Mary Connealy (9 page)

“I think you’re better off forgetting about the house. It’s sold. I know you must miss your home.”

A high scream overhead pulled their eyes upward. A golden eagle swooped across the cloudless blue sky, its wings spread wide as it played on the cool spring air currents. The breeze ruffled the cedars surrounding Amy’s smokehouse, creating the music of nature with their sway and the eagle cry. The white cap of a mountain peak soared above the tree tops.

Amy’s throat swelled at the beauty all around her. She had missed her home. But her home was the land, not that cabin. She didn’t want the building, only the information it contained. She couldn’t rest peacefully until she knew what had happened to her father.

As another scream from the eagle reached her ears, she felt as if God spoke to her. “ ‘But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles.’ ”
Amy quoted.
“My mother favored that verse mainly because of the beauty of the eagles that lived all around us. That verse always lifted my heart as surely as the wind lifts an eagle’s wings.”

Amy glanced at Braden. His shoulders stiffened. “You do not talk much of your faith, Braden. Can you find no comfort in knowing that your wife has gone home to God?”

Braden looked up from where he worked. “My wife is with God. I’m sure she’s in a better place. But that doesn’t leave any excuse for my making her life harder than it needed to be. I should have been stronger.”

Stronger how?
Amy held her tongue.
“Wait upon the Lord. . .
. Mount up with wings as eagles.”
A beautiful image. The wind seemed to whisper through the trees,
Patience, wait on the Lord
.
In this one thing, questioning Braden, perhaps it would be better to wait. He seemed far from being ready to talk of his loss. But waiting for Braden’s heart to heal was not the same as waiting to find the truth about her father. Braden needed time, but time was the enemy of the truth. Waiting might mean the man got away with murder.

Amy had cared for herself since the age of twelve and believed God wanted her to. So why did the Lord nudge her to wait? Did she hear God’s voice carried on the wind or was it just her imagination? The Raffertys offered her safety and an easy life. But if she needed to face something hard, she’d just as soon get on with it. She turned back to the rock pile and selected the next stone.

“There is a hidden compartment in the mantel. It held Papa’s important papers.” Straightening with the next piece of granite, she added, “If he really sold the cabin, then he would have handed over the deed. But if—”

“Your home is gone.” Braden laid his hand on her shoulder. “You need to accept that, lass.”

Amy’s jaw tightened. “Nobody
accepts
their father’s unexplained death and the theft of their home. You haven’t accepted your wife’s death, have you?”

Braden took the load from her hands and rested it on the ever-narrowing chimney that had grown to chest level. “It’s not about accepting. I–I just know God took her from me, and I want her back. If I’d taken better care of her, God would have blessed my efforts and let us be together for a long life. I failed. And now you want to risk confronting that man with his gun just to get a house back you don’t need and you can’t live in. Well, I’m not going to let you go.”

“Not
let
me?” Amy clamped her lips tight and turned back to the smokehouse. She worked harder, wanting to keep her sharp words locked inside. Braden didn’t deserve to be barked at. In his own overprotective way, he meant to be kind.

The smokehouse was soon done. Amy had left small, arched openings at each level. Now she knelt at the base and loaded the damp moss and green branches and wood chips. She found the match she’d tucked in the pocket of her gingham dress and carefully struck it on the stone. The matches were a wonderful convenience—though she certainly didn’t need one to start a fire.

A pile of shredded bark resting on a larger slab of bark blazed to life, and Amy eased it into the base of the atx’aan hídi.

The sweet sound of crackling wood came from inside the smokehouse. The warm smell of cedar smoke tickled her nose. As the fire blazed inside the rounded opening, Amy used each level of the smokehouse, with its neat openings, to lay out her salmon.

Braden caught on quickly and worked at a different level so they wouldn’t get in each other’s way.

It only took moments for the blazing fire to die down and begin smoldering. Smoke billowed out of the hundreds of cracks of the chimney. They finished putting the salmon into the smoky chamber and stood back to keep from choking.

The sense of accomplishment eased Amy’s temper, and she shared a smile with Braden. “This will burn for hours. I need to add wood twice a day. We will keep the fire going overnight. Tomorrow, about noon, this batch will be done, and I will take it out and add the salmon I spear today.

“Today?”

Amy nodded. “I need to get enough for the winter right now. It is easy when they are spawning. There are plenty of salmon in the river, of course. But my stream is better. And it needs to be done now. Later in the summer, I might sit all day and only spear enough food for a single meal. I will do that, of course, so we can eat fresh fish during the summer.”

“Earlier, when I mentioned Merry doing all the cooking, you acted like something was wrong. What’s going on?”

Amy had hoped he’d forgotten that blunder. But this talk of food had obviously reminded Braden. She toyed with a small rock, fitting it into an opening to keep a bit more of the smoke inside. The chimney wasn’t meant to be tight. She fiddled with the rock to give herself time to think.

Braden pulled her hands away from the smokehouse and turned her to face him. “I asked if something was going on.”

Amy studied her toes peeking out from beneath her brown calico dress, not a bit sure she could keep an innocent expression on her face. Suddenly he caught her upper arms in his hands
and lifted her until she had to look at him. “What is it, Amy? Is
Merry sick?”

Amy shook her head. She couldn’t outright lie, and from his worried expression, she knew Braden wouldn’t let the subject drop. “The smell of cooking meat makes her sick because. . . because. . .” Amy prayed that Meredith wouldn’t be too upset with her. “She is expecting a baby.”

“A baby?” A smile bloomed on his face. Then, as if the bloom were slashed off with a knife, his forehead furrowed, and the corners of his mouth turned down. Braden released her hands as if he’d found himself holding a rattlesnake. His jaw formed a taut, straight line; deep furrows showed on his brow, partly covered by his unruly red hair.

He stepped back from her. “No.”

Amy felt the pain and fear rolling off Braden in waves. “She will be fine.” She rested one hand on his wrist. “I know you lost your wife and you are worried for Merry, but babies are a blessing. She will be fine.”

“You can’t know that.”

“She is a strong woman. There is nothing more natural than having a baby. God will take care of her.”

“Like he took care of Maggie?” Braden shook off her touch and shoved both hands into his hair as he turned away.

Amy had lived with the Tlingit ways for too long to fear the birth of a baby. It was a reason for joy. Her mother had assisted whenever a baby came along, and Amy knew the way of bringing a child into the world. But how could she reassure Braden?

Amy knew the truth. If Braden didn’t want to hear it, she couldn’t force him. Speaking just above a whisper, she said, “Maggie’s time to go home to God came. I know you miss her. You loved your wife and wanted that child, but God called them to Himself. To be angry at God for doing it makes no sense.”

With a twist of guilt, Amy realized she’d been ignoring God’s urging for patience. For a moment, she wondered if that also made no sense. But it wasn’t the same thing. She accepted her father’s death. She only wanted to see justice done; that bore no resemblance to anger with God.

“I’ve heard it all before.” Braden dropped his hands to his sides, his fists clenched. He looked at Amy, his blue eyes smoldering like the stones behind them. “Why would God send a child only to take it away before it drew a single breath? Why would I hear Maggie’s screams only to be useless as she lay and bled to death in my arms?”

“Oh, Braden.” She laid one hand on his wrist, hurting for him. “I am so sorry. I did not know you went through all that.”

He jerked his hand away as if she’d burned him. “Sorry for me? Maggie’s the one who died. I don’t deserve your sympathy. And I won’t accept that as God’s will. How can I? To accept it means God wanted to hurt me. What kind of God is that?”

“We cannot know the ways of God.” Amy looked into pain that permeated the depths of Braden’s heart. She remembered the bitter loneliness she’d felt when her mother had died. Nothing had come close to easing her pain except when her father held her. Despite the way Braden had rejected her touch, she couldn’t stop herself from taking the few steps toward him and throwing her arms around him.

His hands went to her wrists behind his back as if he’d tear her loose. Then, with a sudden groan of pain, he released her wrists and pulled her hard against him.

Burying his face in her shoulder, he wept.

Ten

Tears escaped as if a dam had burst when Braden felt Amy, solid and alive and strong in his arms. Her vitality and calm filled him with the courage to face the pain of Maggie’s death. Until this minute, he’d clung to his anger and guilt, afraid of the tears as if once he began to cry he might never stop.

Vaguely, he felt Amy pat his back. He heard murmurs of comfort spoken so quietly he couldn’t make them out. He thought she spoke of God, or maybe she spoke to God.

Braden knew a prayer was long overdue.
God, forgive me. I’ve blamed You. I’ve been angry at You. I’m so sorry.

Braden remembered the words Ian had read to them one Sunday morning.
“But they that wait upon the Lord
shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.”

“You’re my strength, Braden.”

But he hadn’t been strong enough. Even though Maggie had demanded a lot of Braden, God had promised to renew his strength.
God, why didn’t you make me strong enough?

The awful sight of Maggie, bleeding, begging him to save her, dying in his arms faded into the memory of how she’d been before. She had a wonderful smile, though not so bright as Amy’s. Amy’s white teeth glowed out of her tanned face. Maggie had a gentle laugh, precious to Braden because he hadn’t heard it often. Amy had at first appeared to have an overly serious nature. One of her gentle smiles had been rare indeed. Now on occasion, she shared a husky and generous laugh. He’d even heard her giggle with Meredith while they set the meal on the table. Once, under Tucker’s merciless teasing, Amy had laughed so hard she’d held her stomach as if it hurt.

Braden realized he was comparing his wife to Amy. His tears stopped as soon as he realized the disloyalty of his thoughts. He felt compelled to say, “My Maggie was a gracious, gentle lady. Aye, she had the manners and temperament of an angel.”

Braden thought of a few times Maggie hadn’t been so sweet. She didn’t lose her temper, but she did complain and gave way to tears and long, pouting silences. Braden had learned to give her what she wanted to keep peace in his home.

Amy had lost her father; she’d been left homeless with only a stranger to care for her. She’d been exhausted from the trip. But she’d handled it all. She’d fought her way through the loss, the exhaustion, and the fear. She’d squared her shoulders and taken on the household so Meredith could rest. And she’d done it quietly.

Even Meredith, tired out from the baby growing inside her, hadn’t whined and demanded Ian stay in the house as Maggie had with Braden. Meredith had accepted Amy’s help out of necessity but kept working. She’d sewn three shirts this week out of the fabric Ma had sent, one for each of the men. Braden had seen no new clothing for Meredith or Amy as of yet.

Braden remembered how Maggie needed to be complimented for things. He’d loved to put that glow in her eyes when she’d show him a shirt she’d mended or a cake she’d baked. Even while he did it, Braden thought of his mother baking daily for the large household, gardening, canning, and cleaning all day. Ma sewed or knit in the evening, her hands never idle, her thoughts always on what came next and who needed her help.

Amy reminded Braden of his mother, a hard worker with no need for thanks because she saw herself as part of the family and worked to make the family run smoothly. Ma and Da had trained their young’uns to say please and thank you, but no one did their work for the thanks they earned with it. Not his mother, not Amy, not Meredith, only Maggie.

Braden realized he still held Amy. It had felt so natural he’d kept hanging on. He stepped out of Amy’s arms, pulling away so abruptly that she stumbled toward him when she didn’t let go quickly enough. He dashed his shirt sleeve across his eyes.

He saw the confusion in her eyes and dropped his gaze to her soft lips. He thought of the Northern Lights in the sky when they were together on the trip up here. He’d been drawn to her then, and the very idea had shocked him. Now he wanted to pull her close. He wanted her warmth and strength not just for a day but forever. Braden shoved his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching for her. The pain of losing Maggie was too fresh; caring for another woman felt like a betrayal. He had to say something to rebuild the wall he needed to protect his heart.

“There’s no room in a family for lies and secrets.” His tone shocked him. The rough edge of it calling Amy a liar. “If you women don’t tell Ian the truth, I will.”

He found safety in his anger and looked at the little woman who’d just built a smokehouse and had plans that would feed the family for the winter. Amy had gone fishing yesterday, leaving Meredith home alone all day. Now here she planned to do it again. Maggie would never have done that. Maggie would have stayed to the house where she belonged.

Glaring, his temper came rapidly to a boil to cover his guilt. “If you’re going to go off on your own and leave Merry, you’d better tell us so someone can be there in case she needs help.”

Amy’s jaw dropped. He saw the tracks of tears cutting through her grubby face, tears she’d cried for him. She’d worked up a sweat building the chimney, then apparently scratched her nose and cheeks with dirty hands.

Maggie kept herself neat and clean.

“Braden, what is wrong?” Amy’s kindness only made him more furious. He felt like a polar bear, lashing out at her for no reason except his own bad temper. But he couldn’t stop.

“Are you going to keep lying to Ian or not?”

“We did not lie. We just—”

“Just didn’t tell the truth.” Guilt rode him like the gnawing hunger of an empty belly after a long winter’s hibernation. “Don’t dress it up fancy to make excuses for yourself. That makes you a liar.”

Amy’s head jerked back as if she’d been slapped.

Braden had to lock his muscles in place to keep from reaching for her and telling her she was wonderful, beautiful, brave, and strong.

Amy met his eyes, as if she accepted his condemnation and believed every word. “I—I will tell Merry. Now that you know, she will need to tell Ian, of course. I think we should let her be the one to tell him.”

Braden held her gaze for a moment longer. Then with a single nod of his chin, he said, “Do it before the end of the noon meal, or I will.”

He turned and plunged into the woods, afraid to be near her for another second.

❧

Amy sank onto the nearest rock. What had happened? One second she’d been in Braden’s arms, comforting him, feeling closer to him than she ever had to another human being. The next, he’d been calling her a liar and threatening her if she didn’t admit everything to Ian.

She should never have hugged him. The mission teachers had told her about a woman’s proper demeanor. She’d shocked Braden and once again reminded him of how poorly she compared to the refined wife he’d lost.

A gust of wind carried a thick blanket of fish-flavored smoke over her, setting her to coughing. If it hadn’t been for that, she might have sat on that rock forever.

The smoke reminded her of dinner, and, fighting back tears of shame for the way she’d flaunted herself at Braden, she hurried toward the house. She needed to give Meredith a few minutes to prepare herself before Ian got home.

She strode toward the cabin, her mind jumping around like a speared salmon fighting its fate. A sudden crackling in the brush drew her attention. She turned to face the noise, resting her hand on the hilt of her knife, tucked in its scabbard and tied around her waist with a thin leather belt. She always carried it in case she needed to cut saplings or dig for roots.

Ian and Tucker had warned her that they’d seen the white fur of a polar bear and its tracks in the woods, but not this near. She knew how hungry the huge animals were in the spring. The smell of smoking salmon would draw them. That’s why she’d used the heavy rocks to build the smokehouse, rather than just hang them over an open fire. Keeping a watchful eye on the woods, she listened for the heavy breathing of a bear, watched for a flash of white fur against the brown of the trees and the green of the cedar branches.

She heard something more but it didn’t sound like a bear, more like a footstep. Human. A cold chill raced up her spine as she backed away from the thick undergrowth and remembered the menace of those soft footfalls that late night aboard the
Northward
and how she’d never stayed on the deck alone again. She pulled her knife. “Who is there?”

She continued backing away, keeping her eyes open, listening for movement that meant someone circled her. She heard nothing. As soon as she put enough paces between her and that thicket, she pivoted and raced for the cabin.

By the time she got to the house, she had begun to doubt the strange flash of fear. Feeling foolish for racing through the woods, she slowed her steps and tried to steady her breathing. Running a hand through the wisps of black hair that had escaped her braid, she tidied herself. No sense frightening Meredith just because Amy jumped at her own shadow. With a shake of her head, Amy entered the cabin to see Meredith sitting on Ian’s lap.

They were both grinning.

Amy forgot all about that strange moment in the woods. “You told him.”

Meredith nodded. Ian jumped from the chair with Meredith still in his arms and whooped, twirling her around in the air.

Amy stepped back so she wouldn’t get plowed over in the tiny cabin, laughing at Ian’s antics.

“Ian, stop. I’m going to throw up.” Meredith slapped at his shoulder, but then she went back to holding him tight. She didn’t look sick. She looked wonderful. Amy saw none of the greenish hue to her skin. Her eyes glowed with joy, her cheeks were flushed pink from laughter, and her lips were slightly swollen, no doubt from Ian’s kisses.

“Well, good,” Amy said, “because Braden found out today. He insisted that we tell Ian. . .
today
.”

Meredith, perched in her husband’s arms, arched a brow at Amy. “You talked with Braden this morning?”

“Yes.” Amy refused to say more despite Meredith’s open curiosity. “Ian, take your wife outside so I can cook some dinner. This cabin is not big enough for me and a dancing couple.”

“I’m feeling better.” Meredith squeezed Ian’s neck until he grunted. “I think I could help cook today.”

“Not right now.” Amy shook her head. “I think you need to go and spend a few minutes with your husband. You can try cooking tonight.”

Ian smiled, whirled Meredith one more time, then swept toward the door with his wife still in his arms.

Amy jumped out of the way, laughing at Ian’s nonsense. She turned to watch them go and saw Braden standing at the edge of the clearing. Ian and Meredith didn’t see him; they were too caught up in their own joy. Could it have been Braden she’d heard in the woods? Would he have kept quiet if she’d come upon him, rather than speak to her, even after he’d seen her fear?

With his heart in his eyes, Braden watched his brother and Meredith. The grief cut lines into the corners of his mouth and deepened the lines in his forehead.

The happy couple vanished into the woods, and Braden turned to Amy.

Anger replaced grief, and even from this distance, she could see the accusation, as if she’d betrayed him somehow. The betrayal boiled down to Amy being alive while his beloved Maggie was dead.

I am in love with him.

From out of nowhere, the knowledge swept over her as powerfully as an avalanche. His expression couldn’t have hurt as much as it did for any other reason. At that moment, she’d have done anything to take away his pain, even given up her life in exchange for his Maggie’s if God granted her the power to make such a trade.

Her eyes held Braden’s. Then, as if he couldn’t bear the sight of her a moment longer, he turned away and disappeared into the trees in the opposite direction his brother and sister-in-law had gone.

❧

Amy fed the family and, with some argument, settled Meredith in for an afternoon nap. After the excitement of telling Ian her news, she looked exhausted. Meredith protested, but she fell asleep almost before Amy left the room.

Amy tended the fire in her smokehouse, then set off through the woods. She planned to haul home a much larger catch today. Knowing she had the smokehouse to build first, she hadn’t taken the time to carry more salmon home yesterday. Settling into the long, silent strides her father had taught her when he took her along to his trap lines, she covered a mile and had two more to go. She moved easily up the rugged mountain, reveling in the beauty of her home.

She might not have come after the uncomfortable moment in the woods earlier if she hadn’t convinced herself the noises, assuming they were human, were from Braden sulking. That stopped her from mentioning the incident at the table while they ate, too. Although she should have said something, the meal was a joyful one with Meredith and Ian elated over their news, and it had been easy to keep her vague fears to herself.

A still, small voice whispered to her to wait, to take someone along, to not strike out alone in the woods. The only thing that gave her pause was leaving Meredith alone. But Ian and Tucker had always left Meredith when they went to the mines, so they must believe it to be safe. Amy ignored her doubts in favor of action.

Her mind firmly on Braden and the way he’d held her and then pushed her away, she only distantly noticed the terrain. She’d climbed this path before, after all. She reached the summit of the modest mountain that separated her from the rich salmon run. She paused at the top, drinking in the hundreds of scenic peaks that made this look like a footstool for God’s grand throne. The small mountain she stood on wasn’t even high enough to be capped with snow. She followed a trail that skirted a cedar stand on her right hand and on her left dropped away in a sheer fall.