Introduction

Sometimes when we look back, we are able to see ahead

Following her mother's funeral, and on the verge of her own midlife crisis, widow Anna Larson returns to the home of her youth to sort out her parents' belongings, as well as her own turbulent life.

For the first time since childhood, Anna embraces her native heritage, despite the disdain of her vicious mother-in-law. 
By transforming her old family home on the banks of the Siuslaw River into The Inn at Shining Waters, Anna hopes to create a place of healing--a place where guests experience peace, grace, and new beginnings. Starting with her own family . . .

"Melody Carlson painted a serene and unforgettable sense of place that came alive with shimmering waters, one woman's dream, life-changing wisdom, and characters I care about... I'm seriously hooked on the series!" -- Kathy Herman, author of Secrets of Roux River Bayou Series and the Sophie Trace Trilogy

"Melody Carlson's River's Song eased through me gently layer by layer, deeper and deeper. This story of re-awakening or renewal appears deceptively simple but wields great emotional power. I look forward to book 2 in The Inn at Shining Rivers series." Lyn Cote, Author of Her Abundant Joy 

"In River's Song, Melody Carlson beautifully tells a generational story of a family living alongside the banks of Oregon's Siuslaw River. Told with sensitivity and insight the story includes a Native American thread, deals with issues of abuse, and weaves an ending full of redemption and grace. I can?t wait to read the next novel in the series!" Leslie Gould, Beyond the Blue and co-author of The Amish Midwife and The Amish Nanny, with Mindy Starns Clark

Editorial Review

No editorial review at this time.

Excerpt

RIVER'S SONG

The Inn at Shining Waters Series

1



Siuslaw River 1959





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.

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MELODY C ARLSON



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 imag-

ine 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

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River's Song



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 now-

adays. 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.

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MELODY C ARLSON



"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 over-

board." 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 head-

ing 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 think-

ing 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

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River's Song



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 oth-

erwise. 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

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MELODY C ARLSON



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 out-

rage 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 busi-

ness, they all stood around and shot the breeze for the better

part of an hour.

Anna had recently read the term "second-growth trees" in

a newspaper column, but she knew better. These tall firs were

simply the descendants of generations and generations of

evergreen trees that had lived and died before them. Second-

growth trees, like so many other explanations about nature,

were man-made myths.

The trees were so many you could walk for days and not reach the

end. So big they blocked the sun, making the great forest dark like

night, and the plants grew so thick beneath the trees that your foot

never touched the forest floor. But that was before the great fire. Her

grandmother's words echoed in her mind with such clarity

that she looked over her shoulder--almost as if the old sweet-

faced woman were sitting right next to Anna in the riverboat.

"Say, how come you didn't bring that little girlie of yours

along?" Henry asked suddenly, as if he had just remembered

that Anna had a child.

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River's Song



Anna forced a laugh. "That `little girlie' is a young woman

now. Lauren will be nineteen this fall."

"You're pulling my leg!" Henry slapped his hand across his

knee. "It cannot be! You're not old enough to have a child that

big. Just yesterday you were a girl, Anna."

Anna sighed. "Children grow up fast." Too fast as far as

she was concerned. Her daughter had only graduated from

high school a week ago, and yet Lauren already knew every-

thing there was to know about everything, and she was quick

to point out how much her mother didn't know. Anna had

begged Lauren to join her on this trip. She thought it might

improve their strained-to-breaking relationship. But finally she

realized it was useless to force her headstrong daughter to do

anything against her will.

At first Anna had felt guilty about leaving Lauren behind.

But then she wondered why, since her mother-in-law had made

it perfectly clear that she had everything under control--

including Lauren--or so she claimed. Perhaps Anna was no

longer needed there. And now that she was free to come home,

her mother was gone. Blinking back tears, she stared at the

shore of her childhood home.

Henry cut back the engine and slipped it into reverse, eas-

ing that old boat to the dock as gracefully as a young swan.

Anna looked up at the square-shaped, two-story cedar build-

ing. It looked like a tall, gray wooden crate that someone had

set down next to the river and then simply walked off and

forgotten. The windows were blank, with shades drawn; and

the big front door to the store, which had almost always been

open, was now closed, and a faded sign, painted in white block

letters, probably by her mother's hand, was nailed to the door.

"Sorry, store closed" it declared with abrupt finality.

Henry tied up to the dock and unloaded Anna's bags, then

reached for her hand to help her from the boat. "You have

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MELODY C ARLSON



everything you need here at the house, Anna? I can bring you

supplies from town, you know."

Still wearing her good suit and shoes, Anna stepped care-

fully from the boat. "I picked up a few things in town," she

assured him. "That should tide me over for a day or two."

"Can I carry your bags up for you?" Henry stood and slowly

rubbed his whiskered chin as if he had all the time in the

world. And maybe he did. He had to be pushing seventy, but

he still ran his boat daily, servicing the river folks as faithfully

as ever.

"Thanks anyway, Henry, but I can get these." Anna looked

up at the darkening sky. "It looks like it's going to rain again.

You'd better head on home before it lets loose."

Henry laughed. "Ain't never been worried about the rain

a'fore. Can't live on the river if you don't like rain, Anna."

"I guess not." She forced a smile and picked up her suitcase.

"Thanks again for everything, Henry."

"You betcha. Now you take care, ya hear?"

She waited for Henry to untie the rope, waving as his boat

began to chug back down the river. She watched the rust-

colored craft, followed by a wispy blue cloud of exhaust,

growing smaller as it sliced its V-shaped trail through the river.

Satisfied that Henry would be home before long, Anna hurried

to transport her bags and things from the dock and up the

exterior stairs that led to the house, which was situated above

the old store.

On her second trip from the dock, she paused beneath the

covered porch, where customers used to linger and catch up

on the local gossip, and for a moment she could almost hear

someone talking about how Tina Flanders gave birth to a baby

three weeks early and how her husband, Jim, the same one

who'd run out of oil that morning, had been stuck in the woods

during the birth and couldn't make it home until the baby was

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River's Song



two days old. But then Anna realized she was simply remem-

bering her mother's most recent six-page letter. Marion Larson

didn't write short letters. She wrote regular epistles. Anna had

always thought that if the river had started up a newspaper, her

mother would've made a great society columnist. But thanks

to those letters, Anna had stayed fairly well informed on all the

local comings and goings of the river folk these past twenty

years.

Anna could smell rain in the air now. She hurried back to

the dock for the box of food she'd picked up at the grocery

store, carried it up the stairs, and set it next to her other bags.

Despite his rainy day bravado, Anna knew that Henry had

probably cranked up his engine by now. She hoped he'd make

it back to his river house before the clouds broke. As she dug

in her handbag, trying to find the house key, she wondered

how many times she'd sat in Henry's little two-room shanty

while he and her father loaded store supplies to take back up

river. She still remembered the smell of that river shanty--

old canvas, damp wood, stale coffee, gasoline, and smoke. She

imagined how old Henry would soon be stoking up his little

potbellied stove and warming a can of pork and beans--or if

fishing had been good he might fry up the catch of the day.

Not a bad way to live really.









13

... view entire excerpt...

Discussion Questions

1. Anna’s story begins on a somber note. Not much is going right in her life. And yet she still seems to have a smidgeon of hope. Why do you think that is? Can you relate?

2. Not uncommon in Native American philosophy, the river is almost like a character in this story. Describe why you think Anna was so moved by it. Have you ever been moved by a geographical location? Explain.

3. Like many American’s in this melting pot country, Anna’s heritage is diverse. How do you think that was helpful or harmful to her?

4. Describe what you think Marion (Anna’s mother) and Pearl’s (Anna’s grandmother) relationship was like when Marion was younger.

5. Anna remembers how her family had to “make do” during the Depression, lamenting that it’s too bad people don’t live like that today. What is something you’d like to “return” to if you could?

6. It required a full cast of friends to help Anna heal and take a proactive role in her own life. Which relationships did you think were most valuable and why?

7. Not much is mentioned about why Eunice is Eunice, but we know she has a story too (which you’ll hear more about in book two). But why do you think she was so bitter and bigoted and hateful?

8. Racial divisions aren’t uncommon in our country (especially historically). So what was it that helped Anna, and those around her, to knock down those walls?

9. Lauren comes across as somewhat frothy and superficial. Why do you think she’s like this? Do you think it’s possible that she’ll change? Explain.

10. In some ways, Clark is Anna’s knight in shining armor. How did you react when he proposed to her? Do you think he should’ve done it differently?

11. Anna believes the river has healing properties. Some say Anna has a healing touch too. This is understandable in Native American culture, but what is your reaction to it?

12. Grandma Pearl’s stories (which are compilations of the writer’s imagination as well as some elements of authentic Native American stories) sometimes seemed relevant to the story. Could you relate to any of them? Which one and why?

13. Ultimately, Anna finds herself by returning to the river. Do you think there are reasons that we learn more about ourselves when we return to the places of our youth? Why or why not?

Weblinks

»	Publisher's Book Info
»	Author Melody Carlson's web site

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