Will stepped in front of the rocker, caught hold of the arms, and stopped it. His eyes sad, he said gently, “You're old enough to understand that sometimes decisions just have to be made; people do what they must.” He glanced at Jean who stood in the doorway. “Laurel, you're grown now and can go your own way if you choose … and …” His eyes glistened.
Remorse and family loyalty grabbed hold of Laurel's rebellion. “No … I didn't mean …” She rested her hand on her father's. “I'm sorry. You're right. Moving is the only answer. I just didn't want to believe it.” Her eyes traveled over her family. “I'll go.”
Chapter Two
WILL DRAINED THE LAST OF HIS COFFEE, THEN GLANCED AROUND THE ROOM cluttered with boxes and luggage. “You outdid yourself,” he said. “It couldn't be easy cooking in the middle of all this mess.”
“I figured our last meal here ought to be a good one.” Jean smiled, but it didn't touch her eyes.
Will looked at the front door. “Where'd Luke disappear to?”
Brian leaned his elbows on the table, resting his face in his hands. “He said he was going for a walk. He didn't look too good.”
Spearing the last of his eggs, Justin quietly added, “I think he's saying good-bye. You know …”
Will stared at the last of his coffee in the bottom of his cup. “I wish this weren't so hard on everyone.” He stood and deposited his plate and cup in the sink, and offered Jean an apologetic smile. “Thanks for the breakfast. Thanks for everything.” He bent and kissed her.
She caressed his cheek. “We'll be fine.”
Catching Jean's hand, he looked at Laurel and the boys. “We got to remember how God has blessed us. We have a lot to be thankful for.”
Her stomach churning, Laurel stared at her eggs. Thankful? We're leaving our home. How can we be thankful?
Will walked to the door, took his hat off its hook, and planted it on his head. “I better get to it. There's a lot to be done.”
Laurel nibbled on her biscuit and studied her parents. In spite of the hardships, their faith had remained steady. Just as her father was about to step out the door, she asked, “Daddy, are you really thankful? I mean—you're about to leave behind your life, everything you've known.”
Will removed his hat. His short-cropped hair was scrambled, some of it standing on end. He returned to the table and, resting his hands on the well-worn wood, he looked directly at his oldest child. “My life isn't this farm.” He looked at Jean, the boys, then back at Laurel. “My life is you, my family. There's nothing on this earth more important to me.” His eyes roamed the cluttered room, then lingered at the window. “I love this place. It's the only home I've known, but another home is waiting for us.” He straightened. “Maybe it won't feel comfortable at first, but … Well, look at it this way. When you buy a new pair of boots, they feel stiff and uncomfortable for a while, then gradually mold to your foot as you wear them, and before you know it, they're a perfect fit.”
An engine backfired, and the clatter of a vehicle bouncing over the rutted driveway carried from outside. “That'll be Joe,” Will said.
Jean walked to the sink. “It was kind of him to help.”
“He's a good friend.” Will strode to the door and opened it. “Looks like David's with him. That'll make the work go faster. We should be able to get our things loaded and be on the road before the day heats up.” He put on his hat, adjusted it, then looked at Justin and Brian. “Time to finish your packing.”
Jean secured her cotton apron snugly around her waist. “Boys, could you take your bags out onto the porch? After that you can carry the box of toys out. That'll be a big help.”
Justin and Brian raced to the bedroom. Brian poked his head out the door and in a small voice asked, “What about Luke? What about his stuff?”
“He'll take care of it. Don't worry.” Jean walked to the sink, turned on the faucet, and sprinkled detergent into rising water. “I'll wash, you dry.” Susie's wail resonated from the back of the house. “Oh, dear. I'd hoped she'd wait a bit longer.”
Justin jogged into the kitchen. “I'll take care of her. I know how.” He grabbed the baby's bottle of milk out of the ice box and plunked it into a pot on the back of the stove.
“Thank you,” Jean said. “You're a good boy. She'll need changing.”
“I'm eleven. I can do it,” Justin said confidently before hurrying to his parents' bedroom where his baby sister hollered for attention.
Laurel cleared the table while Jean scrubbed and rinsed the dishes, then set them on a towel to dry. The house was oddly quiet. Usually her mother sang along to the radio or hummed church hymns while she worked. Today, the radio had been packed, and Jean was silent. Laurel dried and gently wrapped each dish and cup in paper, then pressed them securely into a box partially filled with wood shavings. She glanced at the old phonograph resting against the wall beneath the front room window. “Mama, we're taking the phonograph aren't we?”
“I don't think there's going to be room. We have a fifteen-hundred-pound limit.” She looked at the family treasure. “It's awfully big. Maybe.”
Justin returned to the kitchen carrying eight-month-old Susie. He was small for his age, so the baby looked big in his arms. He snatched the bottle out of the hot water, sat on an overstuffed chair, and snuggled the baby as she eagerly devoured her breakfast.
David pulled open the front door and peeked inside. He nodded at Mrs. Hasper and smiled at Laurel. “Can I get some help moving furniture out onto the porch?”
“I'm done here,” Laurel said to her long-time friend.
David stepped inside, propping the door with a wooden chair. “Where do you want to start?”
Laurel looked around the room. “How about the sofa? Might as well get the heaviest piece out first. We won't have room for the piano.”
While Will and Joe loaded the farm equipment, Laurel and David hauled furniture and boxes onto the porch. The boys carried out their personal things.
Tired and drained, Laurel sat on a chair, stretched out her legs, and studied the crowded porch, then the two pickups. Her heart sank. They'd have to leave so much behind.
With Susie propped on one hip, Jean stepped through the door and eyed their belongings. A sad smile touched her lips. “In the beginning your father and I had so little. It's hard to believe we've collected so much over the last twenty years.”
Will walked up the steps. “We've got the tools loaded. Good thing the government's supplying some of what we'll need. Otherwise we would only have room to pack bare necessities.” He smiled at his wife. “What do you want me to take first?”
Jean scanned the furnishings. “Well, all the boxes, and we have to take the washing machine. I'm not living without one.”
“I suppose you ladies could go down to the river to wash your clothes,” Will grinned.
“We won't be doing any wash at the river,” Jean said firmly. “Just because we're living in Alaska doesn't mean we have to be uncivilized.” Her eyes moved over their belongings. “I don't want to leave the sofa. And we'll need the dining table and chairs.” She sighed. “Do you think you can find room for the beds and dressers?”
“I'll do my best.”
Jean walked back inside.
