River's End (9781426761140) (36 page)

“You don't recognize it?” Lauren asked her.

“That looks like my grandmother's cape and the Water Dove.” Anna tilted her head slightly. “Is it Pearl?”

“It's
you
, Grandma.” Sarah pulled out a small black and white photo now. “I found this in the attic. Your father must've taken it.”

Anna stared at the old photo then slowly nodded. “You're right. This is me. I remember the day this picture was taken.” She looked back up at the sculpture, blinking to adjust her eyes and to see it better. “Perhaps it is me,” she mused aloud. “Or perhaps it is all of us . . . it's Lauren and Sarah and Sarah's daughters . . . and even Baby Anna.” Anna looked over to see the infant snuggled into the arms of an auntie. “Just as no one can own the river, perhaps no one can own this story . . . it is the story of all of us. It is our tale and our history . . . a story of love and heartache and grace and brokenness and peace. The traditions of our ancestors are being passed along to each new generation—both the good and the bad . . . but always, I pray, along with forgiveness and healing. This is the heritage of Shining Waters.”

An interesting thing happened as I finished writing this book. My husband and granddaughter and I were staying at our beach cabin (near Florence and the same town that the Inn at Shining Waters books are set in). And as we drove past the airport, we discovered that biplane rides were being offered in exchange for contributions to a local charity. Naturally, we decided to enjoy a flight (although the granddaughter had to experience her first airplane ride in an enclosed plane). When my turn came to go up, the kind pilot (Sam Spayd) described points of interest to me. And as he flew over where our little beach cabin is located, by Heceta Beach, he showed me where the Siuslaw River was trying to return to its original course (the waters are sneaking outside of the massive North Jetty). I'd always been curious about what the river looked like before the jetties were built more than one hundred years ago. But I was pleasantly surprised to discover that river's original course to the ocean is right next to where our beach cabin is located! Our beach cabin is at the River's End! And like the house that Clark built as a getaway for Anna and him, my husband rebuilt this house as a getaway for us—and that's where most of this book was written and where I am right now—at the River's End.

1. Anna is in her late fifties at the beginning of this book and yet she still feels young inside. Why do you think that is? Describe your own attitude toward aging.

2. Anna's beloved granddaughter, Sarah, had been missing for two long years and for all they knew she could've been dead. Where do you think Anna found her strength in those two years?

3. Sarah's return to the river is a huge relief, and yet it comes with its own challenges. Describe a time in your own life when you received a mixed blessing and how you dealt with it.

4. Lauren has finally turned a corner in her own journey to maturity and yet she still struggles with parenting Sarah. Why is that?

5. Sarah had seemed like such a mature and responsible child. Why do you think she took the path she chose?

6. Were you surprised when Sarah decided to leave again? Why or why not?

7. Anna's “tribe” seems to be constantly changing, sometimes to her frustration, and yet good seems to come out of it. Describe what your “tribe” is like.

8. Clark and Anna almost seem to be drifting apart at times. What did you think was going on when he was missing so much?

9. After discovering Sarah's new whereabouts, Anna sets out to bring her back. What gave her that kind of dogged determination?

10. Even after Sarah is rescued and nursed back to health, why do you think she hardens herself to Anna's encouragement to forgive her mother?

11. Sarah's presence at the river makes it too uncomfortable for Lauren to stay at the place she's finally claimed as home. And yet good seems to come of it. Describe a time when you were pushed out of your comfort zone but grew as a result.

12. Sarah is so hard on her mother, Lauren. What, if anything, do you think Anna could've said or done differently to bring Sarah around sooner?

13. What was your reaction when Clark got hurt? Were you surprised to find out what he'd been up to?

14. Anna had originally objected to the idea of a second home near the ocean. But when she sees what Clark has done, she realizes that it's perfect and just what they need. Have you ever opposed something only to find you were wrong? Describe how that feels.

15. The Siuslaw Indians are said to have been a matriarchal society. How would you describe the heritage that was passed down from woman to woman in Anna's family?

16. What kind of heritage do you hope to pass down through your future generations?

Bonus Chapter from Book 1 of
The Inn at Shining Waters Series

River's Song

1

In twenty years' time, nothing had changed on the river. Or so it seemed. Although mid June, the sky was gloomy, the color of a weathered tin roof, and the river, a few shades darker, was tinged with mossy green. The surface of the water was serene, barely moving with the ebb tide, and the sounds of birds and a churning boat motor were muffled, hushed by the low-slung clouds. Not a scene that everyone could appreciate, but Anna wished to drink it in, absorb it into her being, and savor it for years to come when she was far from this beloved place.

“So what d'ya think, Anna?” Henry Ackerman shouted over the chugging sound of the diesel engine. “Everything still look all right to you?”

“Yes,” Anna assured him. “It feels the same—not much has changed.”

Henry nodded as he guided the old boat along, greasy felt hat pulled low over his shaggy brows, peering intently at the water, just as he'd done for decades. Henry, like the river, hadn't changed much. Older maybe, and a little more grizzled if that was possible, but the easy smile and friendly demeanor
were just the same. She'd known Henry for so long, he seemed like family.

Something caught Anna's eye upstream. “What's that?” she called out, pointing to a dark smudge in the water.

“Just another one of them dad-burned rogue logs.” He spat into the water as he steered the boat clear of it. “Always getting loose from the pilings. You gotta watch out real close when you run the river anymore.” He pointed upriver. “I'm telling you, Anna, them logs are like gold nowadays. The lumber mills can't seem to get enough of 'em.”

Anna stood in the boat, staring out at the enormous stretch of floating logs around the bend. Laid out like firewood side by side, they were cabled together in large groups, creating a wide, uneven border along the south side of the river—stretching for miles.

“Oh, my!” she gasped. “I've never seen so many logs in my entire life.”

“Been like that for years now. Seems they can't get 'em outta the woods fast enough. Then they dump 'em here in the river and leave 'em.” He cursed. “And them logs just float there till the mill's ready to cut 'em into lumber. That is, unless there's a storm or a cable busts and them logs break loose and head straight out for the ocean. You don't want to be on the water when that happens.”

Anna stared in horror at the deformity on the river. The log barges resembled big ugly scabs cutting into the otherwise sleek surface of the water. Even creeping into the estuaries, like a growing cancer, barge after barge of floating logs seemed to fill up most of the surface of the Siuslaw. She could only imagine what the surrounding woods must look like. Glancing up at a hillside that had once been lush and green, she gasped to see the land scalped bare and brown . . . the stubble trunks of trees the only reminder of what had been. Her dad used to
call those men gippo loggers—the reckless kind who came in and clear-cut the trees, took their money, and ran. With no concern for the future, those thieving loggers ravaged the land, leaving it barren and useless . . . dead. A lump of sadness filled her throat to think that while she was gone, the Siuslaw was being ruined.

“How long's it been since you were back here, Anna?”

“About eight years.” She spoke loudly to be heard. “I came out for the funeral after Daddy died, back in '52.” She wondered why she hadn't noticed this devastation back then. Perhaps she'd been too distracted by grief and guilt . . . or perhaps the river hadn't looked this bad.

Henry slowly shook his head, tucked a pinch of snuff into his cheek, and huffed. “Can't understand you young'uns nowadays. Everybody ups and leaves. My boy James went off to war and never came back.”

Anna was shocked—her mother had never written of this. But then Anna had her own problems to tend to back then, her own casualties of war to keep her busy. Perhaps this was just one more piece of sadness that had eluded her. “James was killed in the war?” she asked gently.

“Nah. James made it through the war. He got hisself a GI education grant then landed hisself a fancy job in the big city. James is an
accountant
.” He pronounced the word as if it meant something distasteful. “Now he's gotta wear a suit and tie every day. He sits around in a stuffy office building and counts other people's money. Course, he thinks it's mighty important work. Better than running the river every day, year in and year out.” Henry shook his head again. “Can't understand how a body would choose to work indoors and give up all this.” He waved his hand out over the river. Henry looked honestly dumb-founded, and a part of Anna understood his bewilderment. Why had she given up all this?

“Do you hear much from James?” she asked.

“Aw sure, he writes me once in a great long while. He and the wife got two girls that are pert' near growed up now. But they don't hardly come back down here no more. Too citified, I reckon.”

“It's hard coming back . . . after you've left . . .” Anna said this quietly, not sure she wanted Henry to hear her words, probably because she was guilty of the same thing as James. To confess it out loud sounded like betrayal. Not that she wouldn't do it all differently now—if only she could. But her chances, like time and tide—and the forests and the river—had come and gone. She would turn forty next year, and she was worn out and weary. It was too late to start over now.

Henry looked out over the water as he guided his boat. “You couldn't pay me to leave this river. When I die, I want them to tie this here anchor 'round my neck and just toss me overboard.” He spewed a long brown stream of tobacco into the water, then continued without missing a beat, “right up there at the mouth of the Siuslaw. At high tide, hopefully around sunset.”

Anna almost smiled. “My mother loved the river too.” She wondered if her mother had felt the same sense of loss that Anna did right now seeing the log barges eating into the water like they planned to swallow the river whole.

“Say, how was the funeral anyway? I'd truly meant to come and show my final respects. You know I thought real highly of your ma. But then Jim Flanders calls me up just as I was heading out and says he needs me to deliver a barrel of heating oil up to their place. They'd run plumb dry and it's been cold this past week. And well, what with their new baby and all—”

“That's all right, Henry. Mother would appreciate you thinking of the little Flanders baby like that. And the funeral was just fine. There was a nice reception at her church afterwards.”
Anna felt tears gathering again. “I was surprised at how many people attended. I didn't realize how many friends my mother had.”

Henry pressed his lips together and nodded sagely. “Your folks were good people, Anna. And don't you never think otherwise. Most everybody on the river's been helped out at least once or twice by Oscar and Marion Larson; some were helped many a time over. We were all real sorry when Marion had to finally close up the store. A real loss for all of us. Not just for getting milk and eggs either—your mother was a right good woman.”

“Thank you.” Anna knew Henry spoke from the heart. And the funeral had been a touching reminder to her that most folks in these parts never concerned themselves with the fact that her mother was one of the few Indians remaining from the Siuslaw Tribe. Even now it irritated Anna that she was still overly conscious, perhaps even ashamed, of her Indian blood. And even though Anna's mother had tried to distance herself from her heritage, it seemed disrespectful for Anna to feel like this. But truth be told, Marion Larson, married to a Swede, had lived and worked in the white man's world. She dressed, acted, and spoke like a white woman. And for the most part, she'd been accepted as such. Folks on the river were like that.

Henry guided his boat past another barge of logs, then turned into the inlet that ran in front of Anna's parents' river-front land. She had expected to see this section, like so much of the rest of the river, clogged with log barges, but to her relief, it was not. When she asked Henry how that was so, he explained that because of the store, back when it was opened and the dock was used frequently, no log barges were allowed.

“Your mama fought to keep this part of the river clear, Anna. And she won.” He slowed his engine and another surge of relief rushed through Anna as she spied the familiar stand of
Douglas firs ahead. Lined along the muddy riverbanks, about a dozen majestic sentries stood tall and noble, some with trunks nearly four feet wide. She knew from her grandmother's stories that these evergreens were not like those of the ancient forests, but substantial just the same. She also knew the only thing that had saved those trees from doom was the property line.

Like it was yesterday, Anna remembered her father's outrage when loggers, clear-cutting on the adjacent land, dared to raise a saw to one of those trees. Daddy had marched down there and told them in no uncertain terms to keep their hands off of his trees. And since Daddy used to be a logger, he knew how to talk to men like that. It wasn't that he had anything against cutting down trees in general, as long as it was done right, but he just didn't want anybody cutting down his trees without his consent. After the loggers saw that he meant business, they all stood around and shot the breeze for the better part of an hour.