[Song of Alaska 02] - Morning's Refrain by Tracie Peterson Page B

know the secrets of his past will stop at nothing to learn them.”
    Phoebe knew her mother was right, but still it troubled her. Her father was a good man, and he deserved to stand on his own merits.
    “I was wondering if you would mind making a trip out to the Lindquists for me,” her mother said, suddenly changing the subject. “Mrs. Lindquist sent word that we could pick up some bear fat from their recent kill. I thought you might take the wagon and retrieve it. We’ll see if we can work with it for the candles.”
    “We’ve never used bear before,” Phoebe said skeptically. The worst part about making tallow candles was the smell of the fat. She could only imagine the odor of bear. Perhaps they could add extra frankincense to counteract the pungency of the wild animal. Then again, maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. Perhaps bear fat was mild compared to that of ox or sheep, but she doubted it.
    “We must experiment with what we have at hand,” her mother replied. “Mrs. Lindquist said candles would sell well here. Oh, and she told me she might very well be able to get us some beeswax.”
    “That would be wonderful.” Candles made from the wax of bees were by far and away superior to any other, as far as Phoebe was concerned. “Do we have plenty of cream of tartar and alum for bleaching?”
    Her mother tied on an apron. “I believe so. We will order more if need be. Your father said that the governor has assured us we needn’t fret over supplies. He will ensure that our orders are combined with his own.”
    A fine mist fell as Phoebe made her way to the Lindquist place.
    She tried to wrestle with an umbrella and the reins for a time, to no avail. Giving up on keeping dry, Phoebe pressed on. Did it always rain in this place?
    When Phoebe arrived, Miss Rockford was sitting on the porch, bent over her sewing. She gave a little wave and went back to work even as Phoebe drew the horse to a stop.
    “Hello, Miss Rockford,” Phoebe called as she lifted her umbrella. Dismounting with the cumbersome thing in hand, however, only added to Phoebe’s frustration.
    The older woman smiled. “Good morning to you.”
    Phoebe tried to shake off as much of the rain as possible. Zerelda got to her feet and motioned to the door. “Come on inside and dry by the fire. You mustn’t get a chill.”
    Grateful for the warmth of the house, Phoebe settled onto a small stool by the fire and Miss Rockford returned with a cup of hot tea. “This will warm you from the inside,” she told Phoebe.
    “Thank you so much. I’m afraid I’ve not learned the secret of driving a wagon and keeping my head dry.”
    The woman laughed. “Up here, we gave up on such things long ago. Most folks don’t even worry about it. You’ll know you’re one of us when you give it no thought at all.”
    “It seems like it’s always threatening rain or actually raining,” Phoebe replied. “I had no idea it would be so damp all the time.”
    “We have our dry spells, too,” Zerelda said with a grin. “Why, last month there was a whole twenty-four-hour period when it didn’t rain even once.”
    Phoebe couldn’t help but giggle. “Was there a celebration?”
    “Of course. Folks closed their businesses and enjoyed the day. Before long, you’ll get used to it.”
    “I can’t imagine ever getting used to it. The isolation alone must surely be maddening.”
    “I suppose it depends on what a person is looking for in life. Sitka has much to offer in the way of peace and simplicity. I’ve come to greatly enjoy it.”
    Phoebe hoped she hadn’t spoken out of turn. She truly hadn’t meant to suggest that Sitka was a bad place. She sipped her tea, then offered an apology. “I’m sorry if I offended you. I’m just not used to this yet.”
    Miss Rockford laughed. “I could hardly expect that you are, and I’m not at all offended. I hope in turn I didn’t offend you. I tend to be rather prideful when it comes to this place. It’s a fault of mine that