“Brown.” The injured man cringed as John lifted him to stand on his good foot.
“To help me get Mr. Brown down to the hotel.”
An older but fit gentleman raised his hand. “I’ll be glad to help.”
Allan moved forward to the President as they watched John and the other man work their way back down the path. It all happened so fast.
“Mr. Brennan, lead on.”
He nodded and moved forward, his thoughts all over the place. Why didn’t John just ask him to take the injured man down? Allan was, after all, the junior man. He couldn’t lead an expedition, much less one of this magnitude. With the President, for goodness’ sake!
Several minutes passed in silence as they trudged up the hill. What struck him the most was John’s servant attitude. It didn’t make a difference to the man about whether it was the President or some man of no rank whatsoever. He went to him immediately to take care of him. Now, what did that truly say about this man that Allan called boss?
“Tell me more about this great mountain and Mr. Ivanoff.” The President interrupted his thoughts.
Allan turned to see the President and First Lady smiling expectantly. Looking out at what he could see of the top of Mount McKinley, Allan stopped. “I’m afraid I must admit that I’m merely an apprentice. John is the expert, and I’m an inadequate replacement for him.”
“But he must believe in you and trust you if he’s asked you to carry on with us.”
Allan considered all that he knew. “Mount McKinley is called Denali or The Great One by the native people here. That’s the original name. It’s over twenty thousand feet high and is highly glaciated granite.”
The President laid a hand on Allan’s shoulder as he took another big step and turned. “It’s quite the view. Have you ever climbed it?”
“No. John has, but you’d have to speak to him.” Allan hoped his tone didn’t sound too dismissive.
“I can only imagine that would be an arduous journey and would take quite a man to accomplish such a feat.”
“Yes. My father climbed it, and he was quite a man. He made the trip with John.” Allan hadn’t meant to mention his father and immediately regretted it.
“He must have told you wondrous stories.”
“I’m sure he would have, but he died up there.” Allan looked again at the mountain. “The stories I’ve heard have all come from other sources.” He looked back at the President. “If you get the chance, you should talk to the park’s superintendent, Harry Karstens. He was one of the very first to summit the mountain.”
The older man frowned. “I am sorry about your father. What happened, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Allan shook his head. “I don’t mind, but I have no answers. My father’s business partner was also along on the trip and he told me a terrible storm came up just after they reached the summit. My father was lost in the storm. They never found him.”
“That must have been very hard for you. I’m sure it was hard on John and your father’s partner as well. John doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who would easily leave a comrade behind.”
Allan didn’t know what to say. The President’s words seemed to pierce his heart. No. John didn’t seem like the kind of man to leave someone behind.
“Well”—President Harding exhaled loudly—“I believe it’s about time to head back to the hotel. Tomorrow will be a busy day and I’d like to check on Mr. Brown.”
Allan stood for several moments thinking about the President’s words.
Maybe it was time he put aside the anger that had been born out of Frank’s rage and allow that perhaps John was truly the good man he appeared to be. The kind of man who wouldn’t have left his father on the mountain had there been any other choice. He’d already told Cassidy that he wasn’t angry. But had he meant it? Or had he just longed for her friendship? He hated how his emotions seemed to rock back and forth like a ship at high seas. What kind of man was he?
The kind to sacrifice himself to rescue people from a disaster? The kind to put one injured man’s needs ahead of his own desires?
Those were things that described John. But not Allan. The thought struck him hard. He wanted to be that kind of man. The kind of man who was like his . . . father.
And his father had believed and trusted in John.
It was time he believed and trusted in John as well.
Even with all the profits of The Irving/Brennan Company, the money was running out. And Frank didn’t like that one bit. He needed more of it—not less. Especially to keep funding his new investments that weren’t doing so well right now. But they would.
They had to.
He’d always been brilliant at the business side of things. So why were his choices and his investments failing? He didn’t like feeling . . . desperate.
He swirled the last bit of golden bourbon in his glass, then lifted it to his lips and gulped. Prohibition didn’t help matters any. He had to pay exorbitant prices to get the good stuff. Pity he couldn’t get in on that scheme. There were millions to be made in bootlegging, but so far his queries into such matters had been met only with suspicion.
Walking over to the window, he cursed Henry Brennan.
For decades they’d been friends. Even though Henry was always the good one, the friendly one, the popular one—he’d never excluded Frank and his melancholy, pessimistic ways. But then they went into business together. All of Henry’s ideas ended up successful. It got to the point where Frank’s ideas were barely heard—except by Henry. When the company became even more successful, the board always looked to Henry, not Frank—as if the outdoorsman was the brains, even though he was never in the office.
Still, Frank stuck it out. He showed up day after day and became quite a savvy businessman. Before long, he learned how to skim profits off the top, and money became the ultimate prize.
Who cared that Henry had a wonderful marriage, the idyllic family life, and everyone thought he was the driving force behind the company? That all would change. With enough money, Frank figured he could buy his position of prestige.
Then Frank’s wife left him, with a contemptuous letter spewing her hatred toward him, his lack of love for anyone or anything but money, and his fault at not being able to give them children.
The anger and hurt of that time pushed him over the edge—beyond a line he’d thought of crossing, but never thought possible.
So he’d plotted and planned and found a way to rid himself of Henry. If he couldn’t have the idyllic life, then neither should his partner. Besides, Frank needed the money.
The plan worked, but not completely. Somehow he’d missed the loophole that Henry could write an addendum to his will and add that Allan would inherit half of his father’s share. But three-quarters of the company wasn’t enough for Frank.
It was time for something more drastic. The Brennan family was nothing but a drain on his company. The stupid son-in-law worked for him, Allan took his quarter share, and who knows what else he’d lost to them over the years.
No more.
There had to be a way to get rid of Allan. After that, it would be easy enough to get rid of Henry’s son-in-law and any other Brennan connection.
Frank walked back to his desk and sat down. Drumming his fingers on the mahogany top, he thought of a different plan. Murder wasn’t necessarily needed. What if . . . a family member was found to be the one embezzling? And they were all in cahoots?
He smacked the desk with the palm of his hand and smiled. Yes. That would work. He could start with blaming Henry’s son-in-law, Louis. And then through the investigation, he could frame them all for scheming against him—stating they were unhappy that Frank received so much of the company when Henry died. There were already two sets of books, and it would be easy enough to create a third that would indict Louis.
Now it would all play into Frank’s hand. He would prove that Louis had been stealing profits to line his own pockets. It was their fault. They weren’t hap
py with the will, so the sad little Brennan family had cheated poor Frank all these years.
Ah yes. Poor Frank.
To avoid a scandal that would bring shame upon his name, Allan would agree to sign over the whole company to Frank. He would have no other choice. Frank would be sympathetic but firm. Once Frank pointed out that if charged, Louis would go to prison for a very long time, Allan would agree to most anything. He wouldn’t want to see his sister and her children left destitute and shamed.
Frank steepled his fingers together and leaned back in his chair. He could rescue his teetering investments and make even more money.
He would have it all, and this time nothing would go wrong.
10
Cassidy breathed in the crisp morning air. The Curry Hotel sat in the valley created by the Susitna River between two small ridge lines outside of the Alaska Range. The ridge across the river and to the west was about twenty-five hundred feet, and the ridge behind the hotel was somewhere around three thousand feet. She loved the safe and sheltered way it made her feel, encircled by these crests and hills. As if surrounded by family. It was . . . cozy.
But the thing she didn’t like was the obstruction of the view of the full Alaska Range. If she wanted to see it, she had to climb. Most mornings she had neither the time nor the energy. But today had been different. She’d been wide awake at 4:00 a.m. and couldn’t do a thing about it.
So she donned long pants and boots and headed up the steepest trail on Deadhorse Hill with her satchel and rifle slung over her back. It was the harder way to go, but it was a good deal shorter. And today, she wanted to get there as soon as possible. The summer daylight was nice this early in the morning, but she knew it would end up being a scorcher later, when she’d be working in the kitchen.
The events of the past couple weeks flew through her mind. It wasn’t every day they dedicated a national park and posed for pictures in the paper, or had a visit from the President. On the fifteenth of July, after the President and all his people left, life went on at the Curry. Even though they were all completely worn out, they still had plenty of guests to take care of—the train didn’t stop running just because the President came to Alaska. But oh, what fun they’d had listening to Mr. Bradley read the telegrams from his friends in Nenana.
Apparently, the President had missed the golden spike the first time he swung, and then he decided to just tap it in, since he had to hammer in the iron one that would stay in its place. But even this close to the actual location, the stories had already been changed and rearranged to fit the storyteller. And the heat had been so bad that day that several people passed out. Of course, the people of Nenana heard through the grapevine that many of the visitors had worn extra layers of undergarments since an “Alaska expert” had told them how cold it would be.
Cassidy shook her head. People’s fascination with the Alaska Territory was growing, and so, she assumed, would the stories. She was thankful for the press and the advertising—she really was. Alaska would develop and be known. But she already missed the quietness and solitude of the way it had been.
Before so many new people came to work at the Curry, there’d been much more solitude. Yet she’d never felt lonely. The difference now was . . . what? She’d tried to make friends among the staff, and although everyone treated her well and seemed to like and respect her, there weren’t real friends to be had. Not friends she could discuss anything of depth with. They were all caught up in the shallow frivolities of the day.
Except maybe . . . Allan. They were friends now. She’d noticed that he took time to find her and speak with her at least a few minutes each day. He was very nice . . . but . . .
She shook her head. She liked Allan a bit too much, perhaps. Still found herself looking for him and thinking about him. Was that normal?
Best to get her thoughts off the intriguing Mr. Allan Brennan.
But she did long for a true friend. Someone to share her thoughts and dreams with. Someone to discuss faith and questions she had in her study of God’s Word.
What an odd feeling to be constantly surrounded by people in the hustle and bustle of life and yet feel so very alone.
As she reached the top of the ridge, she made her way to her favorite rock. She plopped down and put the rifle beside her. She hugged the satchel close, not bothering to take it from her shoulder, and looked out at the mountains she knew so well. What would the future hold for her? Now that the railroad was done, the national park was in place, and people were coming. Even though the Curry was lavish and beautiful with amazing amenities, the rest of Alaska was still harsh and wild. It’s not like she’d have the chance to meet a lot of men her age. At least not men who would meet her criteria. She wanted a good man like her father. A God-fearing man who paid more than lip service to his faith. Sometimes it seemed like those men didn’t exist—that her father was the last of them. Pulling her knees to her chest, she wondered about the plans God had for her. Was it just to be a cook at the Curry Hotel?
Or would she get to have a family of her own one day?
Cassidy laughed out loud. That wasn’t exactly modern-girl thinking. Most women her age were caught up in rights for women, since they could now vote, keeping up with the men, changing their hairstyles and their clothes to rebel against the labels of the fragile female. And heavens, the new young maids were always talking about liquor, cigarettes, and things between men and women they shouldn’t know about.
Getting a job at the Curry had been educational to say the least. Her sheltered little world quickly changed as everyone sought to educate her in the times. But after the shock wore off, she realized these things had been happening since the beginning of time. She was perfectly fine with keeping her dress hems at a modest length and didn’t need to learn all the new lingo of the day. Nor did she care to try liquor or cigarettes, much less even speak of girls who wanted to be known as flappers.
So where did she fit? There weren’t any cities around. And she certainly couldn’t leave Alaska or her father to travel to the overcrowded and modern cities of the States—this was her home.
Pulling her Bible out of the satchel, Cassidy opened it to the book of Daniel. She’d been studying it with her dad for many months now—trying to decipher all the difficult passages in the later chapters. But her favorites were still the stories in the first six chapters.
Starting at the beginning, she read through chapter three without pause. As she looked up to the sky, she wondered if she’d be strong enough to make the same choices as Daniel and his friends, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. Would she stand firm should the test arise?
A rustling sound from somewhere behind her made Cassidy reach for her rifle.
“Cassidy? Hello?”
The male voice jolted her from her spot. No one had ever disturbed her up here.
Thomas’s head came over the ridge and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Thomas, I’m so glad it’s you.” She set the rifle back at her side.
He smiled at her and leaned over to catch his breath. “That’s a hike up here. How often do you do it?”
“Now, you’re not going to give my secret away, are you?” She placed her hands on her hips.
“Nah, I just saw you climbing up here when I was down at the creek, so I thought I’d follow you.” He stood up straight. “Make sure you’re all right and all.”
She worked to keep the smile to herself. “I’m perfectly fine. Thank you.”
“Oh, good.” He sat on the grass. “Whatcha reading?”
“The Bible.”
“Oh.”
“Have you read the Bible?”
“Sure, Miss Cassidy. The orphanage was run by missionaries and we had to read the Bible. If you didn’t read it, the preacher would smack you over the head with it. He swore he’d get God’s Word into us one way or the other.” He smiled at his joke.
She couldn’t help it. The picture his words conjured up in her mind made her laugh. She struggled to gain her composure. “That
’s not very nice. I’m so sorry that man hit you with the Good Book.”
“Well, it packed a wallop to be sure, and I guess it motivated us to read our assigned verses.” Thomas smiled. “Hey, at least I got you to laugh.”
“That you did, Thomas.” She shook her head and opened her Bible back up to Daniel. “Did you have a favorite book in the Bible?”
Thomas shook his head. “No, I guess I liked the New Testament better than the Old. The Old Testament made God sound mean and overbearing. Like the preacher.”
“Not all of the Old Testament is that way.” Cassidy scooted over a bit and patted the rock. “Why don’t you join me and I’ll tell you what I’ve been reading. It’s in the Old Testament and it’s really quite amazing.”
“Sure, why not?” He jumped up and made a beeline for the place beside her.
“I’ve been reading in the book of Daniel. Do you remember any of the stories about him?”
“He was the one in the lion’s den, right?” When Cassidy nodded, Thomas took on a look of pride. “I guess that’s all I know about him.”
“Well, there’s so much more. And by the time we get to the story of the lions’ den, Daniel was an old man. But he was a very young man when the book begins. A little younger than you, in fact.”
“Really?”
“Yes. And he was very handsome and smart. It even says, ‘well favoured, and skillful in all wisdom,’ but the problem was he was taken from his family—kidnapped—to a foreign land in order to serve a pagan king who didn’t believe in the God of all creation.” Cassidy realized maybe she needed to ask a really important question. “Do you believe in God, Thomas?”
“Of course I do.”
“And you believe in Jesus?”
“Why, sure, He’s God’s son. He died on the cross for us. And that’s why we have Easter.”
“That’s right.” At least he had some basics. “Well, here he is—Daniel with three of his friends—all taken from their homes and forced to live in this foreign land. You see, they were taken because they were ‘the best,’ and the king wanted to collect them, kind of like trophies. Good-looking, wise young men. Anyway, in this land, they were to be trained for three years and would eat and drink the king’s meat and wine. This wasn’t slave food—this was the good stuff. But guess what Daniel did?”
In the Shadow of Denali Page 11
