Nicky’s brightest memory of Uncle Cliff was him on a ladder, holding nails between his teeth as he hammered shingles. She remembered his wide shoulders and his bushy moustache that cast shadows over his lips—the same one he had now. Like Clete, he dressed in a flannel and jeans, though he wore no belt. Steel shined through the toes of his scarred XtraTuf boots.

The woman who had just been yelling at them set down her phone and eyeballed their uncle, who now stood with them. “We’re on an island, Cliff. You know that better than the rest of us. I’ll see you at the town hall next week.”

“Probably before, Alice.”

The woman drove off. Uncle Cliff turned to their father and hugged him. “Oh man. I’m sorry about that, brother. What a way to be welcomed. Alice, she takes the job of mayor way too seriously. And the rest of it…it’s just so, so sad. I wish we coulda flown East this summer. But you know, with the virus, and the tickets, and plane travel…”

Nicky and Josie looked on as the two men gripped one another. When their father finally let go, Uncle Cliff continued to hold him by the shoulders.

“It’s just good to be here,” their father said. “Girls, you remember your uncle? He used to throw you into the clouds. He helped me build my shop, just after your grandfather died.”

“We’ll just have to build you another once you get settled,” Uncle Cliff said.

He had the same deep-set eyes as Clete, except Uncle Cliff’s were weathered, creased at the edges. His irises were lighter and sun-splattered. Kind eyes, Nicky thought as she watched him kneel and open his arms. Nicky couldn’t help herself. She hugged him around the neck. When she pulled away she found wood shavings stuck to her sweatshirt.

“That’s good luck,” he said. “Cedar dust and herring scales. Means you’ll be finding more of what you need.”

Josie hung back, and gave a short wave. “Hi.”

“Hiya, Josephine. I guess you’re probably old enough now for me to call you that. You girls ready for a ride? Looks like one of you already has her life vest on,” he said, nodding at Nicky with approval.

They filed down the ramp. An aluminum boat that swooped up into a point at the front knocked against the dock. Fishing rods stood up in metal holders. A blue canvas cover was fastened to the bow of the boat, where Uncle Cliff directed them.

“You girls just settle right beneath that spray skirt,” he said. “Get those vests clipped on tight. I’ll try to find us some otters, and maybe a whale on the way out.”

With the toe of his boot he pushed the boat off the dock. They motored toward the rocky opening of the harbor, where a green light and a red light blinked on either side of the entrance. “That’s port, and that’s starboard,” he said, pointing at the green light. “So boats can get home at night.”

“Cool,” Nicky said.

“Prepare for warp speed!” Uncle Cliff shouted as the engine roared to life. Nicky gripped the poles of the console, and her father held on to the railings as Uncle Cliff pushed the throttle forward. The boat evened out as they accelerated, the ocean whizzing past on either side. Salt-spray coated her cheeks as they bounced over waves. Beyond the runway of the airport the volcano slipped into view. The sky behind it was trimmed with a band of amber, just above the sun, which had reappeared near the horizon.

“Josie!” Nicky yelled into the canvas cover, her heart beating. “You need to see this. It’s the most beautiful thing ever, like another world.”

Josie lay in a pile of flotation pillows and rope, her eyes open but her body not moving.

“This view would get 250 hearts on Instagram, I bet,” Nicky said. Josie only shook her head.

“ ‘Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning.’ Isn’t that what they say?” their father asked Uncle Cliff.

Cliff laughed. “I grew up on this island and I still can’t tell what the heck the weather’s about to do. They call it the Inside Passage, but we’re actually on the Outside. That’s why our fish are so bright and our trees so big. Conditions always changing. There!” he said, swerving the boat to port. “Look. Sea otter.”

Nicky followed Uncle Cliff’s finger. A slick bullet-shaped head emerged just above the waves. As they approached, the otter went under. “Shy guy,” Uncle Cliff said. “And there. See ’em?” He accelerated toward a red metal buoy, rocking and moaning in the waves. A tangle of long-whiskered sea lions barked as the skiff approached.

“J, you gotta see this,” their father called. “There must be ten sea lions loaded on this one buoy.”

Her sister remained beneath the spray skirt, her hand a fist beside her mouth, almost like she was sucking her thumb.

Uncle Cliff picked up speed again, steering them between a series of small islands, some just a single rock with a few stunted trees pushing out from the cracks. Nicky scanned the surface for cones of whale spray. Or fish jumping—any proof of that world beneath her feet.

It made her head swim, the thought that just a few inches of metal separated her from the waters, where creatures the size of their RV and bigger swam. Hundreds of them. Thousands, at this very moment. Thinking, listening, feeling, just as she did. The thought of it made her heart race. Not only the whales but also the barnacles attached to them, and the swirls of kelp lifting and falling against the rocky banks of the islands. She found herself wanting to talk to Clete about how the soil is like ocean, with all sorts of terrestrial plankton swimming through it. Such a mystery.

As the boat bounced over the waves she closed her eyes. A front of shadows, quilted into a cover of gray, overtook her. Her mind started to cartwheel as she flashed from the whales beneath her to the bleachers at a baseball game by the Susquehanna, to walking up the hill at Uncle Max’s farm. She opened her eyes. With the hand that had held Josie’s just minutes before, she seized the railing of the boat, trying to keep from losing her balance.

“Nicky, you okay?” her sister asked, sitting up from the cushions. “You look pale.”

“I’m fine,” she answered.

Uncle Cliff powered the skiff down as they approached a long dock with tires strung along the edge, attached to a ramp leading onto a tree-covered island.

“Want to make us fast?” he said to Nicky, handing her a rope and grinning expectantly. “Just wrap that line around one of those cleats.”

Taking a deep breath, she gripped one of the piers to pull herself out of the boat. At the cleat she tugged the rope tight, then gave it a wrap. Josie and her dad disembarked, while Uncle Cliff came over and crouched alongside Nicky.

“That’ll work, but let me show you something better,” he said. “You gotta crisscross it, then tie it off.”

He made a few neat wraps in an X shape, twisted the rope and flipped his wrist, and draped the oval over the cleat. Then he looked at her. “You got a lot of gears turning in that head of yours, don’t you, Nicky?”

Nicky returned a small smile. “I guess.”

“I think you could maybe use a walk in the woods before salmon. I’ll bet Clete would be happy to go with you, to show you some of his favorite trees.”

She nodded, and followed her uncle up the uneven boards of the ramp, with Josie and their father behind. As they walked, Nicky tried to shed the vertigo that had enveloped her, sending her reeling. It felt as if something was moving inside her, something unexpected that she couldn’t have predicted or prepared for.

“You get a little seasick out there?” her father said, setting a hand on her shoulder. “I sure did. I guess this place will take some getting used to. Look at this forest.”

The three of them followed Cliff into the shadows of the trees. The salty ocean smell joined with a punky sweet and sour scent of sap. Josie slowed and pinched Nicky’s windbreaker, pulling her back. “Did you see the look Uncle Cliff gave me when I wouldn’t come out at the buoy? You know that he’s the one leading the logging crew in Sky River Valley. Veronica said that he and Lars work as a team. He hates us, obviously.”

“That’s not true. He just stood up for us, against the mayor of the town,” Nicky countered.

“He’s evil,” Josie said. “I’m not talking to him. I don’t even know if I’m talking to Aunt Mall. Or Clete. I like Mom’s side of the family better.”

Josie’s reaction didn’t surprise her. She had always been quick to judge, wholeheartedly giving in to her first impressions.

But it was also nice to have her sister confiding in her like this. In a way it felt no different than walking down the block to Danville Elementary. Backpacks on, heads leaning in as they conspired. Except now they were in Alaska. Walking through a rainforest. On an island no bigger than the elementary school itself.

On top of that, Nicky knew Uncle Cliff wasn’t evil. She could see it in his walk and his sparkling, bark-colored eyes. Even as he led them along the boardwalk, keeping behind Nicky in case she slipped, she could sense his gentleness. She could see he was proud of being from Shee, and she had trouble even imagining him along the sidewalks of Danville, building their father’s guitar shop behind the house.

As they moved deeper into the forest a calm bloomed in her chest, smoothing over the nausea she had felt on the ride out. The trunks swayed in the wind, making creaking sounds, and the needles shirred. Moss coated rocks and spread over the earth and lower parts of the larger tree trunks. As she picked her way over the roots, she began to notice how some glistened with rain, while others had dried out to the color of bone. All around, networks of thick roots pushed out of the soil like veins. A few of the trees cupped an empty space beneath them, just like Sven’s hand had demonstrated on the ferry. Ghost trees, she thought.

“Do bears live on these islands?” Josie asked as they walked.

“Every once in a while you’ll get a swimmer,” Uncle Cliff said. “He’ll sniff around for a couple days, eat a deer or two. But this island’s not big enough to sustain a population. Go out Sky River Valley, or up into the mountains. That’s where they live.”

“Until you cut it,” Josie added. “Right? Once Sky River Valley gets clearcut for the mill, then where will the bears go?”

Uncle Cliff looked back at her as they walked.

“What do you know about all that, Josie?” he asked.

“Veronica, my friend, told me that the owner, Lars Ruger, is purchasing the land from town. There’s going to be a vote next Friday over whether or not he can do it. A referendum. And that you run the logging crew.”

“That’s right,” her uncle answered. “Lars is making his case. I’m helping him. We’re hoping the vote will go our way, so we can keep people on the island. Between logging and fishing, that’s about all we have, now that tourism has dried up. If we don’t get these trees for our saws, Jackson Cove could become a ghost town, like so many places in Southeast.”

“Maybe that would be better,” Josie countered. “At least it would give the land a chance to recover. The salmon could come back, and the cedars. People could just let nature alone.”

“As far as I know, the cedars and the fish aren’t having problems,” Uncle Cliff said. “But I appreciate your interest in the situation. We’ll all know more at the town hall on Wednesday.”

“We will,” Josie said, waving her notebook at him. “This morning in Totem Park my friend Veronica asked if I would speak out against logging. She said that people were tired of hearing her, and that a new voice would be refreshing.”

“That’s impressive,” Uncle Cliff said, nodding his approval. “You only just got to our island, and you’re speaking for it. Veronica’s not from here either, though I think her mother’s from Metlakatla. In any case, if you have any questions about trees, or cutting them, I’d be happy to answer. You could even visit me at the mill. I could give you a tour, which might provide some insight. I will tell you that this small town needs the money. We need land to live on. People need work at the mill to survive.”

“I got all your talking points from Clete this morning,” Josie said, jogging to keep pace with him. “I would also advise you, as your opponent on Wednesday, not to give me insight into your argument. Plus, what could you tell me that I can’t find on the internet? Wiki has the whole history on the Tongass and Chugach, regions which I’ve almost memorized.”

The trail started downhill. Uncle Cliff reached out a hand and ran it through bushes, coming away with a collection of red berries. He gave one to Nicky, who tasted the tart fruit, chewing thoughtfully. Josie shook her head when he offered her one.

“My people have sustained themselves on this land and these waters for a very long time, Josie. Maybe that allows me to see both sides of the issue. A lot of people want to continue to sustain themselves, living in harmony with the island. Striking the balance between taking some, and engaging with the land, and taking too much. Or too little. On Wednesday we will hear people from both sides speak. Then on Friday, there will be a vote, and we will know where town stands. But look,” he said, waving. “There’s Clete, chopping cedar for us so we can have a sweet-smelling fire in the stove this evening. Fall is coming on fast. The big storms will be blowing through in no time.”

Before Josie could respond, the trail opened onto a clearing with a cabin in the middle. Smoke drifted at an angle from the crooked chimney. The shingles on the cabin were weathered, worn down and splintered, caked with moss in places, reminding Nicky of her uncle’s moustache. The window shutters were pinned back against the shingles with iridescent abalone shells.

Their father stopped to survey the landscape. “Cliff, you built this place? It’s like a fairy tale.”

“With some help,” Cliff said, nodding toward Clete. “We used cutoffs from the mill, and downed trees from the island. Not too much to it. Clete and I just finished building a bridge down by the water from yellow cedar.”

Clete stood surrounded by a circle of wood. Behind him was an open-sided shed with more stacked inside, each of the splits a nearly identical triangle. He landed his axe into the stump and started toward them.

“Hey!” he said. “You guys made it.”

Aunt Mall came out onto the porch, holding a bowl beneath one arm and stirring with a wooden spoon. “It’s the Hall family! Clete, how about you take the girls out back to pick salmonberries for the compote. The adults can have some adult beverages out on the deck.”

“I don’t want to pick salmonberries,” Josie said, walking toward the house. “I have to practice my speech for Wednesday.”

“When I have book reports I practice them by the stream,” Clete said. “I make sure I can hear myself over the running water. It helps me speak louder.”

“Mosquitoes would eat me,” Josie said, stepping up onto the porch past Aunt Mall. “After all, aren’t they the state bird of Alaska?”

“No,” Clete said. “That’s the willow ptarmigan. There are no mosquitoes around here. Too windy.”

Josie turned to face them. “Everyone’s so literal. Doesn’t anyone make jokes?”

The screen door slammed as Josie went into the house. Aunt Mall set her mixing bowl on the porch railing. “Someone’s having a rough time of it,” Aunt Mall said to their father and Uncle Cliff in a low voice.

“Oh, she’ll be fine,” their dad said. “A little pie. A warm fire. She’s just keyed up.”

“You’re more of an idiot than you were growing up if you think that’s the truth,” Aunt Mall said. “Pie isn’t going to make up for losing a mother.”

“That’s not what I meant, Mall,” her father snapped.

Aunt Mall set a hand on her brother’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said. Then she glanced at Nicky.

“Hey, kiddo. I need you over here for a minute.”

Aunt Mall led her over to where sets of boots were arranged by the porch railing. “Remember? I told you we’d get you outfitted? Salmon blood, barnacles, river rocks—your Uncle Cliff’s had trees fall on his steel-toe boots and they don’t hurt none. We call them Jackson Cove Slippers. Go ahead, try a pair on. Clete and you can take ’em out for a test walk.”

As she slipped off her sneakers and stepped into one of the tall rubber sleeves, Nicky tried to imagine wearing them to a baseball game in Danville. Or walking along the Susquehanna. Fishing along the banks or Uncle Max’s pond with her mother.

The rubber hugged her calf. The boots were the color of milk chocolate, and had a tan line around the sole. She hopped off the porch and did a turn in the mud, looking back at the zigzag of the treads. It looked as if she had left a trail of lightning bolts behind her. No, she decided; these boots were only meant for this island.

“Now, that’s a properly outfitted Alaska girl,” Aunt Mall said, grinning down at her. “Clete, why don’t you show Nicky around. Here’s a bowl for berries. Since getting off that ferry she looks like a pullet ready for the chicken run. Danny, you come help me cook the salmon. Cliff, you set the table.”

“Break!” Uncle Cliff said.

Clete took the bowl from his mother and started toward the woods. “C’mon. We don’t have a lot of time.”

“Time for what?” Nicky asked, taking a few tentative steps in her new boots.

He turned back to her. “To pick salmonberries. To show you the bridge my dad and I made. And to listen to the trees, of course.”