Tiny’s eyes remained closed. The sound of the rain brought a sense of distress. Not the sound of it, that was peaceful enough, rather, what the rain brought with it. Her chest filled with a deep sigh. She knew that today, with the rain, getting up would take a while. She had remembered a time she enjoyed listening to the rain as it fell onto her window and the roof. It was a long time ago; so long, it seemed to her, she felt weary at the thought. She waited, just a moment longer before she would look to her clock, before she had to move, before her body would remind her of her age.

The alarm began to beep, softly at first. Some days she was able to turn it off before it became annoyingly loud, not today. As she finally opened her eyes, the brightness of the sun was masked behind the heavy curtains. Only her arm moved. The clock was in its place, in easy reach. Her hand moved softly, carefully as she patiently pressed the off button ending the loud beeping. The silence of the room echoed the small raindrops that hit her window.

The room was dark except for the halo of sunshine from the one small window. The logs that formed the walls of her room seemed to glow yellow, like the sun itself, around the window. The curtains, which she had made, brought some comfort. The neutral brown and green stripes with moose and bears made her smile a little, on the inside, when she looked at it.

Laying flat and still on her back as she reached for her other hand. Rubbing slowly she kneaded the numbness away and soon warmth and feeling returned. She sat up on one side using her arm to push up, again slowly and with patience. As she shifted her feet over the side of the bed, she took a deep breath before she stood. Her slippers, in place waiting, met her feet as they glided into familiar steps. Her own hand had made the slippers, she was proud of that. Made of sealskin and trimmed in arctic fox fur. She especially liked the intricate flower pattern of the fine bead work. The blues and white flower pattern and the blue velvet trim were a nice touch, she thought.

For three years now Tiny had called this small room her home, it was filled with bits of craft and supplies. Fox fur strips, sealskin, small bags of beads, felt, other assorted tools and pages of patterns overfilled the small table and its few drawers next to her bed. A small chest of drawer on the opposite side held more supplies and work in progress pieces. She loved working on her craft, her sewing and bead work. Her eyesight and hands could still manage to produce what her heart and years of knowledge dreampt. If Tiny ever had any pride exposed it was from the fine skills she possessed with her native arts.

As she stepped away from her bed taking measured steps, patient and slow taking care not to over extend her swollen joints. Her daily ritual was a hot shower to loosen her pains away and enough time to be slow and gentle as she put on her clothes and shoes for the day. To rush was going to hurt and that would come later for sure but for now in the morning, once she loosened up she could get around and do what needed doing.
Janie glided across the wooden floors. Her slight graying hair and slim wrinkles by her eyes showed only the slightest bit of age. She was always smiling, even as she walked alone, as if she was listening to a private joke no one else listened too. She slowed as she reached the next door and she listened carefully. The shower was on, along with the talk radio station.

“Good” she said aloud to the door. She placed a hand on the door for a moment and continued down the hall.

As she reached the main hall, she could hear Sam talking to the dishwasher kid, Joe. Sam was the manager, the owner’s kid, all grown up. Janie found Sam to be nice enough to her if not only sometimes demanding. She had been doing this job a while now, first for Sam’s father, Rick, who retired after two heart attacks. One was not enough. The old man was stubborn. Sam was nearly the same, with rock like opinions.

The first season Sam took over, he was keen on running the place like the hotel he left in Anchorage. When half the staff quit his father visited. The old man was in no shape to travel. Sam only realized this when he saw his father arrive that day, stepping weakly from the plane. A thin and pail man had taken the place of his father. Sam stood silent, in bewilderment, as if the mountains had suddenly disappeared. He could not react. His father’s eyes looked past the sons and to the main cabin.

Rick was not a yeller. The man armed with two fierce blue eyes fixed on one target. Taking measure, examining, and watching for the truth he sought. It was harsh and disapproving enough to send chills to anyone watching and worse for the person or thing his eyes fixated on.

Janie observed only a few instances Rick had raised his voice. Both times was at his dog. From the distance, inside her own cabin through the window, she heard the man curse aloud and Sam was standing at the edge of the dock unsure what to do. Things after that day changed somewhat.

“Good morning Janie, see that fog?” Sam said from inside the kitchen.

“A fog? No, haven’t looked outside. The windows were all steamed up.” She walked past the large double wooden doors that led to the kitchen.

“Try not to burn yourself.” He said in a different tone. Several cooking pots hanging from the other side of the kitchen shouted in protest to a misstep. Sam, sounding similar in protest but gentler in voice yelled, “Joe, mind the pots and pans. They won’t move outta your way, kid”

Men in the kitchen, Janie thought to herself, hope they survive. The kid was clumsy.