Alaskan Holiday
Page 32

“Three more minutes,” I told him. “Be patient. The soup will taste all the better. Remember, good things come to those who wait.”
“I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry,” I reminded him.
He grinned boyishly, his eyes sparkling. “I am, and you can count your blessings. If not for my love of your cooking, just where would you be?”
“True.” Jack had encouraged me every step of the way.
It was a good life. Angie and Steve’s little girl, Jaden, was three now, with two big brothers who protectively looked after her. My friend’s writing career was booming as well. We’d grown closer than ever after my move to Ponder. She read and edited my blogs, and I was her first reader when it came to her novels.
Just as I was about to dish up Jack’s soup, Donna arrived, after flying in from Fairbanks for spring break a day earlier. Jack had met her three years ago when he’d left Seattle, heading back to Alaska. Donna, a widow, taught school in Fairbanks and was in the middle seat next to Jack on his flight out of Sea-Tac. On the long flight to Fairbanks, Jack had been down in the dumps and was convinced he would forever mourn the loss of his one great love, my mother. Donna had kindly listened to Jack as he spoke of his heartache. She’d encouraged him to move on, and the two had exchanged contact information.
Before long, Jack was making any excuse he could find to fly into Fairbanks, and six months later, Jack and Donna were married. Donna continued to teach in Fairbanks but spent her school breaks and summers in Ponder with Jack. Jack stayed on as a hunting guide for the lodge, but all his off-season time was spent with Donna in Fairbanks. It worked for them, and it pleased me to see Jack happy and settled.
“I thought I’d find you here,” Donna said to Jack as she strolled into the kitchen after a polite knock against the door.
“Josie made soup.” He tilted his head to one side so Donna could kiss him. His beard was neatly trimmed these days, thanks to his wife’s influence.
“Would you like a sample?” I asked her. “It’s squash soup, from the squash I grew this summer.” What most people didn’t know was that with the long hours of daylight in the Alaska summers, the gardens served up a cornucopia of amazing and extra-large produce. It was a wealth of riches for me as a food blogger and a chef. Two of my most popular blog posts showed pictures of my garden and the incredible size of my squash and other vegetables.
“I’ve been fiddling with this recipe a bit and recently added—”
“Ginger,” Donna finished for me. “The scent greeted me when I came through the door.”
“Would you like a sample? I have plenty.”
Donna pulled out a stool and joined Jack at the kitchen counter.
I dished up two bowls and took notes of their comments, knowing I would probably need to make a few adjustments. Jack, being Jack, rarely had a single suggestion. He would eat just about anything, which didn’t make him my best critic. Nevertheless, I sought out his opinion, knowing he was always my biggest cheerleader. Donna, thankfully, was more discerning and made several observations that I found especially helpful.
When they’d finished with the soup, the two headed to the lodge. Since they’d married, Donna had become good friends with the Brewsters. She’d suggested adding a children’s program to supplement what the lodge offered to families. Jerry and Marianne had jumped on the idea. Several young single college students had applied for positions, and Donna headed up the educational programs each summer.
In addition to writing my blog, I returned to the lodge as their chef. I’d found freedom and joy here that I hadn’t expected; I was able to create and bring delight both to myself and to the guests and locals who ate at the lodge, all without the pressures I’d endured at the restaurant back in Seattle. My meals had even attracted the attention of several food critics, who wrote not only about the lodge and the food but the quaint town of Ponder. The Brewsters were already sold out for the next two years and were in the process of building small cabins to accommodate the growth in their business.
Ponder and the lodge weren’t the only things experiencing growth and prosperity. Palmer had his own success. The Civil War sword he’d delivered before Christmas three years ago had caught the attention of reenactors and collectors, and my husband had received several other commissions. He’d been interviewed recently in a national magazine and had been part of a television competition, bringing home a ten-thousand-dollar prize. We’d used his winnings to add on to the house, in anticipation of expanding our family.
My mom was well and happy. She and Craig had married, less than a month after Palmer and I exchanged vows. I had come to admire and appreciate my stepfather. He was kind, generous, and levelheaded, and brought wonderful qualities to the marriage. They were blissfully happy. Craig was semiretired, which gave them time to travel. Last winter they’d taken a cruise in the South Pacific, starting in Hawaii and ending in Australia. They had recently returned from their second winter cruise, which took them to South America. Knowing my mother, she’d bought yarn while she was in Peru, as she was an avid knitter.
Just after noon, Palmer wandered into the kitchen, his heated face still red from working over his forge. “Is lunch ready?” he asked. He hesitated when he saw my face. “What’s the problem—did you burn the soup?”
“No.”
“It smells wonderful. What is it?” he asked. He stood in front of the stove and waved his hand over the pot. Leaning forward, he closed his eyes and breathed in the scent.
“It’s ginger,” I supplied.
“Yes, that’s it,” he concurred, taking in another deep breath. He opened his eyes and frowned. “Is something wrong? You look like you’ve got something up your sleeve. I know that look.”
“Remember those pregnancy tests I asked Donna to bring from Fairbanks?”
Palmer went still and quiet. “I remember,” he said softly.
“I used one this morning.”
“And?”
“And we’re pregnant.”
Silence followed, and for an instant I was afraid Palmer wasn’t happy with my news. That was before he let out a yell that shook the rafters. He gripped me around the waist and lifted me up in his arms, far off the ground.
“Palmer, Palmer, put me down.”
I should have known better than to protest. It only encouraged him. Before I knew it, we were sitting on the sofa and I was in his lap. His large, muscular hands framed my face as he brought his mouth to mine, kissing me with a tenderness that still held the power to stir me.
With my arms wrapped around his neck, I kissed him back and then rested my head against his shoulder. “Are you happy?”
“You mean you can’t tell? Think I’m more surprised than anything. It happened so fast. I thought these things took more time.”
I’d been off birth control only a short while, and I was surprised myself with how quickly we’d conceived. “Me, too.”
“I thank God every day you agreed to marry me, Josie. Every single day.”
“And I thank God you were persistent, Palmer.” I was unable to imagine what my life would be without him. Like Angie had realized when she moved to Ponder, I, too, discovered that what I gained here by far outweighed anything I now lived without.
Life was good. No, life was great. I was blessed. My Alaskan holiday had turned into so much more than I’d ever dreamed it could be.