Bergren: The Captain's Bride, Deep Harbor, Midnight Sun three June 1888 The silence was getting to her. Kaatje had watched Kadachan pad off into the forest, presumably to see if he could find out any information from the tribe just upriver, while James went about laying a fire. They had traveled late into the evening, trying to cover more miles in order to reach the neighboring tribe and possible further information on Soren Janssen. Wearily, she pulled out the knapsack of jerky and hardtack, and then fetched a bucket of fresh water. The river was still icy cold, and even a quick dip made her wince. When she returned, the fire was crackling, the warmth of it welcoming her back into the circle of silence. “Can we not speak?” He looked up at her with a slight scowl. “Of what?” “Of anything. The monotony of our travel is getting to me. Tell me of Alaska. Of the wildlife, your treks, your friends. Anything.” James grunted and stirred the fire. When he remained silent, Kaatje sighed and handed him a slice of jerky and another of hardtack, then sat down upon a wool blanket to eat her own boring fare.
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