“You don’t seem fine.”
Her father shook his head again and looked at her with a stiff smile. The light in his eyes when he greeted her off the train was gone. “Nothing to worry about.” He stood up. “But I do need a favor. Would you mind finding the young man I was with on the train? You probably noticed us shaking hands when you were waving to me. He’ll need to get settled and then I’ll meet with him in an hour in the baggage room.” His face was stern. “Can you do that?”
“Of course. I’m afraid I wasn’t listening to Mr. Bradley’s announcement all that close. What is the man’s name?”
“Brennan,” he whispered. “Allan Brennan.”
Something wasn’t right. Her dad had looked forward to the hiring of an assistant for weeks, so his sudden turn couldn’t be in regard to that. And no matter what he said, she was worried. Something bothered him.
“Did you eat today?” She knew her father was given to overlooking that simple need when he was pressed with work.
Again he shook his head, but this time his voice was less strained. “I forgot.”
Relief washed over her. “Well, you need to go to the kitchen right now and have Mrs. Johnson give you something to eat. Tell her you’ve had a spell.”
Patting her hand, he nodded. “I’ll take care of it in a few minutes.”
Watching her father walk to the railroad agent’s office, Cassidy puzzled over it.
He turned and looked at her. “Hurry! I’m fine and I promise I’ll get something to eat.”
Stuffing her hands into the pockets of her apron, she went in search of Mr. Allan Brennan.
Outside on the platform, it wasn’t hard to find him. He stood in the same place. Case beside him, hat in his hands. What was that all about?
Cassidy walked the last few steps to him and cleared her throat. His blond hair picked up the sunlight. “Mr. Brennan, I presume?” As he looked up at her, she couldn’t help but notice the pain etched across his face and in his green eyes. Pain and something else. Was it anger? Surely not. No doubt it was just the confusion of his new setting.
She reached out to him. “Are you all right?” Goodness, first Dad and now his new assistant.
Her touch appeared to break through his state. “I apologize.” He straightened his shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. “Yes, I’m Allan Brennan. But how did you know my name?”
Cassidy laughed. “Mr. Bradley—the hotel manager—just told me.” She stuck out her hand in greeting. “You’ll find up here in Curry that we all know everyone pretty quickly. I’m Cassidy Ivanoff. You’ll be working with my father.”
He took her hand and shook it. But the longer he shook it, the firmer his grip became. “So your father is John Ivanoff?”
“Yes.”
“He’ll be training me?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re his daughter?” He stopped shaking her hand but continued to hold it.
“Yes, we’ve established that.” She smiled and looked down at their hands. “Would you mind if I have my hand back?” Even though he acted a bit odd, Cassidy felt sympathy for him. She’d never get over the pain she’d seen in his eyes.
He released her hand. “Pardon me, Miss Ivanoff. I believe all the travel has gotten to me. I’m not at all myself.” His tone took on a more formal sound.
“All’s forgiven. Exhaustion and busyness take their toll on all of us. Even my father forgot to eat today. Why don’t you get your things? I’m to help get you settled. You have a meeting with my father in . . .” She glanced down at the watch attached to her apron. “Fifty minutes in the baggage room.”
He picked up his large case. “This is all I have. Lead the way.”
As they entered the lobby, Cassidy pointed to the left. “The dining room and main-level kitchen are over there. And to the right are the agent’s office, the baggage room, and several other rooms. Up the stairs are guest rooms, as well as straight ahead beyond the stairs. Downstairs is the section gang bunkroom, provisions rooms, downstairs kitchen, storage, and the laundry facilities.” She walked to the main desk in the lobby to the left of the grand staircase. “The manager’s office is behind here, and Mrs. McGovern is the head housekeeper. We’ll check in with her about your accommodations.”
Cassidy stepped back as the housekeeper gave swift instructions to Allan. While she waited, she studied him, wondering where he was from, why he was in Curry, and what troubled him so much.
“Cassidy.” Mrs. McGovern’s voice always sounded pinched when she was in a hurry. “Your father said you would show Mr. Brennan around.”
Cassidy nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I have a few minutes, but then I’ll need to get back to the kitchen.” Turning to Allan, she smiled. “Follow me, please. If you haven’t noticed, we’re quite efficient around here. The Curry Hotel is a busy place.”
Allan followed her out the front door and to the north of the hotel. “I can see that.” His tone was rather gruff.
Cassidy couldn’t help but feel she’d done something to annoy the man. They walked in silence for a few seconds.
“I met your father on the train. He seems very knowledgeable.”
Forgetting Allan’s mood, Cassidy couldn’t help laughing. If only this man really knew. Her father had more knowledge in his pinky finger than most men could hope for in a lifetime. “He is at that. He knows every plant, tree, shrub, hill, mountain, and beast in the interior of Alaska. If you want to know anything about hiking, climbing, or even what plants not to eat—he’s the expert.”
“Is he a tough man to work for?”
“Heavens, no.” Cassidy stepped around a hole. “He’s a wonderful man. Kind and patient. But I will say that he’ll expect absolute perfection because Alaska demands it. This part of the world is most unforgiving.”
They reached the staff housing and Cassidy checked her watch again. “Gracious. I must be going. We have a delegation coming through tomorrow to dedicate the national park. Don’t forget about your meeting with my father. He’s a stickler for being on time.”
Removing his hat again, Allan half smiled. The anger seemed to leave his voice. “Thank you. I’ll make sure I’m there.” He extended his hand.
Cassidy placed her hand in his, fully expecting to end their tour on a shake. Instead, Allan held her hand again and gazed into her eyes. His eyebrows furrowed. For a moment, the intensity unnerved her. Pulling her hand away, a little flutter started in her stomach. “I must be . . . I have to go.” She hated the way she stumbled over her words, but kept moving. No need to further her embarrassment. She honestly didn’t know what had gotten into her.
The man was handsome, but so were many of the fellas who came through Curry. It certainly didn’t give her a reason to swoon as soon as he smiled. Foolishness. That’s what it was. Besides, she just met the man. Granted, he looked pretty depressed when she first saw him, and the smile did amazing things to his strong face. . . .
Gracious, she wasn’t a ridiculous female. She refused to be like the other girls. Always trying to shorten their hems, wear more makeup, and try cigarettes. No. Not her. Cassidy Faith Ivanoff vowed to never try to impress a man.
If God had someone for her, He’d have to bring him all the way to Curry and love her exactly the way she was.
So what if God had brought Allan Brennan here to Curry? That didn’t mean that He brought him here for her. She’d never be the bee’s knees all dolled up in glad rags to go out on the town like all the young kitchen maids. It wasn’t like any of them even had a town to “go out” on. There wasn’t anything in Curry or even Talkeetna for that matter. But oh, to be young. They looked at the future with such bright and starry eyes.
Which made her feel ancient at only twenty-three. No. She didn’t feel ancient. Well, maybe a little. But it wasn’t like she didn’t love her life. She loved the hotel. Loved her job. Loved to cook. Loved to meet all the people who came through their neck of the woods.
But for the first time, maybe she did want
someone other than her father to love her.
Allan sat waiting for John Ivanoff to appear, wondering the entire time how he should handle the situation. He had enjoyed speaking to the man on the train, but then he hadn’t known who John was. Hard to imagine that he could act as though nothing had changed between them when everything had.
“Glad to see you’re punctual, Mr. Brennan, but I could have surmised as much after meeting you on the train.” John gave a half smile and motioned to the man behind him. “This is Mr. Bradley, the manager of this wonderful establishment, and our boss.”
“Pleased to finally meet you, sir.” Allan shook hands with the manager, then turned back to John. “Your daughter told me that punctuality was important to you—it’s always been important to me as well.” Allan thought the man looked weary—almost like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Perhaps something had happened, some bad bit of news had come his way. Was that why Mr. Bradley was here?
“You won’t be heading out on any guided tours tomorrow.” The manager crossed the small room and looked out the window. “We have people coming to officially dedicate the park. We’ll have to take supplies to the park entrance—it’s just a short distance by train from here. A party of sorts has been planned with a barbecue. Your job is to be the muscle for the event, and to assist Mr. Karstens in every way possible.”
John nodded.
“Yes, sir.” Allan wrestled with his feelings. He could see John was upset about something, but Allan wanted answers.
Mr. Bradley left the room and closed the door.
Silence stretched as John shuffled some papers on the desk.
Allan had come all this way from Seattle to learn the truth about what happened on that fateful day back in 1917. Still, he wasn’t cruel. He didn’t want to make things worse for John. The man might never give him the answers if Allan offended him first thing. He might even get himself fired, and then he’d never know. But why didn’t John bring it up? Maybe he didn’t recognize Allan’s last name. Had John forgotten his father—Henry Brennan—so quickly?
John took a seat behind the small desk. “Then there’s going to be the event on the fifteenth of July with President Harding. That group will be coming in on the fourteenth, and I’m still uncertain as to whether there will be time for anything more than the actual event. We will need to be prepared for almost anything.”
Allan nodded. “I understand.” But he didn’t.
“I know from our conversation on the train that you have a keen mind and a desire to learn. I also know from the information you supplied Mr. Bradley before he decided to hire you that you already know a great deal about vegetation and wildlife. That’s definitely to your benefit.”
“I’ve spent much of my life outdoors and have made it my habit to learn.” Why wouldn’t John acknowledge the obvious conversation that needed to be addressed? Was Mr. Bradley coming back?
“Well, while it will be to your benefit, Alaska is unlike any place else you’ve probably been. The isolation alone makes it almost impossible to easily recover from mistakes.”
Like the mistake that cost Allan’s father his life? It was all Allan could do to keep from voicing the question aloud. Now just didn’t seem the right time to get into the matter. Especially if their boss was set to return.
John didn’t appear to notice his discomfort, however, and continued talking. “The isolation is one strike against you. The unpredictability of the elements is strike two. I’ve lived here all my life. I’ve learned from the best and most knowledgeable about the weather signs and such, but the truth is everything can change up in the twinkling of an eye. Whether it’s the weather or a grizzly bear charging you from out of nowhere—you can’t let your guard down for even a moment. Do you understand?”
Allan nodded, his mind racing with accusations. But somebody let their guard down and his father died.
“A man can seem to have touched all the bases and still fail.”
Was this his way of apologizing for what happened? Did John even remember his father and what happened six years ago?
“So does this proverbial baseball game have a strike three?” Allan fought to keep his voice steady.
John looked at him strangely for a moment, then nodded. “Strike three is around every bush—every tree—every river. A man’s own arrogant self-assurance is the worst enemy of all. I’ve seen men come here so certain they knew what they were getting themselves into—so boastful and full of themselves. They were unwilling to listen to instruction or to receive correction. They thought they knew it all.”
Allan stiffened. He couldn’t help but wonder if John was implying this was the case with his father and Frank. He gripped the arms of the chair. “And what happened?”
John looked up. “Strike three. They were out. The game was over.”
Thomas Smith hauled the last bit of scraps out to the animal feed shack. Mrs. Johnson had been barking ongoing commands since Mr. Bradley told her about the fancy people coming through tomorrow. Thomas felt like he couldn’t keep up. But he had to keep trying.
If he could just hang on to this job long enough and prove to Mr. Bradley that he was a hard worker, maybe he could be trained for another position. Maybe one day, he could make something out of himself working for the Curry Hotel.
Most seventeen-year-old orphans never had a chance like this. So he’d best not mess it up. Taking a deep breath, he emptied the huge tub of its scraps and went to the pump to clean it out. Cook would never allow him to bring it back dirty. And he wanted her to be happy with him. His future depended on it.
Granted, he didn’t have a lot of book learning. But he could read and write and do simple arithmetic. The missionaries at the orphanage had seen to that. Maybe he could learn more if he needed to. He’d always been told that God would give him knowledge if he asked. Thomas wondered if God would give him better balance and less clumsiness if he asked.
“If You could”—he glanced heavenward—“I’d appreciate it.”
A rudimentary education in the Christian faith along with his book learning were things he was thankful for. The missionaries felt it was their duty to save the souls of the native children at the orphanage, and although Thomas was white, he was often told that without accepting Jesus as Savior, his soul would be doomed. It sounded like a terrible thing to be doomed, so Thomas had quickly agreed to repent from his sins—although he wasn’t exactly sure at the time what those sins were, since he was just a very little boy. But over the years, he’d repented to God every time he missed the mark. He’d learned that much. And he knew that Jesus was his only hope.
That became all too clear when the missionaries kicked him out, along with several other boys, when they’d reached their teen years. Overcrowding at the orphanage made it necessary, even though they provided free labor to the missionaries. Still, the missionaries had taught him to pray and believe in God, and sometimes that was all that got Thomas through the day. He didn’t have earthly parents who loved him, but he knew there was a heavenly Father who did.
Now if he could just keep from dropping or spilling anything tonight, he could breathe a sigh of relief.
As he walked back to the hotel, Thomas thought of Cassidy’s help earlier. She was so nice to him. Even when he messed up.
And there was something about her eyes. They were always . . . shining. Like she was—what was the word Mrs. Johnson used?—delighted about something.
He could imagine making it through each day if he could just hear her laugh or see her smile.
The bustle of the kitchen greeted him as he walked back in and put the tub under the worktable where it was supposed to go. Making sure it was stable and the handles were straight, he took a moment to catch his breath. As he looked up, he spotted Cassidy coming up the stairs with a large tray.
“Lily, we need to make sure the hollandaise is done in precise timing, so please have the egg yolks and butter ready for me in five minutes.” Even when giving an order as the
cook’s assistant, her voice singsonged through the air.
The kitchen maid nodded—“Yes, Miss Ivanoff”—and scurried off.
Thomas took that opportunity to move forward. “Let me take that tray for you, Miss Ivanoff.”
“Why, thank you, Thomas!” She relinquished her hold on it and pushed her hair back into place. “It was getting quite heavy.”
“Where do you need it?”
“Over there at my workstation by the stove. That hollandaise won’t make itself.” The most glorious smile lit her face as she beamed directly at him.
It took the words right from his mouth. All he could do was nod.
“Thomas!” Mrs. Johnson’s voice made him jump. “I need you to refill the flour bins and fetch some more cream from the creamery.”
“Yes, ma’am.” With a look back at Cassidy, Thomas was sad to see she was already back to work. But what he wouldn’t give to see her smile again.
He raced to the creamery and hefted one of the huge crocks. Even if he was clumsy, at least he was strong. The younger kitchen boys couldn’t lift these.
In record time, he made it back to the kitchen and earned an eyebrow lift and nod from Mrs. Johnson, which was no small feat. Feeling sure of himself, he grabbed the two large flour bins and ran down the stairs to the provisions rooms. He filled both to the brim and headed back to the stairs, taking them two at a time.
When he reached the main kitchen, Mrs. Johnson had a hint of a smile on her face. “Good job, Thomas, right when I needed—”
Before he realized what was happening, he tripped over his own foot. Determined not to drop anything, he held fast to the metal bins.
But the flour had other ideas. The fine white powder flew up as he tumbled down.
Landing with a thud and poof of white dust, Thomas found himself on his back holding two metal bins with a shower of white descending over the whole kitchen.
4
John walked toward the manager’s office, hoping for a few minutes with Mr. Bradley. It had been a long day and tomorrow would be even longer. Seeing young Brennan had turned his world upside down. For years, he’d been able to push aside the horrible loss of Henry Brennan, but the appearance of Allan brought it all front and center.
In the Shadow of Denali Page 4
