Niniltna since Harvey and Auntie Vi built theirs twenty years before, when they got their ANCSA land allotments.
She pulled her pickup in next to a battered Ford Ranger that looked as if it had more miles on it than the space shuttle, killed the engine, and got out, followed by Mutt. The door opened and Virginia Anahonak stuck her head out. “Hi, Kate. Heard you pull up.”
“Hi, Virginia. Heard you were renting a room to Phyllis Lestinkof.”
“You heard right.”
“She here?”
“She’s here. Did you want to talk to her?”
“Please.”
“Come on, I’ll pour you a cup of coffee.”
“That’s okay,” Kate said. “I’ll wait out here.”
Virginia’s eyebrows worked a little overtime at that but she went back inside. Kate wanted to give the news to Phyllis first, without anyone listening in. She didn’t know how thin the walls were in these little houses, but Virginia had a well-deserved reputation as the Niniltna town crier.
The door opened and Phyllis came out, looking a little puzzled. “You wanted to see me, Kate?”
Phyllis looked thinner than she had the last time Kate had seen her, in the Riverside Café last May, pleading for help from the father of her child. She wasn’t much taller than Kate, with short dark hair, dark eyes, and smooth brown skin. She wore a loose-fitting T-shirt over jeans with the top button undone. She was eighteen years younger than Kate and a distant relative by way of, if Kate remembered correctly, Auntie Balasha. The Lestinkofs were originally from Tatitlek and relative newcomers to the Park, the family having moved here after the destruction of the original village during the tidal wave that followed the 1964 earthquake. The Lestinkofs had lost so much family that Mrs. Lestinkof, Phyllis’s grandmother, could not bear the thought of relocating with the rest of the village to a new site on the mainland. Phyllis’s father married into the Park, one of the Anahonak sisters, which made Virginia her aunt. It made Ulanie Anahonak her aunt, too, the difference being that Ulanie was a churchy type with definite opinions on children born out of wedlock to godless and amoral mothers. Virginia’s moral stance was far more relaxed.
Virginia peered at them through the living room curtains. “Walk with me,” Kate said.
Phyllis fell in next to her. Mutt took point, trotting ahead to sniff at various clumps of grass and tree roots, choosing a select few to anoint along the way.
“You deckhanded for Old Sam on the Freya this summer,” Kate said.
“Yes,” Phyllis said.
“He thought you did a pretty good job.”
They reached the river road and turned left, Kate walking slowly with her hands in the pockets of her jacket. It wasn’t really cold yet but it wasn’t warm anymore, either. The river moved past on their right, and the Quilaks bulked large on their left. A trio of ravens nagged at an eagle flying low across the river, prospecting for a late silver to take home to the nest.
“He said that?” Phyllis said.
“He wrote me a letter,” Kate said. “You know, to read after he died. He said so in that.”
“Oh.” They walked a couple more steps. “Is that what you wanted to tell me?”
They were far enough away from the house now. Kate stopped. “No. I’ve got some good news, or I hope you’ll think it is. Old Sam left me his cabin on the river, but he wanted you to live there when he was gone.”
Phyllis stopped dead in her tracks. “What?”
Kate had to repeat herself, and then say it a third time before Phyllis believed her. She started to cry. “Please tell me this isn’t a joke. Please, please tell me you aren’t kidding.”
“I’m not joking,” Kate said. “I own the cabin, but Old Sam told me to let you live there as long as you wanted to. With the baby coming, he knew you needed a place, and he knew your parents’ house wasn’t an option.”
Phyllis was so overcome she had to sit down on a driftwood log. Kate sat next to her.
She pulled her pickup in next to a battered Ford Ranger that looked as if it had more miles on it than the space shuttle, killed the engine, and got out, followed by Mutt. The door opened and Virginia Anahonak stuck her head out. “Hi, Kate. Heard you pull up.”
“Hi, Virginia. Heard you were renting a room to Phyllis Lestinkof.”
“You heard right.”
“She here?”
“She’s here. Did you want to talk to her?”
“Please.”
“Come on, I’ll pour you a cup of coffee.”
“That’s okay,” Kate said. “I’ll wait out here.”
Virginia’s eyebrows worked a little overtime at that but she went back inside. Kate wanted to give the news to Phyllis first, without anyone listening in. She didn’t know how thin the walls were in these little houses, but Virginia had a well-deserved reputation as the Niniltna town crier.
The door opened and Phyllis came out, looking a little puzzled. “You wanted to see me, Kate?”
Phyllis looked thinner than she had the last time Kate had seen her, in the Riverside Café last May, pleading for help from the father of her child. She wasn’t much taller than Kate, with short dark hair, dark eyes, and smooth brown skin. She wore a loose-fitting T-shirt over jeans with the top button undone. She was eighteen years younger than Kate and a distant relative by way of, if Kate remembered correctly, Auntie Balasha. The Lestinkofs were originally from Tatitlek and relative newcomers to the Park, the family having moved here after the destruction of the original village during the tidal wave that followed the 1964 earthquake. The Lestinkofs had lost so much family that Mrs. Lestinkof, Phyllis’s grandmother, could not bear the thought of relocating with the rest of the village to a new site on the mainland. Phyllis’s father married into the Park, one of the Anahonak sisters, which made Virginia her aunt. It made Ulanie Anahonak her aunt, too, the difference being that Ulanie was a churchy type with definite opinions on children born out of wedlock to godless and amoral mothers. Virginia’s moral stance was far more relaxed.
Virginia peered at them through the living room curtains. “Walk with me,” Kate said.
Phyllis fell in next to her. Mutt took point, trotting ahead to sniff at various clumps of grass and tree roots, choosing a select few to anoint along the way.
“You deckhanded for Old Sam on the Freya this summer,” Kate said.
“Yes,” Phyllis said.
“He thought you did a pretty good job.”
They reached the river road and turned left, Kate walking slowly with her hands in the pockets of her jacket. It wasn’t really cold yet but it wasn’t warm anymore, either. The river moved past on their right, and the Quilaks bulked large on their left. A trio of ravens nagged at an eagle flying low across the river, prospecting for a late silver to take home to the nest.
“He said that?” Phyllis said.
“He wrote me a letter,” Kate said. “You know, to read after he died. He said so in that.”
“Oh.” They walked a couple more steps. “Is that what you wanted to tell me?”
They were far enough away from the house now. Kate stopped. “No. I’ve got some good news, or I hope you’ll think it is. Old Sam left me his cabin on the river, but he wanted you to live there when he was gone.”
Phyllis stopped dead in her tracks. “What?”
Kate had to repeat herself, and then say it a third time before Phyllis believed her. She started to cry. “Please tell me this isn’t a joke. Please, please tell me you aren’t kidding.”
“I’m not joking,” Kate said. “I own the cabin, but Old Sam told me to let you live there as long as you wanted to. With the baby coming, he knew you needed a place, and he knew your parents’ house wasn’t an option.”
Phyllis was so overcome she had to sit down on a driftwood log. Kate sat next to her.
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