Mary Connealy (14 page)

Fifteen

“But they that wait upon the
Lord
shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.”

Amy lay on her makeshift bed in the main room of Ian’s cabin and read the passage of Scripture by full daylight at ten-thirty at night.

Unhappy with the message, she set her Bible down gently, resisting the urge to clap the book shut. It seemed every Bible verse she read called her to wait.

“I have waited,” she whispered into the empty room. “I have been here two months now, Lord. I believe You wanted me to stay and take care of Meredith, but the summer fades quickly. I must see what happened to my father. I cannot spend a winter in comfort with the Raffertys while my father’s death goes unpunished. Make a way for me to go, Lord.”

Amy almost stopped before she uttered the next words of her prayer. But the need to act drove her, and she spoke quietly into the silent room. “Or I will do it on my own. You gave me a life that taught me independence. I take care of myself. I work hard. I have the skills I need, and I believe You want me to act. You are a God of justice. You do not want an evil man to hurt my papa and pay no price.”

Amy lifted her Bible again, this time more tenderly, and asked God to forgive her disrespect. The book fell open, and her eyes fell on Psalm 27:14.
“Wait on the
Lord
: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the
Lord
.”

She recalled another verse, and for the first time applied it to herself. She knew what it meant when Moses had argued with the Pharaoh to “let my people go” and the Bible said, “the Pharaoh hardened his heart.”

She knew because Amy hardened her own heart at that moment. She deliberately chose a path she feared God didn’t bless. Meredith was feeling better. The summer was wearing itself down. She was through waiting on the Lord or anyone else, especially Braden Rafferty.

Instead of listening to the still small voice that whispered on the wind, she made plans. Braden stayed with her nearly every minute. How could she slip away from him for long enough that he wouldn’t just come after her and drag her home?

Amy sat up straight. Braden wasn’t here right now. Yes, the nighttime, when she was in Ian’s care, was the time to go. If someone lingered in the woods, that someone had proved to be a coward and wouldn’t attack the house directly. So they’d come to expect Amy to go inside and stay. Anyone lingering in the woods wouldn’t be on watch in the night.

If she slipped out as soon as the Raffertys went to bed, she’d reach her father’s cabin before that horrible man got up in the morning. She’d find a hiding place, wait for him to leave, then sneak in. She’d quickly find the deed and be halfway home before the Raffertys knew she was gone.

Why, she’d even leave a note so if she didn’t get back before they woke, they’d know her entire plan. And she’d meet them a few miles down the river because they were sure to come after her.

The only flaw in her plan was the worry she might cause Meredith. That was the one thing Braden said that almost swayed her. Thinking of Meredith hiking to the mine twisted Amy’s stomach. Meredith could have fallen. The baby could have been lost. Amy knew she’d have to hurry to minimize Meredith’s concern. Maybe if she drove herself hard, she could be down and back before the Raffertys climbed out of bed.

Meredith wouldn’t even have to cook breakfast. Amy would be home in time.

She looked out the window, considering setting off right now. But she wanted an earlier start. She’d make sure Meredith was feeling okay; then she’d go to see what had happened to her father.

Wait, I say, on the Lord.

Amy only heard the wind as she turned over and fell asleep.

❧

Meredith’s unruly stomach had a relapse. Amy, caring for Meredith and the rest of the family, fell into bed exhausted each night for the next week. Braden was as diligent as ever guarding her—so much so that his guarding felt less like protection than like a lookout for an escape attempt. It didn’t matter. Amy wasn’t about to abandon Meredith. . .yet.

Amy’s heart twisted when she thought of the warmth that had passed between her and Braden. It had vanished since their fight over her need to go home. Something had been lost between her and Braden. Or maybe not lost. Maybe for Braden it had never been there.

Early the next week, Meredith took a turn for the better, and Amy knew it was time to go. The first night Amy was able to stay awake long enough to hear Ian’s soft snores, she tossed back the covers on her sleeping pallet and stood, fully dressed.

After tucking her knife into the sheath around her ankle, she smeared on a paste made from yarrow leaves to repel the mosquitoes. She eased the door open and closed, knowing Ian slept lightly. She stuck a note—one she’d had written for a week—on the outside of the front door.

Pulling on her walrus-gut boots, Amy strode toward the river, listening for any sound that didn’t belong in an Alaskan wilderness. As she hurried along the water’s edge, she startled a porcupine and her spring babies drinking from the river. The
slap
of leaping salmon called to her as if she needed to be fishing instead of being about her father’s business. When the shore allowed it, she ran, racing against the coming morning and the Raffertys’ worry.

In these early days of August, the sun settled into a brief dusk, but Amy’s night vision was excellent. With the moon and stars shining off the river, she found her way easily.

The river chuckled over stones. The sound soothed her agitated spirit and made her sleepy, reminding her that she’d worked a long, hard day, caring for her family.

Her family? Were the Raffertys hers? Whatever she proved about her father, she still had no one left to call her own. Meredith was like a sister to her; Ian, a protective big brother. Tucker teased Amy just as he did Meredith. Braden. . .Amy could summon no sisterly feelings for him. She’d declared that when she left, she’d leave for good. But in her heart, Amy hoped desperately that they’d welcome her back. She wanted Papa, but she wanted to belong to the Raffertys, too. Especially Braden.

Amy turned her mind away from Braden and his strong arms and the kisses they’d shared. Picking up her pace, she tuned her senses sharply toward the forest and any danger lurking there. She rushed along, setting sights for home and justice, ignoring the quiet urging in her soul to wait.

Hours later, a mile upstream of her father’s cabin, she slipped away from the water and hiked into the rugged woods. The land climbed sharply upward along the riverbank, and staying under cover was hard, slow work. Her mother and father had taught her to ease her way through the woods, like smoke drifting between heaven and earth. She took great care to be silent as she pulled herself along the steep incline, hanging onto shrubs along the side of the mountain.

When her father’s cabin came into sight, Amy dropped behind a large stand of cottonwood trees. She rested her head against the tree, the bark rough on her cheek. She ran her hand lovingly over the wood and remembered learning very early how to tap the cottonwood to take just a bit of the sap and then eat it fresh. These trees were the equivalent of a candy store and held precious memories for her. She looked overhead and saw the first tinge of yellow in the fluttering leaves. Already summer was slipping away. To have waited longer to see to the man who had harmed her father would be madness.

Settling in, Amy let the nature that had fed and clothed her wrap itself around her like a cloak. She heard the sharp, high cry of a raven as it swooped and dived overhead. A high, majestic scream lifted her eyes to heaven, and she saw sunlight glint off the bald head of a soaring eagle. A rustle in the bushes nearby revealed a marmot making its way to the water’s edge for an early morning drink.

There was no sign of activity in the cabin. But it was too early to believe the occupant had risen for the day. An hour slipped by as she waited, and then another. Amy thought of Meredith, awake now and worrying. Amy forced herself to wait when she couldn’t bring herself to before. A sound out of place with nature pulled her eyes toward the cabin. Coughing. Riveting her eyes on the front door, Amy waited, her muscles coiled, her heart thudding.

She pictured the mantel her Tlingit grandfather had carved. It had been a gift to her parents on their wedding day. The mantel carving was an intricate design in perfect harmony with the world outside the door. Grandfather had loved working with wood, and Amy had been allowed to sit by his side and watch as the beautiful creations emerged under his patient, talented hands.

He’d made her a noisy rattle and figures of animals and fish. But the mantel had been her favorite. Many endless winter days, she’d lazed in front of the fire, making up stories about the animals etched into the alder wood. She’d loved the sun and the moon. The river Grandfather carved along the bottom seemed to move when firelight flickered in the fireplace below. And the crackle of the flames passed for babbling water. Salmon were suspended, eternally leaping out of the stream, and some days Amy could almost hear them splash as they hit the water.

But most important right now was a thin drawer, its edges hidden by Grandfather’s intricate carving. The drawer held the few family possessions that mattered. The deed had been ignored for the most part. Amy’s father had enjoyed telling the story of the old trapper who had, with grand ceremony, presented the deed when he gave the cabin away and headed south to live out his old age with his brother.

Petrov Simonovich had never considered himself the owner of this land, so he wouldn’t sell it. But if someone persuaded him to give away the cabin, he’d sign over the deed with the same pomp as the man who had handed it to him. Amy knew how to touch the carved raven and stretch her fingers wide to touch the sun, then press in on the drawer to pop it open. The deed to the property would be there.

Another cough sounded from the cabin, and Amy hunkered down a bit more. Smoke appeared in the chimney, and the smell of salmon cooking teased her nose and reminded her she hadn’t eaten for hours. At last the cabin door swung open, and the man who’d driven her away from her home stepped out.

He carried a pickax over his shoulder and a shovel hanging from a pack on his back. Amy saw the man tuck a chunk of jerky into his pocket and close the door. A gust of wind carried his foul smell to Amy where she crouched twenty feet away. The man walked heavily, feet plodding along unevenly. Amy was almost certain that shuffling gait couldn’t belong to the man who had pushed her off the cliff. She clenched her jaw, wondering if she’d created this whole threat out of her own fears.

He went around the side of the cabin, ragged clothes swinging their tatters in the wind. Amy remembered a game trail that led from the cabin up toward the mountaintop. He must follow it to some mine he’d found.

With a sigh of relief, Amy knew she’d have the cabin to herself. That didn’t mean she’d linger. She’d grab the deed and go home. The man wouldn’t even know she’d been there. Then she’d present the deed to that stubborn Braden as proof her father had met with foul play.

As Amy stood, she wondered if Braden, Ian, and Tucker would act when presented with evidence. Why had she come? Why had she ignored the urging to wait?

God, what good will it do to know my father did not sell the cabin?

The only answer she got—
wait on the Lord
—was one she refused to heed.

The miner’s lumbering footsteps diminished on the path. She remembered cruel hands on her back. Saw the yawning emptiness in front of her as she hurled over the mountain’s edge.

And she felt hands on her back on the
Northward
as she stood by the boat railing. Hands on her back on a busy Seattle street corner. She remembered those stealthy footfalls onboard the ship when she sat alone on the deck. Braden couldn’t explain those three things away by attributing it to some person driven mad by the long, black winter. No, someone had come after her, possibly four times. She had no reason to believe he’d stop now. This had to be dealt with.

The man’s footsteps faded completely. Amy squared her shoulders and ignored the internal warning that seemed to ring louder than ever. Why would God ask her to wait now? Why, when she was so close and the danger so minimal? She hurried toward the cabin.

Mindful of the way sound carried, she lifted the heavy front door, hinged with worn leather, to keep it from scratching as she swung it open. Leaving it barely wide enough to slip through, Amy headed straight for the mantel. There was no reason to stay a second longer than necessary.

Amy reached her left hand for the precious raven and the sun that glowed in the bright sheen of aged wood.

The wicked laugh she’d heard twice before rumbled behind her.

Hands shoved her into the mantel.

Amy’s chest slammed into her grandfather’s intricate carving. She staggered sideways, caught her balance, and whirled around.

❧

Braden still battled the long daylight hours. He had adjusted somewhat, but he’d wake up to full light and have no idea whether it was 1:00 a.m. or high noon. As a result, he’d learned to roll out of bed quickly, feeling late.

He pulled on his clothes. His belly told him it was breakfast time even if the sun wouldn’t cooperate. Maybe Ma did the right thing, packing that fancy clock. Leaving the cabin, he walked down the path to Tucker’s, looking for a clearing overhead that would give him a good look at the sun. He still stung from the ribbing Tucker and Ian had given him the time he’d awakened Tucker just one hour after they’d gone to bed.