“So, you still like rummy?”
“I do,” Mattie said, sitting across the table from him.
The two friends played Hearts, Rummy, and Black Jack. The strain between them had vanished, and the old friendship they'd always shared had returned. Now they laughed at each other's antics and spurred the competitiveness of the other.
It was a perfect afternoon. Then, while playing a game of Rummy the light mood was lost when they each saw a card that should have been played. Simultaneously they called out, “Rummy!” and slapped the card.
Luke's hand fell over Mattie's. Instead of letting loose, he left it there. Mattie didn't pull her hand free. Her dark eyes held his. Unable to suppress his ardor, Luke leaned across the table and kissed her.
It was brief and tender. Neither spoke. Their hands remained clasped.
“You do love me, too, don't you?” Luke asked.
Mattie didn't answer.
“Please, Mattie, marry me. We belong together. We always have.”
Mattie's eyes pooled with tears. She shook her head. “I can't.” She slipped her hand out from under his. “I'm sorry, Luke. Maybe I do love you, but I can't marry you. I just can't. If we get married, we're...united, joined. I...I just can't think about you being in the war. I'd be afraid all the time. Living like that would be misery. And I won't go back to Alaska.”
Luke didn't hear her. All he knew was that there was hope and she loved him. “Mattie, it'll be all right. No Japs or Krauts will touch me. And we don't have to move to Alaska. We can live somewhere else. Here is fine.”
“If we get married, we're not just good friends anymore—we're one. Everything will be different, and I know I couldn't bear the thought of you out there...somewhere in the Pacific…” She straightened. “With things the way they are now, I'm not yours and you're not mine. If something happens...nothing really changes.” She stood and walked to the sink. “And you might not think you have to live in Alaska, but you do. I know you. You're part of it. Plus, you have the farm.”
“No. Ray has the farm,” Luke said, unable to keep the old bitterness out of his voice.
“One day it will be yours.” She filled a glass with water and took a drink, then turned to look at him. “I like it here. I'm my own person. I don't worry about what I look like—the color of my skin and my eyes and hair. I don't expect to hear the word Siewash thrown at me. Here I'm just part of the crowd.”
“There must be some way to work this out.”
“There isn't. I've thought about it.” She set the glass in the sink. Without looking at him, she continued, “We're friends forever, but only friends. Let me love you that way. Please.”
Luke couldn't give up. He crossed to her, took hold of Mattie's shoulders, and turned her so she faced him. “No matter where you live, you'll be native. You can't change that.”
“No. You're wrong. Here it's different. People don't see an Aleut Indian. They see me.”
“What about Jasmine? They care that she's a Negro.”
Confusion momentarily touched Mattie's face. “That's different.”
“Why?”
Mattie didn't answer, but her expression was one of resolve.
Luke knew he could not convince her, not today anyway. He took a deep breath and let it out. “OK. But I'm not giving up. One day you'll be mine.”
“No. I won't. I can't.” Mattie strode toward her room. She stopped and turned to look at him. “I'm sorry,” she said, then disappeared through the door, closing it decisively.
Chapter 11
LAUREL TUCKED THE BED COVERS AROUND WILLIAM'S SHOULDERS. “GOOD night, sweetheart,” she said and kissed his forehead.
The little boy reached up and wrapped his arms around his mother's neck. “I love you, and I love Daddy. When is Daddy coming home?”
Laurel hated having William ask about his father. She didn't know when Adam would return. All she knew was that he was somewhere in Europe. Her heart ached at the thought of his being so far away and most certainly in danger. She forced a smile. “God is watching out for Daddy. I'm sure he'll be home before too much longer.”
“What's too much longer?”
“I don't know for sure when he'll be back, sweetie.”
“He has to be here before summer,” William said.
“Summer it is then.” Laurel caressed his cheek. “Maybe winter will pass quickly.” She straightened. “It's time for you to sleep. Sweet dreams.” Quietly she walked out, leaving the door ajar so heat from the stove would warm his room.
She crossed to the firebox and banked the fire for the night. Wind whistled under the eaves and snatched at wooden shingles on the roof. Laurel peered through an ice-encrusted window at the outside darkness. She couldn't see any lights from nearby farms. She felt alone.
Laurel's mind wandered to Adam. He was in another world—a dangerous world. She'd received only two letters since he'd left in January. He'd been assigned to a squadron of fighter pilots and bombers stationed in England but was uncertain if they'd remain at the base outside London or be relocated. He'd complained that there'd been too little action. He was seeking a transfer. Too little action? London is right in the middle of it. Why do men want to fight, to see “action?”
“I don't understand,” she said, crossing to her chair and picking up the sewing she'd left in a basket. She'd been crocheting a doily for her bed stand. Holding it up to the light, she studied her work. The pattern was intricate, and she'd done a fine job, but she took little pleasure in it. Laurel sat. “I just wish Adam would come home.” Resting her head against the back of the chair, she closed her eyes and imagined he was with her. His presence made her feel safe.
A sharp clang and the sound of squawking chickens reverberated from outside. Laurel straightened, alert. “Something's at the chickens!” Pushing out of the chair, she snatched the rifle from its shelf on the wall and rested it against the back door, then threw on a coat and pushed her feet into fur-lined boots. After pulling on gloves, she grabbed the rifle, opened the door, and peered into the darkness. Since the moon wasn't out, she'd need a light.
Returning to the kitchen, Laurel lifted the lantern from a shelf and lit it. Holding it high, she stepped onto the porch and into a frigid wind. It was clear and moonless. The cold cut through her as she headed for the chicken house. Scuffling and squawking emanated from the coop. “Lord, please don't let it be a wolf,” Laurel prayed. “Or a wolverine,” she added as an afterthought, deciding the aggressive animal might be just as formidable as a wolf.
Her feet broke through a layer of ice covering the snow. Each step produced a loud crunching sound, and she was certain whatever was in the chicken house would hear her, but the ruckus continued.
Darkness pressed in, making the light of her lantern seem weak. She gazed into the blackness, wishing the lamp's glow could penetrate the shadows. If one wolf is in the coop, there might be others, she thought. “You're being silly,” she told herself. “It's probably nothing more than an irksome varmint.” Although she knew bears were supposed to be hibernating, she couldn't help but wonder if one might have wandered out. I wish Adam was here, she thought as a fresh uproar erupted from inside the chicken house. She considered retreating, but the chickens were too important. She couldn't lose them.
Laurel moved close to the coop door and stopped to make sure her gun was cocked and ready. She set the lantern in the snow beside the building and noiselessly lifted the latch, then eased open the door.
