By the time they reached the harbor the wind had settled, and the sky had started to clear. The temperature had dropped, and a skim of frost covered the dock planks. Nicky’s breath pushed out in front of her as they powered up the hill to the house.
“You two look like dogs caught out in the rain. Good luck that williwaw wasn’t worse.”
Nicky turned to Sven, who was sitting on his wooden stoop, sipping coffee. Rooster slept in a tangle of blankets beside him, her black fur rising and falling.
“We got caught out in the valley,” Clete said.
“Kissing goodbye to the trees, one by one?” Sven said, giving them a silvery smile that matched the dawn sky. “Looks like you locked horns with a needle-beast, sailor,” Sven said to Nicky. “Good thing a bear didn’t scent you with all that dried blood. What’s the plan now?”
“We’ve got a new plan,” Nicky said.
Sven nodded toward a canvas backpack stained with black grease. “I followed you out there, sailor, just to be sure you didn’t get blown off your bike. You seemed to have a handle on things, and I got bored, so I decided I’d relieve those loggers of their chains. It’ll buy you a few hours to get your plan in place, but I don’t suggest you stand around here much longer. Best go make it happen. Do it for your kids. And your kids’ kids.”
Nicky met the old man’s gaze. “Thanks, Sven.”
“You got it. Now go!”
They ran up the stairs into the apartment, passing her father’s bedroom, and went up into the attic. The floors were bright with the scrubbed morning sun.
“Josie!” Nicky called as she crawled over her sister’s bed. “Wake up.”
Josie sprung up from the pillows. “What did I tell you about coming up here!” she yelled, her eyes blazing at Clete. “This is not your room!”
“We just got back from Sky River Valley,” Nicky said breathlessly. “We have a plan to stop them from cutting the trees. But we need your help.”
Josie flung off the covers and stomped across the room in her sweatpants, unplugging her phone from its charger and checking it. “Are you two crazy? Neither of you lifted a finger when people were voting. All of a sudden you have some master plan. Let me give you some advice. Go back to what you were doing, being fairies in the woods or whatever it was, and leave the rest of us to deal with reality.”
Nicky crossed the room and snatched the phone from her sister’s hands. “Call Veronica. Now. And her father. He can make a Facebook page. A website. We need to use it to invite the widest community possible. Now.”
“What has gotten into you?” Josie said. “You need to settle down. Veronica? First off, it’s seven-thirty in the morning. She’s sleeping, like any normal person would be in this cold weather.”
“Wake them up!” Nicky screamed. Josie froze, and her eyes went wide. “Wake them up,” Nicky repeated, this time without shouting. “Tell Veronica to come here with her father in thirty minutes.”
“Who are you?” Josie said as she took her phone back. “You can’t just build a website.”
“We can announce and advertise what we’re doing with a front page.”
“And what are we doing?” Josie said.
Nicky stepped toward her sister. “I will tell you, but you need to help us right now, or get out of the way. We need to alert people all over the world about the clearcut. No one understands there’s a rainforest in Alaska—and especially not one in danger. No one knows that trees over a thousand years old are about to be destroyed. There are people who care, but their caring is worth nothing if others on the ground can’t report on it. Can’t bear witness. So. Are you in?”
Josie looked over at Clete, as if he might tell her that what she just heard was crazy. Instead, he shrugged and said, “She’s got a plan. And I’m with her.”
Josie turned back to Nicky, who took her shoulders and pleaded with her eyes. “Remember? Problem, solution. Problem, solution. All we can do is try.”
“Fine,” Josie finally said, reaching for her vest. “I don’t care anymore. No one on this island seems to like me anyways, so why not go down in flames.”
“Great. So you’ll call?” Nicky said.
“I’ll call. Veronica’s father, Nathan Deschumel, has a huge group of followers on Jackson Cove Convos. That’s probably the best place to start. First we need to convince this community that your plan holds water.”
“Tell them to be here in half an hour. In our kitchen.”
“Why not this second?” Josie asked, zipping up her vest and swiping open her phone.
Nicky glanced down the stairs. “Because first, we need to convince our own father.”
A few minutes later Josie and Nicky sat at the kitchen table, listening to coffee percolate.
“It’s a cool idea, but it’s just not going to fly,” Dad said. “It’s just not feasible.”
“Don’t shut this out, please,” Nicky said. “It’s the same as what you and Uncle Cliff did with your shop. Just on a much bigger scale.”
Their father rubbed his bloodshot eyes, then blinked a few times to clear sand from his lashes. “Nicky, I appreciate your sudden energy. We’re talking about a whole different set of skills and tools. A whole different set of financial realities. You can’t just snap your fingers and teach people to build a soundboard. Or retool an entire mill, for that matter. It’s just not possible.”
“But Nicky’s right. The wood is Sitka spruce,” Josie said. “You yourself told us, it’s what musicians all over the world use for instruments. This forest—the Tongass—it’s where your soundboards come from, right?”
“Yes, that’s right,” he admitted. “For tone wood you can’t beat it. If you’re making a guitar, you generally make it out of Sitka spruce.”
“Exactly. Dad, why not build the instruments right here on the island. It’s foolish to ship the wood off, especially seeing as how everyone needs jobs.”
“That still means you’re cutting trees down,” he said. “Maybe not as many, but you’re cutting them just the same.”
“No,” Nicky said. “That’s the thing. The trees are already down.”
“We’re only using salvage, Uncle Danny,” Clete explained. “The ones that have already fallen. Most of the trees come down in the fall, because that’s when the winds come through. The wood is still good because the sugary sap doesn’t rot them. That’s why my dad wants to cut the whole valley in the next few months.”
Their father stood up, looking between Nicky and Josie. “Okay, I get it,” he finally said. “I see what you’re trying to do, which is take the role of your mother, and give me a guitar shop. I wish I could have that, and that everything could go back to the way it was. You two are the sweetest—and you too, Clete. It makes me so happy to see you three cousins working together, as a family. But life just doesn’t work that way. There are forces on this island we can’t control. That goes for you too, Clete. Saving this forest isn’t going to change the past, or get you out of any future that you’re trying to avoid.”
His condescending tone riled her. She tried to push back her anger, and then recalled how her mother often convinced her dad when he said no, by overwhelming him with facts.
“The cutting has already started,” she said. “Clete brought down the Old Yellow Cedar this morning.”
His eyes went wide behind his glasses. “Clete did what?”
“I chopped it down,” Clete admitted. “This morning. I wanted to show everyone how awful it was.”
“I don’t understand. There’s no way you could have done that alone.”
Clete shrugged. “That tree isn’t standing anymore?” he said, turning toward the window.
“You can’t even see the valley from there,” Nicky said as he craned his neck to see past Sven’s roof. “Dad, the other day I biked out to the mill. Uncle Cliff gave me a tour. Then this morning I woke up to the sound of a chainsaw. Out my window I saw the Old Yellow Cedar fall. I walked into the valley, and I could feel it. I could feel them. I can hear them.”
“Who is ‘them’?” he snapped. “You’re telling me you were out there this morning? In the forest? I don’t understand any of this, and I’m starting to get frustrated.”
“The trees,” she answered calmly. “I know this sounds crazy, but they protected me. I can tap into them. Their network. I don’t know why, but I can. This morning they showed me something clearly. I felt it. All over. I need you to talk to Lars Ruger and Uncle Cliff. You need to tell them to come here. In half an hour, and we can all work out a plan.”
He started laughing. “A plan? What, that my magical daughter wants to sabotage their jobs—come listen to her ideas? I’m supposed to be selling this wood that they’re cutting. Not stopping them before they even get started.”
“Fine,” Josie broke in, looking at her sister, then at her dad. “Don’t tell them about the plan. Just tell them they can make more money in the woods by building instruments, instead of clearcutting the forest. They’ll also make more friends.”
“By using trees that have already fallen,” he said, with a tone of sarcasm.
“Exactly,” Josie said. “You need to convince them of all that. You owe us that.”
“I owe you?”
“Yes. Tell them a guitar factory will create more jobs than a traditional wood mill. They want to make money—tell them a guitar factory will make more money. Clete and Nicky say there are over a hundred downed Sitka spruce trees out there. That could keep folks on the island busy at a factory for ten years, bringing in three times what a conventional mill would. It’s called value-adding. You’re taking the wood and —”
“I know what ‘value-adding’ means, Josie.” He shook his head. “I’m not going to call them. That’s final.”
Nicky glanced at the wall clock. She heard a knock.
“That’s Veronica and Nathan,” Josie said, starting down the stairs. Her father’s resistance seemed to have boosted her energy. “I’m going to work with them in the television room to get everything ready.”
“Got it,” Nicky said.
“What are they doing here?” their father asked.
“Helping us,” Josie said as she left the kitchen and went down the stairs.
Her father took off his glasses. “I was worried about your sister, and now I’m worried about you, Nick. Your attachment to this valley—it’s good. I like that you care. But we don’t have any power. I wish I had a better way to tell you. But things don’t happen like this.”
“Dad,” Nicky said, as she picked his phone up from the kitchen table. “Please, call. Try.”
“I’m working for these guys, kiddo. I can’t just tell them to show up at my house on a Monday morning.”
“I just texted my dad,” Clete said, holding up his phone. “I told him I cut down the cedar. He’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”
“He’s coming?” their father said.
Clete nodded.
“This is getting out of control. Okay. Give me that phone. I’ll call Lars.”