“Bay’s my friend—or was. And his mother was so good to me—she still writes me to come and visit—as though nothing had happened, poor dear.”

“I suppose that Drake’s a poor dear, too.”

“If he’s going to marry her at last, why, good for bad old Dina.”

“From what I hear, she’s earned it. My opinion, she never cared a hoot about him. Old Dave, now, he’s more her cup of tea, old as he is. It’s a wonder she didn’t slip something into Louise Husack’s food long ago. Maybe she did, maybe that’s why Louise’s been so ailing.”

“You’ve been seeing too many TV shows, Bridie.”

“She’s going to make an ideal Governor’s wife. One of those big Juneau receptions, free for all, when a thousand slop in in their mukluks after a good wet snow. And handshaking for all of them. Where’re the men eating—Dave Husack and that Distelhorst and Kleet and those?”

“At Grampa Czar’s.”

“Mm-hm. Not eating out at Nick’s Café or any place where they can be heard talking. Oh, no!”

“Grampa Czar’s having them at home, I’m having my guests at home, it’s pleasanter. There are things I’d like to talk about here, too. It’s a chance to tell Bay the facts of life—Alaska life, I mean.”

“If they’re flying up to Nome and Oogruk tomorrow, like they’ve planned, and maybe going to Kotzebue and Barrow, this time of year, they’ll learn the facts of Alaska life, all right. Sixty below, and that wind off the Arctic, she’s sure going to be surprised how thin that mink coat can be. Who’s mustered as Public Relations escort?”

“I was. I’m not going.”

“Well, I should hope not! They try to say you had to go?”

“I’m not going.”

“Christine Storm, I bet you could marry Bay Husack today, if you wanted to. And what a Governor’s wife you’d be! Maybe he’s changed, maybe he’s just going to show old Dave he can’t—–”

“I was sort of planning to be Governor of Alaska myself, twenty years from now. They don’t call them Governess, do they …? I think I’ll have the potatoes baked, though it’s a lot of work. I mean baked and stuffed, mashed up with butter and milk and stuffed back to brown in the oven, they look so dressy and delicious.”

“Who you punishing?”

Christine always found it amusing to see the expression in the faces of guests entering her house for the first time. The cabin’s weathered exterior had prepared them for the worst. Over the entrance doorway, where dwellings Outside bore Greek pediments or Romanesque arches or modern beams, there branched the graceful curves of a great moose antler. Visitors, passing under this wildlife harbinger, were prepared for splintered wood floors, smoke-blackened beams, knobby chairs, and, for decoration, yellowed photographs of early gold-rush citizenry in derby hats and whiskers.

The gleaming golden walls and beams looked down upon a soft golden carpet. A great curved cushioned couch could seat ten before the fire. The chairs embraced without engulfing you. Lamps shone upon the soft green of Alaska jade and mellow ivory carvings. A polar bearskin rug. Paintings of Alaskan scenes by Lawrence, etchings by the Eskimo Ahgupuk, lithographs by the Alaskan Machetanz. Books books books. There were no Indian masks or woven baskets.