“I can see that. Why?”
“I'm a reporter. It's my job. And you have a face readers will love.”
Laurel felt her cheeks heat up.
“You're blushing.”
“I am not.” Deciding she didn't like the man, Laurel started walking again.
He joined her.
“It's impolite to follow people and take pictures of them without their permission.”
“I wasn't following you. I was walking ahead of you. I guess you could say I was leading.” He chuckled.
Laurel's irritation swelled. She hurried her steps and, without looking at him, said, “I would appreciate it if you would not take my photograph again.”
“Can't promise. Sometimes my camera has a mind of its own. And you wouldn't want to get me fired, would you? If my boss found out I didn't get photographs of the prettiest girl on the train, he'd have my hide.”
Laurel tried not to smile. She kept walking. “What kind of reporter are you?”
“I work for the Chicago Tribune. I'm writing about the colonists. You're a colonist, aren't you?”
“Yes. Are you going with us?”
“Yep. It's big news. The administration's grand experiment.” He gave her a sideways grin. “Can't you see the headlines? Government lends a helping hand.”
“I've already seen it—everywhere, in every newspaper,” Laurel said derisively.
“We're just reporting the news.” The man walked beside Laurel, clearly comfortable with himself and with her.
Laurel wished he would leave her alone.
“So, where you from?” he asked, taking out a writing tablet and pencil from his front pocket.
Laurel eyed the tablet. “You're going to write down what I say?”
“It's news.”
“I'm sure I don't have anything to say that anyone would want to read.” Laurel wasn't about to have her family's misfortune plastered across the front page of any newspaper. She walked faster. Brian and Justin were forced to trot to keep up.
“Just tell me how you joined up with the colonists.”
“Please, leave me alone.”
“Are you really a newspaper reporter?” Justin asked.
“Justin,” Laurel snapped and yanked on his hand. She glanced back. The reporter stood, arms folded over his chest, a curious smile on his face.
Her father leaned against the rear bumper of their truck. He was visiting with Joe and David. Luke stood off a little, watching the loading. “Daddy, how much longer will it be?” Laurel asked.
“Not long.” He pulled out a pocket watch and looked at it. “It's eleven now, and the train is supposed to leave by noon. They'll have to move quickly.”
Luke stood beside his father, hands shoved into his pants pockets. “Do you really think we can make a go of it in Alaska?”
“Sure do.” Will gently gripped Luke's shoulder. “During the summer months the days are long. The sun barely sets before it rises again. From what I hear, the vegetables grow fast and big because of the long days. And the soil's good. All we have to do is work hard. And I know we can do that.”
“Yeah, but it's so different from home,” Luke said.
“It is. There are mountains, big ones. And they say there are rivers full of fish, the likes we've never seen. Plus lots of wild game.”
“Will we be doing a lot of hunting?”
“You betcha. I've seen pictures of moose and caribou. One moose would nearly see us through a winter. And I heard there are mountain sheep too.”
“I wouldn't mind setting my sights on a moose,” David said.
Luke nodded. “It sure would be something to bring one down, or a bear.”
Laurel smiled. It was good to see Luke catching on to the idea of living in Alaska. Now if only she could.
“We're ready for you,” a man called from the doorway of a boxcar and motioned for Will and Joe to pull forward.
“That's us,” Will said and climbed into his truck. Joe hopped into his, and the two steered the vehicles alongside the train.
“Let's get this stuff loaded,” the man said. Will, Joe, David, and Luke went to work unloading while two men climbed inside the boxcar and grabbed the belongings. A man with a cigar clenched between his teeth and a dirty blue hat tagged each item, then recorded it on a form attached to a clipboard.
The trucks were emptied and parked in front of the station. Will climbed out, gently closed the door of the 1927 pickup, and turned to Joe, handing him the keys. “It's yours. Do what you can with it.”
