Thor said, “Self-reliance, Christine, that’s the important thing in Alaska. In life. I want you to be able to do all the things an Alaskan may have to do, one place or another.”

Czar, fuming, protested. “Is he trying to make one of those all-around female athletes out of you like that woman shot-putter? How’s it happen they haven’t got you playing full-back on the Baranof football team!”

Bridie’s objection was more practical and pungent. “I never yet saw a woman could catch a husband because she could do everything better than he could. It isn’t nature. Breaks them down to see a girl outsmart them.”

“I don’t want to catch a husband. Anyway, not for years and years and years. And he’ll come without catching.”

“The way you girls dress nowadays, I guess the men think they don’t have to marry you. Those shorts in the summer, nothing on you from here down. And in the winter, at the dances, nothing covering you from here up. Reminds me of a joke the nurses used to tell in the hospital when they were washing the patients, they—no, I guess not. Anyway, all I know is, if the girls in the Last Chance and the Poke and the All Nations when I first came to Baranof, a shanty town—if they’d worn that kind of getup, why, the men would’ve taken off their coats to cover them; or run them out of town. An ankle-length skirt on the street was considered fast.”

“Do you think that was good?”

“Well, no, I don’t. Not now. Things change. The way girls dress now is better. Healthier, I mean. Necks free, legs free, waist free, you can breathe right. But there’s always the chance of overdoing a good thing. That’s the trouble.”

“The trouble is I’ve got three parents. You don’t like this, Grampa Czar doesn’t like that, Grampa Thor likes something else. Why? I don’t try to do anything other people don’t do.”

“Yes, but you do them all, and better. Next thing you know, you won’t have a friend speak to you, boy or girl. Miss Perfect.”

“I’ll try to flunk my exams for you, Bridie darling. Anyway, I can always count on you, can’t I?”

“Maybe so.” She tried to make it sound grudging.

“There I’ll be, like the girl in those nasty ads, always a bridesmaid, never a bride. Won’t it be wonderful!”

The two old men had solemnly shaken hands on their pact as they had clasped hands in their first agreement many years before. There was something fantastic about their unspoken understanding that two years of this vital girl’s life would belong to Thor, two years to Czar. But Christine went blithely on, living the carefree existence she always had known, strangely unspoiled by the omnipresent and omniscient Thor and Czar and Bridie. Do this. Do that. We’re here to protect you.

Each old man was, in his own way, fantatic. Czar’s plans for Chris were drawn up complete in his mind, a mental blueprint. Thor sensed this, he had two years in which to circumvent these plans. He could not reason with Czar, he could not ethically explain to Christine, he had no one to whom he could confide his apprehensions except Bridie; and he knew she would not wholly understand.