Summer of the Midnight Sun (20 page)

“Anything else?” he asked, handing her the beans.

She put the can next to the fire. “A spoon would be nice.”

He looked into her blue eyes and crossed his arms. “I’m sure a spoon would be very nice, but I don’t have one. I only have the can opener because Leah told me we needed one for the house. Sorry.”

“Very well.”

She squared her shoulders and assessed the situation without another word. After a few minutes she took up her handkerchief and pulled the can back from the fire. Gingerly touching the metal, she found it to be sufficiently cool, then worked to bend the can lid back as far as possible. To Jacob’s surprise, she then lifted the beans to her lips as if drinking from a glass. She’d need to be careful, Jacob thought, or she’d cut her lips for sure.

The men had chosen to sit away from Jacob and Helaina. They seemed to understand that they’d not have the same camaraderie with this new white woman that they’d shared over the years with Leah. Jacob figured it was just as well. Helaina’s caustic nature was not something he would have wished on his enemy, much less his friends.

“Don’t you ever miss civilization?” Helaina asked without warning.

Jacob thought about her question for a moment. He remembered a time when Denver had been his home. The city had seemed overwhelming, even terrifying. He hated the noise most of all, not to mention the rudeness of people who seemed always to be in a big hurry.

“If you mean big cities full of people and racket, then no,” he said softly, “I don’t miss it.”

“But what about the innovations—the changes? The world is not as you left it when you came to hide away up here.”

He looked at her oddly. She had such a strange way of looking at life. Her words were always something of an accusation. “What do you mean ‘hide away up here’? I didn’t come here to hide. I first came to the Yukon with my father. I stayed up north because I love it. There’s something about this country that reaches deep inside a man. I honestly never thought it would happen to me. There was a time, in fact, that I planned to leave as soon as I had the means.”

“But what about automobiles and aeroplanes?”

“What about wars and financial failures?”

She cocked her head to one side and studied him for a moment. “Is that really all you think of when you think of America and the wonders of our time?”

“I don’t know. I understand that there are great inventions coming to light every day. I realize doctors are learning new ways to help people, and that travel is improving in speed and quality.

Still, I know that there are problems.”

“Such as?” She dropped the sarcastic overtone to her voice to add, “I’d really like to know how you see it.”

Jacob leaned back on his elbows and stretched his legs out beside the fire. “Sometimes I get the newspapers from Seattle or elsewhere. The ship captains bring them or the missionaries carry them back from their trips. I see the complications of life in big cities within the pages. There seems to be a great deal of crime and hunger, yet no one really knows anyone well enough to care. Vast populations of strangers are content to wander through life with no concern or compassion for anyone but themselves.”

Helaina frowned and toyed with the can. “The crime is bad, certainly, but the legal authorities are doing what they can to right the wrongs of the world.”

“But isn’t there something more than just righting wrongs? What about changing hearts? What about turning people from wrong and teaching them to care for one another?”

“And how would you propose to do that?”

Jacob sat up again. “With God, of course. The hearts and minds of people can only be changed when they understand that there is something—someone—to change for. It’s the hopelessness that causes them to break the law. It’s that which also kills them.”

“Or they get killed by other people,” Helaina admitted. “Like my family.”

“Your situation is a good example. I can’t comprehend why your folks and husband were murdered, but I can guess that there was a hopelessness deep inside the man or men who took their lives. There always is. Even when something else motivates the actions.”

“Like what?”

“Greed. I once found myself accused of a murder because of someone else’s greed.”

Helaina perked up at this. Jacob saw that he held her interest completely as she asked, “Tell me about it?”

Jacob shrugged and put a piece of driftwood on the fire. “I had a good friend, Gump Lindquist, who was looking for gold.

He’d found some too. He’d also found trouble in the form of a man who came looking for something that didn’t belong to him. It’s a long story, but the man was someone I’d known from before. He killed the old man as a way of getting to me—threatening me so that I’d help him. But when the ruckus caught the attention of other people—witnesses—the man fled and I was accused of murder.”

“But you didn’t do it?” she asked.

“No, I didn’t do it,” Jacob replied, remembering those horrible days. He’d honestly thought they’d hang him, and all because of what Cec Blackabee had done.

“How did you prove it? Was there a trial?”

“Like I said, it’s a long story. My guardians were faithful to believe me and to not give up on exposing the truth. The authorities caught the man, even as he confessed what he’d done. Of course, he didn’t know the law was standing outside the door listening in. My point is the man who killed my friend was consumed in his own hopelessness. He was overcome with greed and desired gold more than he valued human life.”

“And you think God could have changed this hopelessness?”

“He changed it for me. Sitting in that jail, not even seventeen years old, I was sure they were going to hang me. I thought God didn’t care. Here I’d trusted Him and He’d let this happen to me . . . let my friend die.”

Helaina’s face contorted, as if the comment caused her pain. She quickly lowered her focus to the can of beans. “And didn’t He?” she murmured.

“No. God didn’t just let Gump die, and He certainly didn’t desert me. Sometimes the desperation of the moment causes us to feel as though God is far away—that He doesn’t care. That’s the hopelessness of the world creeping in.”

“I really find all of this to be nonsense,” Helaina declared, seeming to compose herself once again. It was as if a mask of steel fell into place. “People make choices and do as they will. They are driven by certain motives, I will allow you that. But their choices have consequences and bad choices must be punished. You were fortunate that your friends were able to uncover the truth. But had they not, the law would have had no choice but to hang you.”

“That’s a rather calloused, coldhearted way of looking at things, isn’t it?”

“Not at all. Justice is often mistaken for being cruel, but it’s only fair that people pay for their wrongdoings.”

The words seemed to come from deep in Helaina’s heart. This surprised Jacob. He’d never heard a woman talk with quite so much conviction for punishment. “What of mercy?” he asked.

“Mercy? Mercy has no place in the law. The law is the law. It is written and easily interpreted in order to keep our societies from falling into disorder,” she said emphatically.

“I think you’re wrong, Mrs. Beecham. I think mercy plays an important role in the law and its interpretation. I think that you can’t just see our world in hues of black or white. We are all individual and very human in nature.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning that we fail. We make mistakes. Sometimes we trust the wrong person and sometimes we’re just in the wrong place at the wrong time. If there were no mercy for situations like that, what would happen to people who are innocently accused? Could you really live with the idea of our legal system putting people to death simply because they appeared to be guilty? Does your heart not cry out for mercy and truth?”

“My heart cries out for justice, Mr. Barringer. Only that. Justice is the key to our society maintaining order. Therefore, justice is more important than your mercy.”

————

“There they are!” Leah declared, pointing down the dock to where Karen and Adrik Ivankov stood. Karen, still tall and slender, looked very much as she had the last time Leah had seen her. She smiled and waved enthusiastically at Leah. Adrik, a man who had always seemed larger than life to Leah, did likewise. “Hurry, Jayce.” She left him to carry the bags and ran to where the couple awaited her.

Leah fell into Karen’s arms and hugged her close. Karen was the only mother Leah had known for nearly twenty years. It was so good to be with her again. Leah wondered now why she’d delayed so long in coming.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” Karen whispered against Leah’s ear. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I know. I’ve missed you too. It’s been so long.”

“And you’ve brought Mr. Kincaid back with you, I see.” Karen and Leah looked to where Adrik and Jayce were in conversation several feet away.

“I really had no choice. He showed up on the shore when I was ready to leave, and Jacob announced that he would accompany me.”

Karen turned her focus back on Leah. “What’s wrong with that?”

Leah smiled. Karen’s once-vibrant red hair was laced now with gray, but her eyes were as keen as ever. There would be no hiding the story from Karen, not that Leah really wanted to. “It’s complicated, to say the least,” she began. “You remember how I felt about Jayce back when I still lived here with you?”

“Yes,” Karen said, nodding. “And how you still feel about him.”

Leah nodded and sobered. “Yes.”

“But he still doesn’t feel that way about you?”

“I think not,” Leah said with a heavy sigh. “Yet he’s everywhere. He’s in my thoughts and in my heart, and now he’s here . . . at least for now. He tells me he has business elsewhere. So I don’t imagine he’ll stay here long.”

“Would it matter if he did?”

Leah looked at Karen. “I’m not sure. Sometimes I get the feeling he would like a second chance. I know that sounds crazy, because just as soon as I think that way, he does something or says something that proves to me he can’t possibly want that. So while on one hand I wish he would stay and allow us to start over in our friendship, on the other I just wish he would go.”

“I’ve just invited Jayce to stay with us for a while,” Adrik announced as they joined the women. “He said yes.”

Leah looked to Karen and shrugged. “See what I mean?”

Karen grinned. “I do indeed. But unlike you, I think it matters a great deal more than you’ll admit. I think once you let it all settle in, you’ll be glad he’s staying.”

————

Jayce was glad for the invitation to remain with the Ivankovs. Ketchikan was a beautiful city set against impressive hills—mountains, some might say, although he’d seen much bigger. The Ivankov home was nestled deep in the forest, secluded from the harbor and the worries of town life. Here a man could lose himself by traveling days and days into the deep, dark woods. He liked that idea. He loved the solitude.

Standing in the seclusion of heady pine and fir, the light fading ever so slightly overhead, Jayce found the canopy of tall trees to be a welcoming comfort. They seemed almost to hide him away—shelter him from harm.

“I thought I saw you out here,” Adrik said as he stalked up the path.

Adrik was a big bear of a man. Part Russian and part Tlingit Indian, he immediately dwarfed any other person around him. The only person who had never shown him fear, at least as far as Jayce had witnessed, was Karen. Even now Jayce felt rather unnerved by the man.

“I love the quiet. The stillness of the forest is almost too much to bear,” Jayce admitted, trying to forget his uneasiness.

“It’s such a contrast to other places in this territory. So rich and green here, compared to the barren scrub and brush willows of the Arctic.”

“It’s all that rain and rich soil,” Adrik told him. He looked at Jayce and smiled. “Has it changed much in ten years?”

“It’s hard to believe I’ve been gone that long, but, no, it hasn’t changed all that much. There are some things I noticed at the docks, but here . . . it seems almost eternally the same.”

“Some things don’t show the wear of time as much. People do, but not everything does.”

The comment made Jayce a bit uneasy, and he quickly thought of what he might say to change the subject. “I’ve heard that we have approval for a railroad to be built from Seward to Fairbanks,” he finally said.

“Yes. There’s been a lot of controversy over it. Some people want to develop the land and others don’t.”

“Where do you stand?”

Adrik looked heavenward for a moment. “I see good on both sides. I hate to think of the land being spoiled—abused. I’m not sure the things that the government hopes to accomplish can ever be realized for this area, and it worries me to wonder how far they will go to be right.”

“Right about what?”

“Right about their vision for the territory. You know they are already talking about pushing for statehood next year.”

“I had heard that,” Jayce admitted.

“Well, a lot of folks in the government think Alaska is the answer to troubles in the States. They think once we get statehood, they can promote moving people here and lessening the population of large cities. I don’t think people will be inclined to move here, however, without more incentive than a railroad and thirty-seven cents a day to labor on its creation.”

“You may be right. Still, I see exploration and innovation to be beneficial. I love this territory and think it would serve us well to develop some of the cities and areas between them, but I wouldn’t want to see it spoiled, and like you I do have my fears.”

“Some people just don’t see a good thing when they have it.”

They stood in silence for several minutes. Jayce felt there was something Adrik wanted to say, but he wasn’t at all certain what that might be. He felt a bit uncomfortable waiting for the older man to address him but held his tongue.

Finally Adrik did speak. He turned toward Jayce and the serious expression he held immediately set the stage. “You know you’re welcome here. You’re a good man, and I’m pleased to hear you’ve set your life right with the Lord.”