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seriousness and gave Wes a pleased grin.
    “Tell us of the women in Alaska,” Henrietta prompted.
    “Well, ma’am, the females are mostly from nativetribes, the Tlingits, Haidas, and Tsimshians…and near the coasts the Eskimos.”
    Little Emma had wedged her way into the gathering of children that had once again formed. “What do the Eskimos wear?”
    “Sealskin leggings and coats, rabbit skin boots mostly,” he replied.
    “It sounds like a fascinating place,” Henrietta commented.
    “And beautiful in its own way. The cities are filled with sightseers,” he told her. “They are the ones who pay the highest prices for food and mail delivery.”
    His gaze fell upon Mariah, seated quietly beside him, her slender fingers linked in her lap. She asked no questions, didn’t even appear to be interested in the conversation, though she paid close attention to her son’s animated face as well as those of her family members.
    Faye brought Wes a cup of rich black coffee that smelled wonderful and tasted even better.
    “Be off now,” Henrietta told the children. “Give our guest air.”
    They obediently scrambled away.
    He searched the faces of the family members, watched them interact with each other.
    The children divided into groups to play games, and the adults picked up their own conversations.
    Wes found it hard to imagine that John James and Mariah were related to every person in this room. Mariah had four brothers and two sisters he’d met sofar, as well as an army of cousins, aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews.
    He didn’t know what it felt like to belong to a family. Or what it was like to look into a mother’s face or see a father’s hands and recognize where some part of him originated. What did it feel like to know the love and secure acceptance of people with the same name or the same eyes and a shared history?
    He glanced around to make sure no one was listening and asked quietly, “You work at the brewery?”
    Seeming startled that he’d addressed her directly, she nodded.
    “What do you do?”
    She, too, checked to see that no one overheard. “I oversee production and handle promotional events. Right now we’re getting ready for the Exposition that opens in Denver July 17.”
    “I’ve heard talk of it. I read in the New York Times about the mining companies creating exhibits. Railroads and artists will have displays, too. They’re going to start a two hundred and fifty horsepower Corliss engine on opening day. I read that the Denver hotels are booked already.”
    He’d been reading newspapers for the past couple of months, first while recuperating and then aboard the ship. Her surprised expression said she hadn’t expected him to know so much about it.
    “Over a year ago, I reserved an entire floor of rooms at a hotel. We’ve constructed a building inside thegrounds where we’ll cook, store lager and have displays of the brewery’s history. An outdoor beer garden will be set up for entertaining.”
    “Sounds like an enormous undertaking.”
    “We’ll be giving away beer the whole time. We have special bottles and labels. Handling the advance production has been a yearlong project. Some of us will be on site at all times, soliciting contracts. Now that we’re bottling, this is an opportunity to spread our product and our name across the country.”
    It was more than she’d said since he’d arrived, and her enthusiasm for her subject was apparent. “Making beer is an unusual occupation for a woman.”
    “Not for a Spangler woman,” she replied. “My mother and grandmother worked at the brewery. It’s a family business.”
    He tilted his head. “I admire that.”
    She lifted her bright gaze and searched his face as though seeking his sincerity. She was lovely, this prickly woman, but her blue eyes sparked fire.
    Her resentment was understandable. He was butting into her family. And because she had a secret she didn’t want revealed, she wasn’t calling him on his deceit. He