In the Shadow of Denali

by Tracie Peterson

  “No, I doubt that. Not you, Miss Sunshine.” Cook shook her head.

  Emotions she’d buried long ago came back. Dare she tell the truth? “Yes. Me.” She leaned forward and whispered. “My mother died soon after she gave birth to me. I never knew her. And then my grandparents abandoned my father and me because of my father’s native heritage. They disowned me. And they never knew me.” Cassidy took a deep breath. “And deep down inside, I have to admit that it hurt worse than anything I could have imagined. Why didn’t they want me? Their daughter was their only child! I’m angry at the prejudice and hate toward people’s heritage and skin color. I’m angry that I never got to hear stories of how my mother grew up or what she was like as a child. I’m angry that my mother died and left me. But I’ve put it to good use. I’ve always had compassion for the little guy—the ones left behind, the ones not chosen, the awkward, the less fortunate.”

  “Because you think that if you can help someone else not feel rejected, then you will feel better about yourself too?”

  “No, because I know that’s what God has called me to do.”

  “I don’t understand what you mean sometimes, Cassidy.”

  “It’s simple. As believers, we’re all chosen to share the gospel and show God’s love to everyone. No matter their station in life or the color of their skin.”

  Mrs. Johnson shaped loaves out of her mound of dough. “While I appreciate your words, Cassidy, it still doesn’t help me understand God. But I give you a gold star for trying.”

  “Well, that’s a start.” Cassidy smiled.

  “Of course, you would think that.” She shook her head. “Always the optimist.”

  “No one ever died from optimism, Mrs. Johnson.”

  13

  The day had not gone as planned.

  Frank eyed the papers in front of him. He had created all the documentation he needed to frame Louis Brewster—Henry’s son-in-law—for the embezzling. Now he just needed a signature from the man. But that proved more difficult than he’d originally thought. Especially since he didn’t want him reading any of the documents.

  Maybe he could get him to sign off on something else and then have a forgery made?

  It was a possibility. Frank tapped his chin with his pen. Why couldn’t the whole Brennan clan just disappear? He was tired of having to do all the work for only part of the reward.

  A swift knock preceded Lucy’s entrance into his office. She handed him an envelope with one hand and then finished putting on her sweater. “Sorry to barge in, but this just arrived and I’ve stayed much too late as it is tonight, Mr. Irving.”

  He grunted at her in response and she rushed out the door, closing it behind her. Whatever happened to help who stayed as long as the boss did? He shook his head. Terrible society they lived in nowadays. Perhaps he should go back to having a man as a secretary. Men were so much easier to handle.

  He opened the envelope and read the contents:

  25 July 1923

  Dear Frank,

  Thank you for your note. I appreciate your staunch dedication to my family and the memory of my father, but rest assured, I’ve got the situation under control. John Ivanoff is a wealth of information, and I’m certain that over time I will find out the truth of what happened to my father.

  My mother and sisters are aware of my location. Thank you for your concern for their welfare. Please continue to look after them in my absence. On my return, I think it’s time that I stepped up into a new role at the company. It’s what my father would have wished.

  As soon as I have any word, I will get the information to you.

  Sincerely,

  Allan Brennan

  Wadding the paper into a ball, Frank threw it against the wall. Stupid boy! Who did he think he was dealing with?

  Interference with his plans wouldn’t be tolerated. He’d worked too long and hard to accomplish what he had. He began to pace.

  He went to the locked cabinet where he kept his liquor. Fumbling with his keys, he finally found the right one. Nothing could be simple. He unlocked the door and opened it to reveal his choices. Picking the bottle of Scotch, he poured himself a generous portion.

  He tossed back the drink, then poured another.

  He thought of the ridiculous magic show he’d been forced to attend a few nights earlier. The tricks were accomplished by distraction—sleight of hand. Along with that, the magician had the help of a few props and an assistant.

  Frank took the drink with him to his desk. He sank to the chair and studied the amber liquid in his glass. Perhaps with a few props and an assistant he could accomplish his desires—perform his own magic.

  With any luck at all he might well rid himself of the Brennan interference in the business.

  There might even be an opportunity to rid himself of not just Henry’s son, but of John Ivanoff as well. Maybe murder was required after all.

  He smiled, then downed the scotch. Only time would tell.

  All the staff gathered in the lobby as Mr. Bradley worked to quiet them.

  Cassidy leaned up against the banister of the staircase. Her feet were killing her. It’d been such a long day.

  “All right, all right.” The manager rubbed his hands together. “Today, we found a station that will be broadcasting news in just a few minutes. There’s a slight crackle, so we ask that everyone remain quiet so we can all hear.”

  The staff quieted. Cassidy noticed that several of the guests of the hotel had joined them in the lobby as well. Mr. Bradley had made the announcement at dinner regarding the radio, but few had even seemed interested. Radio broadcasts were most likely the norm for them anyway.

  A touch on her shoulder brought her attention around. Allan held a chair for her. It was from the dining room; he must have carried it all the way over. “Would you like to sit? You look done in.”

  She sighed. “Thank you. That’s very kind. Will you sit with me?”

  He nodded and left for a moment, bringing another chair back with him.

  The radio man and Mr. Bradley fiddled with knobs as they all waited. Crackling and sizzling was heard, and then a long hiss.

  “It’s supposed to start in about two minutes, so please be patient.” Mr. Bradley nodded at the man.

  Allan leaned toward her and whispered, “Your lemon soufflé the other night was delicious.”

  “Thank you. How did you know I made it?”

  “Mrs. Johnson made an announcement—she’s very proud of you.”

  How had she missed that? Warmth spread through her. Maybe she was finally getting through to the older woman.

  “So is your dad. He talks about you all the time.”

  “Of course he does. I’m his only child. But it is nice to hear.” She studied him for a moment. If only they had the time to talk all evening. This man beside her definitely gave her mixed emotions. “He speaks very highly of you as well.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. He’s been very patient with me as I learn and work through everything since my father’s passing.”

  “He’s a good man.” She straightened in the hardback chair. Did Allan truly see that now? More than anything, she wanted to trust this man beside her. She also wanted to know the truth about what had happened. Maybe as much as he did. Cassidy felt almost certain that until then, neither of them would be free to move forward.

  She glanced at Allan to find him watching her. He offered her a slight nod as if having read her thoughts. Cassidy lowered her head, feeling her cheeks grow warm. She was glad to be sitting, as she was almost certain her knees would have given way at the rush of emotions that washed over her.

  Allan made her feel things she’d never felt before. Was that a good thing?

  The radio hissed and crackled to life. “We open our broadcast tonight with sad news for our nation. At 7:30 p.m. last night, August the second, President Warren Harding died suddenly in his hotel room in San Francisco.”

  Gasps were heard throughout the room, and Mr. Bradley quickl
y shushed them.

  Everyone leaned forward.

  “His countrywide trip—‘The Voyage of Understanding’—was drawing near to the end and he hadn’t felt well for several days. Mere weeks ago, on June twentieth, the President gave one of the first presidential speeches to be broadcast live by radio. Just recently, he hammered in the golden spike to complete the Alaska Railroad and enjoyed a tour of the Alaska Territory as the first President to visit the Far North. Last week, he gave a speech predicting that Alaska would become one of the United States. And now today, we mourn his passing. We will take a moment of silence to remember President Warren Harding, the twenty-ninth President of the United States.”

  Music played in the background as Cassidy sat there in shock. Hadn’t they just served the man a couple of weeks ago? How could this be?

  While she wasn’t really sure she liked him, she did have a lot of respect for the leader of the country. Of course, there were the rumors that he had a mistress, and the staff noted arguments behind closed doors. But Cassidy had been taught all of her life to ignore rumors. The President had been gracious and kind to her and the staff . . . and he’d come all the way to Alaska when no other President had.

  The hissing returned to the radio in the middle of the song.

  “We must have lost the signal.” The man fiddling with the radio furrowed his brows.

  Conversations started all over the room in a gentle hum.

  “This wasn’t at all what I expected to hear the first time I listened to the radio.” Cassidy wrung her hands. “How very sad.”

  Allan sat next to her in silence, shaking his head

  “He didn’t look at all like he was that ill, did he?”

  “No, I can’t say that he did.” He shifted in his seat. “He looked a bit tired after we’d climbed up the hill a ways, but the schedule they had kept up to that point was ridiculously full.”

  Much of the staff dispersed as Mr. Bradley turned off the radio. No one seemed to be in a mood to socialize after the word they’d just received.

  Allan turned in his chair to face her. “Do you think, perhaps, you’d like to take a walk with me? The fresh air might do us some good after such news.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I’d like that very much.” Cassidy stood and smoothed her apron. As Allan picked up their chairs and returned them to the dining room, she watched him and tried to calm her insides. They’d indeed had a rough start—that was for certain—but she couldn’t deny the way she felt drawn to him.

  He returned and offered his arm. Placing her hand in the crook of his elbow, she allowed him to lead her out the front door and onto the large wooden platform.

  “How about we walk down to the roundhouse? There’s a trail we could take from there if you’d like to walk farther.” His brow was furrowed again.

  “That sounds fine.”

  “My sisters would want to know everything about you if they knew I’d asked you on a walk.”

  The thought made her laugh. “Well, there’s not much to know. I’m just me.”

  “I beg to differ. You are fascinating, Cassidy.”

  “I’m glad you think so, but you do realize I’m pretty simple, right?”

  “Maybe in your tastes and expectations, but I don’t think there’s anything simple about you.”

  His words made her stomach flip. “And you’re no longer angry with my father?”

  “You keep asking me that, so it must be very important to you.” He sighed. “Your father has proven over and over again to me that he’s not the kind of man to leave my father to die.” He stopped and turned to look into her eyes. “I still want to know what happened up there, but I don’t blame your father anymore. I just don’t know what to think.”

  The fire in his green eyes blazed through her. “I can understand that. And I really do appreciate your honesty. I can’t imagine what you’ve had to go through. Have you had a chance to tell my father that you . . . forgive him?”

  Allan looked at her oddly. “No, because until just now I wasn’t sure I had. But now, talking to you, I realize he doesn’t need to be forgiven. He did nothing wrong.”

  She smiled. “Still, I know it would mean the world to him to hear those words.”

  He turned forward again and started walking. For several minutes neither one said anything, and Cassidy worried that she’d once again pushed too hard. When would she ever learn a balance?

  “The thing is, Cassidy, I’ve never met anyone like you.” Allan’s words came without warning. “And even though I’m still struggling with the death of my father, I want to know you . . . and your father better.”

  What exactly did that mean for her? She didn’t quite have the gumption to ask. At least not yet. She had to change the subject. “Speaking of my father, what did you think of the glacier?”

  Allan studied her face for a moment. “It was beautiful. More beautiful than anything I’d ever seen.” He seemed momentarily to have lost his thoughts. Finally, he continued. “I was quite amazed to learn the glaciers are always moving. It seems strange to imagine.”

  “Ruth Glacier is one of my favorites. But I think I like the Kahiltna Glacier better. Maybe because of the view you get between Denali and Sultana. Snowshoeing is beautiful there.”

  “You’ve been there?” His jaw dropped.

  She laughed again at his expression and squeezed his arm with her other hand. “Of course. You forget I was born and raised up here. Those mountains are home to me.”

  “Have you climbed McKinley?”

  “Gracious, no. I’m not up for that. Dad says one of the most important things about life in Alaska is to recognize your limitations, otherwise you’ll get hurt. But you never know . . . maybe one day.”

  “Your dad and I are planning a climb for next year. We wanted to keep it a secret to start with, since it will take much planning and preparation, but I’m excited. It will be a dream come true.”

  “That’s wonderful. Even though it scares me a little.” It scared her a lot. Who was she fooling? The last time her father climbed that mountain, one of the men didn’t return. What if that happened this time? She didn’t even want to think of losing her father. And what about Allan? Was he up to the challenge?

  “Cassidy?”

  He’d caught her lost in her thoughts. She smiled and pressed on, changing the subject to a safer topic. “Were your clients up for the challenge? I didn’t hear too many complaints from my father. That’s always a good sign. It always upsets him when people bite off more than they can chew.”

  “The group was interesting. They were very experienced riders and had obviously done other excursions, but probably not anywhere so remote. There were a few odd glances and questions at times, but for the most part, they were good sports and good travelers. I admit it made the trip that much easier.” Allan’s brow furrowed again. “So why is the Ruth Glacier named that? I meant to ask your father and I forgot. I like the other glacier name you said. What was it? It sounded so much more . . . Alaskan.”

  “The Kahiltna is the other one I mentioned. It’s the longest glacier in all of the Alaska Range, I think. Stretches for miles and miles and miles. And as to the Ruth Glacier, Frederick Cook named it after his stepdaughter Ruth Hunt when I was a child. Apparently, the name stuck.”

  “I’ve heard a lot of controversy surrounding Cook.”

  “Dad says there will always be men who will actually accomplish what they set out to do and others who won’t. Then there will be those who speak for and against those men. Every one of them will have their own reasons and motivations. If Cook didn’t actually summit Denali, the loss is ultimately his.”

  “Yes, but he claims to have been the first, and that was important to a great many people.”

  Cassidy shrugged. “There are a lot of unimportant things that people call important. I think the measure of a man is his honesty. I don’t abide anyone lying about their exploits, but neither am I inclined to give such matters more attention than they deserve
. It’s just not how I want to spend my time—my life.”

  They walked in silence for a few moments, and Cassidy enjoyed holding on to Allan’s strong arm. She felt safe. And comfortable.

  “So what is it that you really want to do with your life, Cassidy? What dreams do you have?”

  She continued to hold his arm with both hands and took her time, but gave him a smile. “You’re the only person other than my father who’s ever asked me that question.” She took a few more steps. “More than anything, I want to serve the Lord. Whatever that might look like. I know He’s got a great plan. I would love to have a family of my own one day. And, of course, I want to stay in Alaska. But I also really love to cook. It’d be fun to be head chef one day. Maybe.” She bit her lip. “Although it is a lot of work. While I’m young, it might be fun, but I can’t imagine doing it at Mrs. Johnson’s age. I think I’d be plumb worn out. But she doesn’t have a family to take care of, so maybe she pours everything into her work. I know it gives her satisfaction and she loves it.”

  Allan laughed out loud at that one. “She’s a tough woman, Mrs. Johnson. How is it, working for her?”

  “Oh, we get along just fine. Underneath all her bluster is a tender heart.” She grew thoughtful. “A wounded one, but tender with love as well.”

  “I think you’re probably the only person who would say as much.”

  She shrugged. “Sometimes you just need to look deeper. People have commented that you are rude and think yourself too good to associate with the rest of us. I’ve paid it no more attention than what they say about Mrs. Johnson.”

  Allan looked stunned. “People have said that about me?”

  “Well, you have to admit you have very little to do with anyone other than Dad. Even then, you don’t say a whole lot—unless, of course, it has to do with work.”

  “But that doesn’t mean I think myself better than others.”

  She looked deep into his eyes and shook her head. “No. It means you’re just as wounded as Mrs. Johnson, and you’ve built a wall up to keep others out. For some reason you both think that if you keep that wall in place, you won’t be hurt again. But what’s really sad is that you’re still wounded. Never mind getting hurt again.”