Auntie Vi snorted. It was a trademark expression, and one eloquent of feeling. You make. Not we.

This was not true. In January on Kate‘s recommendation the Association shareholders had voted to expand the board from five members to nine. Afterward, Annie Mike orchestrated a one-time-only write-in campaign to fill the four new seats. They were announced at the April board meeting and in letters that went out to every shareholder. When Kate looked at the names, she almost wished the amendment to the bylaws had failed. Her only consolation was that Auntie Vi didn‘t like them any better than Kate did. Only one of the four, Herbie Topkok, lived in the Park. Einar Carlson was from Cordova, Ulanie Anahonak from Tok, and Marlene Colberg from Kanuyaq Center.

We had to open it up to people who didn‘t live in the Park, Auntie, Kate said. We‘d never have been able to fill nine seats otherwise. And they are shareholders. She looked at Auntie Vi and her smile was ever so sweet. You could have run for a seat on the board yourself, Auntie.

Auntie Vi snorted again, and threw in another glare for good measure. They both knew that Auntie Vi was a behind-the-scenes kind of gal. She wanted to pull strings, all right, but only in the background, where no one could see.

Kate had a feeling that the board meeting was only a red herring. Auntie Vi proved her right when she looked over her shoulder at Haynes, who was still rapt in contemplation of the cache, and said, in a lower voice, You let those kids go to work at mine!

Yes, Kate said. Mutt looked up, the wag of her tail slowing. Yes, I did. You could even say I encouraged them. They wanted to work, which I consider a minor miracle in sixteen-year-olds, and this was hands down the best opportunity going. You got a problem with that?

It came out a little more in-your-face than Kate had meant, and it only fanned the flames. Auntie Vi forgot their audience, opened her mouth, and prepared to wax even more eloquent.

Auntie, Kate said. Something in her tone of voice arrested Auntie Vi in midperoration. The Suulutaq Mine might be this generation‘s Prudhoe Bay. Who am I to say they can‘t have their paycheck?

Auntie Vi stared at her, mouth still open.

Besides, Kate said, unable to stop herself, look who‘s talking. You sold out at the first offer.

Fortunately or unfortunately, at that moment Old Sam chugged into the clearing in his International pickup, a vehicle that wasn‘t as old as he was only because he had been born before they started building them. He climbed out of the cab on his spider legs and stood surveying the tableau with a sardonic expression on his face. Vi, he said.

Auntie Vi‘s mouth closed with a snap, and her hand, half raised to do who knew what, fell again to her side.

Old Sam smiled at Kate. Hey, girl.