Alaskan Holiday

by Debbie Macomber

  “You don’t need to do that.” I’d made the trek on my own and wouldn’t have a problem returning the same way.

  “But I want to.”

  I didn’t feel I could argue, and the truth was I welcomed his company.

  Palmer reached for his coat and a larger flashlight than my own. We walked side by side through the dense darkness. The night was clear. I didn’t think I’d ever grow accustomed to seeing as many stars as I had in Alaska. The sky was filled with a multitude of tiny sparkling lights. Starlights. It reminded me of when I was growing up, collecting fireflies in a mason jar with my cousins on a camping trip. I’d loved camping. It was partly because of those trips with my aunt, uncle, and cousins that I applied for the position in Alaska.

  We reached the lodge, and Palmer walked up the porch steps with me. I was about to thank him and open the door when he reached for my shoulders and turned me around to face him. For a long time, all we did was stare at each other. I stopped breathing at the look I saw in his eyes, the warmth, genuine care, and love.

  I wasn’t sure who moved first, Palmer or me. Before I realized what was happening, I was in his embrace, my arms around his neck. We were kissing as if I was sending him off to war. The heat, the need, and the passion were deeper than anything we’d shared to this point.

  By the time we broke apart we were both panting like we’d been held underwater too long. I placed my hand over my heart and took a step back. I looked at Palmer, and he seemed to be as much in a daze as I was.

  “Wow,” I whispered, unsure of what had just happened. Not that I regretted it.

  Palmer started down the steps.

  “Palmer,” I called out.

  At the bottom of the steps he turned to face me.

  “What was that kiss all about?” I asked, wanting him to clarify it, because I certainly couldn’t.

  “Not sure,” he said, with a pragmatic tone. “Guess I wanted you to remember me when you met Chef Allen.”

  “Anton.”

  “Whatever,” he muttered, as he returned to his cabin.

  CHAPTER 6

  Josie

  I spent a sleepless night, unable to stop thinking about Palmer. I loved the way he kissed. His kisses were addictive. I knew that once I returned home, I’d have trouble forgetting him and our time in Ponder. Tossing and turning, I was forced to answer the question: Did I want to forget him? My heart sank when I realized that I didn’t. Palmer was a part of me now, but that didn’t alter my circumstances or my obligations.

  No matter how I felt about him, I needed to get back to Seattle. I’d made a commitment to Chef Anton. I had worked hard for this wonderful opportunity—darn hard. It made no sense to give it all up to live in a town where my training, my love of food, and my talent would basically be wasted. Oh sure, I could continue to cook for the lodge six months out of the year. But I knew myself well enough to realize that it would soon bore me. Earlier, I’d tried talking to my mother, who seemed distracted and wasn’t much help. All she would tell me was to follow my heart. But my heart wasn’t leading the way, unlike my brain, which continued to spin most of the night, unable to provide viable solutions.

  I woke groggy and cranky, unfairly irritated at Palmer for the terrible quandary I faced. This was all his fault. I wish I could’ve talked to Jack about my feelings. But as much as I liked and trusted him, Jack was biased. He wouldn’t hesitate to tell me to marry Palmer. Before I’d messed everything up by missing the boat, I’d hoped that once I was back in Seattle where I belonged, I’d gain perspective about my time in Ponder and my feelings for Palmer. This delay had complicated everything.

  Disgruntled, my mind repeatedly reviewed my limited options as I dressed and sipped my morning coffee. Out of the blue I remembered Jack’s ludicrous suggestion that I had intentionally missed the boat. Just thinking about Jack’s theory irritated me. I’d had every intention of being on board that ferry when it pulled away from the dock.

  Like Palmer said, it was a comedy of errors. No one was to blame, and at the same time we all were. Palmer for the last-minute proposal. Marianne Brewster for assuming I had changed my mind. And, of course, me for setting the wrong time on my alarm and neglecting to take my luggage to the lobby.

  Something else Jack said came to mind as well. He’d mentioned that Angie Wilkerson wintered in Ponder and she’d invited me to stop by that afternoon. Talking with another woman, I decided, was exactly what I needed. I waited until mid-morning, bundled up in my warmest clothes, and headed out to her cabin, following the tracks made by a snowmobile.

  During the brisk ten-minute walk, I had to pass through the middle of Ponder. Past the one tavern with the Baptist church right next door. Past the all-service hardware store on the other side of the street, now closed for the winter. Inside the store was anything and everything a person could possibly need, including a pharmacy, a liquor store, a post office, and what passed for a bank. The Terry family had run it for years in-season, and they spent their winters with their oldest daughter in Texas. In the spring they would return about the same time that the Brewsters opened the lodge.

  Next to the hardware store was the second tavern in town, by the Free Methodist Church. Pastor Gene was a retired minister who served during the busy season, then left early in October. I’d enjoyed his sermons and the man himself. He stopped by the lodge for dinners every Sunday, compliments of the Brewsters. It was at this church that I’d first met Angie and Steve. During the tourist season, a priest flew in for a Saturday-evening Mass once a month.

  There was a lending library in town, too, for locals and visitors. Lilly Appleton willingly lent books to anyone who wanted to read them, right out of her home. Her entire living room was filled with bookshelves. It’d only been in the last couple years that she’d gone to Fairbanks for the winters, since she was getting older and was a widow now. She’d left town on that last ferry, too.

  I continued walking, the cold biting my face, until I reached the Wilkersons’ place. Angie opened the door when I knocked and greeted me with a huge smile.

  “Come on in,” she said, taking me by the arm and leading me inside, where it was warm.

  It took me a few minutes to take off all my layers. By the time I finished, Angie had a pot of tea steeping on the table. She was a tall, thinnish woman with long, dark hair in a thick braid that reached to the middle of her back. Two little boys, about four and five years old, sat on the floor with Legos scattered around them. They appeared to be building a skyscraper. Intent on their task, they barely noticed me.

  “I was surprised when I heard you’d missed the ferry,” Angie said. “You must have been frantic.”

  “I was, but Palmer knows someone who can fly me into Fairbanks in a few days.”

  Angie glanced up from pouring tea. “Sawyer O’Halloran?”

  “You know him?”

  “Everyone close to the Arctic knows Sawyer. So Palmer did it, then,” she said, with an incredulous tone. “He arranged a way for you to leave?”

  I wasn’t sure I understood her shock. “That surprises you?”

  “It does. He’s crazy about you.”

  Already the conversation had turned uncomfortable. “Yes, well, I…My life is in Seattle.” I didn’t mention I had a dream job waiting or explain that this was an opportunity other culinary graduates envied. Any one of my fellow classmates would have given just about anything to work with Chef Anton.

  Angie sighed. “I’ll admit your decision to leave is a disappointment, but I’m being selfish. I’d love it if you stayed. So few women live here, especially during the winter season.”

  “It shocked me to hear that you stay behind. Isn’t it hard on you?” All I could think about was the loneliness Angie must feel, the lack of amenities and other services.

  The other woman lifted the mug and rested her elbows on the oak tabletop. “It is
and it isn’t. I miss everyone who leaves after the season, but there’s real beauty here during the winter months. I didn’t appreciate it in the beginning, but I do now.”

  Seeing the stars and the Northern Lights with Palmer and Hobo immediately flooded my mind. We’d seen them several times; crazy as it sounded, we heard them, too. They made a crackling sound. And just this morning, I’d watched an Arctic fox frolic in the snow. The stunted fir trees, with their limbs weighed down by the heavy snow, looked like a Christmas-card scene. The beauty was everywhere. I’d tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t. I had to agree with Angie.

  “Doesn’t the isolation bother you?” I asked, after taking a sip of my tea. It was a lovely blend of orange and spice that I recognized as one of my favorites from Seattle.

  “It did in the beginning, before Mason and Oliver arrived.”

  I looked over at the two boys and smiled, surprised that they were so easily entertained. The stack of Legos had reached the height of Oliver, who had stood up, adding pieces until the pile leaned precariously to the left. He giggled, delighted when the bricks broke apart and scattered across the floor.

  “Mason, help your brother put the Legos back in the box,” Angie told her older son.

  Mason reached for the plastic tub and dragged it over to where Oliver now sat. “Can I have a cookie?”

  “After the two of you pick up.”

  Watching the exchange gave me time to collect my thoughts. “How did you and Steve meet?” I asked, curious now. Jack had mentioned that Angie’s husband wasn’t much of a city man. Palmer wasn’t either. I knew he and Steve were friends, but little else.

  “We met in Fairbanks,” Angie said, keeping an eye on the youngsters. “I had a summer job working in the fishing industry outside of Anchorage. The money was great, and I needed it to supplement my scholarship. A friend and I decided at the close of the fishing season that we wanted to travel past the Arctic Circle, so we took the train from Anchorage, through Denali, to Fairbanks, where we would be able to hire a bush pilot.”

  “That was when you met Steve?”

  “Yes. I was at the airfield, talking to one of the pilots, inquiring how much it would be to fly to Bettles. I’d read about this small town and found a lodge there and booked it for one night.”

  “No road into Bettles, right?”

  “None.”

  It was the same here in Ponder, although the town was below the Arctic Circle.

  “Steve was at the airfield also, looking to find a pilot to take him back to Ponder, when he overheard our conversation. We got to talking and he invited me out to dinner that night and I accepted. We both had flights out the following morning: me to Bettles and Steve to Ponder. My friend had taken a liking to the bush pilot, so she had her own date.” She paused long enough to take another sip of tea. “Steve and I had dinner, and I guess you could say we hit it off. We talked until the restaurant closed. Up to that point, I’d dated quite a bit, but I’d never met anyone as interesting and likable as Steve. We clicked. I don’t know how else to say it.”

  “How did you make it work?” I asked. I didn’t mean to be intrusive, but I was genuinely interested.

  “After our dinner, I canceled my trip to Bettles, and Steve canceled his flight back to Ponder. We were together every minute in Fairbanks until it was time for me to return to Oregon, three days later. I hated to leave, and Steve hated for me to go, but I had to get back for school.”

  “You two must have kept in touch, then.”

  Angie nodded. “We talked every day for months.”

  Mason tugged at her sleeve, with Oliver right by his side. “We’re done, Mommy. Can we have our cookies now?”

  “Yes, good job, boys!” Angie leaned forward and kissed the tops of their heads before standing and reaching into the apple-shaped jar on the counter. She handed each of her sons a homemade cookie. They raced out of the kitchen and toward the family room.

  “I’m going to read to Oliver now,” Mason shouted back to his mom.

  Angie smiled. “Mason has memorized all the words to his favorite books. He’s starting to read on his own. Amazing how smart he is. Oliver, too.”

  I watched the two boys and I felt my heart constrict. I hoped for a family of my own one day.

  “Okay,” Angie said, sighing. “Back to our story. I returned to college. It was my last year and I had everything all set in my mind on how I wanted my life to go. Marrying Steve and moving to Ponder weren’t part of the plan.”

  I could relate to that. “What changed your mind?” I asked.

  “Not what. Who. It was Steve. I’d never met anyone like him. He was independent, strong, and capable. I thought about him constantly. Like I said, we talked every day. My grades started to drop. My parents were worried. They were afraid I wasn’t going to graduate. I spent so much of my time focused on Steve, despite the distance between us, that my studies suffered.”

  “But you did graduate, didn’t you?”

  “Mom and Dad had every reason to be concerned that I wouldn’t be able to pull it off and get my diploma. I let everything slide, living between phone calls and emails from Steve. My emotions were all over during that time: One day I’d be elated, and the next I’d be in the dumps. But yes, in the end I did manage to graduate. Steve promised to fly down for my graduation, and he did. He came with an engagement ring. Before he proposed, he talked to my parents about marrying me.”

  As she spoke, a faraway look came over Angie. “I hadn’t seen him since the day I’d left Fairbanks. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel when we saw each other again, but you know what’s crazy?”

  I could only speculate.

  “It was like no time had gone by at all. The minute I saw him again, I knew this was the man I was going to love for the rest of my life.”

  “But…” I tried to interject.

  “I know what you’re going to say, because my mom said the very same thing. She thought I was crazy: that I’d be wasting my education, stuck up here in this desolate town in Alaska.”

  Admittedly, these were my thoughts, too. Angie had spent four years to get her college degree, only to marry Steve and move to Ponder? No wonder her family had been concerned.

  “What was your major?” I asked, rather than tell her what I really thought.

  “English literature. Everyone assumed that upon graduation, I’d go on to teach. To be fair, that had been my original intention. I love the written word and wanted to share my enthusiasm with young minds.”

  “There’s no school here, is there?”

  “Mason is halfway through his kindergarten curriculum already, and Oliver is in preschool. I homeschool them. It’s online, like most everything else in this neck of the woods.”

  Because my days working at the lodge had been full of my duties there, I hadn’t had the opportunity to get to know Angie other than in passing. I was full of questions and fascinated about her life in Ponder.

  “So how are you using your education?” I asked.

  She smiled, having anticipated this question. “I’ve been writing novels under my maiden name, Angela Wellington.”

  The name sounded familiar to me, until it hit me. “Angela Wellington?” I repeated softly. My eyes rounded. “I know you! You write historical fiction. I’ve read two of your books.” I was stunned. Speechless. My mouth must have been hanging open, because Angie burst out laughing.

  “The thing is, I would never have considered a writing career if I wasn’t married to Steve and living in Ponder.”

  I had no idea that I’d been living in the same town as renowned author Angela Wellington. “How did you even get started writing?” I asked.

  “It just happened. I read a lot the first winter that Steve and I spent in Ponder, and was inspired by a book I’d read, wishing there was a sequel to it. Steve was the one who suggeste
d I write my own story, which I did while I was pregnant with Mason. I don’t think anyone was more surprised than I was when a publisher accepted my manuscript. It usually doesn’t happen that way. A lot of writers submit manuscripts for years before they ever sell one, but my first manuscript was accepted. A writing friend of mine told me that it wasn’t fair—I hadn’t suffered enough!”

  I laughed.

  “I’ve written three books in the last four years and am working on my fourth now. It’s harder to get in writing time as the boys have become more active, so I write during their naps and early in the morning before they’re awake. My days, though, are theirs. My husband and sons are my focus.”

  The few times I’d met Angie, I’d liked her. That feeling grew stronger as we talked over the pot of tea. “I had no idea you were an author.”

  “I don’t advertise it. I love being a writer and storyteller.” She looked away for a second before making eye contact with me. “I would love it if you and Palmer got together. I’ve never seen him happier than he has been these last six months since you arrived. He’s a different person.”

  “I don’t think I could make a life here, Angie,” I confessed. “I’ve always lived in Seattle and there’s so little here in Ponder.”

  “There’s Palmer,” she reminded me. “You love him, don’t you?”

  I couldn’t deny it. “I do, but I have a job waiting for me. I signed a contract.”

  “Then go. I did. I finished school. You need this time away, and Palmer does, too. If what you have is real, you’ll know in time. This isn’t a decision you need to make this minute. It won’t hurt to put some distance between the two of you for a while.”

  Angie was the voice of reason. While I had an important decision to make, she was right—it didn’t require an overnight answer. Palmer had accepted that I was leaving and, in fact, had helped me find a way to get to Seattle. He understood that I needed to do this. I was the one who was putting pressure on myself.

  It made sense. Once I was home and settled in to my job, I’d have a better understanding of what was best for both Palmer and me. Still, one problem concerned me. From the earliest time I could remember, all I’d ever wanted to do was become a chef. I’d worked long and hard to get this far. I wasn’t sure I could give up everything I’d hoped to achieve. I wasn’t sure I could find a way to use my talents in Ponder, like Angie had. There were no book deals for me, and no exciting career opportunities were going to present themselves to me here.