The nurse checked his pulse. “I've got work to do here. You might want to leave.”
Luke was tempted but said, “Nah. Go ahead.” He kept his eyes averted from what she was doing and kept talking to Barry.
She unwrapped his bandages, then cleaned the wounds and rebandaged them. “You're healing nicely,” she said in a professional tone. “But you need rest. See that your guest doesn't stay too long.”
“No, ma'am,” Barry said.
“We need you well. We could use the bed,” she quipped before moving on to the next patient.
Barry leaned back against his pillows and tucked his good arm under his head. His eyes closed and wearing a satisfied grin, he said sleepily, “The food ain't so great, the therapy ain't much fun, but the nurses aren't half bad. I wouldn't mind seeing her when I get out of here.”
Luke shook his head. “You'll never change—dames, dames, dames.” He chuckled, but his mind returned to Kekili. In his gut he knew she was dead, and he hated the Japanese for what they did to her and to all the others. He couldn't wait to get back at them.
This new resentment mingled with the bitterness he'd been carrying for Ray. It consumed him. But Luke felt entitled—if anyone was allowed to hate it was him.
“So, do you know when the ship will get under way?” Barry asked.
“No. But like I said, I'm not waiting. I've already put in for another ship. I want to get into this war before it's over. We're going after those Japs.”
“With what? There's not much of the fleet left, and a whole airfield of planes was blown to smithereens.”
“There'll be more planes and more ships built. We'll be ready.”
“Like we were Sunday?”
Luke didn't answer. He walked to a window and stared out at the harbor. Smoke still drifted skyward, and a huge oil slick spread across the bay. He could see the underside of the Oklahoma. Men still worked to free those trapped. Using torches, they cut through the hull, searching for survivors. How many men lay dead or dying right there in the harbor?
His bitterness billowed like a towering thunderhead. “We'll get 'em. They'll be sorry.”
Chapter 7
HOPING THE SNOW WOULD HOLD OFF, MATTIE PEERED THROUGH THE CAR window at a gray sky. The heater rattled as it labored to warm the old Pontiac. Despite its efforts, the interior of the car was barely above freezing. If the clouds let loose, the snow would freeze to the window.
Keeping a tight grip on the steering wheel, she bumped over the frozen track leading north to Palmer. A few flakes fell and stuck. “I should have gotten the heater fixed,” she said, her breath fogging the air.
It hadn't seemed necessary. She rarely made the trip from Anchorage to Palmer unless she took the train. This time, however, she had possessions that needed to be packed for her trip to Seattle.
The idea of facing her mother and grandmother about the move made her stomach roll. Since booking passage, she'd dreaded this trip home. She'd actually considered writing a farewell letter with a request that her things be shipped, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She and they deserved a better goodbye than that.
Her family had adjusted to her living in Anchorage, but they'd been unable to accept her moving to the outside. She knew that they would see this trip home as a last opportunity to make her see reason, and she steeled herself against the arguments she knew were coming. The idea of spending two days under their barrage was almost more than she could imagine.
More snow fell. “Drat!” Mattie kept moving and switched on the wipers. One frozen crystal at a time stuck to the window, and the windshield wipers only served to compress the snow into ice. Soon Mattie could barely see.
“I'll be glad to be rid of this weather,” she bristled, pulling to the side of the road. Drawing her hood tightly closed, she pushed open the car door and climbed out, huddling against the cold. First she pried the wipers free, then using the edge of a dull ulu, she scraped away the buildup of snow and ice. She glanced at the ancient native tool. “Well, you're good for something,” she said, dropping back into the driver's seat and returning the ulu to its place in the glove compartment.
Continuing on to Palmer, her mind wandered to the upcoming reunion. I wish they understood. It makes absolute sense to leave.
It was time for her to move on, and Seattle offered Mattie opportunities she'd never have in the backwoods of Alaska. Plus, there she would face less prejudice—in fact, Mattie figured most people probably wouldn't even know she had Indian blood. If only her mother and grandmother would give their blessing to her life's new direction. She wished they'd join her—make a new start themselves. The corner of her mouth turned up. “That will be the day.”
“I couldn't pry them out, and I can't stay,” Mattie said, noting the stark differences between her feelings and those of her family. They had an overabundance of pride about their heritage, and she couldn't wait to put it behind her.
By the time Mattie reached Palmer, the snow had stopped. Passing through the small town, she was careful to keep her eyes forward, unwilling to look at the familiar landmarks—the post office, mercantile, train depot, and other businesses. Unprepared to say good-byes, she didn't make eye contact with pedestrians. She'd already placed the town and its people in her past. It and they were best forgotten.
She stopped in front of the cabin she'd known as home. It looked neglected and disheveled. The log house huddled among thickets of snow-sheathed alder and birch. Smoke drifting from a chimney billowed over the roof, then caught the wind and traveled upward.
Mattie remembered herself as a young teen who'd been too embarrassed of her home and family to bring friends there to visit. She felt a flush of shame, especially at the realization that she hadn't really changed her view. When she was a girl, the tiny cabin had represented security and warmth, but one day she'd seen the reality of it. The house was more hovel than home—it was nothing more than a native hut.
Alex had never seemed to mind. She should have been more like him. He didn't hesitate to bring home friends. Luke visited more than the others, and in time he'd seemed like family. Even she hadn't been embarrassed at his visits. 'Course, Luke was different; he'd never judged.
She smiled, remembering his dark handsome looks, his boyish outlook on life. He would nearly jump with excitement over a fish on the line or a moose in his rifle sights. When her brother Alex taught Luke how to mush and trap, he'd always listen with fascination, ready to try a new skill, up for any adventure. He'd been special.
Anxiety swallowed the memories. Now there was a war, and Luke was in the middle of it. She didn't want to think about it. She wouldn't think about it.
Her mind refused to obey and returned to their first meeting, his immediate love of Alaska, his fearless embrace of the culture, and his daring personality. It had sometimes frightened her. She wished he were less gutsy, especially now. He'd most likely live longer.
He'll probably be heroic and die in battle somewhere, she thought sullenly. Mattie hit the steering wheel and told herself, “Stop it. He'll be fine. One day he'll get married and settle down here in the valley and raise a houseful of kids.”
Even as she said the words, she wasn't convinced. There was no guarantee he'd make it through the war—no one knew who was coming home. The only certainty was that nothing was certain. What was Luke doing now? Had he been transferred to another ship? Was he in a battle somewhere in the Pacific?
With a sigh Mattie opened the car door. “Well, I know one thing—he's not fighting ice and snow.” Stepping into cruel wind that pulled at her hood and stung her face, she wished she were in Hawaii with its sunshine and warm breezes.
Curtains at the front window moved, and Mattie saw a face peek out, then quickly disappear. Dread of the impending farewell intensified as she headed toward the house. Her boots broke through the fresh layer of snow, squeaking with each step.
When she reached the porch she stood for a moment; then taking a steadying breath, she put on a smile. “I'm as ready as I'm going to be,” she said and opened the door and stepped inside, shutting out the wind's howl.
Expecting to be greeted by her mother or grandmother, she was surprised to find an empty room. “I'm home,” she called, closing the door. “Hello.” It felt overly warm. “Mama? Grandma?”
The shuffle of her grandmother's slippers came from a back room. The old woman hobbled to the doorway. She didn't offer her usual toothless smile. Instead she simply nodded and moved toward the kitchen, her shoulders more hunched than usual. Barely picking up her feet, she toddled to the kitchen stove and lifted a kettle. “Would you like some chia?”
