“You'd be good.”
“Please don't say anything to my parents or anyone else. They don't know my plans.”
“I won't say a thing,” Adam said, stepping backwards and training his camera on Robert. Taking a photograph, he said, “You look awfully glum for a farmer on an adventure.” The ship made another steep climb up a wave, and Adam quickly turned his camera toward the bow and clicked off a picture as spray washed onto the deck. Smiling, he said, “That should be a good one.” He looked at Laurel, then Robert. “Could you move away from Laurel? Laurel, turn the baby around so I can see her face.”
“Sure,” Robert said sullenly and stepped aside.
Rather than argue, Laurel did as she was asked. Adam looked through the lens. “You could be that baby's mother. You look very maternal with her in your arms.”
“Just take the picture,” Laurel said caustically.
Adam took a couple pictures. “Beautiful.” He let the camera hang from a strap around his neck.
Robert stepped closer to Laurel. “I'll bet you'll make a good mother.”
Adam took out his pencil and writing tablet. “Laurel, what happens if you can't go to school?”
“I don't know. Why?”
“People are interested in the challenges you people are facing.” A wind gust snatched at his hat. He caught it before it blew off and resettled it more firmly on his head. “I figure you'll marry and raise a family like your mother—maybe work a farm?”
“You figure? Mr. Dunnavant, you don't know me. You have no idea what I plan to do.” Adam kept writing. “And stop taking notes. None of this is anyone else's business.”
“Hey, it's my job,” he said but let his arms fall to his sides.
Laurel shifted Susie to her other arm. “I want more out of life than being a farmer's wife and raising a passel of kids.”
Robert grimaced.
“I believe you'll get it, Laurel. I believe you will.” Adam turned to Robert. “And how about you? What if things don't turn out the way you plan?”
Robert's mouth was drawn into a grim line. “What? What did you say?”
“What are your plans if the farm doesn't work out?”
“It will work. My family and I will make it work. We've no other choice.”
“Things happen. Things you never count on. You can't know you'll succeed.”
Robert squared his shoulders. “Like I told you before, I'm a good farmer. We'll pray and work hard, and the farm will succeed.” His gentle demeanor fell away. “Farming's never easy. It's hard work every day. It takes grit. And I'm plenty determined. So are the others. But you wouldn't know that because you've never farmed. You've no idea what we can or cannot do.”
“You may be right, but I've already heard some colonists say they've made a mistake and they're planning to head home.”
Robert didn't try to hide his anger. “I don't believe you. I can't think of one of us who is ready to turn back. We know how to work and how to stick with something. Life's never been handed to us. No farmer I know would give up so easily.”
“You may want to believe that, but there are some who are already set on giving up. I'm no liar.”
Robert worked his jaw, then asked, “Do you really believe that?”
Laurel stepped between the two and turned on Adam. “Mr. Dunnavant, you're not a Midwest farmer. And you've no idea what it's like to be one.” So angry she could hardly think, she sputtered, “How can you even suggest that Robert or any of the rest of us are so spineless that we would give up at the slightest struggle? I've had enough of you and your bad manners and arrogance.” She looked at Robert. “I'll see you later? At dinner?”
Robert smiled. “Dinner.”
Laurel turned, and with a tight hold on Susie, walked away.
“So, if you're not ready to give up, how come you're already planning on leaving?” Adam threw after her.
Laurel stopped and glared at him. “You know it has nothing to do with that.” She turned and quickly walked toward the stairwell. “I've never met anyone like him,” she muttered. “He's the most egotistical, rude man I've ever known.” Pulling open the door, she stepped onto the landing. “Enough is enough,” she said, slamming the door.
The lighting in the stairway was dim, forcing her to slow her pace and carefully place her feet. By the time she reached her room, her temper had cooled, but her heart still pounded in exasperation. Now, more than ever, she looked forward to docking in Alaska and being rid of him.
She opened the door, and the odor of sweat and vomit hit her. Reluctant to enter, she stood in the doorway with her hand on the knob and studied the room. Several bunks had lumps beneath blankets from which moans emanated. A little girl lay on her side, thumb in her mouth, her face wet with tears.
Will sat in a chair beside Jean's bed. Laurel closed the door. “Is Mama all right?”
“She'll live, but she's awfully sick,” Will said wearily.
Laurel sat on the edge of the bed, and Susie squealed her delight at seeing their mother. Laurel had to hold her tight to keep her from crawling on Jean. “Mama, I didn't know you were so sick. Is there anything I can do?”
Without opening her eyes, Jean barely shook her head no.
Will dipped a washcloth into a basin of water and sponged her ashen face. “Looks like it's going to be a long trip.”
Laurel took her mother's hand. “Mama, I'm so sorry.”
This time Jean managed a weak smile and whispered, “It won't last forever.”
“That's right. We'll be in Seward in no time,” Will said cheerfully.
