Mary Connealy (6 page)

Amy turned to hunt up Braden, and for the first time she really saw the cabin.

Tiny.

Amy’s face heated up as she realized the cabin had only one little room tacked on, and she’d taken it. The log cabin, little more than twelve-feet square before the extra room half that size was added, had barely enough floor space for three people to lie on the floor.

She’d ousted Meredith and Ian from their bedroom. Well, that couldn’t happen again, not for one single night. But she couldn’t share a room with Braden. What could she do? She headed around the cabin to tell Braden his long morning’s work was a waste of time.

Seven

“And then she has the nerve to tell me I’m wasting my time.” Braden’s irritation with the little woman wouldn’t ease as he tromped through the trees. He’d have ignored her if she hadn’t told him Meredith agreed.

Braden picked up sticks, Amy’s voice taunting him.
“Just pick wood up off the ground. It’s a fraction of the work, and it’s cured and ready to use.”

He filled his arms a dozen times, admitting the pile of wood grew far faster than when he’d split logs. Amy picked up sticks, too, although he’d deliberately gone in a different direction from her for fear of what he’d say in his irritated state.

He should have gone mining with Ian and Tucker, but he’d wanted to stay here and start earning his keep. He emptied his arms and turned to go into the woods again when Meredith came outside carrying a small bundle covered with a large gingham cloth. Braden recognized it as being among the things he’d brought from home. He still winced with embarrassment when he remembered the clock. He’d been in Alaska a day and already learned time didn’t matter.

“Did you notice the cabin up the river, on past Tucker’s?” Meredith asked.

“I saw a trail leading off that way, but I haven’t followed it. I thought Ian wrote to us about a man who lived across the river from you, quite a character. Abrams, isn’t it? Someone else lives around here?”

Meredith sighed. “If you can call it living. You’re right about Mr. Abrams. He lives across the river. But Mr. Clemment lives on our side of the river, and I’ve been feeding him since the first chinook blew. Ian went to see how he’d come through the winter. Not everyone can endure six months of dark. He’s not. . .thinking clearly.”

“Not thinking clearly?” Braden narrowed his eyes at his sweet new sister. “What does that mean?”

Meredith shrugged and handed Braden what turned out to be a plate, still warm. “Just leave this at Mr. Clemment’s cabin and bring back the dishes from yesterday. I don’t have any to spare. And Braden?”

“Yes?”

“Uh, if Mr. Clemment should happen to be on his roof when you get there. . .” Meredith lapsed into silence.

“He’s repairing the roof?”

“No, he. . .well. . .sometimes he thinks he needs to. . .” Another extended silence. “He’s usually down by now.”

“Meredith. . .” Braden drew her name out slowly and shifted his weight impatiently.

“He’s harmless.” Meredith scuffed one foot on the still-frozen ground and clasped her hands behind her back as if afraid Braden would hand the dish back. “In fairness, it helps Tucker get up in the morning.”

Braden’s eyes fell closed. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Ian came up the sloping hill, spotted the cloth, and said, “Don’t tell Rooster Clemment he’s not a chicken. He gets mad.”

“Rooster?” Braden looked at the seemingly sane pair.

“He climbs the roof every morning and crows, right at dawn—except in the winter. We suspect he just stayed up there waiting, hoping the sun would rise.”

“He stayed on his roof all winter? An Alaskan winter?” Braden felt his eyebrows arch nearly to his hairline.

Ian looked at Meredith. “Probably not. He’s alive, after all. We were shut in pretty tight ourselves, so we really didn’t check. We just went to see him this spring and found him up there.” He shrugged. “When we began having a few minutes of daylight, Rooster’d crow it up, then crow it down. Now I think he’s afraid to come down. He doesn’t make much sense most of the time. But based on a couple of things he said, I believe he thinks the sun will go down if he isn’t up there.”

Braden shook his head in disbelief.

Ian grinned at him. “Anyway, say hello whether he’s on the roof or not. He gets mad if you ignore him. Then go on inside, get the old plates and leave the new. He’s harmless.”

“If he’s harmless, why do I have to worry about making him mad?”

Ian appeared to be thinking that over. “Maybe I should take the food.”

Braden rolled his eyes, then set off with the plate, still warm to the touch.

Ian called after him, “If he laid any eggs, go ahead and bring ’em home!”

“Ian,” Meredith chided, “be nice.”

Braden glanced back to see her cuff Ian on the arm. Ian started laughing, grabbed Meredith around the waist, and swung her in a circle while she giggled.

The stab of jealousy shamed him, and Braden turned away. He didn’t begrudge Ian his marriage to such a sweet lady as Meredith. But it reminded him that he’d never touch his Maggie again. Seeing Ian’s happiness hurt.

Braden passed Tucker’s neat little cabin in a tiny clearing. It was one room built just for a gold miner who spent all his life outdoors, panning in an icy stream or slamming his pickax into a hillside. Tucker didn’t spend any time there except for sleeping. He even ate all his meals with the Raffertys, which Ian said was fair because Tucker helped hunt the food and cooking for three was as easy as cooking for two.

Ian and Tucker admitted at breakfast that they hadn’t made a big strike. They found enough color to support themselves but not enough to draw their own herd of stampeders. Both men thought it was a good tradeoff.

He walked on. A few steps farther, Amy came out of the woods with an armload of branches. As he reached her side, he saw a barely visible game trail climb up the sheer, heavily wooded land that hugged the narrow path. How had she found that tiny trail so quickly? Her hair dangled loose from her braid, and dirt smudged her face here and there. She had a bag slung over her shoulder, the same one she’d carried all the way from Seattle. The bag bulged, and what looked like a slab of bark stuck out the top. Twigs and leaves had snagged her dress and tangled in her hair as if she’d fought her way through a bramble. But she didn’t complain or fuss at her appearance. His Maggie had always been so tidy.

“You should be resting.” Braden clamped his mouth shut before he could say anything else. Whether Amy wore herself out wasn’t his concern.

Amy smiled. “I intend to help wherever I can. I have no wish to be a burden to Ian and Merry. What are you doing?” She nodded at the dish in his hands.

“Near as I can tell, I’m feedin’ the chickens.”

A smile quirked her lips. “There are not any chickens in Alaska.” She dropped her load of sticks in a neat pile alongside the trail and dusted off her hands. Coming close, she peeked under the cloth. “And if there were, we would not give them mutton for breakfast.”

“Want to come along? I might need someone watching my back trail.” Braden hadn’t meant to invite her along. The words just came out.

“In case you are attacked by a flock of the chicken’s friends?” Amy turned and walked beside him on the trail. Braden realized they’d become friends on the trip here. They’d talked a lot on that long, boring journey but not said much about their pasts. Memories of Maggie still rubbed too raw. But they’d talked plenty about their ideas for the future in Alaska. Both of them trying to stay out of the stampeders’ way. Neither of them held much interest in gold—the only interest for everyone else.

Hitching her bag higher on her shoulder, Amy stretched out her stride to match his, even though her legs were much shorter. “Braden, I want to go back to my father’s cabin. I need to be sure that man has a legal claim. I can do that if I can get inside. Father had the deed hidden, but I know where it is.”

“I’m real sorry about your da, Amy. But what good would it do to go back? You can’t live there alone.”

The trail disappeared ahead, around a curve of rock. Braden saw the stubborn set of Amy’s jaw and knew she’d commence to nagging any second. When the cabin appeared right around the bend, he breathed a sigh of relief and changed the subject. “I can’t believe how close the cabins are to each other.”

“No use for forty acres here.” Amy seemed to drink in the beauty around her, looking into the heavily wooded land that barely made room for this narrow path. A stream chuckled through the little clearing, and sunlight cut through the towering pines to bathe the gap in sunlight.

Braden had to admit the scenery looked breathtaking. “True enough. No one’s planting a corn crop.”

“But about my father. I think. . . .” Amy fell silent.

As the cabin came fully into view, Braden saw a man standing on the roof on one leg, his hands tucked into his armpits. The man stared up at the beams of sunlight as if he were soaking himself in them. Braden—now understanding Ian’s amusement—exchanged a look with Amy. Her brow furrowed. Her dark eyes gleamed with compassion.

“Good morning, Mr. Clemment.” Braden tried to remember all the ways Ian had said you could make Rooster mad. “I’m Ian Rafferty’s brother. I’ve brought you some dinner.”

The man lowered his curled leg to the roof and jammed his hands on his hips.
Uh oh, that looks like mad.
Then the man, with a head of brown hair and a full beard sticking in all directions like a dark sunburst around his face, stuck his arms back where they’d been. He flapped his elbows as if he planned on taking off, looked at the sky, and crowed at the top of his lungs.

“You take the food in, Braden. Let me talk to Mr. Clemment for a while.”

“I’d better stay out here instead. You maybe shouldn’t be alone with him. There’s no telling what he might get up to.”

“He looks harmless to me, except maybe to himself.” Amy began walking toward the house.

Harmless. Probably true. Ian had said so. Glancing up at the man, he whispered to Amy. “Yell if you need me.”

Amy threw him a confused look as if unable to imagine ever possibly needing him.

Braden went into the tiny cabin to set the food on the table. There wasn’t one. The cabin was packed to the rafters with wood, bark, furs, and leaves. Braden had walked into a nest.

A trail of trampled down sticks led to the middle of the room. In the center of the chaos, as if Clemment
had
laid an egg, were a few plates like the one Braden carried—no doubt Meredith’s. Braden set the food down, picked up the used plates—still dirty, but Braden didn’t expect a chicken to wash dishes—and picked his way outside.

When he stepped outside, Amy had vanished. “Amy, where’d you go?” Braden turned in a circle, looking for her. His heart sped up. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. Before he could holler again or step back far enough to see Rooster, Wily and another man approached the cabin by the trail Braden and Amy had used. Then Braden heard voices. Turning, he saw Amy sitting on the roof, chatting with Rooster Clemment. Rooster had settled down on the peak of the roof beside her, his knees drawn up to his chest, and his arms clamped around them.

The man with Wily approached Braden. “If you’re Ian Rafferty, thank you for contacting me and telling me about my brother. I’m here to take him home.”

“I’m Braden Rafferty. Ian’s my brother.”

“Well whoever you are, thank you. We had no idea where Wendell had gone.” The man reached a hand out to Braden, who balanced the plates in one hand and shook with the other.

“You’ve restored my brother to me. God bless you.” The man pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. He scribbled on it, lay it face down on the gingham cloth, and turned to the man on the roof.

“Wendell, come down!”

Rooster, busy visiting with Amy, turned at the sound. From the ground, Braden could see the man’s eyes widen with recognition. “Carlton?”

Rooster slid down the roof, dismounting as gracefully as if he really could fly, and flung himself at the man. Braden could smell Rooster from twenty feet away.

The newcomer didn’t so much as flinch as he pulled Rooster into his arms. “Father and Mother and I want you to come home. We miss you so much. Please say you’ll come with me.”

Rooster pulled free of his brother’s arms and looked back at his cabin.

Amy dropped off the roof and came to rest her hand on Rooster’s arm. “The sun shines for long hours all winter back home. You need to go, Wendell.”

Wendell looked at the sky, then back at the roof as if he were worried about abandoning his vigil.

“It will be fine, Wendell.” Amy patted his shoulder. “I will see to your work here. Your family needs you. Think of the sunlight and warmth. There are no long days of darkness where your brother is going.”

“You remember Texas, don’t you? Even in winter, we have warm days and lots of sun,” Carlton added.

Rooster nodded but seemed hesitant. A man who thought he crowed the sun up wouldn’t want to leave his post. Braden admired Rooster’s dedication.

Between Amy and Carlton, Rooster allowed himself to be talked into leaving, walking away from the cabin with nothing. What would he pack anyway? Sticks?

Braden stood quietly nearby with Wily.

Carlton and Rooster—one dressed for civilization in a suit adorned with Wily’s walrus intestine boots, the other dressed in rags—their arms slung around each other, headed down the trail.

Wily muttered, “Alaska ain’t for everybody.”

Braden wasn’t sure which man Wily was talking about. “How’d you get back up here so fast? You’ve barely had time to walk home.”

Wily shrugged. “I kin catch a current home and ride most of the way. Mr. Clemment stood there a’waitin’ for me when I arrived, half crazed with worry ’bout Rooster. He convinced me to turn around and hightail it back.”

Braden looked at the gaunt man. His weathered skin barely showed through his beard. “You must be exhausted.”