by Tricia Goyer
Overhead, a pair of kittiwakes rode on the air currents and called to each other with a dialect all their own. Near the far end of the glacier, a harbor seal rose and dipped, playing hide-and-seek with the visitors.
“Are you saying you’re not heading back tonight?” There was no hint of surprise in Mitch’s voice. Out in the wilderness, time didn’t matter as it did back home, and Brett couldn’t face the mounting responsibilities that waited. Was it selfish to want to stay out another day?
“I’m getting to the place where my mind is clearing of the clutter. Seems like I’ve been hearing God’s voice more in the past week than in years. Maybe because I’m finally taking time to listen.”
Mitch nodded, pointing to a horned puffin swimming past. “When there are many voices, it’s hard to tune in to the One you should focus on first.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Brett wiggled his feet against the pedals connected to the thin cables that controlled the rudder. When he pushed on the left pedal, the kayak went left. When he pushed on the right, it went that direction. Kayaking was easy; he knew how to maneuver to get where he wanted to go. Wish life would work that way.
He thought about his gear packed in plastic garbage bags and stuffed into compartments forward and aft. Should have enough food to last another day.
“Why don’t you stay?” Mitch said. “Camp out for a few days. I have food I can leave with you.”
A few days?
Brett shook his head. “My grandma needs me. I haven’t been around much to check on things at the house. And some of the folks from church want me to make a run into Juneau for supplies.”
Ice cracked around him, and even though the glacier appeared still, he knew it was in a constant state of motion. The little changes mattered enough to build up to a big shift. Nearly every time he was out, a chunk of ice broke free and slid into the clear blue water.
“There’s food at the mercantile and Toshco. I can stop in on your grandma too.” Mitch chuckled. “Glacier Bay survived without you for a few years when you were gone at that fancy college, buddy.”
Come to Me. The words played through Brett’s mind. Even though he’d played the guitar for years, he’d written only a few songs. One of them was a worship melody he’d penned with Ginny during their first month of dating.
Come to Me, and you will find rest. Find peace. Find hope. Find home.
She had been in his thoughts all day. This morning, as he stood on the shore of the bay looking out past the green islands and safe harbor, he sensed she was standing next to him. He’d even turned once, expecting to see her long blond hair blowing in the wind. Expecting to see her smile. How foolish. Last he’d heard from Lori the librarian—who kept up on all the entertainment news—Ginny had performed at George Clooney’s birthday party. But that had been months ago.
“So you gonna take me up on the offer?” Mitch asked. “I’ll float down, catch the tour boat, and tell them you’ll be ready for pickup on Thursday.”
“Today’s Monday. If I wait until Thursday…”
Mitch raised an eyebrow.
Brett released a breath. “I suppose everyone around town can survive without me until then. With your extra food and the salmon heading up the creeks, I’ll be good.” He chuckled. “I might have to fight a bear to get some fish, but that’s another story.”
Brett tucked the food Mitch had given him down by his feet. He knew he was making the right decision, yet as he watched his friend’s kayak glide farther away, defeat washed over him. He had to face the truth. He liked being needed.
Right now he needed to stay put, even though he didn’t exactly know why. But he’d learned not to ignore these feelings.
Once before, when he’d been at college, he hadn’t been able to get his grandpa off his mind. He’d told himself at least a dozen times to call him, but he hadn’t. A week later he got the news that Grandpa had passed away in his sleep. Yet the feeling Brett was getting now wasn’t that he needed to get back and call Ginny. It was the opposite. He needed to stay up here, where he felt closest to God, and pray. Really pray.
Chapter Four
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The small plane landed on the airstrip, and the pilot ushered Ginny and the other passengers to the far side of a chain-link fence to wait for their things. He followed with her guitar and computer case and then hurried back to unload the rest of the items. The sun was bright but the air nippy. Summer was still in full force back in LA, but fall came early up here. With the gold on the trees and crispness in the air, autumn had already shoved its way in.
“You Ginny?” a man asked, striding up to her. He wore a gray shirt and hat that both read GLACIER BAY LODGE. Above the logo he wore a pin that read MIKE.
“Yes, that’s me.” She reached out and shook Mike’s hand and then watched as he hurried to get the rest of her things. Heat rose to her cheeks when he snagged the two hot-pink suitcases. No need to ask which belonged to her.
The other passengers were greeted by family members. Some climbed into parked cars and drove away. She guessed she was the only one getting a shuttle to the lodge.
Ginny bit her lip. All of her clothes wore designer labels, and most of the shoes she’d brought cost more than the trucks in this parking lot. Why hadn’t she thought about trying harder to fit in? Maybe she could find a store around here and get more casual clothes.
They loaded up, and Ginny climbed into the passenger’s seat of the large white van. She started to put on her seat belt, but the driver’s hand motioned her to stop. “You can wear that, but you really don’t need to. The speed limit here is twenty-five miles an hour, and there’s only ten miles of road.”
She chuckled. “Oh yes, I forgot.”
“So you’ve been here before?” Mike asked as he pulled out of the gravel parking lot.
“No, but I feel as if I have. I’ve heard so much about it from Brett.” Ginny said his name so naturally that she surprised herself, as if being here erased all the pain of the last two years.
“Brett Miller?” The driver glanced her direction. “What a great guy. He helped me roof my garage. I’d been in town only two days, and he showed up with a ladder and hammer, ready to go. Won’t find someone like him every day.”
Ginny nodded. Wasn’t that the truth. She looked around through the forests of pines on either side of the road, noticing the small houses tucked into the woods. “So does he live around here?”
“Well, back a ways. You turn right after the bridge. But his grandma lives just up a bit. You’ll see her house about a half mile down on the right. We can stop there first, if you’d like. She could tell you if Brett is back.”
“Back?”
“Didn’t you know? He’s out on a kayaking trip. From what I heard, him and Mitch should be heading home tonight.”
“Do you always know the whereabouts of everyone in town?” She tucked her hands into the pockets of her fitted tweed jacket.
“Just about.”
Laughter burst from her lips. His honesty surprised her.
“I drive back and forth from the lodge all day. I’m always stopping by Homeshore Café or Fireweed. Bound to talk to folks and find out who’s up to what.”
Ginny nodded and glanced out the window. What should she do now? She hadn’t considered Brett not being here. How foolish… to think he’d be sitting around waiting for her to show up.
Mike slowed the van. He glanced over at her, waiting for an answer.
Did she want to stop? She’d talked to his grandma a few times over the phone. What if he wasn’t coming back today after all? What would she do then? One day was already lost getting here. How long would she wait around…for nothing?
“Well, it’s hard to keep secrets, that’s for sure.” Mike filled in the silence as he slowed the van to a near stop. “I just heard someone at Toshco—our local warehouse store—saying that Brett was supposed to fly them to Juneau sometime in the next few days.”
Ginny smiled.
Brett had gotten his license to fly after all—something he’d always talked about. What else had changed? There was only one way to find out.
“Yes, I’d like to stop.” She straightened in her seat. “Can you give me five minutes?”
“I can give you thirty if you’d like. I’m supposed to go back and pick up some guests from Homeshore Café. I’ll swing back by on the way.”
“Perfect.” She fingered her guitar case. “But, uh…my things.”
“Don’t worry, just leave them in the van. I’ll watch over them. There isn’t much crime in these parts, miss. If something goes missing, we know who’d done it—and because of that, people tend to leave others’ things alone.”
“It’s a different type of place,” she said as they pulled onto a long dirt road.
“That’s an understatement, but one thing’s for sure. This place tends to get under your skin. I couldn’t imagine not living here.”
Ginny smiled, but her mind was focused on something else. What if Brett’s grandma hated her too? After all, she’d hurt the woman’s grandson. And she’d sent back the family ring, with its large diamond surrounded by little ones on a simple band, without so much as a note.
As the van pulled to a stop beside a small cottage that overlooked the sandy shore of the waterway, Ginny put her hand on the car door handle.
There was only one way to find out.
* * * * *
The van roared away before Ginny had mounted the front steps. The ocean breeze swirled around her and she breathed deeply, willing herself calm. After all, nothing about this place looked threatening.
The cottage was made of logs. White curtains framed the windows and the glass-paned front door. An old rocker sat near a wooden porch swing. Ginny smiled, imagining Brett and his grandma deep in conversation as they looked out onto the water.
She lifted a quivering hand and knocked. A shuffling could be heard inside. And then she saw the bobbing, white-topped head of an old woman walking to the door.
The woman glanced through the glass panes, and though curiosity filled her gaze, her smile didn’t fade.
Ginny stepped back and allowed her to open the front screen door.
“Hello…”
“Mrs. Miller?”
“Yes, that’s me. Can I help you?”
“Ma’am.” She folded her arms over her chest and lowered her chin. “I’m looking for Brett. I heard he’s not here, but I was hoping—”
“Virginia!” Her name rang out, and color rose to the woman’s cheeks. “Is that you? My girl, come in, come in! I’ve only seen photos, but I’d recognize you anywhere. Someone as beautiful as you with that lovely hair…and eyes. Oh yes, so blue.”
Ginny raised her eyebrows in surprise, and her lips fell open. “Most people call me Ginny.”
The older woman motioned her inside. “I’m Ethel. Most folks call me Ethel”—her eyes lit up, as if sparked by a fond memory—“but you can call me Grandma. Brett didn’t tell me you were coming. Probably worried I’d tell Dove Fowler. News spouts from her lips like spray from a whale—not that you heard that from me.”
“Yes, well, he doesn’t know. I—”
“Come sit.” Grandma Ethel plopped on the floral sofa and patted the cushion beside her. “Tell me what’s happening with you. Lori from the library said you had the loveliest dress for that concert you did for those tornado victims. I hope you brought your guitar. I’d love to hear some of your newest songs.”
Ginny stepped into the cabin, the old woman’s words punctuating each step. She glanced around at the paneled walls and shiny wood floor. Lovely. So homey and welcoming.
To the right, the kitchen had white cabinets that looked homemade. A heart-shaped dish with cat food sat on the kitchen floor next to a silver water bowl. The cat was nowhere to be seen, but Ginny pictured it curled on the colorful rug in front of the wood stove.
A stack of red-and-white-checkered towels sat next to an old wash-tub, looking like a spread from Martha Stewart’s magazine. The place was warm and inviting, and so was Grandma. Surely the woman didn’t understand—really understand—what had happened between her and Brett.
“Ethel—I mean, Grandma.” She rested her hand on the back of a curved-back dining room chair. “You know who I am, right? Brett and I used to be engaged?”
Grandma’s lips pursed tight, and she adjusted her glasses on her nose. “Of course, dear. But I’m not surprised you’re here. You see, I’ve been praying—praying you’d come. My friend Dove Fowler has been too. Prayers pour from her lips even more than gossip…and if you know Dove, that’s saying something.”
Chapter Five
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By the time Mike, the shuttle driver, showed up thirty minutes later, Grandma Ethel had already taken sheets and blankets from her linen closet and set them on her trunk by the couch.
“No use you paying good money for those old rooms at the lodge, dear. They haven’t been upgraded in fifty years. I have to say my place is much more comfortable. Don’t you like the view?” She waved a hand toward the waterway, and Ginny sucked in a breath as a bald eagle made slow circles over the water. Then she looked at Mike, who waited patiently by the door.
“It’s a lovely spot”—Ginny nodded—“and I appreciate your invitation, but the website said my payment was nonrefundable.”
“Posh.” Grandma Ethel waved her hand in the air. “I went to elementary school with Dorothy, and her daughter manages the place. I’ll call her up later and explain.”
With a nod, Mike unloaded Ginny’s things and headed off. As Ginny moved her suitcases to the corner of the room, excitement bubbled within her. She was really here, and Grandma welcomed her with open arms. Maybe things with Brett wouldn’t be so bad. The women had been praying, right? A warm glow filled her.
For three hours, Grandma chattered on like a canary in the pet store, telling Ginny about everyone in Gustavus and where they lived. Not that it helped. Not knowing the people or the layout of the area made it impossible to keep track of what Grandma was saying.
And as evening faded into a long sunset, the sky glowing with Alaska’s “midnight sun,” Ginny’s inner glow faded.
“Want something to eat, dear?” Grandma asked, suddenly realizing the time.
Grandma looked nervously out the window, eyeing the dirt road. Then in near silence they nibbled on bologna sandwiches for dinner.
“I don’t understand it,” Grandma Ethel said between bites. “Brett said he was going to be coming back today. That boy always keeps his word. More than anyone I know, when Brett says somethin’, he means it.”
Ginny nodded. She didn’t need to be reminded. If Brett was anything, he was honest, trustworthy. How could she have forgotten that? Being in Glacier Bay and hearing everyone talk so highly of him reminded her of what she’d walked away from.
Ginny dabbed the corner of her lip with her napkin. “Maybe he’s on his way.” She tried to sound hopeful.
“Dear, that’s kind of you to try to ease my worries, but it only takes ten minutes to drive from one end of Gustavus to the other. He—” Grandma Ethel’s words were interrupted by the sound of a car engine. Ginny glanced out the window. Headlights moved down the driveway.
Her heart doubled and filled her throat, her mind flooding with a thousand things she wanted to say. Had he heard her music? Did he realize that she’d written most of her songs about him—even when she’d tried not to? She wanted to tell him she missed their long talks over coffee and that she hadn’t had a good belly laugh since the last time they’d played Frisbee on the beach.
As the truck parked, her hands trembled—and her lower lip too.
“It’s him.” She stood and moved away from the window, hurrying toward the small woodstove, suddenly worried about how he’d respond when he saw her.
“No.” Grandma shook her head. Her face clouded with disappointment. “That’s the headlights of a Ford.” The old woman rose and walked to the front door
with quickened steps.
Grandma continued talking, but Ginny couldn’t focus on her words.
What if something happened to Brett?
“What if I came too late?” Her words escaped as a whisper and were drowned out by the sound of Grandma opening the front door and the growing roar of the engine as it shut off. The car door opened, and a short, stocky man stepped out. Reddish eyebrows complemented his pale skin.
“Everything all right, Mitch?” Grandma Ethel called from the doorway.
The man waved a hand. “Yes, Brett’s fine. He’s staying out there a couple more days. No need to worry, Ethel.” He paused before her and waited to be asked in.
Grandma Ethel rubbed her forehead and then stepped to the side. He walked past her, then past Ginny as if she wasn’t even there.
“A couple more days?” The old woman looked back over her shoulder and then shut the door. “There’s some folks who need him to pick up an order in Juneau.”
“He’s aware of that.” Mitch moved to the kitchen. He was older than Brett—in his midforties at least—but he walked with a quickness that surprised her. He sat at the kitchen table, grabbed a handful of chips from the bag, and then with his other hand pulled a stocking cap from his head.
“And why would he stay out?” Grandma’s voice was sharper than Ginny expected. The sweet old lady was more of a pistol than Ginny had first thought.
As she watched, the man stroked down his hair. “Well, he had some thinking to do.”
Grandma Ethel placed a hand on her hip. “Thinking?”
For the first time, the man dared to look at Ginny. His cheeks turned pink as he did. Then his eyes widened. “My guess is that Brett had to do some thinking about…her.” He pointed.
Ginny sucked in a breath, unsure of what to do or say.
