it is. If somebody tells you something you have to listen the first time. They won’t tell you twice. They’ll let you find out for yourself.”
“What do you think of Mr. Strong? You think he’s an Alaskan?”
“He sure is. He cuts it a little thin sometimes and he’s tough on horses, but he’s skookum—he’s got guts. The people around here don’t appreciate him much because once in a while he’ll lose some mail or other stuff in the river.”
“Stuff like me you mean.”
That made him laugh. “I heard about that,” he said. Then he went on as though it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. “What most people don’t realize is that he’s been mushing that trail for over twenty years and no matter what it’s like—blown in, flooded or frozen—he shows up here on time if he possibly can. Twenty-four days out of every month he’s on trail all alone and he’s usually here like clockwork on the eighth, the eighteenth and the twenty-eighth. But if he shows up a day late once in a while, or he won’t pack parcel post out here in summer, people get all riled up at him and start sending letters to Washington D.C. saying the mail contract ought to be taken away from him. Well, he’s still got it—because there’s nobody else can do the job better. You’ll see what I mean after the freeze-up.”
I wondered if he knew what Mr. Strong thought of him and his family, and I had a feeling he did.
We kept working all day and he didn’t go home until a little before Joe showed up.
Joe came in wearing the fleece-lined jacket I’d seen him trying on when I arrived, and he had a tie on. He was surprised I was ready. “I was ready an hour ago,” I said.
“You’re still operating on Lower 48 time,” he said, helping me on with my coat. “You’re going to have to get used to Alaska time.”
“What’s Alaska time?”
“An hour or two early or an hour or two late. Maybe more depending on the weather. If somebody doesn’t come at all you know something held them up and they’ll be along the next day, or the next.”
“I hope the school won’t work that way.”
The roadhouse was about five cabins down from me. Inside it reminded me of a frontier stagecoach stop I’d seen once—rough plank floors, ceiling black with wood-smoke,a couple of long tables covered with oilcloth and a bunk room and stable in the rear. I wished I had the old upright piano in the corner, though. I could have used it in the schoolhouse for music appreciation and singing. I made a mental note to ask Maggie if she’d let me bring the class in occasionally.
There wasn’t anybody else in the place, so except for Maggie and her family, Joe and I had the place to ourselves. Maggie gave us a small table against the rear wall. The stable was on the other side of it and it took me a little while to get used to the horses that kept snuffling and sniffing the whole time we ate.
The boiled moose tongue she made was delicious, and while we ate I found out that Joe had gone to Washington State University. He’d come to Alaska in 1920, right after he got out of the Army. After we finished eating, Maggie and her husband sat down with us while her two little boys sat at one of the big tables listening.
“Heard you dropped in for a visit with Cathy Winters,” Maggie said. “Did you see that Indian buck she’s living with?”
“I was in her place. It didn’t look to me as if anybody was living there but her.”
“I don’t mean
living
with,” Maggie said impatiently. “I mean doing things she shouldn’t with.” Her two little boys, Jimmy and Willard, were all ears. “He’s a tall lean tiling, ugly as sin and scars all over his neck. What’s his name?” she asked her husband, raising her voice a little because he was hard of hearing.
“Titus Paul.” He was a small intense man. His false teeth were uncomfortable and he kept clicking and grinding them.
“I just saw him for a second,” I said. “I wasn’t there for
“What do you think of Mr. Strong? You think he’s an Alaskan?”
“He sure is. He cuts it a little thin sometimes and he’s tough on horses, but he’s skookum—he’s got guts. The people around here don’t appreciate him much because once in a while he’ll lose some mail or other stuff in the river.”
“Stuff like me you mean.”
That made him laugh. “I heard about that,” he said. Then he went on as though it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. “What most people don’t realize is that he’s been mushing that trail for over twenty years and no matter what it’s like—blown in, flooded or frozen—he shows up here on time if he possibly can. Twenty-four days out of every month he’s on trail all alone and he’s usually here like clockwork on the eighth, the eighteenth and the twenty-eighth. But if he shows up a day late once in a while, or he won’t pack parcel post out here in summer, people get all riled up at him and start sending letters to Washington D.C. saying the mail contract ought to be taken away from him. Well, he’s still got it—because there’s nobody else can do the job better. You’ll see what I mean after the freeze-up.”
I wondered if he knew what Mr. Strong thought of him and his family, and I had a feeling he did.
We kept working all day and he didn’t go home until a little before Joe showed up.
Joe came in wearing the fleece-lined jacket I’d seen him trying on when I arrived, and he had a tie on. He was surprised I was ready. “I was ready an hour ago,” I said.
“You’re still operating on Lower 48 time,” he said, helping me on with my coat. “You’re going to have to get used to Alaska time.”
“What’s Alaska time?”
“An hour or two early or an hour or two late. Maybe more depending on the weather. If somebody doesn’t come at all you know something held them up and they’ll be along the next day, or the next.”
“I hope the school won’t work that way.”
The roadhouse was about five cabins down from me. Inside it reminded me of a frontier stagecoach stop I’d seen once—rough plank floors, ceiling black with wood-smoke,a couple of long tables covered with oilcloth and a bunk room and stable in the rear. I wished I had the old upright piano in the corner, though. I could have used it in the schoolhouse for music appreciation and singing. I made a mental note to ask Maggie if she’d let me bring the class in occasionally.
There wasn’t anybody else in the place, so except for Maggie and her family, Joe and I had the place to ourselves. Maggie gave us a small table against the rear wall. The stable was on the other side of it and it took me a little while to get used to the horses that kept snuffling and sniffing the whole time we ate.
The boiled moose tongue she made was delicious, and while we ate I found out that Joe had gone to Washington State University. He’d come to Alaska in 1920, right after he got out of the Army. After we finished eating, Maggie and her husband sat down with us while her two little boys sat at one of the big tables listening.
“Heard you dropped in for a visit with Cathy Winters,” Maggie said. “Did you see that Indian buck she’s living with?”
“I was in her place. It didn’t look to me as if anybody was living there but her.”
“I don’t mean
living
with,” Maggie said impatiently. “I mean doing things she shouldn’t with.” Her two little boys, Jimmy and Willard, were all ears. “He’s a tall lean tiling, ugly as sin and scars all over his neck. What’s his name?” she asked her husband, raising her voice a little because he was hard of hearing.
“Titus Paul.” He was a small intense man. His false teeth were uncomfortable and he kept clicking and grinding them.
“I just saw him for a second,” I said. “I wasn’t there for
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