“Hope you're right.”
Seated nearby, Luke and Jason, Drew Prosser's son, began to talk about the hunting trip the two planned to take in the fall.
“Do men ever talk about anything else?” Laurel asked.
“What else is there?” Robert tucked a pillow behind his head.
“Baseball,” Adam said.
“I once saw the Yankees in St. Paul.” Robert fluffed the pillow and repositioned it.
“Yankees are out this year. It'll be the Detroit Tigers all the way. Not that it matters. Won't get a chance to see many games, if any.”
“Aren't you going back to Chicago?” Laurel asked.
“Yeah, but probably not until late summer.”
Will shut out the chatter and gazed at the passing countryside. How am I going to support my family? If even one thing goes wrong, we're sunk. Groves of birch with stark white bark stood like soldiers among tangled thickets of alder. Beyond, mountains blanketed with snow gazed down on hazy purple valleys and rolling foothills. They moved on toward the valley, the tracks clicking rhythmically beneath the train's wheels.
The miles passed, but Will's pondering brought no solutions. The train rattled over a trestle, and he gazed down at a river coursing through a canyon. The water ran clear and swift.
“We're almost there,” Robert said. “Won't be long now.”
“I'm sad to see it end. I like travel and adventure,” Adam said.
Will wished he could recapture his enthusiasm, but all he could think of was Jean and the children. How would he provide for them? He'd signed a contract promising not to work at anything but the farm, but farming might not be enough. At least the government would provide supplies and tools for now. He wouldn't have to start making payments for another five years.
Once more, the tracks followed the inlet. The tide had come in, and waves washed the beach. Luke moved across the aisle and stared at the ocean. “Do you think we'll see any seals or whales?”
“You never know,” said Drew Prosser, leaning over the back of Luke's seat. “I've heard tell there are adventures waiting at every turn for Alaskans.”
Will's eyes roamed over the landscape to the north and rested upon a monstrous mountain. Buried in snow, it appeared to be floating upon the clouds. Nearby peaks were dwarfed by its mass. He couldn't tear his eyes away; it was compelling, stirring. In all his life he'd never seen anything like it. Strength flowed from it as if it were alive. Will's fears ebbed. God had created that mountain and everything else on the earth. Was the plight of a few colonists beyond his authority and power? Peace settled over him.
“Are you all right, Daddy?” Laurel asked. Will didn't answer. “Daddy?”
He looked at Laurel. “What, sugar? Did you say something?”
“Is something wrong? You've been awfully quiet.”
“No. Everything's fine.” He smiled. “Everything's good. I'm looking forward to some real adventures.”
“All I want is a soft bed and a warm bath. Adventure can wait,” Laurel said, resting her head against the seat. She closed her eyes and folded her arms over her chest. “It will feel good to get off this train. I think every inch of my body aches.”
Will smiled and nodded. He studied a broad swamp where clumps of tall grasses protruded from murky water and ducks and geese paddled between thickets. Clouds of insects hovered over the waters. “Not long now, sugar. Not long.”
Chapter Twelve
LAUREL TRIED TO SLEEP, BUT THE SUN'S RAYS SLANTED THROUGH THE window and onto her face. She turned away from the window, but the sunlight was still too bright. Finally, giving up, she stared at a sprawling grassy marsh. It looked dreary. Gradually, fields with bright pink star-shaped blossoms, wild iris, and a collection of other brightly colored flowers replaced the bleak landscape.
“It won't be dark before we get there, will it?” Luke asked.
Will grinned. “That shouldn't be a problem. Remember, this is the land of the midnight sun. I expect it'll be light at least until ten. And by this time next month, the days will be even longer.”
“Really? Wow.” Luke scanned the inlet, then turned and looked at the flats and distant mountains. “When you told us we were moving to Alaska, I didn't think I'd like it much. But I do. It's wild-looking and real pretty.” He straightened and pointed out the window. “Hey! A moose!”
Everyone gazed at a huge brown animal with a bulbous nose. She stood beside a pond in a willow thicket, a calf at her side. Soggy vegetation hung from her mouth, and water dribbled from her lips while she methodically chewed, undisturbed by the passing train.
Luke pretended to point a rifle at the giant beast. “Pow!” He grinned and rubbed an emerging beard. “That would hold a man and his family for a good long while.”
“What would you know about being a man?” Laurel asked, knowing she should hold her tongue but feeling miserable enough to share her unhappiness.
“And you're so grown up?”
“All right, you two,” Will said. “Hold on to your tempers a while longer. We're almost there.”
There? Where is there? Laurel thought. A piece of ground in the backwoods of nowhere? For miles there had been nothing but wilds—no homes, no towns. The forests, marshes, and mountains seemed endless. Feeling small and insignificant, she had the sense of being set adrift in a wilderness ocean. Closing her eyes, she wished she could sleep away her feelings of isolation.
The next thing Laurel knew, someone was shaking her shoulder. “Wake up. We're here. We're in Palmer.”
Adrenaline shot through her, and she opened her eyes. All she saw at first were Adam's deep blue eyes and charming face. “Where's my father?”
“Down there.” Adam nodded toward the front of the car.
Laurel looked around, then pushed herself upright and gazed out the window. The train had stopped beside a small depot with a broad wooden platform where people were milling about. The edge of the sun touched the top of a nearby mountain range. Laurel took a deep breath. She didn't want to leave the safe haven of the train.
“Laurel?” Adam urged. “We need to go.”
She stood, grabbed her coat and bag, and stepped into the aisle. Will stood at the front of the car and flashed a smile at her. She hurried to catch up to him. Adam followed.
