In the Shadow of Denali

by Tracie Peterson

  Cassidy had just retrieved one of the pans by the time Mrs. Johnson turned back to address her. “I want a word with you. In the other room. Now.”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and put the pot aside. Following Mrs. Johnson, Cassidy knew she’d have to explain herself.

  “You’ve been making mistakes all morning. First it was dropping that crock of cream. Then it was burning the rolls. I’ve never seen the likes.”

  “I am sorry.” Cassidy forced herself to meet Mrs. Johnson’s displeased gaze. “I haven’t been myself.”

  “I should say not. What in the world is wrong with you? You weren’t even this distracted when your father got hurt. Now he’s up and on his feet again, but you seem completely daft.”

  Cassidy folded her hands. “Mrs. Johnson, have you ever been in love?”

  The older woman’s mouth dropped open, but no words came.

  “I’m sorry if that was an inappropriate thing to ask, but . . . well . . . you see . . .”

  “You fancy yourself in love.” It was more statement than question. Mrs. Johnson led Cassidy by the hand to a chair. “Sit and tell me everything.”

  They each took a seat and Cassidy cleared her throat. “I don’t know if I’m in love. I think it’s very possible, but I’ve never had anyone around to tell me what a girl feels when she’s in love.”

  “And what do you feel?” It looked as if Mrs. Johnson was trying to keep from smiling.

  “Confused, mostly.”

  “Sounds about right.” This time Mrs. Johnson did smile. “Go on.”

  Cassidy shook her head. “I find myself thinking about him . . . Allan. I think about him all the time. I find myself wondering what his favorite food is and what he thinks about. I wonder if he ever thinks about me and if maybe he feels the same way.

  “One minute I think I have a good grasp on it—on my thinking and my heart, but then I see him and find myself quite overwhelmed. Sometimes when we walk together I’m so nervous I can’t even speak. My knees get all weak, and my hands get sweaty. Then just as I get control of that, he says something and I find myself feeling quite . . . well . . . I don’t even know what to call it. I don’t know what I’m feeling.”

  Mrs. Johnson nodded. “It sounds like love all right. Never felt quite as useless as when I was in love. I couldn’t seem to do anything right until I accepted I’d contracted the fever and gave in to it.”

  “You make it sound like a disease.” Cassidy laughed. “But I suppose it does feel like that. I feel like I’ve come down with something. I wasn’t even this bad off when I had the measles.”

  “Falling in love is never easy.”

  “Do you think Allan knows how I feel?”

  Mrs. Johnson snorted. “He’s too blinded by his own feelings to know much of anything.”

  “What do you mean?” Cassidy frowned.

  “I mean he’s batty for you. Even more so than Thomas. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He watches you all of the time. I feel quite certain he is just as caught up in this sickness as you are.”

  Cassidy felt a surge of joy at Mrs. Johnson’s declaration. “So what do I do? Do I just go and tell him how I feel?”

  “I have no advice on that matter. You see, love is a very individual thing. Much like your measles. Some folks take a light case and others fight for their lives. It all depends on the people involved.” She looked past Cassidy and seemed to forget she was even there.

  “When I fell in love, it was all I could do to keep food down. Like I said, I wasn’t any good to anyone until I gave in to it. But in my case, he was very vocal. He wooed and courted me in spite of my initial disinterest. He proposed several times, and I laughed at him and told him I wasn’t of a mind to marry. The darn fool wouldn’t take no for an answer, though. He told me that sooner or later I would be his bride.”

  “It sounds very romantic to me.”

  Mrs. Johnson looked back at her with a sad smile. “It was. And I miss him very much.”

  Cassidy reached over and took hold of the older woman’s hand. “But do you regret it—love, that is? Do you regret having fallen in love?”

  The look on her face changed to one of pure joy. “No, Miss Cassidy Faith. I do not regret it. Falling in love was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  The deck of the steamship was crowded as Frank edged his way to the bow. Now that the seas had calmed, everyone wanted fresh air.

  He just wanted them all out of his way.

  A plan had formulated in his mind over the last week. He could play the martyr—and a changed man all at the same time. The Brennans were all churchy, Bible-thumping, give-everyone-a-second-chance type of people. Frank could use that to his benefit. The devastation of the family embezzlement drove him to God. And there, he’d changed. Now he only wanted forgiveness and to offer forgiveness. Oh, he would make them feel so guilty that they wouldn’t challenge his legal rights. All would be right with the world.

  Let them think that anyway.

  The years of patiently waiting for his due were over. This time, there wouldn’t be any mistakes.

  Little by little he’d let various men know about his plight. Men he felt certain were and would remain on his side. Sympathy had poured in for him from business associates across Seattle when they’d heard the news about the embezzlement. Frank had to admit, he liked the attention, even if he had to keep playing the wounded victim for a time.

  He’d paid a reporter to put a story in the paper. Nothing that shared any real detail, but instead gave just a hint of scandal and the question of responsibility. This brought other reporters to his doorstep and allowed Frank to portray himself as the wronged individual who refused to point the finger at any one party, but felt unfairly taken advantage of by some betraying source.

  The only pieces of the puzzle standing in his way were Allan and John. Frank had thought he could have what he wanted in spite of them, but that wasn’t proving true. Allan wasn’t as easily manipulated as he had been at first. Given time, he would no doubt conspire with Ivanoff—if he hadn’t already done that. Ivanoff had never liked Frank—it was almost as if he could read his thoughts and knew the darkness in his soul. All the time on their descent from the mountain, Frank had been certain John was suspicious. Frank had been sick and played it to the hilt to avoid John’s endless questions about what had happened. However, he hadn’t been too sick to realize John suspected him of foul play. Once they were back in Anchorage, Frank rallied from his illness to point the finger at John. He had heaped copious amounts of blame on the man—condemning his leadership skills and calling him negligent. He hoped it might even lead to John’s arrest, but it seemed there was no real law in Alaska. People dying on a mountaintop didn’t seem all that unusual. He laughed in spite of himself.

  People dying anywhere in the wilds of Alaska didn’t seem all that unusual. In fact, it was expected. After all, death was around every corner for the trained and untrained alike. With any luck at all, Frank would use this to his benefit. With any luck at all, he’d soon be free of any entanglements. John Ivanoff and Allan Brennan would no longer be a problem.

  The hike for the morning had been canceled due to rain, and Allan was glad for the respite. He and John planned to meet in the basement reading room of the hotel to plan a little more for their Mount McKinley expeditions and guidebooks. Allan realized over all the talks he’d had with John that he preferred the native name, Denali. It rolled off the tongue and sounded regal and fitting for such a mountain as the High One.

  Even though he knew that John was using the distraction of planning the climb to keep his mind off Frank’s arrival, thoughts bombarded him hourly. He still had no idea how to learn the truth about what had happened to his father, nor what was happening back in Seattle. John had been right about one thing: Frank was crafty.

  Allan took the stairs down at a brisk clip and shuffled the papers in his hands. While John had several maps of the Alaska Range, there was still so much unknown a
bout each mountain. Glaciers were everywhere, icefalls and sheer granite walls were prevalent. And the crevasses. They were mostly unseen until upon them. Or falling into them.

  Every other expedition that they knew of had come into the Alaska Range from the north. The successful summit in 1913 and his father’s own summit in 1917 had both taken the Muldrow Glacier up. And that was after the serious trek into the national park all the way from Nenana.

  Even the entrance to the national park was far north of where they were in Curry. If they journeyed by train up there, it would only be wasted time and energy. Whereas at Curry they had the prime location to start.

  As he laid the papers out on the table, excitement built in Allan. Curry’s location was not only perfect for the railroad as a needed stop between Seward and Fairbanks, but once the ridge to the west was crested, the views of the Alaska Range were incomparable. And they were so close. In fact, Curry was only forty miles away from Denali “as the crow flies.” Wouldn’t it be wondrous to one day open up the Curry Hotel as the premier location to venture into the national park and climb the tallest mountain in North America?

  Thoughts of staying in Curry long-term appealed to him. More than he’d ever imagined they would. He enjoyed working with John and knew the man’s dream would be to lead expeditions up the mountains. He thought it more than a little exciting to be a part of that. Even plans to create and publish guidebooks gave him a sense of satisfaction that had long been missing in his life.

  Then there was Cassidy. Just the thought of spending time with her thrilled him. He had to admit it. There were feelings present.

  But she held back. And with good reason. Allan had come here under different pretenses. Granted, he still wanted to find out what happened to his father, but before, he’d thought John was responsible. And he’d blamed God. Admittedly, he still did. Allan hadn’t quite come to terms with that, but at least now he actually wanted to. He also knew he’d have to figure that out before he could advance his relationship with Cassidy.

  He shook his head. One step at a time.

  “Just wait until you see this latest map.” John entered with a huge smile on his face holding a long roll of paper. “Karstens has been working on it for the government and he allowed me to copy it. It took a while, but I believe I was able to duplicate it correctly.”

  “Let’s open it up.” Allan felt like a little boy planning his first tree house.

  “Now, if you look here”—John pointed with his pen—“I believe that for our first ascent we could take the Ruth Glacier up to the east side of the buttress. From there it would be very steep, but the south summit is doable, depending on the icefalls and crevasses. Since we already have a decent trail blazed from here to the Ruth, we would just need snowshoes and a dogsled team to go up the glacier for about thirty or so miles and then our climbing equipment from the wall here. Base camp could be here, in the northwest fork of the glacier that climbs up.”

  Allan studied the idea John had. “This looks outstanding. The most distance will be covered on the glacier, correct?”

  “Yes, but the most time-consuming will be above ten thousand feet. And that’s after we reach the wall here.”

  “I like it. So for the second ascent, what were your ideas?”

  “I haven’t studied it enough, but the Kahiltna Glacier seems to be the next logical step. I’m familiar with the glacier, but not with that side of Denali.”

  Allan nodded and studied the map a bit more. “Well, then, I think you’re right. We should start with what we know and go from there. There’s bound to be more than one good way to reach the summit, right?”

  John laughed. “Yes, but sometimes, you find several other ways that do not reach it at all. I’ve explored the possibilities and discussed it at length with Karstens. I’ve even read things written by others who attempted to explore the area.”

  “I’ve climbed a few fourteen-thousand-foot peaks in the States with my father. But that’s been years and, of course, not this far north. Should we attempt a smaller peak in the range first, for training purposes?”

  “That would actually be very wise. We could try for the Child first if you would like. That would get you used to the sleds, snowshoes, and other climbing apparatus. As well as the weather.”

  “When should we plan?”

  “I’d say March or April for the smaller mountain. And then aim for a June expedition on Denali.”

  “That will give us plenty of time to put away more stores of food.”

  John brought over another piece of paper and a pen. “Karstens wrote this down for me—it’s how they sustained themselves in 1913. Granted, they had to take lots of time away from the expedition to hunt and then prepare it, but we have the upper hand. We can start on it now and preserve it to take with us.”

  Studying the paper, Allan was fascinated. Rather than taking cans of pemmican with them, they made their own. He read aloud. “. . . A fifty-pound lard can, three parts filled with water, was set on the stove and kept supplied with joints of meat. As a batch was cooked we took it out and put more into the same water, removed the flesh from the bones, and minced it. Then we melted a can of butter, added pepper and salt to it, and rolled a handful of the minced meat in the butter and moulded it with the hands into a ball about as large as a baseball. We made a couple of hundred of such balls and froze them, and they kept perfectly. When all the boiling was done we put in the hocks of the animals and boiled down the liquor into five pounds of the thickest, richest meat-extract jelly, adding the marrow from the bones. With this pemmican and this extract of caribou, a package of erbswurst, and a cupful of rice, we concocted every night the stew which was our main food in the higher regions.”

  Putting the paper down, Allan looked back to John. “I’ve had the canned store-bought pemmican on other expeditions with my father, and it wasn’t pleasant at all. This actually sounds good. When should we go hunting?”

  Another laugh. “As soon as we have another break in the schedule. I don’t think Mr. Bradley will mind at all. Especially since he knows that we are doing all of this to expand the experience for future guests of the Curry.”

  “Mr. Brennan!” Thomas’s voice carried down the stairs. He rounded the corner and strode purposefully to Allan. “Another telegram.”

  “Thank you, Thomas.” Allan tore the envelope and muttered, “I swear the telegraph company is the one benefiting from this fiasco.”

  John patted Thomas on the shoulder. “And thank you for all your hard work lately. We have appreciated you.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Ivanoff. I’m finding that even though I like kitchen work, I like the outdoors and hiking a lot more. Especially when we go fishing.” The boy, who was really almost a man, smiled at them both. “Of course, I don’t get to see . . . ah . . . some of the folks in the kitchen when I’m working outside.”

  Their conversation faded behind Allan as he walked away and read the brief note.

  26 August 1923Frank coming to you (stop)Found evidence of foul play at Henderson’s (stop)Police on the case (stop)Be wary (stop)Best not to tell him you heard from me (stop)Louis

  A thousand questions clamored for attention in his mind. Henderson was the auditor who worked for his uncle. What kind of foul play? Did that mean the man was dead? How did Louis know Frank was coming to Alaska? Or did the police suspect something and they tried to warn the family?

  “Allan?” John’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Everything all right?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  21

  As he made his way back to the kitchen, Thomas thought about Cassidy. She and Mr. Brennan seemed to be spending a lot of time together lately. And he liked Mr. Brennan a lot. But what if Cassidy did too?

  “If she does, it’s because I haven’t told her how I feel,” he murmured. It made perfect sense that Cassidy would want to share her time with someone. Thomas just had to find a way to let her know how he felt.

  The object of his thoughts appe
ared and she jumped back.

  “Goodness, Thomas.” She put a hand near her throat. “I didn’t realize you were right there.”

  “Sorry to startle you, Miss Cassidy. I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “That’s all right.” She took a deep breath and folded her hands in front of her. “I actually wanted to talk to you.”

  “Really?” His insides quivered and he couldn’t help the smile that covered his face. She’d looked for him! Maybe explaining his feelings wouldn’t be so hard after all.

  “Yes.” Then she gave him one of her beaming smiles that had the potential to melt all the snow on Mount McKinley. “Why don’t we go sit in the dining room?”

  He nodded and followed her. Anything she wanted. He’d follow her anywhere. He pulled out a chair for her and then took a seat on the other side of the table so he could look into her expressive eyes. She really did have the most beautiful eyes.

  She placed her hands in her lap. “I hope you know I think very highly of you, Thomas. I’ve seen you work hard to make changes around here and you’ve borne up under that stress with great dignity.” She paused and cleared her throat. “I also want you to know that I like you very much.”

  “I like you too.” More than he could say. In fact, his brain couldn’t come up with anything better to say and his mouth felt like it was stuffed with dry bread.

  Another brilliant smile. “I just want to make sure that I haven’t confused you.”

  He furrowed his brow. Confused him? She seemed to be the only person who could explain things to him where he actually understood.

  “Let me start again.” She looked down and then back into his eyes. “It has come to my attention that you might perhaps think of my friendliness toward you as if it’s in a romantic way. And it wouldn’t be fair for you to keep thinking like that.” She drew a deep breath and continued. “Not that you aren’t deserving of a girl’s romantic feelings toward you—you are a wonderful young man—it’s just that I would never have wanted to give you the wrong impression. I’m so sorry if my actions to you have been untoward.”