In the Shadow of Denali

by Tracie Peterson

  Her boss shook her head. “I appreciate you encouraging him, but it seems he makes double the work for everyone.”

  “He’s young and learning to handle himself.” Cassidy hoped Mrs. Johnson wasn’t thinking of having him fired. “I’m sure he’ll improve.”

  Mrs. Johnson looked less than convinced. “Perhaps with any luck at all. Now. If we could just keep him from catastrophe for a whole day . . .”

  Cassidy patted her arm and smiled. “But then we wouldn’t know what to do with ourselves. He keeps us alert, doesn’t he?”

  The head cook huffed. “But what I wouldn’t give for just one dull day around here.”

  A hush fell over the kitchen and Cassidy turned around.

  “I’m sorry, Chef Johnson, but that won’t be happening today.” The hotel manager’s eyes glowed with mirth. And since he rarely visited the kitchen—normally just sent a messenger—his presence meant big news.

  Mrs. Johnson sauntered forward with her hands clasped in front. “Well, you could have at least let me dream it for a moment, Mr. Bradley.”

  He raised an eyebrow and kept smiling at their head cook. Not many people could get away with teasing the woman. “I shall remember that for future notice.” He cleared his throat. “We have a fancy group with the Brooklyn Daily Eagle coming up for a formal dedication of the Mount McKinley National Park. It is a large group of about seventy, and we have been asked to help host and provide food for the ceremony. A number of staff will be asked to go along as well to assist and serve.”

  Mrs. Johnson didn’t even flinch at the news. “We are up to the task, Mr. Bradley. Just let me know when.”

  He grinned and turned partially back to the stairs. “Just as I knew you would be. And as to the when—it’s tomorrow.”

  2

  A large cloud of steam escaped from the engine as Allan Brennan boarded the train. Finally. He’d made it to the Alaska Territory.

  Claiming a seat by the window, Allan nodded at the conductor.

  “Ticket?” the man asked as a dozen or so men poured into the car. Their boisterous voices all but drowned out the older man’s voice. He punched the ticket and handed it back to Allan before moving on down the aisle.

  With his bag stowed, Allan settled in to enjoy the scenery. The journey by Alaska Steamship from Seattle to Seward had been rough as far as the seas were concerned, but the beauty had been far beyond what he could ever imagine. All the tales his father told him were true.

  Alaska truly was God’s glorious display. There was nothing he’d ever seen that could compare. The men around him must have been used to the sight as more than one of them pulled their cap down over their eyes and settled in to sleep.

  The weariness of travel was upon him, but Allan never could sleep sitting up. Besides, there were too many memories and thoughts of the future barreling through his mind to allow sleep to claim him. No matter how tired his body.

  As the train gained speed, the swaying and rocking steadied into a constant rhythm. Leaning his head back, he wished his father could be with him. He’d spent his whole life following Henry Brennan around. Hiking, climbing, fishing, hunting. It didn’t matter; if it was outdoors, they’d done it together.

  Until it was time for college.

  Then his father insisted he get a good education. But Allan wanted nothing more than to work by his father’s side in the family company.

  “The time for that will come, son. There will be plenty of work for you to do once you’ve finished college.”

  And with that insistence, Allan headed for the university. No sooner had he finished his schooling than the United States joined the war in Europe. His father and his business partner, Frank, were planning a grand expedition to scale Mount McKinley and Allan had planned to go with them, but the government needed men to fight in Europe and so he went to war instead. If only he could turn back the clock.

  The last time he’d seen his father was a farewell at the train depot in Seattle as Allan headed off to become Captain Brennan and serve his country.

  “I’m very proud of you, son,” his father had said. “You will be in my prayers constantly. Just remember that even in this turn of events, God has a plan. And don’t worry about climbing McKinley. The mountain will still be there when the war is over.”

  But his father wouldn’t. Allan learned only a few months later that his father successfully summited Mount McKinley but had not survived the descent. The letter from his mother had found Allan at the front.

  In the middle of a horrific battle, he learned he no longer had a father. And the thought threatened to crush him. He’d tried to harden himself to the news as grief clawed its way up his throat and almost overpowered him, but the war raged on around him and reminded him all too often of his loss. The more men he lost on the battlefield, the more he worked to bury his own sorrow. Life would never be the same again.

  Returning home to Seattle and his father’s company after the war didn’t help. Henry Brennan was everywhere—which soothed and hurt all at the same time. Even though Frank Irving was a longtime family friend, he’d changed since Henry’s death and angrily placed the blame on their expedition guide.

  Allan inherited half of his father’s share of the business as the only son, while the rest went to his father’s partner. But it didn’t change the fact that he had no desire to work in the factory. It was just too much after the loss of his father and the devastating effects of the war. So putting the entire company in Frank’s capable hands in the meantime, he left his mother, Seattle, his sisters and their husbands, and headed off to learn more about mountain climbing. The only real connection he felt he had left with his father was Mount McKinley in Alaska.

  And now he was on his way. After all these years.

  The train slowed.

  “Anchorage!” the conductor announced as he passed through the car. “Next stop, Anchorage!”

  Some of the men moved toward the exit even while the train was still moving. The sound of metal on metal could be heard as the brakes brought the train to a stop. Allan cast a quick glance out the window. It didn’t look like much of a town.

  Several men disembarked with large duffel bags, no doubt workers for the railroad. Some of the remaining appeared to be sleeping, while a few at the end of the aisle were engaged in a heated argument. Just when Allan thought things might get out of hand, one of the men burst into laughter and slapped another on the back. The others joined in the merriment and things settled back down.

  Two men entered Allan’s car. The first was a young lad with nothing but a flour sack stuffed with what must be his belongings. He slipped into a seat beside one of the sleeping passengers. The second, an older gentleman, nodded to the seat across from Allan.

  “This seat taken?”

  “No. You’re welcome to it.” Allan offered a smile.

  “Name’s John.” The newcomer removed his black fedora and held out his hand.

  He shook it. “Allan. Nice to meet you.”

  “All aboard,” the conductor called from outside the window. He’d no sooner given the call than the train lurched forward and chugged slowly out of the station.

  Stowing his hat above him, John ran a hand through his hair. “I love train travel.” The man sat and looked out the window. “These puffer-belly steam locomotives sure are amazing, aren’t they?”

  “Indeed they are.” Allan hadn’t thought too much on the subject, but agreed anyway. “Do you live in Anchorage?”

  “No, no. I was just there on some business for the railroad. How about you?”

  “It’s my first time in Alaska.”

  “Oh? Well, let me congratulate you on your choice to visit God’s country! I hope you love it. My homeland is a little bit of heaven—even if it is much removed from the rest of the world.”

  Allan chuckled. “Thank you. It definitely is far removed—I didn’t realize how far until this journey. I’ve heard stories all my life, but haven’t made it until now.” He felt his
smile diminish. “The war held me up for a bit and then . . .” This poor stranger didn’t deserve his melancholy memories. “It doesn’t matter. I’m glad to be here.”

  “So what brings you up here?”

  “A number of things.” Allan paused, uncertain how much he wanted to say. “I’d heard so much about it that I wanted to see Alaska for myself. I also took a job. That’s why I want to know everything I can.” The conversation focused all on him made him uncomfortable. Time to change the subject. “What do you know about Mount McKinley?”

  “Oh, more than we have time for on this train ride.” John leaned forward, his eagerness apparent. “In fact, up until the age of twelve, I lived just north of the High One—er . . . Mount McKinley. Then when my father died, we moved to Tanana. I’ve lived there until recently.” John smiled. “What would you like to know about the mountain?”

  “Is it really as massive and dangerous as the stories I’ve heard?”

  “Yes, indeed. It’s over twenty thousand feet and a treacherous beast to climb. The weather is unpredictable, and an earthquake a few years back changed the landscape of the mountain and its glaciers. Oh, but what a view.”

  Allan leaned forward too. “Does this mean you’ve climbed it?” A thrill started in his toes and raced up his spine. There were only a handful of men who had climbed the king of the Alaska Range.

  “I have.” The man’s face fell and he looked out the window and leaned back. “But that’s a story for another day.”

  Maybe the man never made it to the summit. Precious few had. “So you must know a lot about the other mountains in the Alaska Range as well?”

  He nodded but kept his gaze toward the window. Several moments passed with only the clackety-clack of the train to fill the space around them. “They are the most beautiful sight in all the world. Sultana—Denali’s . . . McKinley’s Wife, stands just to the west and south of him. Beautiful and even more dangerous, she’s incredibly steep—much more so than the High One.”

  “Why do you call it Denali and the High One?”

  John’s dark eyes twinkled. “Because that’s his name. I’m part native Alaskan—Ahtna-Athabaskan, to be precise. The native peoples of this great land named the mountains centuries ago. Denali means the High One. Sultana—or Mount Foraker, as you may know it—means the Wife.”

  Allan pulled a notepad and pencil out of his coat pocket. This would be good to take note of. “So who decided to call it McKinley?”

  John chuckled. “That’s a sore subject up here. It’s only been in the last couple decades, and many Alaskans aren’t too keen on it. Let’s just say a gold prospector did and leave it at that.”

  The story intrigued him, but he respected the man’s reserve. He seemed so knowledgeable and yet something seemed to hold him back. There was so much to learn. Maybe the gentleman thought it best to not overwhelm him. But Allan pushed on with his questions. He simply couldn’t resist. “What about bear and moose? I’ve heard they’re abundant and that gold prospectors had a lot of trouble with them.”

  John looked at him with his smile back in place. “There’s a lot of them, yes—also caribou, dall sheep, and wolves—but some of the prospectors’ stories are a bit exaggerated. Besides, those prospectors invaded the natural habitat of the creatures, wouldn’t you say?”

  Allan thought about that for a moment and nodded. “You’re right. In fact, isn’t that why the President made it a national park to begin with—to protect the wild game?”

  “Yes, he did. But they didn’t have a superintendent to manage it until two years ago.”

  “How do you protect a national park with no one up here?”

  “Exactly. There was a lot of poaching going on. But thankfully, they brought on Harry Karstens as superintendent. It’s a huge job, but he’s up for the challenge.”

  Allan leaned forward again. He knew that name. “Wait. The same Harry Karstens that was part of the first complete ascent of Mount McKinley? I read the book put out by his partner, Hudson Stuck.”

  “One and the same.”

  Guess there couldn’t be a better choice than a man who knew and understood the mountain so well. “Does he have any help in his role as superintendent?”

  “Not really. At least from what I hear, he’s the only one paid for the job. And it’s a big one.”

  “I can only imagine. There’re still no roads in or out?”

  “No. But the railroad does provide the access that will be needed for roads to be built farther into the park.”

  Writing down the facts he wanted to remember, Allan let the conversation die down. To think he was so close to where his father had last walked. Maybe there was some other explanation for what happened to Dad. He could only hope. His father’s body had never been recovered, so maybe there was a clue on the mountain somewhere. But what chance did he have at climbing it? He’d been hired to do a job. He’d best focus on that first. One day, he would make it up the mountain. One day.

  His mind filled with questions and he realized he had the perfect opportunity in front of him. “John, do you mind if I ask you more questions? If I’m going to be working up here, I’d like to learn everything I possibly can.”

  “I’m happy to help. It’s always nice to pass the time with good conversation.”

  “I’ve read incredible stories about the gold rush up here. Is there really gold for everyone?”

  John chuckled. “If only that were true. Well, I take that back. I would venture to say there’s enough gold for the world up here, but it sure would take a lot of men, a lot of work, and hundreds of years to bring it out.”

  As the train passed through thick trees and brush, Allan realized how true that statement had been. There wasn’t much “civilization” in Alaska yet and from what he could tell, there wouldn’t be for quite a while. “So what about the stories that talk of huge berries, and salmon that can be pulled out of the streams with your bare hands?”

  “Those are true. You just have to know where to find them.” John crossed his legs and rested his hand on one knee. “My favorite are the salmonberries.”

  For some reason that didn’t sound appetizing. “There’s a berry that tastes like fish?”

  “Heavens, no!” John’s laughter filled the car, causing several of the men to momentarily glance their way. “They’re just called salmonberries. Look like giant raspberries and can be orange, white, or pink.”

  The rest of the afternoon passed in good conversation and Allan filling his notepad with scribbled notes. It was easy to forget his exhaustion while conversing with John. The man was a consummate storyteller and walking encyclopaedia.

  Eventually, the train began a steady deceleration.

  John stretched. “Well, we should be getting close to Curry. That’s our stop. If you’re continuing on, you’ll spend the night there.”

  “Curry is my final stop as well.” Allan reached a hand forward. “It was a pleasure, John. Thank you for your abundant insight. I’m sure my new boss will appreciate the crash course you gave me.”

  “It was my pleasure. You are most welcome. I hope we will see much more of one another.” John clasped Allan’s hand and shook it.

  The train puffed and squealed as it pulled into Curry. Chaos ensued as soon as the train came to a stop. Allan grabbed his belongings and his hat and followed John out of the car.

  They stepped onto the platform, and in the crowd a young lady with dark hair smiled and waved. Her eyes seemed to twinkle. “Dad!”

  A massive two-story structure dominated his view. A couple of bay windows framed the lower level on either side of the canopy denoting the Curry Hotel Depot. The broad wooden platform stretched from one end of the hotel to the other and beyond. And all this. In the middle of nowhere.

  “Dad!” The waving young beauty drew closer.

  John chuckled and turned to him. “That’s my daughter. It’s nice to have a welcoming party, isn’t it? Let me know if you need anything. Just ask anyone at the hotel for
John Ivanoff and they’ll find me.” He walked away and toward his daughter.

  Everything seemed to stop. Allan felt his pulse pounding in his ears. Ivanoff? John Ivanoff?

  The noise of the platform died away.

  Looking from side to side, Allan tried to shake the feeling. But the world blurred around him instead. Several moments passed before he could see straight. Then his hearing returned. The engine behind him gave a huge huff. People were talking. Laughing. Milling about.

  Off in the distance, the dark-haired lady held on to John’s elbow as they walked into the hotel.

  But how could this be?

  Had he really just spent the day with the man responsible for his father’s death?

  3

  Mr. Bradley claimed Cassidy’s father as soon as they walked in the door.

  “John, good to see you!” The men shook hands. “Your new trainee should have been on that train as well. Did you meet him?” Mr. Bradley rarely took time to wait for a response, much less breathe. Always too much to do. Too much to say. “The summer schedule is getting overly full, so you’ll need to get him in shape as quick as possible.” He turned to walk away. “Go find him. His name’s Brennan. Allan Brennan.” And with that, he headed for the main desk in the lobby, talking all the way. “Mrs. McGovern, I am in need of the books for today.”

  “He always needs something.” Mrs. McGovern elbowed Cassidy.

  Cassidy laughed. “He never stops, does he? Sometimes I don’t even hear the words—they just seem to all meld together. Isn’t that right, Dad?” Turning toward her father, she gasped. “Dad! You’re pale as a sheet.” Grabbing his arms, she steered him toward a leather chair by the fireplace. “What is it? Are you sick?”

  He shook his head and sat. “Brennan. I had no idea.” The words whispered on an exhale.

  “What? That his last name was Brennan? I’m so confused.” She lowered herself to look into his eyes. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I’m fine.”