Chapter 5
Chapter Five
TIMBER
It’s a crisp, quiet morning as I leave my cabin at 5:15 and head to the community center. The air is still as I walk the ten minutes to town. The path reminds me I’m far from the heat and dryness of Phoenix. Here, the air is thick with moisture, and the trees are heavy with dew.
As I step out of the woods, the dock’s hustle greets me as fishermen ready their boats. I pause, take in the scene, and think about Kane, who will show up within the hour to drop off Hailey. What is his morning routine? How early does he have to rise to be ready to work at six? Since Hailey’s mom doesn’t live there, he does it all. In the short time I’ve been here, he’s shown so much about himself. He fishes for a living, raises a daughter on his own, and is the backbone of his family. He has a lot on his plate.
The community center door stands open. I was certain I’d shut it, but the latch must not have caught. Maybe I can get Kane to look at it. I dismiss the thought immediately. I don’t want to add to his workload.
Inside, it’s quiet now, but it won’t be long before the place fills with a few lively children. Eliza’s notes said that it could be between three to five kids this week. Some are on vacation and many of the town’s children work during the summer.
Just before six, a boy barrels through the door. “Hi, I’m Lucas,” he says. His dad follows, a grin lighting up his face. “I’m Eric, and this bundle of energy is mine. He’s heading toward twelve but has the attitude of a well-seasoned teenager. I hope you’re ready for him.”
“I can’t wait to get started.” That is true. I love teaching, and doing it here is no doubt going to be a learning experience for everyone.
“We’re grateful to have you here.”
A sweet sensation bubbles up inside me.
With Eric and his son looking at me like I’m actually here and seen, I experience a spark of something special. It’s just for the summer, I remind myself, but this short season can be the one where I make a lasting impression, where I matter. I offer my hand. “Good morning. I’m Timber Moore, and I’m thrilled to be here.”
Then, a burst of energy rounds the doorway—a little boy with a spring in his step that could rival the liveliness of the waves crashing on the port’s shores. But the moment his mother follows him inside, this live wire retreats behind her, suddenly more of a cautious kitten than a bounding tiger. The only thing I see is his hand trying to grasp his mother’s jeans but can’t because of the plastic Thor in his hand.
“Hi there, I’m Theresa, and this shy guy here is Tommy,” she says, her strong voice contrasting with the delicate touch of her handshake.
Tommy peers out from behind Theresa’s legs, his earlier enthusiasm now tempered by a bashful silence.
“Hey there, Tommy!” I say, kneeling before him. “You know, Thor's pretty cool, isn't he? He's all about bravery and strength, just like you showed when you walked in here. I bet you and Thor would make an unstoppable team, taking on any adventure together.” I offer him my hand. “Are you ready to start the day?”
Tommy’s eyes, bright and curious beneath the fringe of his bangs, meet mine for just a moment. He inches forward, a small victory as he tentatively places his hand in mine. His grip is light, a whisper of connection, but it’s enough.
I stand, looking back at Theresa. “He’ll be fine. By the end of the day, he’ll likely be as happy as when he first came bouncing in.”
Lastly, Kane walks in with Hailey, dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, and my stomach somersaults. How do denim and wool look so good on him? He’s the kind of man who could easily be on the cover of a men’s fashion magazine. The Off the Grid edition, if one existed. Beside him is Hailey, who sports an outfit of many colors and patterns. Her hair is in pigtails that seem to have been styled during a game of tag. “Fashion by Hailey,” Kane says, his eyes lit with humor .
Hailey’s tiny face is a thundercloud, a contrast to her vibrant attire.
Kane leans in, and the scent of his cologne wraps around me. He smells like pine, and leather, and temptation. I’m so caught up in it that I barely hear him whisper, “Amanda, her mother, forgot to call yesterday.” The words crawl into my mind, each one heavy with meaning. As they sink in, my heart aches for the vulnerable girl in front of me. With newfound determination, I nod in response.
“We’ll have such a fun day that it’ll be just a distant memory soon.” I turn to the parents, who stand in a line looking like they are waiting to be dismissed. “I’ll take it from here.”
They file out one by one with a wave or a nod, and I walk to the front of the classroom with Kane’s cologne still tickling my senses.
The kids hang up their jackets and put away their lunch boxes while I wait a few more minutes to see if anyone else shows up. When they don’t by five minutes past the hour, I start the day.
“Good morning, everyone! Come and take a seat.” I point at the table in front of me. “I’m Ms. Moore, your teacher for the summer,” I start, my voice filling the quiet of the community center. “I’ve come all the way from Phoenix, Arizona.” I look at them and find it funny how they sit in order of age. “Now, I’d love to learn something about each of you. How about we go around, and everyone can share one thing about themselves? Who wants to go first?”
The room seems bigger without the parents, the air charged with excitement and nerves. Lucas raises his hand before he stands. “I like building model ships,” he says with a hint of pride. “And I’ve got three dogs named after sea monsters. They are Kraken, Leviathan, and Cetus.”
“That’s wonderful, Lucas. In a place like Port Promise, I would imagine boats are important.” I think about Kane again and how he was late to greet me because of boat problems. “And three dogs are a lot. Do you help take care of them?”
“I feed them, but they poop in the woods.” At the mention of poop, all the kids laugh.
“Thank you for sharing, Lucas.” I turn to the little superhero. “What about you, Tommy?”
Still clutching the action figure, Tommy looks up. His voice is small but clear. “I like to draw,” he says, “and I make the best mud pies.”
“It sounds like you’re an artist through and through. There is an art to baking pies, too.” I think about my mother’s lattice-top pies and how she’d cut the dough into shapes to add something special to her holiday treats. They were always a work of art.
“Now it’s Hailey’s turn.”
“I collect rocks,” she says, a glimmer of enthusiasm breaking through her clouds. “I’ve got a bunch from the beach. And I can skip stones on the water really well.” She pulls a handful from her pocket and sets them on the table.
“Wonderful, Hailey. There is so much to learn from rocks, and they are pretty, too.” I pick up a black one and think it may be coal.
All eyes are on me. I clap my hands together. “Wow, we have a shipwright, an artist, and a geologist here! This will be an exciting summer,” I say, thrilled at what these little personalities will bring to our days ahead.
With the parents gone and the kids’ introductions warming the room, I glance at the lesson plans Eliza left behind to make sure I didn’t miss anything yesterday when I went over them. There is no strict curriculum to adhere to, no tests overshadowing the joy of learning—just pure, imaginative education. Eliza’s lessons are infused with fun, with room for creativity and exploration. Today's lesson plan is about geography. About Alaska, its landscape, climate, and industry. I can already tell I’m going to like it here.
Knowing Hailey needs a pick-me-up and remembering how much she likes to lead and help, I say, “Hailey is going to be my teacher’s aide for the day. Would you like that, Hailey?”
Her pigtails bob as she nods her head.
“Great. Can you get the crayons and butcher paper out of the closet? It’s the big roll of white paper.”
Hailey jumps from her seat and dashes to the closet with enough excitement to rival a puppy chasing a ball. When she struggles with the weight of the roll, Lucas jumps up to help. It would seem that the community motto might still be alive.
I roll out the paper and empty the box of crayons on the table. How do I integrate five-year-old Hailey, and six-year-old Tommy, with the budding complexity of eleven-year-old Lucas? I sketch a quick diagram—the sea for Lucas, a blank slate for Tommy’s artistic endeavors, and a rocky shoreline for Hailey’s collection.
I glance at the expectant faces before me—Lucas, Tommy, and Hailey—and an idea blossoms. “Alright, crew,” I announce, “today, we’re going to create our own sea adventure. Lucas, you’re the captain of our ship. Tommy, you’ll draw the maps and landscapes we’ll explore. And Hailey, with your rock collection, you’ll help us navigate and find treasures. We’ll be sailing the coast of Alaska.”
The morning passes in a flurry of activity. Lucas sketches a formidable vessel, his fingers smudging the pencil lines into the waves. Tommy’s crayons move across the paper, bringing to life the worlds of our imagined voyage. Hailey arranges her stones, assigning stories to each one, transforming them into a navigator’s most prized possessions.
By lunchtime, the room is alive with the energy of creation. Hailey talks of smooth stones that could guide us through treacherous waters. She points out her favorite, a white stone that she sets on the paper. Tommy describes an island off the Prince of Wales Island where his parents take him to collect clams. He swears the ground is as soft as his mud pies. Lucas entertains us with tales of how our ship could stand up to the fiercest storms—storms his father has fought on the sea. My mind goes straight to Kane. What dangers does he face when he sails out of the cove? Has he ever been stuck in a storm? I read about the dangers of whales breaching beside boats. Has he ever experienced something so majestic, and yet terrifying?
As they share their tales, I’m thankful for this space where I can teach in color and dimension, where a child’s imagination is the curriculum. The joy of discovery is the outcome. I’m excited about what we covered as we tidy up for the afternoon. It was more than geography. For Lucas, it was a lesson in physics and engineering as he constructed a paper ship. He learned about the forces that keep a boat afloat and the science behind sailing, all while believing he was just playing captain.
Tommy’s drawings did more than decorate our imaginary world. They were a lesson in art and environmental science. As he sketched our provisions, we explored where food came from, dipping our toes into biology and the life cycle of plants native to Alaska.
Hailey’s rocks were more than just playthings. They were the foundation for a beginner’s course in geology. We talked about the different types of rocks and how they form, and I watched her get excited as she realized that her collection told the story of Earth itself.
This morning was education disguised as a day of play. If teaching was like this every day, I wouldn’t have accepted that testing coordinator job for next year, but the raise was too hard to pass up.
Lunchtime sneaks up on us, and the kids unwrap their meals with the seriousness of pirates uncovering treasure. I retrieve my lunch from my bag—a jar of homemade chicken noodle soup that I found on the shelf of recognizable foods.
Staring into the jar, I wonder about the chicken—could it be a relative of Kane’s mail-order flock? My imagination paints a comical lineage of chickens raised here, destined for mason jars and the mouths of hungry people.
My gaze drifts over to Lucas, who’s unwrapping a bologna sandwich with an air of satisfaction. Then there’s Tommy, tackling a tuna salad sandwich with the enthusiasm of a six-year-old gourmet. Lastly, there’s Hailey, halfway through her peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the quintessential staple of childhood lunches. And once again, my thoughts are on Kane. Are mornings chaos in the Hollister household or does he run his home like a tight ship, ensuring everything is organized and prepared in advance? If Hailey’s appearance is an indicator, I’m going with chaos.
I glance at the kids’ lunches, and a smirk tugs at my lips. While I’m grateful for the soup, I would kill for one of those sandwiches. Staring at Hailey’s peanut butter and grape jelly, the soup seems more like a sentence than sustenance.
I unscrew the lid and microwave it for a minute. The ease at which it heats is not lost on me, and I remind myself to never take a microwave or a light switch for granted again.
The metallic clink of my spoon against the jar of soup is almost melodic in the quiet that falls as the children eat. Just as I’m about to take another delicious spoonful, the door swings open, and Eliza walks in, carrying what looks unmistakably like a small picnic basket. The kids’ heads pop up, eyes wide, like meerkats on alert. They shout a loving hello to her as if they haven’t seen her in weeks.
“Thought you might want something a little less ... jarred,” Eliza says with a wink, handing me a wrapped ham sandwich.
“The soup is delicious.”
“I know, but it can’t beat all that bread and mayonnaise. Let’s not forget the cheese and ham.”
“Thank you for being so thoughtful.” I swap the jar for the sandwich. She reaches into her small basket like Mary Poppins’ carpet bag and pulls out a baggie of cookies for each of the kids and one for me. It feels like winning the lottery, as the kids squeal with delight and start counting the chocolate chips to see who has more.
“How’s the first day going?” Eliza asks.
“It’s been great.” I take a bite and savor the salty ham, the cheese, the lettuce, and the fresh-baked bread. As I chew, a couple of questions come to mind. “Eliza, why didn’t I need an emergency license for this summer gig?” When I emailed her about it, she said it wasn’t necessary and then said something about summer programs being less strict.
She leans against a desk, her expression a mixture of amusement and conspiracy. “Well, this isn’t exactly a Board of Education-sanctioned program. It’s more informal than that.”
I cock my head to the side, processing another half- truth in the job description. “So, I’m essentially a summer camp counselor?”
“You could say that,” Eliza says. “But think about it—have you ever wanted to teach without constraints? This is your chance to make a real impact.”
I take a bite of the sandwich, and I can’t deny the truth in her words. “That does sound wonderful.” I glimpse at the children who are digging into their cookie bags. “Why would you hire me when I have so few children to work with? I would imagine someone in town could fill in.”
Eliza explains how summers work in Alaska. “The kids over twelve are working with their parents.” She points to Lucas. “This will be his last summer in the classroom. He’ll get a different education on his father’s boat. Those who aren’t working to support their families during salmon season have jobs, like May or Rhys. If you’re not working on a boat or running a business, then you’re probably too old to help.” She looks down at her stomach. “Or you’re pregnant and need someone who’s willing to step in for you. Thank you for being that someone.”
“You’re welcome.” I’m reminded once more that life operates on a different wavelength compared to Arizona.
“I should get going. I need to stop by May’s to make sure she’s ready to deliver my boy.”
“May’s delivering your baby?” I knew she helped with simple things like coughs and colds, but she delivers babies too?
Eliza nods. “Yes, she’s delivered most of the children here. Any complicated pregnancies force the mother to stay in Craig. The only way there is by float plane, or a boat around the island to where you clear the ridge. I certainly don’t want to be on a boat when I’m about to deliver.”
I had not thought about how remote this place is. Even though it’s a part of the Prince of Wales Island, the population is locked in a small piece of land surrounded by a mountain range. There is no way in or out unless you travel by air or sea.
“I’m off. Have fun, everyone.”
The kids rush to give her a hug.
With a wink and a wave, Eliza leaves me to my newfound freedom and the kids’ afternoon of adventure.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of activities and laughter. Four o’clock rolls around, and the boys’ parents arrive to pick them up, leaving Hailey and me to tidy up the remnants of the day’s creative storm.
Kane runs in at 4:30. He’s late and looking harried. “I’m sorry. The boat’s giving me trouble again,” he says, scooping up Hailey in a hug. “I’m pushing it hard because this season’s important—I’m close to getting a new troller.”
I can see the stress in his eyes, the weight of his dreams on his shoulders. Something has shifted since I last saw him. He no longer smells like pine and leather. Instead, the scent of salt and sea air clings to him. His hair is windswept, tousled by the coastal breeze, and the sleeves of his flannel are rolled up, revealing strong forearms weathered by hard work.
As I watch him, a fleeting thought crosses my mind: what would it be like to be wrapped in those arms? I continue to observe him embracing Hailey. I can’t deny the growing curiosity, the subtle pull of attraction that seems to linger in the air when he’s nearby.
“Not to worry, it’s not like I have a hot date or anything. Hailey and I took the time to clean up. She’s been my teacher’s aide today.”
He looks up. “We’re heading to May’s for dinner. Would you like to join us?”
“No, it’s okay. I don’t want to intrude.”
“Inviting you to dinner is the least I can do since I was late again.”
I hesitate, thinking of my quiet cabin and the evening ahead. The idea of sharing a meal with Hailey and her dad, who has become more intriguing with each passing moment, appeals to me.
“I’d like that,” I say, neatly wrapping up my day of “camp counseling.”