“Yeah, but you don't have someone special you're leaving.”
“I do …” Laurel began, then stopped. Luke was hurting, and she didn't need to make it worse. “You'll meet someone else.”
“There's no one else for me.”
“You're only sixteen. There will be lots of pretty girls in your future.”
He said nothing but instead worked his jaw.
“Mama's looking for you. She needs you to get the last of your things packed.”
“They're packed.” Keeping his eyes on the ground, Luke shoved his hands in his pockets and trudged toward the house.
Holding the sapling against her, Laurel left the cool shade of the barn and walked to the truck. She was glad to see that the rocker and chest of drawers rested on top of the sofa. She looked back at the porch. Grandma's phonograph and the china cabinet still stood by the front door. Well, we aren't leaving this, Laurel thought with determination and approached her father. “I have the seedling. Where do you want it?”
Will eyed the plant. “Laurel, I just don't see how we can take it.”
“It's part of this farm. It came from one of Grandpa's original trees. It will be like having part of him with us.”
Shaking his head, Will walked to the truck, restacked several boxes, and moved the radio and clock, leaving a tiny space in the front corner of the pickup bed. “All right. We'll put it here, but you'll have to keep it with you on the ship. I don't even know if we're allowed to take plants.”
“They won't care about one little tree,” Laurel said, handing him the seedling.
Will set the plant in the corner of the truck, then pulled a rope tight over the back of the pickup and cinched it.
Brian ran up. “Is it time to go?”
“Yep. There's just enough room for you children in back.” Will lifted the blond-headed six-year-old and set him on a heap of blankets and pillows. “That ought to be comfortable.”
Luke and Justin climbed in beside Brian. Jean handed the baby to Laurel and joined Will. They stood, their arms intertwined, and looked at the house. Laurel pressed her face against her baby sister's soft curls and let her eyes wander over the farmhouse. The roof needed repair, the porch sagged on one end, and the outside walls needed a new coat of paint, but Laurel didn't see any of that. All she saw was home, the only home she'd ever known.
“Your grandpa always liked an adventure,” Will said. “If he were here today, he'd be excited.”
“Grandpa loved the farm,” Laurel said.
Wind gusted, raising dust around the house. When the dust settled, the house looked lonely, the windows bare, abandoned possessions stacked on the porch. “I wish we didn't have to leave so much.”
Jean gently brushed a stray curl off Laurel's cheek and tucked the wavy strand into the young woman's long hair. “Things aren't important. What matters is we're together.” She took the baby, cradling her against her shoulder as she walked to the pickup.
Laurel followed. Jean climbed in, and Laurel slid onto the seat beside her.
Will sat behind the wheel, pushed in the clutch, and turned the key. The engine fired. “Alaska, here we come,” he said, but there was no joy in his voice.
Chapter Three
A ROCK JABBED LAUREL'S SHOULDER. SHE ROLLED OVER, FLUFFED HER NEARLY flat feather pillow, then settled back on a thin wool blanket. She couldn't get any relief from the unyielding ground and its pebbles. Laurel stared at a black sky speckled with shimmering stars. Her eyes settled on a hazy patch called the Milky Way, then moved on to the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper.
Many nights she and her grandfather had lain side by side in cool grasses and studied the heavens. He'd pointed out stars, filling her in on scientific details and legends. Laurel smiled softly. She'd always loved spending time with Grandpa Hasper. When he'd died, her world had buckled. He'd been her dearest friend and confidant.
Laurel turned onto her side, bundling deeper into her quilt. Tomorrow we'll be on the train. She closed her eyes and tried to quiet her mind but couldn't rein in wandering thoughts. The train would carry them to Seattle, and from there they would board a ship that would take them to Seward, where another train would carry them on to Palmer in the Matanuska Valley. There they would try to build a new life, a life she wanted no part of. As soon as I'm not needed, I'll return and go to school, she told herself.
The next thing Laurel heard was the sound of clanging cookware. She pulled her blanket up over her head, trying to shut out the noise and dawn's light. She'd been having a lovely dream. Her bare feet had been skipping through lush, cool grasses and clusters of flowers.
Someone stripped back her quilt. Laurel opened her eyes. Brian's grinning face was only inches from hers. “Brian! What are you doing?”
“Laurel's awake,” the six-year-old called. He grinned, freckles crinkling over his nose. “It's time to get up.”
“You scared me.”
“I was watching you sleep. Did you know your eyes move when you're sleeping?”
Laurel smiled. “Yes, I know. And so do yours.” She grabbed him and tickled his sides.
Giggling, Brian wriggled free. “Hurry up. Breakfast is ready. After we eat we're going to the train! I've never ridden on a train!” He tugged on her hand. “Come on, Laurel. Get up.”
“All right. All right.” Laurel forced herself to sit. “I can't sleep anyway.”
Laurel stood, smoothed her skirt and blouse, and ran her hands through her thick wavy hair. Stiff and sore, she pressed her hands against the small of her back and stretched from side to side, then backwards. “It's going to take a little time to work out these kinks,” she said, reaching for her toes.
“I don't have any kinks,” Brian said, raising his arms straight up over his head, then proudly bending forward until his fingertips touched the toes of his shoes.
“You're young.” Laurel retrieved a brush out of her bag and, with quick, short passes, pulled it through her hair. Using a ribbon, she gathered it into a loose ponytail and secured it. “Mama, I'm going to wash up at the lake.”
“You better get a move on,” Will said. “Breakfast is nearly ready, and we've got to hustle if we're going to make the train.”
“I'll hurry,” Laurel assured him, grabbing a towel and heading for the beach.
