She looked at Laurel as if she'd forgotten anyone was there. “Oh, dear. I've gotten completely off track. Now, what was your question?”
“I just wondered if you missed your life in California.”
“I guess I'd have to say no. My best years have been here in Alaska. The people welcomed us from the beginning.”
“I wish I could say the same.”
“Good things aren't always easy.” Jessie set her cup on the table beside her chair. “Would you like to see my latest painting? I took a stab at a winter scene.”
“I'd love to.” Laurel drained the last of her chocolate and set the cup on a scratched end table.
Jessie pushed herself out of her chair, motioned for Laurel to follow, and hobbled to the back room. “These old bones don't like the cold.” She opened the door and stepped into a chilly room. “I'd better leave that door open if I want to sleep tonight,” Jessie said, shuffling to an easel beneath the window. “It's right here.” She stood back and looked at the picture. “What do you think?”
Laurel's breath caught as she gazed at a scene of the snow-buried mountains that framed the valley. A frozen stream like shimmering glass meandered through foothills of frozen trees, bushes hugging its mounded banks. An abandoned barn stood at the base of a mountain, looking lonely amid the white expanse. A craggy peak scarred with dark fractures and rocky outcroppings rose up behind it. “Jessie, you're amazing! I feel as if I'm standing right there.”
Jessie beamed. “Thank you. When it's dry, you can have it.”
“Have it?” Laurel looked at the painting with new eyes. “Are you sure? It's so beautiful.”
“Absolutely.” She glanced out the window. “The snow's coming down harder. You better scoot on home.”
Laurel bundled into her coat, pulled her hood tight around her face, and pushed her hands into her gloves. Standing at the door, she said, “I probably won't be back until after Christmas. Mama needs help with the baking, and I've got some projects I need to finish.” She smiled, taking delight in the gift she was making for her mother. “I'm embroidering a handkerchief for Mama. It has a field of wildflowers on it. I got the idea from your paintings.”
“I'm honored,” Jessie said with a smile.
“Luke and Brian aren't hard to buy for, but I don't know what I'm going to do for Daddy. He loves woodworking. He used to make furniture and knickknacks. When we moved, he had to leave his lathe. I'd hoped Luke and Mama and I could put our money together and buy him one, but they're too expensive—fourteen dollars.” She opened the door. “Maybe I can get it next year. Thank goodness for this job or I wouldn't have been able to buy any gifts.”
Jessie smiled, “Steward used to enjoy working with wood. He was quite good.”
“Are you going to the community Christmas party?”
“I thought it was just for the colonists.”
“I guess, but you're like family. You ought to be there.”
“Maybe. I'll see what the weather's like.” She thought a moment. “I s'pose I could bring my famous fudge.”
“That would be wonderful. Hope you'll be there. Bye.”
Wind swirled underneath Laurel's hood and down her neck, making her shiver. She pulled out a wool scarf from her pocket and wrapped it around her face and neck.
Laurel stopped at the post office to check on a package for her mother. Heat radiated from a wood stove. “It's cold,” she said to Millie Wilkerson, the postmistress, taking a moment to warm herself at the stove.
“That's what I've been hearing. I'm not looking forward to walking home.”
Laurel stripped off her gloves and stepped up to the clerk's window. “It's nice and warm in here.”
“I've been keeping that stove stoked,” Mrs. Wilkerson said cheerfully.
The door opened, and Ray Townsend stepped in, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. He stripped back his hood, revealing flattened curls and a trimmed beard. His eyes rested on Laurel for a moment. He nodded and closed the door.
Laurel stiffened. Now was her chance.
“Ray,” Mrs. Wilkerson said. “Good to see you.”
He walked up to the counter. “You got anything for me today, Millie?”
Looking a little befuddled, Mrs. Wilkerson said hesitantly, “Laurel was here first, Ray.” She glanced at Laurel. “Is there anything you needed to mail, dear?”
Laurel's mind whirled with all the things she wanted to say to Mr. Townsend. She focused on Mrs. Wilkerson. “No. I'm here to pick up a package for Mama. She's expecting something from Sears and Roebuck.”
Millie smiled, and her pudgy cheeks rounded into apples. “Oh, that's right. Something came in just this morning.” She waddled to the back of the room and picked up two boxes. “How exciting,” she said, her eyes sparkling. She handed the packages to Laurel.
“Christmas gifts—a truck for Brian and a rod and reel for Luke.” Laurel smiled.
Mr. Townsend leaned on the counter. He muttered, “Don't know why any colonist would bother to buy gifts—seems the government and the Sears store have already bought enough.”
He'd said the words quietly and hadn't looked at Laurel, but she knew they were meant for her. She stared at him, outrage mounting. “It's none of our doing that the government and the Sears people are sending gifts. I think it's kind of them since most of the families are too poor to buy much of anything.”
Mr. Townsend stared straight ahead. “I don't begrudge the children their gifts. I just find it a little one-sided. Lots of homesteaders' children won't find anything under their trees Christmas morning.”
Laurel hadn't considered how the gifts might look to the settlers. She'd simply been grateful. “I hadn't thought of that.”
“I'm not surprised. Loafers rarely think of anyone but themselves.”
“Loafers?” Laurel asked, her indignation growing. “Not a one of us is a loafer, Mr. Townsend! My father works harder than any man I know. Farmers don't know what it means to be idle. We're hardworking and just trying to make our way in this world. We have a right to a life just like you!”
Ray Townsend looked at her, and Laurel found herself staring into furious, gray eyes. “Young lady, you ought to talk to your father about manners. It doesn't seem you've been taught any.”
