Chapter 29
“I’ll take it.”
Maggie surveyed the log cabin on the edge of town, no more than two rooms, its scrubby land leading out to empty meadow, with satisfaction.
For just six dollars a month, she could rent the whole place, complete with bedframes and mattresses, a table and chairs, and the all-important cookstove.
The linens, dishes, pots and pans, and other necessities she would have to pay for, but it was still a better bargain than Mrs. Compton’s boarding house, and necessary besides.
She only hoped Danny and her da thought so, too.
“One month in advance,” the landlord, who ran a tobacco shop on Front Street, told her. “And no… goings-on,” he added meaningfully.
Maggie chose not to ask him for clarification on what he considered goings-on. A white woman living with a native child might come under that description, and she had no intention of letting him know that that would be the case.
“And I can move in today?” she asked, and the man nodded.
“As long as you pay.”
It was the day after the poor, nameless Tlingit woman had died, and Maggie had had no choice but to take her daughter into her care.
The poor girl had clung to her, her screams turning to pitiful whimpers, as Sister Mary Bon Secours had explained that the woman had died just a few minutes ago, and the daughter had turned utterly and understandably distraught.
“The wretched woman was just too weak,” she’d said sadly. “Poor woman. And, oh, poor child.”
“I wish I knew her name,” Maggie had murmured as she’d hugged the girl to her. “And this one’s name, too.”
“I think the woman called her Sheetka,” Sister Mary Bon Secours had volunteered. “Or something like that. She’d been muttering it in her sleep. But most of the natives take on a Christian name, as well, so I suppose we could call her something else, when we baptize her.”
“Sheetka,” Maggie had repeated, and the little girl had looked up at her expectantly, the traces of her tears still visible on her cheeks. “Sheetka it is,” she’d decided. She would worry about an English name and a potential baptism later.
“You can’t mean to keep her?” Sister Mary Zeno had exclaimed when Maggie had spoken to the senior nun and nurse about just that. “Nurse O’Halloran, you’re a young woman all on your own! And the Indians have their own ways?—”
“But Sheetka has never lived in the Indian village,” Maggie had pointed out patiently. “She doesn’t know their ways. And if I sent her back there, she’d be treated like a beggar, because no one would want her or care for her like their own?—”
“And you would?” Sister Mary Zeno had asked, her tone gentling as she eyed Maggie in sympathy. “It seems you’ve formed an attachment with the child.”
“I have,” Maggie had admitted. “And I believe she trusts me. I can’t just abandon her, not when her own mother has just died.”
“Very well.” Sister Mary Zeno had nodded in resignation. “But it is a difficult path you’ve chosen, and I sincerely hope you don’t live to regret it!”
“I won’t,” Maggie had replied firmly. She felt certain about caring for Sheetka in a way that went right down to her bones. This wasn’t just the right thing to do, it was what she wanted to do.
But Maggie knew if she took care of the girl herself, she could no longer stay at Mrs. Compton’s. The landlady had made that abundantly clear when Maggie had brought her back for a second night.
“I told you, I wanted her gone by morning,” Mrs. Compton had declared, looking decidedly annoyed. “I’m not without pity, but I can’t lose half my boarders over some dirty little Indian child.”
“She’s not dirty,” Maggie had replied with dignity, “and I promise you, we’ll both be gone in the morning. I’ll pay extra for her, as well.”
Grumbling, but with another dollar in her pocket, Mrs. Compton had agreed.
Now all she had to do was convince Danny and Da to move with her to their new lodgings.
Maggie walked slowly back to the hospital, her mind whirling with potential plans.
Did she have enough money to buy all the necessary supplies they’d need to outfit the cabin?
With help from her father and brother, she would.
And what about her position at the hospital?
The sisters might have agreed to her taking care of Sheetka, but would they let the little girl accompany her to the hospital?
Maggie believed Sheetka could sit quietly while she worked, and she had no other options, but she didn’t know if Sister Mary Zeno and the others realized that.
With a sigh, she decided to tackle that problem when and if it came. As the Good Book said, each day had enough trouble of its own. She’d certainly found that to be true, anyway.
Later that evening, back at the boarding house, Maggie packed up her few belongings as Sheetka sat on the bed, watching her with her big, dark eyes but not saying a word. Besides her terrified screeching, Maggie had not heard her speak since she’d met her.
“Aw, Maggie, what’s going on?” Danny asked as he came into the room from work, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “Mrs. Compton’s said you’re moving out?”
“We’re all moving out,” Maggie replied crisply. “I’ve found us a cabin on 7th Street. It’s only six dollars a month.”
“What’s wrong with here?” Danny complained. “Three meals a day?—”
“And walls like tissue paper,” Maggie cut him off. “Don’t you want a little privacy, Danny? Besides, Mrs. Compton won’t allow Sheetka to stay here.”
“Sheetka?” His gaze traveled from Maggie to the little girl sitting on the bed. “Aw, Maggie, why do you still have that Indian kid?”
“I’m taking care of her now,” Maggie replied. “I told you that last night. If you chose not to believe me?—”
“Why would I think you were serious?” Danny demanded. “You know what the fellows downstairs are saying?—”
“I really could not care less,” Maggie replied calmly. “Danny, the matter is decided.”
Her brother thrust his lower lip out as he folded his arms. “And what if I say I’m not going?”
Maggie sighed. They’d been here before, back in Chicago, when Danny had insisted upon staying in Englewood with Brendan rather than move with Maggie to the Loop. His rejection had hurt, but she’d taken it; this time she couldn’t.
“I can’t afford the cabin without you and Da, Danny,” she said quietly.
“And besides that, it wouldn’t be safe, just Sheetka and me on our own.
And if we can’t live there, you consign this poor girl to a life of utter destitution.
Do you want that on your conscience, just so you can eat a square meal and talk nonsense with some old-timer prospectors of an evening? ”
He scowled but said nothing, and Maggie resumed packing.
“What’s this, then?” their father asked cheerfully as he came in a few minutes later, with his usual light step and easy smile. “Hello there, darlin’,” he greeted Sheetka, who eyed him warily. “Maggie, where are you off to?”
“I just told Danny we’re all moving to our own cabin on 7th Street,” Maggie replied. She glanced at her father, bracing herself for his resistance, and for a moment, he gazed between her, Sheetka and Danny, who was still scowling, before offering a ready smile.
“Well, isn’t that grand!” he exclaimed. “And we’ll have this little one with us, I suppose?” He smiled warmly at Sheetka, who ducked her head.
Maggie nearly wilted with relief. That was exactly what she’d needed him to say, and she was grateful.
“Thank you, Da,” she said quietly, and his smile turned tender, his eyes drooping at the corners, reminding her of the good man he could be underneath all the feckless, easy charm.
“Ah, lass, of course we’ll stay together,” he assured her. “All of us. At least that is, until your brother and I strike out for gold!”
An hour later, they were standing in the middle of the cabin, their suitcases piled around them. Tomorrow they’d go to the dry goods store and pick out all the supplies they needed, but for tonight they’d have to make do with what they had.
Still, Maggie thought as she settled Sheetka into bed, they’d got this far.
And now she had this little one to care for…
Maggie gazed down at the girl’s face, her eyelids already starting to flutter, as she wondered how on earth she was meant to raise a child.
A child whose language she didn’t even speak!
And yet she knew she wanted to do it. Desperately.
Taking care of Sheetka had unlocked something inside her, something that had been so tightly held, she hadn’t realized how much it had been hurting her until it had loosened…
and now she never wanted to go back to how she’d been.
She was twenty-three years old and suddenly she felt as if she’d become a mother.
When Sheetka was asleep, Maggie ventured out the back door to the scrubby yard beyond, no more than a patch of dirt, but beyond that…
The whole of Alaska glowed under the dusky, twilight wonder of the midnight sun.
A meadow bright with lupines and wild iris, cow parsnips and columbines, tumbled down to the bay, a blue-green shimmer in the distance.
And in the other direction, it stretched to Mount Roberts, its peak like a slate wall, cutting off the rest of the world.
Maggie breathed in the fresh air, grateful that the cabin was on the edge of town. Instead of muddy streets and dismal, wood-fenced courtyards, they had this magnificent view all to themselves.
“Quite the sight, eh?” her father remarked as he ambled out into the yard, smoking on his pipe. He nodded toward the vista of meadow and mountain, hill and bay. “Can’t beat that, not in a million years.”
“No,” Maggie agreed quietly. She wrapped her arms around herself as she let the cool spring breeze buffet her. The first stars were starting to glimmer on the horizon, but the sun was still shining.
They were both silent for a long moment, gazing out at the vista as the sun sank a little lower. It was still hours before it would set, and then only briefly.
“I know,” Maggie’s father stated suddenly, his tone resigned, yet holding import, “I haven’t been a good father to you.”
Maggie turned to stare at him in surprise. “Da…” she began and then realized she didn’t know what to say.
“There’s no point denying it,” her father said on a sorrowful smile. “I wasn’t a good husband, either. I had so many dreams?—”
“And you still do,” Maggie reminded him with a smile. “You’re going to strike gold, remember.”
“Ah, lass, that’s Danny’s dream, not mine, but I’m glad he has it,” her father told her on a weary chuckle. “It’s good for a man to dream, at least a little. But when it comes to mine… I wish I hadn’t sacrificed so much along the way.”
“I think I did the same,” Maggie confessed after a moment.
She kept her gaze on the view of the shimmering bay.
“I thought I wasn’t like you, but maybe I am.
I had so many dreams…” She thought of the ambition she’d nurtured all through her days in New York and Chicago, how tenderly and jealously she’d cherished those silly, schoolgirl dreams!
And for what? Nothing, it seemed now, but a moment of vainglory and a handful of silk and satin.
“Ah, lass.” Her father’s voice was rich with affection. “And now?”
“Now…?” Maggie tilted her head up to the sky and breathed in all that wide openness. “Now I want different things.” Things she already had—a home she could make her own, for the very first time in her life, a job she loved and that made a difference in the world, and a daughter.
A daughter.
And yet some part of her still longed for more. She found herself thinking of Brendan and then pushed the painful thought of him away.
“And what I want,” she told her father as she turned to smile at him, “is what I have. Everything, right here.”
Her father smiled back at her and reached for her hand. “Me too, lass,” he told her. “Me, too.”