[Song of Alaska 02] - Morning's Refrain (8 page)

“We’ve never used bear before,” Phoebe said skeptically. The worst part about making tallow candles was the smell of the fat. She could only imagine the odor of bear. Perhaps they could add extra frankincense to counteract the pungency of the wild animal. Then again, maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. Perhaps bear fat was mild compared to that of ox or sheep, but she doubted it.

“We must experiment with what we have at hand,” her mother replied. “Mrs. Lindquist said candles would sell well here. Oh, and she told me she might very well be able to get us some beeswax.”

“That would be wonderful.” Candles made from the wax of bees were by far and away superior to any other, as far as Phoebe was concerned. “Do we have plenty of cream of tartar and alum for bleaching?”

Her mother tied on an apron. “I believe so. We will order more if need be. Your father said that the governor has assured us we needn’t fret over supplies. He will ensure that our orders are combined with his own.”

A fine mist fell as Phoebe made her way to the Lindquist place.

She tried to wrestle with an umbrella and the reins for a time, to no avail. Giving up on keeping dry, Phoebe pressed on. Did it always rain in this place?

When Phoebe arrived, Miss Rockford was sitting on the porch, bent over her sewing. She gave a little wave and went back to work even as Phoebe drew the horse to a stop.

“Hello, Miss Rockford,” Phoebe called as she lifted her umbrella. Dismounting with the cumbersome thing in hand, however, only added to Phoebe’s frustration.

The older woman smiled. “Good morning to you.”

Phoebe tried to shake off as much of the rain as possible. Zerelda got to her feet and motioned to the door. “Come on inside and dry by the fire. You mustn’t get a chill.”

Grateful for the warmth of the house, Phoebe settled onto a small stool by the fire and Miss Rockford returned with a cup of hot tea. “This will warm you from the inside,” she told Phoebe.

“Thank you so much. I’m afraid I’ve not learned the secret of driving a wagon and keeping my head dry.”

The woman laughed. “Up here, we gave up on such things long ago. Most folks don’t even worry about it. You’ll know you’re one of us when you give it no thought at all.”

“It seems like it’s always threatening rain or actually raining,” Phoebe replied. “I had no idea it would be so damp all the time.”

“We have our dry spells, too,” Zerelda said with a grin. “Why, last month there was a whole twenty-four-hour period when it didn’t rain even once.”

Phoebe couldn’t help but giggle. “Was there a celebration?”

“Of course. Folks closed their businesses and enjoyed the day. Before long, you’ll get used to it.”

“I can’t imagine ever getting used to it. The isolation alone must surely be maddening.”

“I suppose it depends on what a person is looking for in life. Sitka has much to offer in the way of peace and simplicity. I’ve come to greatly enjoy it.”

Phoebe hoped she hadn’t spoken out of turn. She truly hadn’t meant to suggest that Sitka was a bad place. She sipped her tea, then offered an apology. “I’m sorry if I offended you. I’m just not used to this yet.”

Miss Rockford laughed. “I could hardly expect that you are, and I’m not at all offended. I hope in turn I didn’t offend you. I tend to be rather prideful when it comes to this place. It’s a fault of mine that I haven’t worked hard enough to overcome. Do you come from a large city?”

“No. Well, large compared to this place,” Phoebe admitted. “We lived in the capital of Vermont—Montpelier. It isn’t anything like Boston or New York, certainly.”

“I’ve not ever been to either of those, but I do know something about Seattle and Portland. Those were big enough places for me.”

Phoebe felt herself relax. Miss Rockford was openly honest, and Phoebe found that refreshing. “Miss Rockford, I was interested in what you had to say about the Tlingit people. I’d very much like to know more.”

“Please call me Zerelda. Or better yet, Zee.” Zerelda shifted and picked up the sewing she’d earlier deposited on the table. “I’m making some flannels for the girls. Winter will come soon enough, and they’ve both grown a great deal since last year. But as for the Tlingits, I’m not sure what to tell you. They have a rich history that is quite different from ours. Their cultural practices stand as a barrier between us at times, but I’ve come to care a great deal about them.”

“What are they like? Mother is afraid, you know. We had one woman approach us, trying to sell us something, and it sent Mother into a fit of nerves.”

Zerelda nodded. “The Tlingit are an industrious people. They’ve been quick to learn various trades—first from the Russians, and now from the Americans. My most sincere concerns for them are related to education, medicine, and spiritual matters. Father Donskoi and Sheldon Jackson have become rivals for their attention.”

“Who are they?”

“Father Donskoi heads up the Russian Orthodox Church here, while Mr. Jackson established the Presbyterian mission and is the general agent for education in Alaska. Both are good men who have benevolent regard for the natives. However, both have issues when it comes to how they perform their duties.”

“I see. Are the Tlingit people interested in what our churches and schools have to offer them?” Phoebe asked.

“Yes, I have found them to be very interested. They are no different from anyone else in seeking a better life for their children. They have been receptive to Christianity, although some are hard-pressed to put aside their old traditions. This is one of the reasons Brother Jackson wants to contract the Tlingit children to live at the Industrial School for five years. He wants to get them away from the customs and cultural issues of their people. He believes they will be better suited to learn and accept our ways if their own aren’t presented constantly in conflict.”

“I see.”

Zerelda shook her head. “Unfortunately, Jackson’s method of ministering has turned many away. The Orthodox Church doesn’t demand as many changes and tries to come alongside and serve the people as an addition to their own culture. At the same time, they are encouraged to put aside the more harmful or less beneficial traditions. The Tlingit find that Father Donskoi meets them where they are—spends time in their village. He shows them respect and honor. They do not feel the same way about Brother Jackson and his people—at least not most of them.”

“That is sad. I suppose, too, that the Tlingit have had a longer understanding of the Russians. Perhaps that also helps them to trust them more.”

Zerelda nodded. “I believe it can. Of course, the man in charge prior to Father Donskoi was not as well liked. Many of the Tlingits who were a part of the church left because they felt he held them in contempt. There was a time when they believed the Russians only cared about them for the furs they could provide. The fur trade here was substantial. Now it has diminished, but you still see quite a bit going on.”

“Oh yes, I know something about that already. My father has his eye on some nice pieces and hopes to have a coat made for my mother.”

“She’ll find a fur coat to be too hot for this area. A nice cape would serve her better.”

Phoebe nodded. “I’ll let her know.” The clock chimed the hour, and Phoebe put aside her tea. “Oh my. I suppose I should load the bear fat and return home. Mother will be expecting me.”

Zerelda glanced up. “Have you warmed up sufficiently? I wouldn’t want you catching a cold. Summer colds are so miserable.”

“I’m fine. I really enjoyed our visit. Maybe I could come another time and hear more about the island and the Tlingit people?”

Zerelda smiled. “I’d like that very much. Please feel free to come by any time. You needn’t wait for an invitation.”

“I’ll remember that.” Phoebe thought briefly of Dalton and how nice it might be to run into him, as well. Her cheeks warmed at the memory of their last encounter. Stumbling over the edge of the rug, Phoebe barely caught herself before crashing headlong into the back of Zerelda.

Goodness, but I’ve become such a clumsy oaf since moving to
Sitka. If I’m not careful people will think me teched in the head.
She straightened and realized Zerelda hadn’t even noticed. With a sigh, Phoebe continued on her way. It would be best to keep thoughts of Dalton at arm’s length. At least until she could be seated and not hurt herself or anyone else.

Chapter 6

July 1889

P
hoebe anticipated the upcoming dance to welcome the new governor as much as a visit to the dentist. She had never really cared for parties, and while most of her friends were overjoyed at the prospect of dancing the night away, Phoebe longed only for the quiet of her room.

“Ma says you’d better hurry,” her brother Theodore called from outside her door. “She said she and Pa are supposed to arrive with the governor, and that means we need to, also.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Phoebe worked at a stubborn curl, hoping to pin it securely. Her hair never wanted to cooperate when it really mattered. Studying the result in the mirror, Phoebe felt as satisfied as she could. Her long blond hair cascaded in ringlets from the top of her head and down her back. She’d learned how to create the popular style from the governor’s wife.

The gown she’d chosen was one of her newer ones, made just before they’d come to Sitka. Cut from a lovely shade of pink silk, the underskirt stood out in sharp contrast to the plum- and pink-striped overskirt. The bodice was a combination of both colors, arranged with a gentle sweeping neckline.

Phoebe sighed and took up her gloves. Already, she’d had numerous men come courting. Her mother assured her that it wasn’t unusual in a place where the men outnumbered the women ten to one. However, Phoebe was uncomfortable with all of the attention. Especially since the attention thus far hadn’t included Dalton Lindquist.

“Well, here you are at last,” her father declared. “Come along or we’ll be late.”

“You look like a pink circus tent,” her little brother announced.

“Grady, that was unkind. Phoebe looks nothing of the sort,”

their mother admonished.

“Well, remember that circus we went to last year? The tent was all striped and—”

“Do be quiet,” Mother demanded. “We are about to join the governor and his wife.”

Grady giggled and poked Theodore in the side. Phoebe shook her head. It promised to be a long evening.

There was great pomp and ceremony—at least as much as the people of Sitka could arrange. Phoebe was impressed with the festivities, but even more so with the ensemble that played for the event. Having loved music all of her life, Phoebe had once performed with Montpelier’s orchestra, playing her flute. In fact, her music was the one thing that had kept her sane on the long trip by ship to Alaska.

To Phoebe’s surprise, Lydia Lindquist appeared to be the leader of the little orchestra. Dressed impeccably in a gown of dark gold, the woman was a striking figure as she spoke to her fellow musicians. Phoebe could see that along with Lydia and her violin, there was a cellist, a French horn player, and guitar player, as well as a pianist. She’d already heard some of the music they’d created. It was amazing they could get such a beautiful sound from so few instruments.

Perhaps they would let me join,
she thought. What a joy that would be. She missed her music more than anything else.

Just then she saw Dalton make his way through the crowd. He spoke momentarily to his mother, then moved to the side. Phoebe suddenly got an idea. If Dalton wouldn’t come to her, then perhaps she could approach him on the excuse of asking about the orchestra.

She started to make her way toward him. Just then the music began and the governor and his wife stepped forward to start the dance. Phoebe had barely taken two steps when a tall man dressed in black asked her for the dance. She had been unprepared for the question, even though she knew she was one of the few unattached young women. Nodding, she allowed herself to be led onto the dance floor.

Phoebe tried to keep track of where Dalton was. At the moment he was standing with another young man, deep in conversation. Where Dalton was dark haired, the other man was blond. They were about the same height and weight, and both looked quite capable of doing a hard day’s work.

Another man approached Phoebe and her partner, not even waiting for the music to end. They quickly exchanged Phoebe as if by earlier agreement. As the new stranger danced her away, he introduced himself.

“Reginald Cavendish, at your service. I hope you don’t mind that I stepped in. We have so few women with whom to dance that we rarely wait for the break of a song.”

Phoebe nodded. “I was surprised, I must say.”

“You should get used to it. Most dances will find you with three or four partners before the music concludes. If I’m not mistaken, we are being approached even now.”

She glanced over her shoulder to see an older man draw near. He smiled in greeting, revealing a missing tooth. Phoebe recognized him as one of the store owners, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember his name.

And so the evening went. Phoebe found herself passed from man to man, all in the name of good manners and fun. She hated to disappoint anyone, but after dancing for nearly an hour, Phoebe felt a desperate desire to leave the party. When the orchestra took a break, Phoebe decided it would be the perfect moment to excuse herself.