Free Ashes and Ice by Tracie Peterson Page A

them out over the fire. The grease began to melt and popped and sizzled on the flaming logs. The aroma filled the air with an anticipated promise of filling their bellies.
    “How is your mother?” Adrik asked Dyea Joe. The two were distant relatives. Joe’s mother was in fact second cousin to Adrik’s now deceased grandmother, and their families had always been close.
    “She is well. She does not like the fuss over gold.” Dyea Joe’s English bore witness to his forced attendance at mission schools.
    “I doubt any Tlingit or First Nations people are going to find the rush very appealing,” Adrik said, shaking his head. “The cheechakos are ruining the land. They run right for the gold, never seeing how priceless the land itself is.”
    “You speak the truth.” Dyea Joe’s dark eyes seemed to glow in the light of the fire. “People often throw away the gold in their hands for the promise of the gold hidden from them.”
    “Amen.”
    Adrik pulled the browned biscuits from the fire and pushed them from the stick onto a pie tin. “Help yourself,” he said, passing the tin to Joe.
    The tin circulated around the fire, the biscuits being taken up quickly by the hungry Tlingit packers. Adrik took the last biscuit and leaned back on his elbow to enjoy the rest of his meal. Thoughts of tragedy and mishaps from the trail threatened to put a damper on his mood. Determined to raise his spirits, he pushed aside the threat of snowslides and instead thought of Karen Pierce.
    But thinking of Karen caused Adrik to think of her losses, and again his thoughts turned bleak. First her mother had passed on long before Karen had come north. Then her father had died with only a narrow distance separating them. Her friend had married and moved away, and now Karen had lost her aunt and her livelihood, as well.
    Adrik knew, however, that it was the death of her father that gave Karen the most sorrow. She had been so close to reuniting with him. She had felt called to come north—perhaps to even work at her father’s side—and now she was robbed of both seeing him and working with him. And a deep loss it was. Not only for her, but for the people who had come to care so much for her father. Including Adrik.
    Adrik held the highest regard for Wilmont Pierce. The man had been both a good friend and mentor. Adrik had guided Pierce on more than one occasion and had been instrumental in seeing that he was accepted among the Indian people. Wilmont had been different from other missionaries. He had come in love and kindness, seeking to meet the people where they were. He lived with them, ate with them, and studied their ways to better understand them. This gave the Tlingit respect for Pierce, and although many of the Tlingit were already baptized into Russian Orthodoxy, they embraced Wilmont’s preaching. In time, Adrik had even seen a change in the hearts of many of the natives.
    “Hello, camp!” came a decidedly British voice.
    Adrik looked up to find a shivering man, hardly dressed warmly enough for the cold. “Come warm yourself by the fire, stranger.”
    “My gratitude, sir.” The man hurried to the edge of the fire and held out his gloved hands. “The night came upon me unaware. I was sent back to bring hot food to our camp, but I’m afraid the restaurants are packed. There’s scarcely room for even one more.”
    Adrik lifted the pot of coffee. “Would you like a cup?”
    The man sat down on a thick log beside Adrik and nodded enthusiastically. “I would be very grateful. I’m not fond of American coffee, but at this point I’ll take anything hot.”
    “Where you from, stranger?” Adrik asked, pouring coffee into a tin cup.
    “London, England. I have family in the Canadian provinces. I was visiting there when all this news of gold came. We decided to give it a go. Make our fortunes. And you?”
    Adrik thought him a very amicable sort and smiled. “I’ve lived in these parts all of my life.” He handed the man the