“Yes. Tea sounds good,” Mattie said, setting her small traveling bag on the family's worn sofa. “Where's Mama?”
“Chopping wood,” the old woman said, wearing a resolute expression. She was unable to disguise the sorrow in her dark eyes.
Mattie heard the thump of boots on the front porch, and the door opened. Her arms loaded with wood, her mother, Affia, walked in. She smiled. “I thought I heard someone drive up.” She pushed the door closed with a hip, walked to the stove, and dumped the firewood into a box. Brushing her palms clean, the small native woman pulled her daughter into her arms. “I'm glad you are here.”
“I had to come,” Mattie said, suddenly sad.
“Well, that is good.” She smiled. “It's a cold day.” She retrieved three mugs from the cupboard and set them on the counter.
Mattie lifted a heavy-coated, gray cat off the sofa. Stroking him, she sat and settled the animal on her lap.
“Have you heard from Luke?” her mother asked.
“Yes. He's fine, just waiting to be assigned to another ship. He might already be on board and sailing.”
“He should come home,” Mattie's grandmother said.
Affia grabbed a spoon from a drawer and set it in a sugar bowl. “He would if he could. But nowadays men and boys must fight.”
Shaking her head, Mattie's grandmother poured tea into the cups. “I do not understand this fighting. In my day the Shamans would pray, and then we would talk. And then we sang and danced. There was no need for fighting.”
“Things aren't like they used to be.” Mattie set the cat on the floor. “Everything's different now.” She gazed out the tiny front window. “I'm tired of snow. It will be good to live in a place where the winters are warmer.” As soon as the words were out, she wished she could reclaim them. She hadn't intended on bringing up her move so early in the weekend.
Mother and grandmother glanced at each other. “I hear it rains a lot in Seattle,” Affia said, handing her daughter a cup of tea.
“I'll get used to it.” Mattie sipped.
“I do not think it will be so easy,” her grandmother said, limping toward a straight-backed chair. Cradling her cup of tea, she sat.
Mattie's mother took a chair opposite the old woman. Silence anchored itself in the room.
The cat jumped back onto Mattie's lap, his motor humming. She gratefully accepted his company and caressed his long fur. Staring at her feet, she wished she could think of something to say. Finally she asked, “How are you feeling, Grandmother? It looks like your lumbago is bothering you.”
“Oh yes, a little. But I'll get along,” the old woman said. She compressed her lips, and her cheeks sank in.
Mattie nodded.
Again silence.
Think, Mattie. There must be something to talk about. I'm leaving in two days.
Sounding nonchalant, her mother asked, “So, when does your ship sail?”
“Monday morning.”
“This time of year it might be rough. You would be wise to wait until summer.”
Mattie knew what was coming. She couldn't give in—she needed to stand firm. “I can't wait,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “It's time for me to move.”
“What is a few months?” her grandmother asked. “You have your job…”
“I'll get another.”
Affia frowned. “I understand, but—”
“I've made up my mind. There's no changing it.”
Her mother set her cup on its saucer. She didn't look at her daughter. “Yes...I know that, but…” She turned her eyes to Mattie. “Where will you live?”
“There's a YWCA in Seattle. I can stay there until I find an apartment.” To soften her earlier decree, Mattie crossed to her mother and dropped a kiss on her cheek. “I'll be fine. Please don't worry about me.”
“We worry,” her grandmother said matter-of-factly. “And there is good reason. The world is not a kind place. And I am afraid you will find out in a not so good way. And now the war has brought a great evil to the world.”
“Grandmother, you're overreacting.”
The old woman settled dark eyes on Mattie. “A world war is big trouble. It cannot be taken lightly.”
“There is no war in Seattle.”
“The war is everywhere,” she said firmly. “You are better off here with your family, with your ancestors.”
Mattie chewed the inside of her lip. She needed to be straightforward but hated the hurt she knew her ideas would inflict. “That's just it, Grandmother. I don't want to be with my ancestors. I don't want to be Alaskan.” Mattie walked to the kitchen stove and refilled her cup. She had to make them understand. She looked at her mother and grandmother, then said solemnly, “If I could change my ancestry, I would.”
Neither woman expressed shock. Their faces remained fixed. “You do not have to be ashamed,” her grandmother said. Her eyes glistened. “Do not be ashamed.”
“I am,” Mattie said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
“You are wrong,” Atuska said. “One day you will know.”
