Yukon Wedding

“No.”

Mack caught Lana’s eyes over Georgie’s head. Do something about this, his expression silently shouted. “Ah, but it is. Your mama knows it is, too.”

The great Mack Tanner, flummoxed by a toddler. Were she not so bone-tired herself, she’d have found it amusing. Wound up by all the excitement and the new surroundings of Mack’s large cabin, Georgie was about as compliant as a mule. A very cranky, very curious, very irritating little mule. “I do indeed,” Lana said, dropping the socks she’d just managed to wrestle off Georgie’s feet and dragging herself to the chair by the small fire. Sinking into it, she patted her lap several times. “Come up here and…” She’d meant to ask Mack to bring her one of the children’s readers from the stack of books they’d purchased, but the question suddenly raised the issue of what to call Mack now.

“Ugle Ack,” Georgie barked pointing in Mack’s direction.

“Uncle Mack,” Mack replied, sensing not only her unspoken question, but Georgie’s unsolicited pronouncement. Mack was Georgie’s godfather, and Jed had referred to Mack always as “Uncle Mack” to the boy. For months Georgie could only manage “Ack,” which was amusing enough in itself, but over the Christmas holidays he’d graduated to “Ugle Ack.” Perhaps their new marital status was no reason to change that.

“Uncle Mack can bring us one of those pretty books with the pictures in them. Mama will read to you.”

Mack instantly delivered the book in question. “And Uncle Mack will take a walk,” he declared, “to let things settle down.”

From the moment Caleb Johnson had loudly heralded their arrival on Treasure Creek’s dock, Mack, Lana and eventually Georgie been surrounded by an endless stream of well-wishers. Little wonder Georgie was too wound up to sleep, while she could barely hold her eyes open. Lana nodded her approval as she took the book from Mack’s outstretched hand. “Bye-bye, Uncle Mack.” She used the reader to wave at Mack, fighting a twinge of jealousy at his escape into the quiet night. Georgie babbled a chattering farewell, too, wiggling his fingers while he grabbed at the new diversion.

Mack grumbled something Lana suspected she’d be glad not to have heard, and plucked his hat from its peg by the door. She felt her whole body collapse as the door clicked shut. Alone. She’d been on pins and needles all day, plastering a happy look on her face despite the terrible night’s sleep she’d gotten. Mack Tanner snored. Loudly. Still, by the endless sets of shifting she’d heard from his corner of the floor, Lana gathered he’d slept no better, if indeed more loudly. Add one exuberant toddler and everyone was on edge.

“Let’s see.” She sighed, returning her attention to the fidgety boy in her lap, “what have we got here? McGuffey’s Eclectic Primer. Uncle Mack knows you need to learn your letters first of all, and look at the pretty pictures!” Georgie, finding this suitable entertainment, settled in against Lana’s chest and began sucking on his thumb. Turning to the first page, Lana read, “A is for…ax? Good gracious, who starts off the alphabet with axes? I daresay Mr. McGuffey wasn’t a papa, if you ask me.” She yawned. “A is also for apple, too. You like apples.” She’d have a thing or two to say to the esteemed Mr. McGuffey about his opening page if she ever met him. Still, the alphabet continued on with kinder images. Box, cat, dog, elk and so on.

How many nights had Mack walked the town, praying his way though the streets of Treasure Creek, asking God’s protection over the people who lived there? It had become his evensong, his nightly ritual, his way of laying to bed the troubles of the day and asking God to send enough wisdom to make it through tomorrow.

It felt different tonight. He could walk through town all he wished, but it would not change the fact that he would go home to a wife and child. Mack had never in his life felt more sure he’d done the right thing, but less certain how to handle the consequences. It might help if his patience weren’t strained to the limit by Georgie’s boundless energy. The rascal had found six things to break in the first half an hour in his new home.

“Says who?” an angry voice sounded from the side of town where stampeders camped. The constantly shifting tent village housed those waiting their turn up the Chilkoot Trail. Or those limping down off it, thin and hungry. Mack broke up a fight nearly every night. He’d pressed nearly a dozen barely skilled people into stitching up the wounded lately. Even Teena Crow, the healing woman from the local Tlingit tribe, had been forced to double her efforts. Mack wondered how many punches had been thrown—and bones broken—in his time away. These days the medical needs of Treasure Creek threatened to surpass its spiritual needs.

“I’da been rich by now if it ain’t for you!” another voice called back. He’d heard every version of this argument under the sun, it seemed. Everyone had someone handy to blame for their failure. Even with Treasure Creek’s God-fearing reputation, there were two dozen fools to every successful man. How do I show them, Lord? Mack prayed.

God had given Moses a few good tricks up his sleeve, divine wonders to back up his authority when folks wouldn’t listen. All Mack had was a good brain, a fine church, a well-stocked provision post that would soon be the region’s best general store and the sheer determination to keep another man from climbing to his death. A loud crash assailed Mack’s ears, and he wondered how much longer he could hold out without help soon.

Ignoring the shouts, Mack turned his steps toward home. Please, Lord, he prayed, ashamed to be driven to such a plea, let him be asleep. I’m worn out and nothing good’ll happen if I snap at the little feller. For all the nights Mack had walked the village praying protection over its residents, for all the dangers he’d faced in countless adventures, it struck him odd that he’d been reduced to praying for protection against the ravages of a two-year-old.

Mack looked awful when he walked out of his bedroom door the next morning. He rubbed his neck and winced, hair sticking up in all directions and a thick stubble covering his chin. He resembled not so much as man as a foul-mooded bear.

“You made coffee.” He said it with a foggy awe that made Lana hide a smile behind the plate she was holding.

“Much needed, don’t you think?”

Mack nodded, settling himself at the table and giving the very perky Georgie an analytical eye. Lana set the steaming mug down in front of him and he very nearly clutched it. “If I say I’ve just discovered the best part about being married, will you hit me with that?”

She eyed the dented tin plate she was holding, thankful she’d talked Mack into letting her order a new set of china in Skaguay. “Not likely.”

He made a dark sound, and she turned to find his gaze aimed out the window to where sheets were hanging. “Why are they out to…?” Lana gulped as Mack turned to level a foul-mooded bear’s glare at Georgie. “You didn’t.”

“It’s hardly his fault,” Lana angled her body in between them, quieting Georgie’s frightened whimper with a bit of the bacon she’d been frying. “He’s just barely been trained, and under the circumstances…more coffee?”

Mack laid his forehead into one hand while he held out the already half-drained cup in the other.

They were going to have to soldier through this morning no matter what, so Lana had decided hours ago to put the best face possible on the situation. “There’s bacon, eggs, toast and some applesauce Mavis Goodge brought over.” She set the full plate in front of him.

“You cook.” He seemed troubled by the observation.

“I find eating a rather necessary practice.”

Mack took several mouthfuls of egg. “You cook well.”

She found the surprise in his voice annoying. Had Jed complained to him about her cooking? “You could be less astonished, you know. And even say thank you if you wanted to really startle me.”

This seemed to make him think. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Not really.” She’d grown accustomed to snatching her meals in bits and pieces in between feeding and occupying Georgie. The long, luxurious meals they’d had in Skaguay had felt like her first in years.

Mack motioned to the place opposite him at the table. “Sit down. Please.” It wasn’t a command, it was an invitation. A grumpy, bleary eyed, but genuine attempt at civility. Lana hid her distinct pleasure as she filled a plate and sat down.

And there they were. The three of them, at table, a family. It was familiar and foreign at the same time, given the man at the head of the table. Mack cleared his throat and held out his hands—one to Georgie and one to Lana. She hesitated to give him her hand, ashamed how long it took her to realize what he was about. He was saying grace.

“We give You thanks, Holy Father, for the food You’ve given us this day. For the blessings we enjoy and the protection we need. May it strengthen us to honor You and Your will today. Amen.”

“Amen,” Lana said quietly.

“Ugle Ack,” Georgie added, batting Mack’s hand with the teaspoon he was holding.

Lana waited as long as she could before asking, “Why are you so surprised I can cook? What did Jed say?”

Mack had made short work of the breakfast and was scraping up the last bits of egg with a corner of his toast. “He said nothing on the matter. It’s just that I know you’ve had house staff most of your life. No reason to learn such things.”

“So I’m useless because I grew up with advantages, is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all. You’ve just not had much time to learn to fend for yourself. There’s cooking to live and then there’s good cooking.”

Lana sat back and crossed her arms. “And you were thinking you’d just married the kind of woman who can cook enough to keep you alive?”

“I obviously don’t know you well enough.” He used the diplomatic tone of a man who’d broken up too many arguments.

Lana got up from the table, clearing both their plates. “There’s a lot you don’t know, Mack Tanner.” She reached for the pile of McGuffey Readers she’d poured through in the hours before he woke this morning. She’d started the “Second Year” reader on the boat as they came back from Skaguay, and her opinion had begun to form then. As she sifted through the rest of them this morning—including the pictorial one she started with Georgie last night—the idea had planted itself in her head like a flag thrust in a mountaintop.

As she read through the volumes, Lana discovered she had very definite ideas about education. Ideas about how education was to be accomplished, and by whom, using what techniques. Really, what sort of person launches a child’s education with “A is for ax?” Everyone in Treasure Creek was fine with building a school, but it seemed to her no one gave much thought to what would go on inside it, once built. Somewhere in the second half of the “Fifth Year” reader, Lana had the shocking thought that people might assume the Tucker Sisters would simply hammer their last nail and move inside to take up the chalk. Surely not. Nor should they.

“I’ve read through these,” she began.

“Early riser,” Mack said, finishing his third cup of coffee.

Lana nodded toward Georgie. “Not by choice.” She lay the pile of readers on the table and sat down opposite Mack again. “Who will teach these?”

Mack ran a hand across his chin. “School’s not even finished yet. When it is, we’ll send word and the government will send out a teacher.”

So he didn’t have someone in mind for the position. She’d mentally catalogued Treasure Creek’s population earlier this morning, and came up with no clear candidate, either.

“I expect one of the Tuckers might even take it on.”