Robert Specht - Tisha : The Wonderful True Love Story of a Young Teacher in the Alaskan Wilderness

Copyright 1976 Robert Specht

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Bantam Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

B ANTAM B OOKS and the H OUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

Originally published in hardcover in the United States by St. Martins Press, New York, in 1976 and in paperback by Bantam Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, in 1977.

ISBN9780553265965

Ebook ISBN9780307434661

Cover design: Marietta Anastassatos

Cover image: Shutterstock

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Ive lived in the Forty Mile country of Alaska for a long time, but even now, every so often when Im out rock-hunting or looking for fossils, I get lost. Sometimes Ill have to wander around for a while before I get my bearings. Thats what happened to me when I first started to think about telling this story. I wasnt sure which direction to take, until I finally realized that the only way to tell it was the way I might have told it when I first came to Alaska.

That was back in 1927, when I was a prim and proper young lady of nineteen. From the time Id been a girl Id been thrilled with the idea of living on a frontier, so when I was offered the job of teaching school in a gold-mining settlement called Chicken I accepted right away.

The first time I heard the name Chicken I laughed. I didnt believe there could really be such a place. Sure enough, though, when I looked at a map of Alaska there it was (and still is), right up near the Yukon Territory.

Green as goose grass and full of lofty ideals, off I went, thinking of myself as a lamp unto the wilderness. The last thing I expected was that the residents of Chicken werent going to think of me in that way at all. Far from it: before my first year of teaching was over half the population wanted to blue-ticket me out of the place.

All that was forty-eight years ago, yet I can still remember how excited I was on the day I set off for Chicken by pack train. For me it was the final leg of a long journey, and the pack train left from a village called Eagle

September 4, 1927

Even though it was barely eight oclock and the sun had just come up, practically the whole town of Eagle had turned out to see the pack train off. Counting the Indians, whod come down from their fish camp for the dance the previous night, there must have been close to a hundred people gathered aroundminers in hip-length boots, old sourdoughs in battered Stetsons, even women and children. In a few minutes Id be leaving, going off into the wilderness, and I was kind of excited. I was scared too, and I must have showed it, because Mrs. Rooney asked me if I was feeling well.

Yes, maam, I said. I feel just fine.

You look a little pale. Youre not afraid of the trip, I hope.

No. I guess I just didnt expect thered be all these people, I said.

Mrs. Rooney dismissed them with a wave of her hand. One thing youll learn is that it doesnt take much to collect a crowd in Alaska. As for the trip, you dont have a thing to worry about. Its only ninety miles and youll be perfectly safe. Mr. Strong will take good care of you.

But it really wasnt the crowd that was bothering me. Hardly anybody was paying any attention to me. To the people here this was just a little event, nothing like the riverboat coming in, which was really exciting to them. And I wasnt afraid of the trip, either. It was the horse Id be riding for the next four days that was scaring me. Id have felt silly admitting it, but he was making me so nervous I could hardly concentrate on what Mrs. Rooney was saying. It wasnt as if Id never been on a horse before. Eight years ago, when I was living with my grandmother on her farm, I used to ride around on old Tom bareback. I was only eleven then, and Tom was a pretty big horse, but he always moved so slow and he was so gentle that you could almost curl up on his broad back and go to sleep and you wouldnt fall off. This one was mean.

He was called Blossom, but where he got that name I would never know. Maybe he looked like a blossom when he was a colt, but it was the last thing he looked like now. He was so huge that even if I stood on my toes I wouldnt have been able to see over the saddle, and he was scarred and wild-looking. From the minute Mr. Strong handed his reins over to me Id been afraid of him. And Blossom knew it. He started rolling his eyes at me right away and tried to nip me a couple of times. After he caught the sleeve of my jacket once I made sure to hold the reins close to the bit and keep him at arms length. But every time I thought hed settled down, hed jerk his head up and nearly pull my arm out of its socket.

From the corner of my eye I could see Mr. Strong moving toward me down the line of horses and mules that were tethered together.

I wished I wasnt the only passenger. In another minute Id have to mount up, and as scared of Blossom as I was, I was sure Id make a spectacle of myself. We werent getting along too well just standing side by side, so I couldnt foresee our relations improving when I was up on top of him.

The other animals in the train were loaded down with just about everything in creation: washboards, sacks of dried beans, bolts of canvas, even windowpanes. One mule started bucking, trying to shake off his burden of shovels and stovepipes and whatnot. The load shifted and it looked as if it was going off until somebody grabbed it at the last minute. The rest of the animals stood patiently while Mr. Strong adjusted a rope here and there or tightened a cinch.

And if you have any problems at all, Mrs. Rooney was saying, write to me and Ill be glad to give you any advice I can. She fingered the cameo brooch on the front of her dress. And remember what I saidspare the rod and spoil the child. Show those kids right off that youre the teacher and you wont have a bit of trouble.

I will.

If you have to smack a couple of them do it.

Somebody went over to Mr. Strongs stable and started to close the doors. I caught a glimpse of the big sled that was in there. It was the size of a hay wagon, and I wondered how many horses it took to pull it. In a couple of months from now, after the first heavy snowfall, Mr. Strong would be bringing my trunk out on it.

The doors slammed shut and the odor of hay and manure drifted over. And then Mr. Strong was beside us, clearing his throat. Even though it was sunny and comfortable, he was wearing a mackinaw. It was open, and I could see the top button of his long underwear under his flannel shirt.

He was a tall, stoop-shouldered man, and he had such a courtly way about him that if he wore a beard hed have made me think of Don Quixote. When Id first met him yesterday his manners had seemed so out of place in this rough country that I thought he was joking and almost laughed. I was glad I didnt, though, because he acted that way with almost everyone. Id been waiting over two days for his pack train to come in, but when Id asked him if he could take me to Chicken all hed said was, Yes, madam, I can.

Will you be going soon? Id asked him.

Yes, madam. My pack train leaves for Chicken on the fourth, the fourteenth and the twenty-fourth of each month. I shall, therefore, be leaving tomorrow. Eight a.m. sharp.

Id like to go, Id told him.

The rent for your horse will be ten dollars per day. That will include your meals along the way and your lodgings. The journey will take four days. I hope that will be satisfactory.