Quickly grabbing the lantern while struggling to keep her gun at the ready, she looked inside. Glistening eyes stared from the far side of the coop. An animal crouched in the corner. It darted across the floor. Laurel leaped backward, adrenaline shooting through her. She raised the gun! The creature ran at her, then a flash of gray flew past. It was a wolf! No—a fox. Laurel's tensed muscles loosened slightly, and she fired. The animal yipped and fell.
Letting out a breath of relief, Laurel lifted the fox. “You should have stayed away from my chickens.” She scanned the room. Most of the flock was still perched on roosts, looking a little ruffled but uninjured. A few huddled on the hay-strewn floor, pressing their quivering bodies against the wall. The room looked as if it had been showered with feathers. Two hens were dead, and one rooster was nearly lifeless. They'd have to go in the pot.
Laurel put the injured rooster out of his misery and carried the three chickens to the house. She'd have to pluck and butcher them if they were going to be of any use. Weary, she set to work.
After finishing with the chickens, she dragged the fox into the barn. Adam should be here, she thought, momentarily angry. This was too much for a woman to handle all alone. He should have stayed. Almost immediately she recanted the idea. She was being selfish. Adam was serving his country. What could be more important than that?
She gazed at the black sky where brilliant lights flickered. Aren't William and I important too?
A soft voice whispered, “Yes. And you have not been forgotten.”
The flush of guilt returned, and Laurel chastised herself for her lack of faith. Adam would return, and she and William would be fine while they waited. They had plenty of food, wood for heat, a snug home, and good friends and family. Her time would be better spent praying for Adam and the others fighting for freedom. “Forgive me,” she said and headed back to the house.
The following morning Laurel skinned out the fox while William watched. He stroked the fur and talked about the day when he would grow up and be able to hunt.
After stretching the pelt across a board, Laurel rested it against the barn wall. She would flesh it later; now she needed company. The fur would wait a few hours while she visited Jessie and worked on the book. She returned to the house to cook breakfast.
William finished up the last of his mush while Laurel did the dishes. She looked at her son. “You want to go to Grandma's?”
He smiled. “Yes. Is Grandpa going to be there?”
“Uh-huh. You can help him with chores.”
“Can I milk the cow?”
“Maybe. You'll have to ask Grandpa.”
After breakfast was finished, Laurel and William bundled up and set out. Laurel was certain her mother would be more than happy to watch William while she was at Jessie's. She looked forward to spending time with her old friend. After the previous evening's excitement, she needed Jessie's unruffled company.
“Thanks, Mama,” Laurel said, giving William a kiss good-bye. “I'll be back before supper.”
“Why don't you and William eat with us?” Jean asked.
“I'd like that. I've been kind of lonely lately.”
Jean gave Laurel a quick hug. “You should visit more often.”
“I will. Thanks.” She kissed her mother's cheek and headed for Jessie's. It was a clear day, and sunlight glistened brightly off the snow, making Laurel squint. She didn't mind. At this time of year there weren't enough daylight hours, even on clear days. And when clouds hung over the valley, it never seemed to get truly light but looked more like dusk.
In the sunlight her fears of the previous night seemed silly. She knew she shouldn't allow herself to be frightened so easily. Adam had been gone a month, and sooner or later she had to learn to depend on herself and less on others. What if something were to happen to him? She'd truly be on her own.
By the time she arrived at Jessie's, Laurel was looking forward to working on the book nearly as much as visiting her friend. They were close to completing the six-year project Jessie had promised her husband she'd finish. When they'd started, Laurel had thought it wouldn't take more than a year, maybe two, but it was much tougher than she'd expected. And now she worried they wouldn't finish before Jessie died.
She's getting on, Laurel thought. She's failing a little every day. We've got to finish Steward's project.
When Laurel pulled into the drive in front of the small cabin, smoke drifted lazily upward from the chimney. Jessie peeked out the front window and waved. Laurel returned the gesture and climbed out of the car. The door of the cabin opened before she reached the front steps.
“Good morning to you,” Jessie said. “I was hoping you'd come by.” She gave Laurel a warm hug. “Come in. Come in. It's freezing out.”
Laurel stepped into the familiar, friendly home. It was disorderly as always. Crowded shelves and paintings cluttered the walls, throw rugs and well-worn furniture cluttered the front room, and scattered pots and pans and baked goods cluttered the kitchen. It felt just right and friendly to Laurel. Her tension slipped away.
Jessie hobbled into the kitchen. “Let me fix you a cup of hot cocoa.”
“Mmm. Sounds good.” Laurel removed her gloves. “Do you want to work today?” she asked, slipping off her coat and hanging it on a hook just inside the door.
“Oh my, yes. Of course.”
Laurel followed Jessie into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. She watched the old woman, whose hands now shook slightly as she stirred the cocoa. Laurel knew better than to try to help her. Each year Jessie had grown more stubborn and more determined to do things for herself.
Jessie filled two cups with the rich hot chocolate. “Ah, there you are,” she said, handing Laurel a cup and taking one for herself. “Now then, let's sit a minute and chat.” She smiled and her eyes smiled too, nearly disappearing within deep wrinkles. “I want to know how you're faring.”
Laurel settled herself on a settee opposite Jessie, who sat in her overstuffed chair. Jessie sipped her cocoa, then with her eyes bright she said, “We're nearly finished. It's hard to believe. I'd say maybe a couple more weeks of steady work and we'll be ready to send it off to the college. They contacted me. They're waiting and are still very enthusiastic. They have a publisher all set up.”
“I hope they like it.”
“Well, of course they will. We did a fine job on it, and Steward would be proud. He did such thorough research, and I think we make a good team. I just wish he were here to see it completed.” Jessie teared. “His Alaskan Anthology, finished.” She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief she kept folded inside her shirt cuff. “I'm getting sentimental in my old age. But I don't suppose it will be much longer before I join my Steward.”
“Don't say that. I'll bet you're around for a good long while yet.”
“Maybe. But I don't mind going, really. I'm ready.” She paused. “I'm missing Steward more and more. I can hardly wait to see him.”
Laurel understood. Every time she thought of Adam, an ache squeezed her chest, rising into her throat, and she would long to feel his arms, to hear his voice. “I think I understand, but I'll miss you so much. I can't imagine your being gone.”
Jessie smiled. “It's good to be loved. And I thank you, but I'm sure you'll go on just fine without me. You have your own family to think about.”
“Yes. I just wish Adam would come home.” Laurel took a drink of cocoa, then cradled the cup in her hands. “Last night I had a visitor.”
