“Well,” Czar began, sheepishly, “we felt the time has come to decide about your education. The three of us, that is.”

“That’s all? You mean that’s all?”

Thor sat smiling at her over his spectacles. Czar said, “All!” somewhat feebly. There was a moment of awkward silence before Bridie bustled into jumbled speech. “Three people trying to do their best for you, wanting you to get the education they didn’t have”—then, hastily, eying Thor—“anyway, two of us. And all you can say is all. Czar says Washington State, Thor says Baranof—–”

Chris cut in like a whiplash. “And you’ve brought me here, scared numb, to talk about education when the breakup is due any minute, you can hear the ice groaning—of course my bet wasn’t until next week—but it may freeze again and if the ice starts moving and the tripod starts wiggling they’ll get the flash first thing at the Northern Light—–”

A horn sounded outside—not loudly, not impertinently, just a small questioning squawk.

“—and besides, I’ve decided about my education long ago, so why did you have to bring it up just today?”

“We realize,” Czar said, heavily deliberate, “that the annual ice breakup is more imprtant to you than any four years of college, no matter where.… Still, the ice break comes every year about this time, and you’ll only be eighteen once—unless I’m mistaken.”

She melted then, she became their child again for a moment, she looked at them and her young face that had been hard with resentment mirrored a pang of understanding and compassion. In a little rush she kissed Bridie, she kissed the protesting Czar, she kisséd Thor, her fresh cheek pressed a moment against their unresilient skin.

“I decided long ago. I’m going to Baranof two years and then to Washington State two years. I put in my applications long ago, Ross told me you have to, with all those GI rights—–”

Czar turned a baleful eye on Thor. “See what I mean?”

“—and anyway, Addie Barnett says—–”

The horn sounded again outside, a querulous pip-pip.

“They’re waiting for me. Oh, how you scared me, you bad darlings!” She was out of the room, she was outside, they could hear her calling as she ran. “I’m coming! Nothing. Not a thing. They just—–”

“Learn you, I hope,” Bridie said to the two silent men. “She’s grown up.”

14

LATER BARANOF BOASTED that Chris Storm could pilot a float plane, drive a car, mush a team of nine huskies, paddle a skin boat, handle an outboard motor, cut up a seal with an ulu and mix the best sourdough pancakes in Baranof. Only this last accomplishment made her the envy of the town’s more solid citizens. She had inherited her sourdough starter from Thor, who had originally come by it from a prospector on one of his Far North journeys. Melting, feather-light, delectable, the golden circlets were a more potent asset than all of Christine’s more spectacular activities. She had shot a polar bear, helped pull in a beluga white whale, caught king salmon. She could knit and wear a sweater expertly. In her second and last Baranof College year Chris appeared at the final big dance in a slinky black strapless dress. The effect, with all that blondeur, was devastating. All the other girls were in bouffant pink or blue or white. Anyone less fundamentally liked than Chris would not have had a female friend left by midnight. Most of the male population of Baranof would have been more or less in love with her if they had not been—again more or less—afraid of her. She did too many things too well. Biceps-flexers and six-footers were most easily discouraged.