Mama made certain to tell them every day that Daddy loved them. She promised it was true. That should be reason enough for him to give up his drinking. Shouldn’t it?
If he could stop, then she could forgive him. God would help her.
Then Mama wouldn’t cry anymore.
And then they could be a proper family.
That ate every meal together around the dinner table.
Talked about their days.
Laughed together.
Made memories together.
Went to church together.
Gathered around the piano to play music and sing.
Had picnics in the meadow on red-and-white checkered cloths.
The pictures in her mind were so vivid that she smiled.
“Whitney?” Granddad’s voice broke through her thoughts. “It’s freezing out here, honey. Let’s get inside.”
“Yes, sir.” As she walked into the tiny cabin they called home, she let the remnants of the pictures cement into her mind. She turned to close the door and watched as the snow laid a fresh white coating on everything.
Clean. Bright.
New.
Tomorrow could be the start of something new for them. It could.
And she couldn’t wait.
ONE
Sixteen Years Later
Monday, January 9, 1905—Nome, Alaska
Snow glimmered in the moonlight. A beautiful start to another morning in Nome. Whitney whistled a lively tune as the sled swished and shushed over the snow. Her dogs were in fine form, obeying every command with precision and executing each turn in perfect unity. Not a tangled line or misbehaving pup. By the time the sun crested the horizon, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
Oh, for more perfect days like thi––
She grimaced.
The ache started in the back of her neck and radiated up into her head. She lifted a hand to her neck and rubbed. But once this pain started, it was hard to get rid of. What came next was usually much worse.
When would these blasted headaches let up? They’d tormented her for months.
Ever since––
No. She wouldn’t think about it. She’d gotten away from him. That’s what mattered.
“Whoa!” Her dogs responded, coming to a stop.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the bottle of tonic. Dr. Cameron gave it to her months ago because of the blow to her head. Thank heaven it helped ease her discomfort. A sip here and there was all it took.
She took a sip, replaced the bottle in her pocket, then urged the dogs back into motion. The pain lessened enough that she could make a mental list of everything she needed to accomplish today.
Lists kept her on track. Helped her to focus.
Life on the farm moved at a rapid pace, thank goodness. It kept her mind occupied, her hands busy. Between the cows, dogs, sheep, and chickens, she and her family had their work cut out for them. Havyn and Madysen had found good men to marry, men who wanted to help run the farm. Which she and her sisters needed. There was no way they would have been able to keep up by themselves.
Especially with Granddad still laid up after the bouts of apoplexy.
His movement had improved with exercises, but this past week he’d looked so weary. Maybe the winter doldrums were taking effect. It was, after all, the dead of winter. Or maybe he’d pushed himself too hard and too long over the past few weeks. He’d been determined to get up and walking soon.
Whatever it was, there had to be a way to lift his spirits. Lift all of their spirits. Maybe they should spend a bit more time around the piano in the evenings, on nights they weren’t at the Roadhouse.
Just the thought of playing with Havyn and Madysen brought a smile to her face.
With Maddy on cello and Havyn on the violin, they made quite the trio. But it was when they sang together that everything was the way it should be. There was something wonderful about singing tight harmonies with her sisters. With letting their voices soar.
As much as she was a mother hen to her younger sisters—even more so since Mama’s passing last year—the way they’d come around her after she’d been attacked showed her how much she needed them too. Whitney didn’t want to face a day without either of them. No matter how much they might get on one another’s nerves.
As her sled crested the hill, she caught sight of the farm. The expansive log-and-stone home Granddad built had smoke billowing from the chimney. The barns were alive with plenty of activity as the workers milked the herd. The usual cacophony of chickens chattering drifted on the air.
The sled glided over the snow as the dogs brought her back to the kennel area, their delight clear in their wagging tails and lolling tongues. Whitney hopped off the sled and worked with deft fingers in the bitter cold to unhook her team and get the dogs rubbed down and fed. Her mind sped through her responsibilities. Surely she had some time to shut her eyes against the pain. But no. Next came helping with breakfast, and then, since it was Monday, it was her turn to work with Granddad on his exercises.
She hesitated. Maybe Granddad needed something other than the same ol’ things he did every day. What if she were to read to him . . . or perhaps wheel him into the gathering room by the roaring fire and play the piano for him?
Of course! That was it. He’d love that. And it would be a pleasant change of pace for him. A break from the strenuous routine of stretches he did every day.
Ohhh . . .
Why wouldn’t the pain in her head stop? What she needed was a hot bath. So hot that it could melt the pain. But there were too many things on her list to do before she could even think about relaxing.
The morning meal passed in a flurry of pancakes, eggs, and fried ham steaks. All the noise and laughter increased the stabbing pain in her head. It took every ounce of her self-control to not let it show. She scraped plates into the bucket they took out to the animals. She rubbed her forehead.
Relax. Breathe. So much left to do.
But the throbbing didn’t lessen.
These darned headaches seemed to come more often. Maybe she needed to see Dr. Cameron. Find out if something was really wron––
“Whit . . . another one?” Havyn placed a hand on her shoulder.
With a sigh, she glanced at her sister. The child within her was beginning to show. “Yes. But don’t worry. You’ve got enough on your plate. I’ll make it through. I always do.”
Hands on her hips, Havyn quirked an eyebrow at her. “You might be the oldest and think you can still boss us around, but I most certainly will worry. When one of us is hurting, the rest of us hurt.” She grabbed the wooden spoon out of Whitney’s hand and tilted her head. “Let me finish this and take it out. Everyone else has already gone out for the rest of the chores, so you go ahead and spend some time with Granddad. I think your idea of playing music for him will help you both. Especially with the house being quiet for a bit.”
Since when did Havyn give her orders? Still, her fingers itched to play some relaxing music on the piano. She’d give in.
This time.
“All right. But don’t think you’ve won.”
Havyn’s wide eyes blinked at her. “Oh, never.”
“I can hear the sarcasm, sis.”
“Good.” Havyn gave her a little pat. “Now go on.”
Whitney removed her apron and hung it up before heading into their large parlor. The piano gleamed in the lantern’s light. The dark wood drew her. Mama had them polish it with oil and beeswax twice a week without fail. Running her hand over the smooth surface, she allowed the memories to assail her senses. All those times they’d gathered around it, the times Mama taught them at it, the times she accompanied them as they sang . . .