“I was hoping we could sit together,” Miram told Adam. “I have so much to tell you.” She took his arm and steered him toward the back of the car. Adam tipped his hat and gave Laurel a helpless smile as he allowed Miram to lead him to a seat.
Laurel sat across from them and took out a novel. A tall man with curling black hair stood in the aisle beside her. “Do you mind if I join you? I'll go if you like.”
Laurel set her book in her lap. “No. Please, sit.”
The young man sat beside Laurel. “I'm Robert Lundeen. I'm from outside Jefferson.”
“Laurel Hasper. My family had a farm near Madison.”
“I know.” He blushed and said, “I asked.” He started to rise. “I should let you get back to your reading.”
“No. Please stay.” She glanced at Adam, “I could use some company.”
Chapter Five
ROLLING HILLS BLANKETED WITH SPRING GRASSES MOVED PAST THE window. Laurel wondered where the dense green forests she'd been told about were. Wasn't Washington known for its lush vegetation? There were no trees here—not a single cedar, fir, or pine. Was it possible the drought had reached this far? Don't be silly, she told herself. There would be dead trees.
But, she wondered, if Washington isn't what we were told it would be, then what about Alaska? Did they lie about it too? She closed her eyes and tried to quiet her apprehension.
“Mind if I join you?” Adam asked. Before she could answer, he sat across from her.
“Do I have a choice?” She stared out the window. The train had descended into a deep gorge and moved across a large, slow-moving river.
“That's the Columbia,” Adam said. “I've heard there's good fishing along some stretches. Maybe one day I'll get to fish it.”
The train chugged up the other side of the gorge and continued across open meadows. “I thought Washington was supposed to be forested,” Laurel said.
“Western Washington. Once we get closer to the Cascade Range, you'll see a few trees.”
Laurel studied the snow-capped mountains. They were still a long way off, but she could see they were rugged and steep. In the shadows the white deepened to lavender.
“Seattle and the Pacific Ocean wait for us on the other side.” Adam dropped his right leg over his left and folded his arms over his chest. He stared at the distant peaks. Today is the day. We'll soon be free of this train.” Adam leaned on his legs. “You look a little under the weather.”
“I'm fine. In fact, I'm excited about getting to Seattle. We'll be closer to reaching Alaska. I'm very happy,” she added, knowing she was saying too much and hoping he didn't pick up on her apprehensions.
“Have you ever been to Seattle?”
“No,” Laurel answered, wishing he were less inquisitive.
“It's a great city, one of my favorites when it's not raining. Do you have a favorite?”
Laurel gritted her teeth, embarrassed at her lack of worldly experience. “Actually, I've never been out of Wisconsin. My family's stayed close to home. We never had much reason to travel.”
Then she asked, “What's Seattle like?”
“I'd say it's a big little city. Not as big as Chicago, but a good-sized town. It sits right on Puget Sound, a real pretty bay. The restaurants are good, and Woodland Park is a nice place if you like that kind of thing. Plus, the nightclubs are always hopping.”
Laurel had no experience with clubs or city life. She said simply, “Oh,” then let her eyes roam over the countryside. A farmhouse and barn sat on a rise in the distance. A tall silo filled the sky just west of the house. Miles of barbed-wire fences cut across open land, and an occasional cluster of cattle huddled against the wind. They looked healthier than the livestock she'd seen in the upper Midwest.
“I suppose you hope to have a ranch one day,” Adam said.
“No. That's my father's dream.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I intend to go to school.”
Adam raised one eyebrow. “What is it you want to do?”
“I'd like to teach history to the upper grades.”
“A history buff, huh?” He grinned. “Knowing history can come in handy, but I doubt there's much call for it in Alaska.”
Laurel bristled at his know-it-all tone. “I don't plan to stay in Alaska.” The words were out before she could stop them. Inwardly she rebuked her loose mouth. Already there had been talk that the colonists were soft and wouldn't make it. And now she'd told this reporter she wasn't going to stay.
“You haven't even gotten there and you're planning to leave?”
“Not my family, just me. I want to go to school, and there's no place in Alaska to get my degree.” She sat a little straighter. “My father and mother are very committed to making a new start and staying in Alaska.”
Adam nodded.
Laurel knew that Adam would jot down her words in his notebook the moment he had the opportunity. She wanted to throttle him but instead forced an exterior calm and stared at the passing grasslands.
Prairie gave way to foothills, and farms with rows of fruit trees loaded with pink and white blossoms dotted the landscape. The train began its ascent into the mountains where rock crannies were interspersed with pine and fir. Discarded needles tinged the earth a red hue.
A man started singing, “We'll be comin' round the mountain when we come. We'll be comin' round the mountain when we come …” Others took up the chorus, and Laurel couldn't resist. She joined in, then Adam. They smiled at each other, both caught up in the anticipation and fun.
After a while the singing died down, and passengers returned to reading books, playing cards, visiting, and gazing at passing scenery. Laurel tried to concentrate on the view, and although Adam had stopped his questions, she wished he would sit somewhere else.
For a long while the train followed a clear stream that bounced over rocks and washed into pools before heading down the mountain the way they'd come. Giant spruce and pine clung to steep embankments, but as the train climbed, the evergreens became sparse. Engines labored, and the train slowed as it wound its way along a steep slope.
Gradually the trees disappeared altogether, leaving graveled ridges, low-growing bushes, and clusters of wildflowers amid green meadows. Snow lay in ravines and padded the base of trees. Mountaintops were hidden in deep piles of white, while granite ridges pushed up, free of snow. Wind lifted white powder off a distant peak.
