Absence of Grace (10 page)

1982- 1984

Seattle, Washington

Jeannie stood silently beside Gerrum in the
Joyful
’s cockpit. He’d called his sister shortly after dawn to invite her to spend the day on the water and, without hesitation, she’d said yes.

“The engagement’s off.” He didn’t expect to speak so bluntly, but once the words were out, a weight lifted.

“Oh, Gerrum, I’m sorry to hear that. What happened? You both seemed so happy yesterday.”

“Yeah.” They were, and then, abruptly, they weren’t. “I told her I want to take a leave this summer.”

“Your timing could have been better.” Her tone was mild and held no reproof, one of the many qualities he loved about her.

“She was going to be upset no matter when I told her.”

Jeannie placed a hand on his arm. Fierce as a child, she had matured into a serene woman. “Perhaps with good reason. You are changing the rules.”

But what happened with Pam was more than bad timing or rule changing. If that were the whole of it, he’d right now be seeking her out, trying to reconcile. “Winston took me aside yesterday. He wanted to make sure I knew the Palmers were concerned about me taking a dip in their genetic pool. He said seeing you reassured them.”

“But surely Pam didn’t—”

“Yes, she did, although she was willing to overlook my ancestry, as long as I kept my job.”

“Can’t you work it out?”

That was the dilemma. After all, how could a single quarrel be enough to end a relationship that twenty-four hours ago he’d expected to last the rest of his life? Except, unfortunately, or fortunately, that single quarrel revealed something so essential, so divisive, something he’d never even suspected...

The
Joyful
’s bow dipped, then came up as they bounced across the spreading wake of a container ship headed toward the port of Seattle. Spray slapped against the windscreen. That wake...rather like what happened last night. Starting out small and focused, but growing until it rocked and shook everything in its vicinity.

He’d labeled what he felt for Pam, love. But it must have been less than that, because today, with the ocean sparkling and a brisk breeze to push against, he wasn’t grieving her loss the way he expected to. There was pain, of course. Pain it was difficult to pin down to its exact geography, but he was beginning to suspect it wasn’t a broken heart.

“This is a surprise, Gerrum.” Walter Pierson leaned forward with a frown. “I thought you were happy here. What can I do to change your mind?”

“Nothing, I’m afraid. I do appreciate all the opportunities you’ve given me.” Including the office with a view of skyline and docks almost as good as this one.

“It’s Rhinehard, isn’t it. I heard he was sniffing around. We’ll match his offer.”

“It’s not Rhinehard, and I’m not trying to hold you up for more money. I’m going to Alaska.”

“Alaska?”

“I want to spend time there. See what develops.”

“Oh, I get it. A reconnecting with your roots thing, eh?”

His roots were mostly a cause of discomfort. His parents’ unconventional union had led to unpleasant experiences for both them and their offspring. But while roots-reconnecting was not exactly his goal, it was close enough, he supposed.

“Hell, if that’s it, take a leave. Get it out of your system. Then you can come back refreshed. Ready to redouble your efforts.”

If Walter had stopped with the first statement, Gerrum might have been tempted. It was his original plan, after all. But the reminder any concession granted now would require payback later, firmed his resolve.

“I appreciate the offer, but no thank you.”

Walter sat for a moment, then pulled out a cigar and worked at lighting it. “Could be a bust, you know. What then?”

“I won’t know until, or if, it happens.”

“Well, if it does, check with me first. Can I get your agreement on that?”

“If I ever return to Seattle with the intention of practicing family law, I’ll let you know.”

“Humph. Don’t think I’m not aware of the disclaimers in that statement.” The cigar was finally drawing, and Walter took a couple of puffs, examining Gerrum as he did it. “When I turned forty, I had a midlife crisis, you know.”

“How did you handle it?”

“Not well. Almost got divorced over it, as a matter of fact. Then I came to my senses. No doubt you will, too. When you do, we’ll be glad to take you back.”

Although comforting to have a fall-back position, in this instance Gerrum preferred not to be tempted to return to the easy and familiar.

Wrangell,
Alaska

Gerrum pulled into Wrangell’s Reliance Harbor about four in the afternoon and checked in with the harbormaster. He was directed to a temporary berth amidst a cluster of boats—everything from a sleek white yacht to an ancient tug.

The day was warm for early April, and the clear skies and calm seas had made the run from Petersburg a pleasant one. He’d almost decided to stay longer in Petersburg, where he’d spent the morning writing, but he wanted to visit more of the small communities dotted along the inland waterway between Ketchikan and Juneau before deciding where to anchor for the summer.

After securing a berth for the
Joyful
, he walked downtown, making note of amenities like cafés, shops, and grocery stores. Wrangell’s downtown was larger than either Petersburg’s or Haines’, and the buildings comprising the Wrangell community curved around a mountain. Unlike Ketchikan, no houses perched on the side of that mountain to be accessed by steep sets of stairs. And unlike Petersburg, there were no sloughs that at high tide were deep enough to handle a good-size boat, but at low tide emptied out to roughly the depth of a wading pool.

He headed back to the marina, pleased with what he’d seen. When he reached Bear Lodge, located near the marina, the idea of spending the night in a bed that didn’t move, and bathing in abundant hot water was suddenly appealing.

After showing Gerrum a room, the innkeeper, one John Jeffers, offered him a cup of coffee, and Marian Jeffers joined them in the inn’s dining room.

“We’ve got lots of nice places around Wrangell,” John said when Gerrum asked about area attractions.

“There’s the garnet reef. It was willed to the Boy Scouts, but anyone can buy a permit and do their own digging. Even without digging, it’s an interesting place to walk around. Then there’s Anan Observatory where you can watch bears going after salmon.”

“And don’t forget the Stikine River,” Marian added.

“Yep. That’s a good one. East of here, on the mainland. Navigable all the way into Canada. There are hot springs about twenty miles in, glaciers, waterfalls, lakes. Makes for a nice day if you’ve got a fast boat and the tides cooperate.”

“The tides?”

“The Stikine delta empties out real good at low tide,” John said. “Means, you don’t time it right, you can get stuck getting back to Wrangell.”

“A time-honored Wrangell romantic tradition,” Marian said with a chuckle.

The next morning, Gerrum walked downtown to the Visitors’ Center.

“You the one with the pretty green boat?” asked the middle-aged woman behind the counter.

Taken aback at how fast that information had made the rounds, he smiled. “Guilty as charged. I’m Gerrum Kirsey.”

“Pleased to meet you.” She reached a hand out. “Doreen Matthews. You’re Native, ain’t you.”

“My mother’s Tlingit. From this area, originally.”

“Well, how about that. Welcome home, Gerrum Kirsey.”

“Thank you.”

“What can I do for you?”

“You free for a cup of coffee?”

She grabbed a sweater, put up a sign, and, chatting all the way, walked with him to Maude’s Café. Garrulous and friendly, Doreen was clearly an excellent choice for the Visitors’ Center. She was also direct and inquisitive.

After he let her pry into his background as much as he cared to allow, he finally got her to reciprocate with information about Wrangell. She had a good memory and was able to tell him the approximate number of visitors coming through each season, the number staying overnight, the number booking guided trips, and the most popular type of trips.

While she talked, he made notes on one of the cafe’s paper placemats. The information dovetailed with what the Jeffers told him, but now he had figures he could use to run the numbers.

“If you get your paperwork in order, I’d be happy to start referring visitors interested in sports fishing, and later in the season you could offer Anan trips,” Doreen said.

“I’m also interested in the viability of offering Stikine trips.”

“Doubt that would work for you. You need a smaller, faster boat to make a go of it on the Stikine.”

Essentially the same thing the Jeffers had told him. “Is anyone doing Stikine trips?”

“A few tried it. Never seems to take.”

 
“Do you know why?”

“Trip takes most of a day. Means you’re always going to hit a low tide either going or coming. The boats what can get across best are too small to be comfortable for, say a party of four to six. That’s what’s needed to make a go of it.”

He walked Doreen back to the Visitors’ Center and returned to the
Joyful
with the placemat of figures and an idea beginning to form.

“Only thing worse than a Native acting like he’s good as you is a Native who’s a goddamned lawyer.” The man who spoke was standing at the bar dressed in the typical Wrangell attire of flannel shirt and jeans held up by suspenders.

Gerrum knew the remarks were aimed at him, and they triggered a familiar spurt of adrenaline. Trying to appear calm, he turned to John Jeffers with a questioning look.

John tipped his chin toward the man. “That’s Elmer Cantrell. Convinced there’s a conspiracy behind every bush, even if it damn well looks like a bull moose.”

“They ain’t going to be satisfied till they get it all,” Cantrell countered, turning around and leaning back on his elbows. “That there Native Claims Settlement Act.” He hawked, the sound every bit as disgusting as the disgust it was seeking to convey. “Don’t make no difference. They want it all. And what makes them think they’re special anyway. Wasn’t I born here? Seems to me, that makes me as native as some half-assed Tlingit damn lawyer from Seattle.”