by Ann Warner
“He’s huge into abominations. French kissing is high on the list—only permitted in marriage it seems. But then he trashed marriage by saying it was a lesser calling than celibacy. If you’re hoping to recruit more nuns this is not, in my opinion, the way to go about it.”
Gladiolus cocked her head. She looked like a bright-eyed sparrow. “How would you do it?”
“Well, for one thing I’d ditch the black serge.”
Gladiolus twinkled, there was no other word for it. “As a matter of fact, we’re working on it. Anything else?”
“You don’t make yourselves more appealing by saying that being nuns elevates you above the rest of us.”
“Of course we don’t.” Gladiolus exchanged a glance with Thomasina. “Thomas, you need to do something about this.”
“Perhaps we should sit in on this evening’s talk,” Thomasina said.
“But he may have already used his best material.”
“Well, we’ll just see, won’t we.”
Five minutes into the evening’s oration, it was clear the good father had a lot more to say, this time about the evils of petting, light or heavy. He was so explicit it was actually kind of interesting. Once again, he ended by saying they could avoid such occasions of sin by answering the higher call to enter the religious life.
Leaving the chapel, Clen didn’t see Thomasina or Gladiolus, but perhaps they’d hidden themselves. She doubted the priest would have given quite the same talk had he spotted nuns in the audience.
Thomasina sent for Clen after breakfast. “We’ll be making the announcement shortly that Father had to leave last night to attend his sick mother. I thought I’d better let you know in case you planned to cut the session.”
“Never. After last night I’ve been waiting with bated breath to see if he could top himself.”
“Unfortunately, thanks to you, we’ll never know.” Thomasina’s eyes danced.
“I thought you said he had to leave because his mother was ill.”
“I did, didn’t I? And now perhaps you could try to remain silent for at least this last day of retreat?”
Clen squeezed her lips together and nodded. Then she ducked out of Thomasina’s office before she dissolved in giggles.
For a short time, the episode had muted her worries about Josh—worries that wove like a bass note through the melody of her life.
At Christmas, her father met Clen at the bus station. After hugging her, he stood back, holding her hands in his. “Well, well, pretty lady. It surely looks like college agrees with you. You’re blooming like a rose.”
He used to call her his pretty little lady, even when her face was dirty and her knees scabbed up. Then she got her growth spurt and shot up to nearly six feet and he dropped the “little.”
He ruffled her hair. “I like this new look. It suits you.”
When they arrived home, her mother, who was stirring something on the stove, turned to hug Clen. She arrested halfway into the motion, as if she were playing Statues. Her eyes blinked rapidly. “Oh, Michelle. What happened to your hair?”
“I didn’t have time to mess with it, Mom.”
“Well, thank goodness it will grow out.”
Clen swallowed her disappointment, although she knew it had been optimism of the loftiest sort to expect her mother to accept, let alone compliment, her new hairstyle.
She took off her coat and her mother’s nose wrinkled, but Clen was expecting that. “Slacks are more practical for travel, Mom.”
“Of course.” Her mother smiled and Clen realized how much older and sadder she looked. “I’m so glad you’re home, sweetie. The boys can hardly wait to see you. They’re in the den.”
Clen went down the hall, her heart rate quickening at the thought of seeing her brothers for the first time in four months. Although her mother had reassured her regularly Josh was doing well, Clen was anxious to verify that.
She stopped in the doorway to the den to find it had been converted into a bedroom. Jason was sitting at a card table in one corner, frowning in concentration as he put together a model airplane. Joshua lay curled in the middle of a hospital bed, apparently sleeping.
She said a soft hello, and Jason looked up with a thoughtful expression. His skin was translucent under its scattering of freckles and his eyes were a good deal older than a ten-year-old’s had any right to be. She forced a smile. After a beat, he grinned back.
“Hey, Mickey La, you look good. Like a movie star almost.”
“Thanks, Jase.”
He slipped off the chair and came over for a hug. He’d grown at least two inches since September. His shoulder blades—angel bones, their mother called them—were sharp ridges under her hands.
She let go of Jason and stepped over to the bed. Joshua opened his eyes and gave her a sweet smile. She reached out to smooth his hair, which was wispy and thin. “How are you, Josh?”
“I’m okay. A little tired. I’m glad you’re home.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
No question. Her mother had lied about how well Josh was doing.
“I don’t think I should go back to school,” she told her parents after the boys went to bed that night. “I want...I need to be here with all of you.”
“Of course you’re going back, Michelle.” Her mother used her no-ifs-ands-or-buts voice, the one she’d used when picking out Clen’s college wardrobe.
“But Josh...he’s dying, isn’t he.”
“No!” Her mother’s voice was edged with panic. “You mustn’t say that or even think it.”
Clen’s father moved to put an arm around her mother. “The treatments are hard on him but his doctors are very optimistic,” he said.
“If I go back—”
“When you go back,” her mother said.
“—you have to tell me the truth about how he’s doing. I can come home, be here...help you.”
“We won’t know much until after the next round of treatments,” her father said. “Go back to school, Michelle. Finish the year, at least. Then, we’ll see.”
Her mom started sobbing and, coward that she was, Clen left her father to be the comforter.
By second semester, Clen was no longer getting demerits. That meant no more summonses to Thomasina’s office. She’d enjoyed matching wits with Thomasina and she missed their meetings. On a whim, she stopped by to see the nun.
When she knocked on the door frame, Thomasina looked up from her work. “Clen, how lovely to see you. Do you have a minute? Come, sit down.”
Clen took a seat in the chair she’d sat in as a miscreant, still debating whether the impulse to tell Thomasina about Josh was the right one.
“Did you have a good Christmas?” Thomasina asked.
The perfect opening, but still Clen hesitated. “Mom fussed about my hair.”
“Well, it’s a good thing she didn’t see the first version.” Thomasina’s eyes glinted with amusement. “You looked like you’d been attacked by a demented wombat.”
“That could hurt my feelings, you know.” Instead, Thomasina’s comment had made her smile.
“This second attempt is very becoming. I expect your mom is sad to see you growing up so fast.”
Clen shoved the words out. “My brother’s sick.”
Thomasina’s smile immediately faded. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yes. Well. He’s getting better. At least Mom and Dad keep saying he is. He has leukemia, and the treatments make him so ill. Sometimes I feel guilty about being here instead of at home, but Mom and Dad insisted I come back.”
“Oh, my dear, what a difficult thing to bear.”
“I don’t know what I should do.”
“Nobody can tell you what’s best, Clen. Just that whether you choose to stay or go, there will be consequences.”
Clen fiddled with a loose thread on her blouse, thinking about that. Consequences. Always the rub.
“You can come see me anytime,” Thomasina said. “I’ll keep you and your famil
y in my prayers. What is your brother’s name?”
“Joshua. He’s ten.”
“Oh my. God will watch over him, Clen. Have no doubt.”
But she did.
Chapter Six
1982- 1984
Seattle, Washington
Jeannie stood silently beside Gerrum in the Joyful’s cockpit. He’d called his sister shortly after dawn to invite her to spend the day on the water and, without hesitation, she’d said yes.
“The engagement’s off.” He didn’t expect to speak so bluntly, but once the words were out, a weight lifted.
“Oh, Gerrum, I’m sorry to hear that. What happened? You both seemed so happy yesterday.”
“Yeah.” They were, and then, abruptly, they weren’t. “I told her I want to take a leave this summer.”
“Your timing could have been better.” Her tone was mild and held no reproof, one of the many qualities he loved about her.
“She was going to be upset no matter when I told her.”
Jeannie placed a hand on his arm. Fierce as a child, she had matured into a serene woman. “Perhaps with good reason. You are changing the rules.”
But what happened with Pam was more than bad timing or rule changing. If that were the whole of it, he’d right now be seeking her out, trying to reconcile. “Winston took me aside yesterday. He wanted to make sure I knew the Palmers were concerned about me taking a dip in their genetic pool. He said seeing you reassured them.”
“But surely Pam didn’t—”
“Yes, she did, although she was willing to overlook my ancestry, as long as I kept my job.”
“Can’t you work it out?”
That was the dilemma. After all, how could a single quarrel be enough to end a relationship that twenty-four hours ago he’d expected to last the rest of his life? Except, unfortunately, or fortunately, that single quarrel revealed something so essential, so divisive, something he’d never even suspected...
The Joyful’s bow dipped, then came up as they bounced across the spreading wake of a container ship headed toward the port of Seattle. Spray slapped against the windscreen. That wake...rather like what happened last night. Starting out small and focused, but growing until it rocked and shook everything in its vicinity.
He’d labeled what he felt for Pam, love. But it must have been less than that, because today, with the ocean sparkling and a brisk breeze to push against, he wasn’t grieving her loss the way he expected to. There was pain, of course. Pain it was difficult to pin down to its exact geography, but he was beginning to suspect it wasn’t a broken heart.
“This is a surprise, Gerrum.” Walter Pierson leaned forward with a frown. “I thought you were happy here. What can I do to change your mind?”
“Nothing, I’m afraid. I do appreciate all the opportunities you’ve given me.” Including the office with a view of skyline and docks almost as good as this one.
“It’s Rhinehard, isn’t it. I heard he was sniffing around. We’ll match his offer.”
“It’s not Rhinehard, and I’m not trying to hold you up for more money. I’m going to Alaska.”
“Alaska?”
“I want to spend time there. See what develops.”
“Oh, I get it. A reconnecting with your roots thing, eh?”
His roots were mostly a cause of discomfort. His parents’ unconventional union had led to unpleasant experiences for both them and their offspring. But while roots-reconnecting was not exactly his goal, it was close enough, he supposed.
“Hell, if that’s it, take a leave. Get it out of your system. Then you can come back refreshed. Ready to redouble your efforts.”
If Walter had stopped with the first statement, Gerrum might have been tempted. It was his original plan, after all. But the reminder any concession granted now would require payback later, firmed his resolve.
“I appreciate the offer, but no thank you.”
Walter sat for a moment, then pulled out a cigar and worked at lighting it. “Could be a bust, you know. What then?”
“I won’t know until, or if, it happens.”
“Well, if it does, check with me first. Can I get your agreement on that?”
“If I ever return to Seattle with the intention of practicing family law, I’ll let you know.”
“Humph. Don’t think I’m not aware of the disclaimers in that statement.” The cigar was finally drawing, and Walter took a couple of puffs, examining Gerrum as he did it. “When I turned forty, I had a midlife crisis, you know.”
“How did you handle it?”
“Not well. Almost got divorced over it, as a matter of fact. Then I came to my senses. No doubt you will, too. When you do, we’ll be glad to take you back.”
Although comforting to have a fall-back position, in this instance Gerrum preferred not to be tempted to return to the easy and familiar.
Wrangell, Alaska
Gerrum pulled into Wrangell’s Reliance Harbor about four in the afternoon and checked in with the harbormaster. He was directed to a temporary berth amidst a cluster of boats—everything from a sleek white yacht to an ancient tug.
The day was warm for early April, and the clear skies and calm seas had made the run from Petersburg a pleasant one. He’d almost decided to stay longer in Petersburg, where he’d spent the morning writing, but he wanted to visit more of the small communities dotted along the inland waterway between Ketchikan and Juneau before deciding where to anchor for the summer.
After securing a berth for the Joyful, he walked downtown, making note of amenities like cafés, shops, and grocery stores. Wrangell’s downtown was larger than either Petersburg’s or Haines’, and the buildings comprising the Wrangell community curved around a mountain. Unlike Ketchikan, no houses perched on the side of that mountain to be accessed by steep sets of stairs. And unlike Petersburg, there were no sloughs that at high tide were deep enough to handle a good-size boat, but at low tide emptied out to roughly the depth of a wading pool.
He headed back to the marina, pleased with what he’d seen. When he reached Bear Lodge, located near the marina, the idea of spending the night in a bed that didn’t move, and bathing in abundant hot water was suddenly appealing.
After showing Gerrum a room, the innkeeper, one John Jeffers, offered him a cup of coffee, and Marian Jeffers joined them in the inn’s dining room.
“We’ve got lots of nice places around Wrangell,” John said when Gerrum asked about area attractions.
“There’s the garnet reef. It was willed to the Boy Scouts, but anyone can buy a permit and do their own digging. Even without digging, it’s an interesting place to walk around. Then there’s Anan Observatory where you can watch bears going after salmon.”
“And don’t forget the Stikine River,” Marian added.
“Yep. That’s a good one. East of here, on the mainland. Navigable all the way into Canada. There are hot springs about twenty miles in, glaciers, waterfalls, lakes. Makes for a nice day if you’ve got a fast boat and the tides cooperate.”
“The tides?”
“The Stikine delta empties out real good at low tide,” John said. “Means, you don’t time it right, you can get stuck getting back to Wrangell.”
“A time-honored Wrangell romantic tradition,” Marian said with a chuckle.
The next morning, Gerrum walked downtown to the Visitors’ Center.
“You the one with the pretty green boat?” asked the middle-aged woman behind the counter.
Taken aback at how fast that information had made the rounds, he smiled. “Guilty as charged. I’m Gerrum Kirsey.”
“Pleased to meet you.” She reached a hand out. “Doreen Matthews. You’re Native, ain’t you.”
“My mother’s Tlingit. From this area, originally.”
“Well, how about that. Welcome home, Gerrum Kirsey.”
“Thank you.”
“What can I do for you?”
“You free for a cup of coffee?”
She grabbed a sweater, put up a sign
, and, chatting all the way, walked with him to Maude’s Café. Garrulous and friendly, Doreen was clearly an excellent choice for the Visitors’ Center. She was also direct and inquisitive.
After he let her pry into his background as much as he cared to allow, he finally got her to reciprocate with information about Wrangell. She had a good memory and was able to tell him the approximate number of visitors coming through each season, the number staying overnight, the number booking guided trips, and the most popular type of trips.
