Dad walked confidently forward. Leni and Mama rushed to keep up with him.
Tom Walker strode out to meet Dad in the middle of the street. He threw a can of spray paint onto the ground at Dad’s feet. It clanged in the dirt, rolled sideways. “You think I don’t know it was you? You think everyone doesn’t know it was you, you crazy asshole?”
Dad smiled. “Something happen last night, Tom? Vandalism? What a shame.”
Leni noticed how powerful Mr. Walker looked beside her father, how steady. Leni couldn’t imagine Tom Walker ever stumbling around drunk or talking to himself or waking up screaming and crying. “You’re worse than a coward, Allbright. You’re stupid. Sneaking around in the dark to break windows and spray-paint words on wood I’m going to tear down anyway.”
“He wouldn’t do that, Tom,” Mama said, taking care to keep her gaze downcast. She knew better than to look at Tom directly, especially not at a time like this. “He was home last night.”
Mr. Walker took a step forward. “Listen closely, Ernt. I’m going to let this go as a mistake. But progress is coming to Kaneq. You do anything— anything—to hurt my business from here on out, and I’m not going to call a town meeting. I’m not going to call the cops. I’m coming for you.”
“You don’t scare me, rich boy.”
This time Mr. Walker smiled. “Like I said. Stupid.”
Mr. Walker turned back to the crowd, many of whom had drawn in close to hear the argument. “We’re all friends here. Neighbors. A few words painted on wood don’t mean anything. Let’s get this party started.”
People reacted immediately, rearranged themselves. Women drifted over to the food tables while men fired up the barbecues. Down at the end of the street, the band started up.
Lay down, Sally, and rest you in my arms …
Dad took Mama by the hand and led her down the street, bobbing his head in time to the beat.
Leni was left standing alone, a girl caught between two factions.
She felt the schism in town, the disagreement that could easily become a fight for the soul of what Kaneq should be.
This could get ugly.
Leni knew what her father had done and the vandalism revealed a new side to his rage. It terrified her that he had done such a public thing. Ever since Mr. Walker and Large Marge had first sent Dad to the pipeline for the winter, Dad had been on his guard. He never hit Mama in the face, or anywhere that a bruise could be seen. He worked hard—beyond hard—at controlling his temper. He walked a wide, respectful berth around Mr. Walker.
No more, it seemed.
Leni didn’t realize that Tom Walker had come up beside her until he spoke.
“You look scared,” Mr. Walker said.
“This thing between you and my dad could tear Kaneq apart,” she said. “You know that, right?”
“Trust me, Leni. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”
Leni looked up at Mr. Walker. “You’re wrong,” she said.
*
“YOU WORRY TOO MUCH,” Large Marge said to Leni the next day, when Leni showed up to work. For the past year, Leni had worked part-time at the General Store, stocking shelves, dusting supplies, ringing up sales on the antique cash register. She made enough money to keep herself well stocked with film and books. Dad had been against it, of course, but this one time, Mama had stood up to him, told him a seventeen-year-old girl needed an after-school job.
“That vandalism is a bad thing,” Leni said, staring through the window, down the street toward the ruined saloon.
“Aw. Men are stupid. You might as well learn that now. Look at bull moose. They ram into each other at full speed. Same with Dall sheep. This will be a lot of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”
Leni didn’t agree. She saw what her father’s vandalism had done, the effects of it on the people around her. A few painted words had become bullets hurtled into the heart of a town. Although the party last night on Main Street had raged as it always did, clattering on until daylight began at last to dim, she had seen how the townspeople divided themselves into teams, one that believed in change and growth and another that didn’t. When the party had finally ended, everyone had gone their separate ways.
Separate. In a town that used to be about being together.
*
ON SUNDAY NIGHT, Leni and her parents went to the Harlan compound for a barbecue dinner. Afterward, as usual, they built a big bonfire in the mud and stood around it, talking and drinking as evening fell around them, turning the people into violet silhouettes.
From her place on Thelma’s porch, rereading Matthew’s latest letter by lantern light, Leni could see the adults gathered near the flames. A jug that looked from here like a black wasp moved from hand to hand. She heard the men’s voices above the snapping, hissing flames, a din of rising anger.
“… take over our town…”
“… arrogant prick, think he owns us…”
“… next he’ll want to bring in electricity and television … turn us into Las Vegas.”
Headlights speared through the darkness. Dogs went crazy in the yard, barked and howled as a big white truck rumbled through the mud, parked with a splash.
Mr. Walker got out of his expensive new truck, strode confidently toward the bonfire, calm as you please, as if he belonged here.
Uh-oh.
Leni folded up her letter, jammed it in her pocket, and stepped down into the mud.
Dad’s face was orange in the firelight. His topknot had fallen, now lay in a lump of hair behind his left ear. “Looks like someone is lost,” he said, his voice pulled out of shape by booze. “You don’t belong here, Walker.”
“Says the cheechako,” Mr. Walker said. His broad smile took some of the sting out of the insult. Or maybe it added to it; Leni wasn’t sure.
“I’ve been here four years,” Dad said, his mouth flattening until his lips almost disappeared.
“That long, huh?” Mr. Walker said, crossing his big arms across his chest. “I got boots that have covered more ground in Alaska than you have.”
“Now, look—”
“Down, boy,” Mr. Walker said, grinning, although the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not here to talk to you. I’m here to talk to them.” He lifted his chin to indicate Clyde and Donna and Thelma and Ted. “I’ve known them all of my life. Hell, I taught Clyde how to hunt duck, remember, Clyde? And Thelma smacked me a good one for getting fresh when we were kids. I came to talk to my friends.”
Dad looked uncomfortable. Irritated.
Mr. Walker smiled at Thelma, who smiled back. “We drank our first beers together, remember? The Moose is our place. Ours. Hell, Donna, you guys got married there.”
Donna glanced at her husband, smiled uncertainly.
“Here’s the thing. It’s time we fixed the old girl up. We deserve a place where we can gather and talk and have fun without smelling like burnt wood and having soot all down ourselves when we leave. It will take a lot of work, though.” Mr. Walker paused, his gaze moving from face to face. “And a lot of workers. I can hire people from Homer, pay them the four bucks an hour to rebuild the place, but I’d rather keep my money here, in town, with my friends and neighbors. We all know how nice it is to have some change in our jeans come winter.”
“Four bucks an hour? That’s high,” Ted said, shooting Thelma a look.
“I want to be more than fair,” Mr. Walker said.
“Ha!” Dad said. “He’s trying to manipulate you. Buy you. Don’t listen to him. We know what’s good for our town. And it isn’t his money.”
Thelma shot Dad an irritated look. “How long will the job last, Tom?”
He shrugged. “Gotta be done before the weather turns, Thelma.”
“And how many workers do you need?”
“As many as I can get.”
Thelma stepped back, turned to Ted, whispered something to him.
“Earl?” Dad said. “You’re not going to let him do this?”
Mad Earl’s pale, wrinkled face squelched up, looked like one of those dried-apple carvings. “Jobs is scarce up here, Ernt.”
Leni saw the effect those few words had on her father.
“I’ll take a job,” Clyde said.