent of transient workers was supposed to arrive today, which meant she’d better hurry. Her depressing thoughts weren’t going anywhere. Gwyn wadded up the letter in her hand and shoved it into her pocket. Her swift and steady stride brought her home in a jiffy.

Nasnana waited for her outside. “You look like a storm is brewing in that head of yours.”

In uncharacteristic fashion, Gwyn threw the balled-up letter at the woman who’d cared more for her than her mother had. Tears sprang to her eyes and rushed down her cheeks. “You don’t want to be around me right now.” Pushing through the door, Gwyn ripped off her boots and jacket. The anger and hurt inside felt like a volcano ready to explode.

Nasnana walked in, her stride steady and slow. She placed the mud-covered paper on the table in front of Gwyn. “Sit down.” Her cane thumped on the floor with each word. “Now.”

The older woman never scolded Gwyn unless there was good reason. Her little temper tantrum provided the perfect one. Gwyn bit her lip. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.” Nasnana sat across the table from her.

The flow of tears down her face rivaled the river after the spring breakup. “Why does she hate me?”

“Who?”

“My mother.” Gwyn tapped the letter. “Read it.”

“I don’t need to read it, child. I can see the fury written all over your face.”

“I just don’t understand. All these years, I’ve longed for her approval. I’ve worried about what she thinks of me. Even dreamed of the day she would return and find that I was grown and trained as a nurse—”

“You want your mother to be proud of you.”

“Of course. What child doesn’t?”

Nasnana fingered the shawl around her shoulders. “But your mother will never be proud of you that way. Her pride is in money and things. Not people.”

“She’s proud of Sophia.”

“Only because she’s raised someone more conceited than herself.” The older woman grabbed Gwyn’s hand. “Your mother and I had one heated discussion after another over you and finally agreed to disagree so she would allow you to spend time with Sadzi and me. She hated this place. Hated your father for bringing her here. She kept up appearances only because of her pride. She didn’t understand you, child. Couldn’t understand why you would enjoy it here, or why you would want to learn how to help people. To her that seemed a betrayal.

“Her heart is a large, empty place. Instead of filling it with God and His love, she tried to fill it with pride. Take away her money, her family name, her social engagements, and you’d have a shell. Hollow.” A single tear slipped down Nasnana’s cheek. “As much as that woman angered me, I knew God was asking me to pray for her. And to be there for you. You were a casualty of that war and I’m sorry. But I’m going to ask you to do the same thing. Have you been praying for your mother?”

“Of course.” The emotion of the older woman she respected so much reached deep inside. “I pray for her every day.”

“But do you pray for her heart? That she would know God?”

Gwyn knew a momentary twinge of guilt. “No. I don’t.” A small ache started in Gwyn’s chest. “All this time, I’ve prayed she would write, come home . . . love me. But I’ve had no idea what condition her heart is in—where she would spend eternity if she died.” Gwyn stood and walked around the table. “I’ve been so selfish.”

“Yes, you have.” Nasnana winked at Gwyn, tempering the honesty. “But now you know how to fix it.”

“Do you believe that Mother could change?”

Nasnana smiled. “I believe with God all things are possible. I thought you believed that as well.”

“I do. Honestly, I do.” Gwyn wrestled with her conscience for a moment. “I want to be a better person. I want to care more about Mother’s soul than my broken heart, but I can’t say that it doesn’t matter. Even in my selfishness, I feel entitled to feel this way.”

“Ah, and so you are. You are entitled to feel all the bitterness and hatred you were taught. You are entitled to carry with you the pain and sorrow, the longing and disappointment. They will happily accompany you through life. Claim them if you will, but remember they are greedy, and their demands are many. You must be ready to pay the price they require.”

“The price?”

Nasnana sobered and nodded. “Yes. There is always a price. Little by little these companions will steal away your joy, your peace of mind, your contentment. They will take your very heart and turn it to stone.”

Jeremiah raced to scrub his hands. The train had just arrived with the second group of transient workers and word came to him and Dr. H. that there were many sick aboard. Most likely a lot of seasickness, but he couldn’t be too careful. An epidemic would destroy this community before it began.

The chaos of spring in Alaska was crazy enough—what with the long hours of daylight and short growing season—but add to that a new colony project, and his head felt in a constant spin. He’d just moved into his small cabin but didn’t think he’d be spending much time there in the near future. At least the busyness helped to keep his mind off his past failings. Shortly after his arrival he’d written to his cousin Howard, asking about his progress with the appeal. There had been no reply. Nothing. Not a single word of encouragement. It left Jeremiah feeling completely forsaken. Maybe the news was so bad that the lawyer couldn’t bear to share it. Maybe Randolph Brewster had gone through with his threat to have Jeremiah charged with murder. The thought left him cold.

If Brewster had found a way to put the authorities on him, then Jeremiah was a fugitive. Not only would he be practicing medicine without a license, not all that big of an offense in Alaska, but he’d be wanted for killing a patient.

“But I didn’t kill her,” he muttered. Mrs. Brewster had been too far gone by the time he attempted to save her. It wasn’t his fault and it wasn’t the fault of the anesthetic. But apparently that hadn’t mattered—at least not to the medical board and perhaps not to the authorities. Brewster was a powerful man with powerful friends. Jeremiah could only hope Brewster had let the matter drop, but he didn’t count on it.

And this thought only served to cause him further guilt and grief. He’d not found a way in all his time in Alaska to be honest with Dr. H. He owed the man an explanation—especially since he’d been engaged to his younger daughter. But where to begin? And how could he do it now, after so much time had passed?

“I should have told him first thing.” Jeremiah quickly dried his hands and tried to reason away his guilt. It wouldn’t have helped anything. Dr. H. needed the help—he needed to believe in his associate. Jeremiah frowned. “Why should he? I don’t even believe in myself.” The entire Chicago mess had left him with a great deal of doubt.

But even in his guilt, Jeremiah found it somewhat easy to put aside his thoughts of the past. The pace of preparation kept them working around the clock and left little time for much pondering about former mistakes.

Everyone was in a frenzy to get the tents erected, supplies unloaded, and ground ready for planting. The experimental station run by the University of Alaska was in high gear, preparing to grow a record crop to help feed all the new people. And the ARRC planned to have the first set of colonists arrive in three days. The poor people had already been waiting on the ship in Seward because they beat the workers to Alaska. There was no telling what condition they’d be in when they finally made it to the colony.

And, despite those things he’d hidden away, Jeremiah had never felt so fulfilled. Granted, the mud was atrocious and slowed everyone and everything down, and the mosquitoes were a downright pain, but he loved working side by side with the man he respected most: Dr. Hillerman. His admiration continued to grow as time passed. The man was a rock. Always capable. Always considerate. Always caring.

These were traits every doctor needed. He vowed to work on them himself.

He caught a glimpse of Gwyn as she comforted a young worker who hadn’t kept anything down since his arrival yesterday. That kid wouldn’t want to get back on a train for a long time.

Gwyn’s eyes shot up to his. “Dr. Vaughan, did you need something?”

“Uh, no. I’m heading to help with the new arrivals.”

“All right.” She looked back to her patient and helped him sip some water.

And then there was Dr. Hillerman’s elder daughter. So unlike her sister, Sophia, so gentle and patient, so unconcerned with how she looked. Even now with new people arriving every day, Gwyn wore her nearly floor-length skirts and well-weathered blouses. Her long hair was pinned up and out of her way, but done so in a very simple manner. Appearances were of no matter to her, and Jeremiah found this so refreshing. It drew him.

He stole another quick glance before heading out. She really wasn’t anything like Sophia. Gwyn herself had stated this one evening as they shared supper. Her father had commented on how different his two daughters were, and Gwyn quickly agreed.

“Sophia has always looked at the world in her own way. I wish we could have been closer, but we shared so few common interests.” Her words had been spoken with an edge of sadness that touched Jeremiah’s heart.

There were other conversations and examples that had touched him as well, although Jeremiah fought long and hard to ignore those feelings. He’d done a good job so far of keeping Gwyn at a distance. They’d been busy enough. But every chance he got, he found himself looking for her. As if a glimpse of her curly blond hair would cure what ailed him. Jeremiah shook his head and picked up the pace. Those thoughts would get him nowhere. How could he trust another woman?

But Gwyn wasn’t like any woman he’d ever met. Even though every guy he knew said that about the woman he was in love with. Whoa! He wasn’t in love. Not even close. He’d better get a handle on his feelings right away. Trusting a woman would be fatal. He’d already lost everything. He wouldn’t do it again.

The secret that had brought him to Alaska twisted like a knife in his heart. Would his lie of omission ruin his future here as well? Would Dr. H. send him packing if he found out? It wasn’t just the matter with the board and practicing medicine without a license. It was the implication that he had, with full intention, thrown caution and good medical wisdom to the wind in order to make a name for himself. It was also the matter of having been engaged to Sophia. The web tangled just a bit more with each passing day.

A photographer blocked his path. How he hated the press. This once quiet area of the world now teemed with them. Everyone wanted to know about FDR’s new project. The world was fascinated with Alaska’s brave new pioneers. And many, sadly, just wanted to watch America fail.

Sidestepping the brash young man, Jeremiah pulled his hat lower over his brow. Maybe they would go away as soon as all the colonists arrived. Or at least the press’s attention would be steered toward them. It had to die down at some point. He just needed to hold out long enough. Keep his head down and his nose clean.

When the ARRC hired its own photographer for the project and asked to take a picture of the clinic, Jeremiah asked Dr. H. to excuse him. His mentor had given him an odd look but didn’t push the subject.

One day Jeremiah would tell him the truth.

One day.