7

Sixty-seven families comprised the first set of enrollees in the Matanuska Project that arrived on the cool spring day, May 10. Harold placed his hands on his hips as he surveyed the tent city. Children—cooped up for weeks on trains and ships—now expelled their energy running through the mud “streets” of the city.

Chaos was too tame a word for his surroundings. The ARRC rushed to record all the families as they arrived and assign them a tent. After weeks of travel and then days forced to stay on the ship until their final train ride to what was now being called Palmer, Alaska, it was no wonder the colonists just wanted to unpack and do normal tasks. People milled about, unpacking crates and boxes. Women worked to get some sense of order in their new “homes,” and many were still sick from the voyage.

One of the most difficult parts came in understanding how the caseworkers had chosen some of these people. One man had been committed to a mental hospital before he even arrived, another man arrived crippled and hobbling on a wooden leg, and eight people had full-blown cases of tuberculosis.

Harold couldn’t imagine where they would be if he didn’t have Gwyn and Jeremiah. Not all the people had arrived yet, but already his hands were overly full. He’d better step up his prayers for the colony. Not only did these people need the hope of a fresh start, but first they needed to survive.

He looked down the long neat rows of square white tents. What did God have in store for these people?

The cry of a small child brought him back to his work. Dehydration was a dangerous threat in these little ones.

As he turned and walked back to the clinic, he caught sight of Sadzi and Nasnana pulling a cart toward the tent city. They waved, and he returned the greeting. Gwyn had mentioned something about a project the three of them had been working on, but he hadn’t paid much attention. His daughter left the clinic and joined them.

Whatever they had planned, it had to bring some smiles and encouragement to the weary travelers.

Jeremiah met him at the door. “Why don’t you go with Gwyn and the ladies. You need the fresh air, and I’ve got everything under control in here.” He handed Harold his jacket before he could say no.

“Are you sure?” Harold straightened his tie and put on his coat. “There’s a lot to do.”

“Not a problem. I’m sure you’ll be back before long, and then I can take a break.” Jeremiah seemed in a hurry to close the door.

Harold turned around and almost slammed into the ARRC photographer.

“Hey, Doc. Mind if I tag along?”

He cast a backward glance at the closed door and frowned momentarily before turning back to the man with a smile. “Not at all.” Harold straightened his jacket and caught up with the women.

Gwyn whispered in his ear, “We were wondering if you could explain to everyone what we’re doing. I think it might sound better coming from you.”

“You just don’t want to speak in public.”

She smiled up at him. “Exactly.”

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

She squeezed his arm.

“But first, I need to know what it is.”

Gwyn laughed and explained all the work they’d put into the gifts for the families. As they neared the tent city, many of the people had already stopped and were watching them approach.

He sent a brief prayer heavenward.

The photographer set a large crate in front of him to stand on. Others gathered the remaining tent families.

Harold stepped up onto the crate. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome again to the Matanuska valley and your new home. Most of you know I’m Dr. Hillerman, and I’ve been asked to explain a special gift these women have prepared for you.

“My daughter Gwyn and two of her dear friends, Nasnana and Sadzi, are here to deliver a small gift to your home that will help you in your fresh start here. As you probably know, we have many different native peoples in this great land of Alaska—people who have lived on these lands for centuries. They’ve spent many hours helping with this project.” He nodded to Gwyn.

Gwyn lifted the blankets covering the crates that sat on the cart.

A few delighted gasps were heard in the crowd. Several of the women moved forward.

Harold was relieved at their enthusiasm. “These are handcrafted pottery containers made by the natives in Eklutna. Each one includes sourdough starter, which will make it possible for you to make bread and pancakes today, if you would like. Gwyn and the ladies have prepared recipes for you as well, if you are unfamiliar with it.”

More women moved forward, smiles lighting their faces. Gwyn greeted each one, handed them a crock and paper, and introduced them to Nasnana and Sadzi.

But Harold noticed a couple of women move away. They followed a larger woman with graying hair, and she looked angry. As the volume of her voice grew, Harold picked up some of the words. “Indians.” “Massacre.” “Can’t trust ’em.”

The rest of the group seemed content enough with Gwyn, so he pursued the stragglers. “Ladies, is there some way I can assist you?”

The vocal one narrowed her eyes at him. “Yes. You can tell those Indians to leave. I didn’t come all this way and leave everything behind to be murdered in my bed.”

“I assure you, ma’am, you will not be murdered in your bed.”

“Gertrude,” a smaller woman said as she took the arm of her angry cohort, “maybe we should listen to the doctor. He’s lived here a long time.”

Gertrude raised her voice. “I will not listen to him.” She turned around to ensure she had everyone’s attention. “Maybe you are all too young to remember trouble with Indians, but my mother watched her parents get butchered by them when she was a little girl. They were all warm and kind at first, and then when my family least expected it, those savages came in and stole everything and killed for the fun of it.”

Gwyn looked to him, her eyes wide. Nasnana and Sadzi stood still, heads bowed. Harold needed to nip this in the bud and fast. “Ma’am, I understand where your fears come from, but these people are native Alaskans. It’s offensive to hear such prejudiced words. They haven’t attacked anyone. We’ve lived in peace—”

“I don’t care what you say.” She wrapped an arm around another lady. “We just got here. We’ve already lost our homes and land, and we come here to live in tents? Then you want us to accept a bunch of Indians? How much are we supposed to take? We’re the colonists, selected for President Roosevelt’s project, I might add. They have no business here.” The large woman raised her chin, a defiant, angry expression crinkling her face.

“When was this massacre, Gertrude?” one of the women in the back questioned. “That sure does sound like a long time ago.”

Another woman started crying. Several others stood in shock, looking from one woman to another.

Harold straightened. “This community will not be built on prejudice. I understand your fears, but they are unfounded here.” A reporter wrote furiously on his notepad, flipping page after page. Oh, Lord—this won’t make it into all the papers, will it? “We need steady minds and tempers right now. There’s a lot to be done if everyone wants to be prepared for winter. These women gave of their time and hearts to help provide for your families. They’re giving you the means to make your own bread. It’s a very important step toward survival.”

The woman stuck her nose in the air. “I’ll get my bread from the store.”

“What store would that be?” He knew there were plans for amenities of every kind, although some seemed like nothing more than a pipe dream. “Do you suppose we have the luxury of store-bought bread here? Anytime you want or need it? This starter will take the place of yeast—something you also will have difficulty getting at first. My daughter and her friends are happy to share with you, as well as teach you how to use this Alaskan staple.”

“Dr. Hillerman”—a wiry woman in the back raised her hand—“if you trust these . . . native women, then I will too. I’m sure we could all use a helping hand. Especially given that it won’t be as easy to get supplies as it was back home. Besides, we live in the twentieth century, don’t we? It’d be ridiculous to worry about pettiness and prejudice now.” She walked forward, took the gift, and thanked the ladies.

Harold watched Gertrude shoot an angry glare at her dissenter. “They could be using this to poison us.”

Gwyn dipped her finger into one of the crocks and then put her finger in her mouth. “There, satisfied? This is a gift, not an act of violence. Goodness, but you see us as murderers rather than as what we are—good neighbors reaching out in Christian charity.”

The demonstration seemed to put most of the women at ease. After murmuring among themselves for a few moments, most of the women moved forward to accept the gift. Gertrude, however, continued to hang back. The photographer and reporter waited with the rest of the crowd to see what she would do.

Nasnana moved forward, but Gwyn held her back. Taking a crock to Gertrude, the same one she’d sampled, Gwyn offered it without a word.

The woman raised it in the air as if to smash it—

“Doctor! Come quick!” A filthy little boy ran toward them, his little legs pumping.

Harold jumped off the crate. “What happened?”

“It’s Charlie. He just wanted to pet the baby . . .” The child sobbed and fell to the ground.

Gwyn rushed to the child’s side and picked him up.

Harold hoped it wasn’t a bear. He gripped the boy’s shoulders. “Calm down. Just tell us what happened. Where is Charlie?”

The child pointed. “Over there. The mama came out of nowhere and stepped on him pretty bad.”

Gwyn set the child down. “You need to show us the way.” She looked at her father.

They took off at a run, a small crowd following.

Harold shot another prayer heavenward. Putting two and two together, he didn’t have much hope for the child. Not many people survived being trampled by a moose.

After all the luxuries of the cities, he wasn’t sure he’d enjoy living in this minuscule excuse for a settlement with its muddy roads and filthy people. But it would be the perfect place to hide. Especially with all the chaos. A pleasant surprise to be sure. Chaos always aided his cause. However, it was the press that surprised him most. There had to be more than a dozen reporters and their faithful photographers doing their best to give top exposure to the colony. It would spell trouble for him if his picture were to become part of some Associated Press release. If he could just avoid the pesky photographers, he’d be fine.

He’d arrived an hour earlier but had already scoped out the tent city in the chaos. Apparently the first colonists arrived only days before. Wasn’t much to look at, but several of the poorly dressed women sent him flirty little smiles. He hadn’t expected such a warm welcome, so his time in Alaska might be more fun than he’d hoped.

Rounding the corner, he spotted a blond woman. Now, she was a nice little dish. Looked innocent too. She was carrying a basket and passing something out to the children. She had a Lillian Gish sort of sweetness to her expression with a Carole Lombard grace in her walk. A white pinafore apron covered her dress. Not at all the style of Chicago or New York, but she made it look good anyway. The rubber boots on her feet made her appear a bit childish, but considering the mud, he’d overlook it.

She laughed at one of the kids, and her blond curls bounced. Her presence could make his exile in Alaska even enjoyable. He’d have to pour on the charm. No doubt a few stories of life in luxury would turn her head. He hadn’t met the dame yet who didn’t want to swim in diamonds and furs. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face. This was a game he knew quite well.

As she turned and headed his way, he straightened his coat and looked around.

She passed right by without so much as a glance. Maybe he was losing his touch.

“Uh, miss?” He put on his best smile.

“Yes?” She turned, hesitation shimmering in her gray eyes.

“I’m afraid I’m a bit lost.” He scanned the tents. “I’m looking for my brother and his family. Perhaps you could help me?”

“Sure.” Her quiet voice barely reached him. “What are their names?”

“William and Suzanne Novak. I was told they were already here.” His charm wasn’t working like he’d hoped. She wouldn’t even look at him.

“Oh yes. Beautiful family. Just follow me.” Her boots made an awful squishing noise as she walked at a brisk pace to the third row of large tents. “Suzanne?” she called into the tent. “You have a visitor.” With that, she started to walk away.

He reached out and touched her arm. “Thank you, miss . . . ?”

“You’re welcome.” Then she was gone.

“Why, Clarence!” His sister-in-law’s high-pitched voice grated on his nerves. “What in the world are you doing here?”

He’d really have to pour on the charm now. “Suzanne, you’re growing more beautiful by the day.”

“Why, thank you”—she put a hand to her throat—“but I must say, I’m shocked to see you. Does William know you’re here?”

“Not yet.”

“Uncle Clarence. Uncle Clarence!” Little voices rushed toward him.

He couldn’t stand children, and his brother had too many. “Well, look at all of you. Aren’t you just so grown up.” He turned to Suzanne. “So . . . where is my little brother?”

“Right here.” William smiled at him from the tent’s makeshift door. “I’m surprised to see you here, Clarence.”

“Well, I was so excited when I received your letter that I thought I should come see Alaska and my family.”

William’s eyebrows rose. He looked to his wife. “We don’t have a lot of room, but you are welcome to stay.”

“Oh, would that be asking too much? I don’t want to put you all out.”

Suzanne came forward and wrapped her arm around her husband. “It’s not a problem. We so rarely get to see you. We can make room. I’m sure William will be glad for the help.”

“Help . . . Oh, of course. I’d love to help,” Clarence lied. “I want to see you all make a go of it. I’ve even got some money I could pitch in—”

“No, no. We can’t take your money.”

William’s stubborn pride was still intact as he hugged his wife. Just as Clarence had hoped.

“We’re just thankful for some hope for the future. The farm in Wisconsin failed fast.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that. These have been tough times for everyone.” Except for him. But he’d have to keep that a secret. He patted one of the kids’ heads. “I’m so glad to see you all.”

Hours later he had reached his limit of pleasantries. He needed air. All the disgusting humility he’d spewed out began to sour his stomach. How did people live like this?

Plunging his hands into his pockets, he found his gold ring. He’d better hide it before one of the kids caught sight of it. Couldn’t allow his family to know the extent of his wealth. At least they’d been gullible enough to take him in. And they couldn’t even afford a house or enough food to feed all those mouths. Clarence shook his head. They didn’t have any sense at all. Didn’t they know how the world turned?

He strolled through the tent city, hoping for a glimpse of that pretty blonde he’d talked to earlier. Suzanne told him her name was Gwyn and she was the daughter of Dr. Hillerman. They’d lived in this little nowhere town for many years. Maybe if he played his cards right, he could woo her with his money. He bet all dolled up she was a real looker. And he needed a new conquest, or at least a distraction.

She wasn’t anywhere in the mud-crusted city. Children ran in every direction imaginable. Clarence caught one by the collar. “Do you happen to know where the clinic is?”

“Sure, mister. Just walk down that road for a few minutes. You’ll find it.”

Exasperated at the wiggly fellow’s lack of detail, Clarence turned the boy loose. Road? They called this a road? What century were they in? The Dark Ages?

His handmade leather shoes would no doubt be ruined after this little excursion. But maybe the dame would be worth it. Maybe.

Outside the little building marked Clinic, Clarence spotted the blonde talking to a man. They both had serious expressions, and their heads were close. She nodded. An older gentleman exited the building, wiping his hands on a towel. His shoulders were slumped. The older man wrapped an arm around Gwyn’s shoulders. Her father, perhaps?

Clarence watched from a distance, sticking to the tree line. What were they talking about?

And who was that younger man? Gwyn Hillerman certainly seemed comfortable with him.

Bits and pieces of the conversation floated toward him.

“. . . we may need to do another surgery on the boy’s . . .”

“. . . it’s the head injury I’m worried about the most.”

Then Gwyn’s lyrical voice caught his attention. She placed a hand on the other man’s arm. “But if we can convince Charlie to fight, show him how much he’s loved, maybe he’ll have the will to fully wake up.”

Clarence didn’t like the camaraderie between the two younger people. Not one bit. Then the younger man turned. It couldn’t be! Clarence’s luck had just changed. He’d recognize that face anywhere. Brewster had ensured that anyone in Chicago would recognize the face of one Dr. Jeremiah Vaughan. Former doctor.

The little group went back into the clinic, nodding and somber. Clarence decided to head back to his family’s tent. Tapping his chin, a new plan formed as he trudged down the rutted road. This was valuable information. Hadn’t the young doctor’s license been stripped? He filed away the little tidbit. One always needed a plan to eliminate the competition.