Chapter 30
JUNEAU, ALASKA
The months of summer slipped by like precious pearls off a string.
To Maggie’s great relief, Sister Mary Zeno and the others were happy to have Sheetka among them as they performed their duties at St. Ann’s, and, in truth, the little girl made very little fuss, often happy to sit tucked up in a corner of the hospital with a storybook or a sheet of butcher’s paper and a stub of pencil.
She still wasn’t speaking, but she seemed to understand quite a lot, and Maggie was grateful that she’d settled into this strange, new life without too much difficulty—although there certainly were challenging moments—such as when Sheetka ate an entire jar of honey and was violently sick, or she kicked and screamed on bath night, when Danny and her da fetched pails of water from the creek outside and filled up the tin tub.
All in all, though, Maggie supposed she didn’t make more trouble than any child would.
Sometimes, in fact, Maggie worried that Sheetka didn’t make trouble enough.
She was so quiet, so docile, so utterly unspeaking and uncomplaining that Maggie feared some terrible trauma lurked behind those wide, dark eyes.
All she could do, she knew, was wait and hope and love.
The day after they’d moved into the cabin on 7th Street, Maggie had spent a very pleasant morning strolling the aisles of the dry goods stores, picking out everything they could possibly need to set up a homestead.
“Anything you want,” her father had declared as he’d rocked back on his heels, enjoying his moment of largesse. “Sky’s the limit! I’ve got savings, and I know you’re hankering after a home, a chroi. You haven’t had much of one lately.”
She was longing for such a place, but Maggie had limited herself to a perfectly reasonable set of tin dishes, a pot, a pan, and a kettle, and set of sheets and blankets for each of their beds. It was enough.
Next, they went to the grocer’s to buy what food they needed.
Maggie was astonished at the astronomical cost of some things—canned butter, fresh produce, and eggs were all barely within their budget, whereas canned salmon, bear meat, halibut and flounder were more reasonable.
She was as judicious in her purchase of food as she was with dry goods—she could stretch a couple of potatoes and a few stalks of celery to several meals, especially if they were accompanied by canned salmon or bear steaks.
“I guess we’ll be eating like the Indians,” her father had said cheerfully, while Maggie had winced at the price of half a pound of sugar.
Still, it was fun to stock their little kitchen, almost like playing house, as if she were a little girl.
She hadn’t been in charge of her own kitchen since she was a little girl, and her mother had been sickly, and that certainly hadn’t been nearly as fun as it was now, planning what she’d cook for Sheetka, as well as Danny and her da.
As the summer stretched on, with balmy days and long, sunlit nights, Maggie enjoyed making meals for them all, having everyone seated around the rickety table while her da said the blessing and then they dug in, talking about their days over boiled potatoes and canned salmon, or bear steaks and beans.
When, she wondered, a lump forming in her throat, had they last been like this, a family, a proper one?
She sewed dresses for Sheetka and curtains for the windows, accepted flower cuttings from Mrs. Marks and planted them in pots by the front door.
When she wasn’t working at the hospital or tending to their home, she spent time with Sheetka, often walking up in the meadows above the cabin, the wildflowers waist-deep, the Alaska summer days so lovely and long and surprisingly warm.
She’d point out various flowers and birds to the girl, the ones she knew anyway, asking questions about where they were or how they were that Sheetka never answered.
It saddened her, how silent the girl was, but Maggie told herself she needed to be patient. Sheetka had been through so much.
Over the summer, she paid Mrs. Marks several visits, taking tea or coffee and hearing the gossip about Juneau’s society, such as it was.
Sometimes she brought Sheetka, and she was glad to see the older woman’s uncertain affection for the little girl grow into something a little deeper, her bemusement at interacting with a native child turning to genuine affection.
It was on one of these visits in early September that Mrs. Marks fixed Maggie with a beady eye and declared, “I certainly hope you’re intending to attend the dance this Saturday. You’ve missed the last two, and heaven knows, we need more eligible ladies present!”
Maggie laughed and shook her head. “I always mean to, but life has been so busy.” She glanced at Sheetka, who was sitting quietly next to her, flipping the pages of an illustrated book of fairy tales that Mrs. Marks had gotten out.
Sheetka didn’t seem particularly interested in the stories, turning the pages quite quickly, but at least it kept her busy.
“Well, that simply won’t do,” Mrs. Marks declared. “It’ll be hard enough for you to find someone decent in this town, with your…. current obligations.” Mrs. Marks, never one for subtlety, looked meaningfully at the girl.
“I’m very content with my current obligations,” Maggie replied, smiling.
“Even so.” Mrs. Marks leaned forward, her eyes alight. “We need you there, my girl! There are far too many men and not enough women as it is. Please say you’ll come. I don’t understand why you wouldn’t. Why, for many it’s the highlight of their month!”
“All right, I’ll come,” Maggie told her on a laugh.
She didn’t know why she’d been so hesitant; she liked to dance as much as anyone else.
Maybe it was the prospect of seeing Brendan at such an occasion.
Or maybe, she reflected, not seeing him.
Either way, some part of her had remained reluctant to venture to the public school where the dances were held, its one big room cleared of chairs and desks, a three-man band playing merry tunes and always finishing with a waltz.
“Good.” Mrs. Marks nodded, satisfied. “And I hope you have something decent to wear.”
Maggie thought of the navy silk she’d brought with her that she’d once worn to supper at the Browns’ house.
That seemed so long ago, even though it was less than a year since she’d last been there.
Her time in Alaska felt so separate from the rest of her life, and also as if her new life—her real life—hadn’t begun until she’d stepped on shore.
“I think I have something,” she told Mrs. Marks.
That Saturday, Maggie eyed herself in the little square mirror hanging over the washbasin that was mottled with age and only allowed her to view a small portion of her person at a time.
It was the night of the dance, and she’d taken pains with her appearance while at the same time feeling silly to do so.
Brendan might not even be there and, even if he was, Maggie doubted he would dance with her.
She’d been in Juneau for over five months now and, amazingly, considering what a small town it was, she hadn’t seen him once since he’d left their room the morning after his drunken ramble.
The reasonable conclusion Maggie felt compelled to draw was that Brendan had gone to great lengths not to be seen.
And yet… she smoothed down the front of her dress, the silk a little crumpled from being kept in her trunk, as well as smelling of mothballs.
A spritz of lavender water and a runover with a hot iron had helped, but only a little.
And yet, she still hoped. Still wanted to see him again, because after all their stops and starts, their jumbled expressions of both affection and anger, the things they’d thought they’d wanted and the things they hadn’t…
she wanted to tell him what she knew now was the truth.
Or, she wondered wryly, had absence simply made the heart grow fonder?
If she saw him again, maybe she’d finally know.
“Well, aren’t you a stunner!” her father exclaimed, whistling as he stood back to gaze at her admiringly. “You’ll be the loveliest lady in the room without a question!”
“Do you think so?” Laughing self-consciously, Maggie did a little twirl, the skirts of her dress flaring out as she spun. “I feel silly,” she admitted, and her father shook his head firmly.
“You don’t look silly, a chroi. You look beautiful.
And while you’re out painting the town red, Danny and I will be snug at home with our favorite girl.
” He smiled at Sheetka, who ducked her head, peeking up beneath her lashes with a shy smile that warmed Maggie’s heart.
Her father had taken to the little girl far better than she ever could have hoped, and she believed Sheetka returned his affection, in her own quiet way.
“I don’t think there will be any painting going on,” she replied primly, and her da just laughed.
“Ah, Maggie, my girl, you need to learn how to kick up your heels and have some fun. Your brother certainly knows how to.”
“Yes, he does,” Maggie replied tartly. More than once, Danny had stumbled into their cabin well past midnight, smelling of spirits.
She didn’t approve, but he was eighteen years old now, truly a man, and he would live his life as he chose.
At least her father seemed to have abandoned such carryings-on, although he was still partial to a generous nip from his flask.
“Well, it isn’t often I say this,” her father replied, his eyes twinkling, “but maybe, my girl, you could take a page from your brother’s book, just this once.”
“Oh, Da.” Smiling, Maggie went over and kissed his grizzled cheek. “I will do my best to have a good time,” she promised and he caught her hand in his, looking, for a moment, almost tearful.
“I’m glad,” he told her, his voice choking a little as he squeezed her hand. “I’m so glad you came with us all the way to Alaska, Maggie. It feels like I got a second chance.”
Maggie squeezed his hand back, moved. “So did I,” she murmured softly, and then, bending down to hug Sheetka briefly, she reached for her shawl before heading out into the twilit evening.
She could hear the music from a block away, lights blazing from inside the schoolhouse.
While the dances were technically open to everyone, it was only the well-to-do of Juneau society who went—the bankers and shopkeepers, the mine managers and schoolteachers and those who considered themselves a cut above the ragtag prospectors and miners.
Maggie hesitated a moment on the threshold of the schoolroom, feeling unaccountably nervous. She knew as soon as she stepped across, she would immediately start looking for Brendan. She knew she wouldn’t be able to help herself.
As she stepped inside, though, the dance already well under way with a lively reel, the band playing a merry tune, she couldn’t see him anywhere.
She didn’t have much opportunity to look, however, for within seconds she was claimed for a dance by Joseph Harrison, one of the brothers who ran the Bank of Juneau, and after that by Alfred Spiles, who worked at the hardware, and for the rest of the evening, Maggie was so busy dancing with one partner after another that she barely had a chance to catch her breath, never mind look for Brendan.
It seemed young ladies were in demand for dances, just as Mrs. Marks had said.
In fact, it wasn’t till just before the final waltz that Maggie was able to pause to look around the crowded room for his familiar face.
Mrs. Marks had told her it was a tradition to dance the final waltz with the person nearest you and then accompany them to the supper put on for the dancers at the roadhouse across the way.
Plenty of men were jostling to be closest to Maggie the moment the band struck up the waltz, so they could claim that honor, but then through the crowd of dancers with their flushed faces and falling-down hair, best Sunday dresses now crumpled from exertion and suits whose jackets had been shed, she saw a flash of brown hair, and something about the set of the man’s shoulders, whose back was to her, made the breath she was still trying to catch stop right in her chest.
Then he turned around, and for an endless second it felt as if they were the only people in the crowded room.
Brendan.