by Kathryn Hoff
Estelle laughed. “Well, we can’t have that.” She ducked into the lavatory for a quick wash and change. Jesus, a good thing, too—she looked a fright. Don’t want to scare the baby when he opens his eyes.
Another couple of villagers came in: lacerations and a sprained wrist. “Sorry to bother you so late, Dr. Dupris, but since the lights were on . . .”
A cry from Lonnie sent Estelle scurrying back to the treatment room. Oh, yes—the baby was crowning. “Sera, hand me one of those exam sheets from the cupboard. Now, Joan—big push.”
Joan’s whimper changed to a cry. Lonnie crooned, “Hang on, Joanie. Just a little more.”
“Almost there,” Estelle said. “Wait for the contraction, then another big push. Sera, the sheet. Here we go . . .”
The baby slipped out, wet and bloody. Airways clear. That first infinitely reassuring cry burst out. “Good, good. He’s here. A beautiful baby boy.”
Estelle wrapped the infant like a burrito. “Here you are, Joan. Don’t move that arm. Here, lay him on a pillow in your lap—that’s the way. You’ll have to let Lonnie do the lifting until that arm heals.”
Lonnie was there beside her, tears spilling down his cheeks. “Rufus,” he said softly. “We’ll name him Rufus.”
Grinning, Estelle took a grateful breath—and saw Sera standing in the corner, eyes wide, pale as death.
“Oops, this way, chérie.” Estelle steered her to a chair in the waiting room and forced her head down to keep her from passing out on the floor. “Sorry—I should have told you to wait out here.”
Poor Sera. A close-up view of the nitty-gritty of childbirth was not the way to introduce a young woman to the joys of motherhood.
“I’ve never seen . . . I didn’t think . . .” Sera gabbled. “Is it always like that? Having a baby, I mean?”
“Usually there’s less mud.”
Sera shook her head. “No offense, Aunt Estelle, but I don’t think I want to be a doctor.”
CHAPTER 15
Storm damage
Pearl didn’t run far—maybe she wasn’t as shy of Diamond as she pretended. As soon as she slowed to a walk, Luis slipped off her back and took up a position nearby to watch.
Pearl waited, head up, sides heaving.
Diamond approached, tenderly caressing her head with his trunk. Then he quickly mounted her, his forelegs resting on her back.
Pearl backed up, making his entry easier. Within a minute, they were done, companionably munching greenery together.
Luis felt as proud as the father of the groom. Way to go, Diamond. They’d probably spend the next several days together, mating frequently. The first natural-bred mammoth could be forming now, deep within Pearl.
The sky had brightened, although light rain still pattered down. Weariness caught up to Luis, together with a disinclination to return to Jerry’s dreary little hut. Sheltering under some low spruce branches, he napped on the soft forest floor.
It was six a.m. by the time Luis worked his way back to the homestead, following the path of Pearl’s sprint. At least the rain had stopped. The sun was out and a stiff breeze began to dry the mud caked on Luis’s clothes.
Brandon looked up from where he was picking up squall wood. “About time you showed up.”
Up on the hut’s roof, Jerry scowled. “Did you catch him? Get a picture?”
Luis shook his head regretfully. “I saw it. Followed it for a long time, but I never got close enough to get a picture. Then I got lost on the way back.”
“Shit,” Jerry said. “We coulda made some real money if you’d got a Bigfoot picture.” He turned back to plastering something over the holes in the roof.
Minnie came out of the hut, holding her kid with one hand and lugging a duffel bag with the other.
“Minnie?” Jerry dropped his putty knife and clambered down.
“Lou, I’m glad you’re back,” Minnie said. “You’re a fool for going out in the storm, trying to chase that monster down. Bran here was worried sick, weren’t you?”
Jerry took her by the shoulders. “Minnie, please don’t go. Can’t we talk about it?”
“I told you, I’m going.”
While Jerry argued with his wife, Brandon drew Luis aside. “Damn it, you were gone half the night!”
“It wasn’t just Diamond,” Luis said, voice low. “Pearl was there, too. I had to get them away before they destroyed what little these people have left.”
“Too late for that,” Brandon hissed. “Minnie’s all spooked about Bigfoot and going home to mother. You gotta tell ’em. Tell them she’s not really in danger.”
With a sinking feeling, Luis cocked an eyebrow at him. “What did you tell them? You didn’t say anything about the mammoths, did you?”
Brandon snorted. “I would’ve, if I thought they’d believe me. But you can show them—call Ruby, she’ll come.”
“And have every hunter in the region swoop in, trying to bag a trophy?” Luis shook his head. “No, we have to keep the mammoths secret and get them out of here.”
Brandon’s jaw tightened. “Don’t you see what’s happening here? Jerry and Minnie have put their whole lives into this place, and now they’re gonna lose it all because you won’t tell them it’s not Bigfoot, it’s just a bunch of elephants that’ll be gone in another day.”
“They’re going to lose it all because Jerry’s an idiot.” Luis looked back at the hut. “That’s not a house, it’s a firetrap. If it hadn’t been Di wrecking their garden, it would have been a bear or a moose. And if they try to winter here, they’ll all freeze to death. Better for them to get out now.”
Brandon’s fists clenched. “Man, I don’t believe you. Do you really care more about a bunch of animals than about human beings? Don’t you feel for these people?”
“To hell with them. They’re not supposed to be here. The important thing is to get the mammoths away from settlements and to a safe place.” He gripped Brandon’s arm. “They bred! Di and Pearl, the first natural breeding.”
Brandon stared a moment. “I thought all those complaints about your mother were just you spouting off, but you really don’t get it, do you? Family doesn’t mean anything to you, does it?” He turned away.
On the other side of the yard, Minnie’s voice rose. “I don’t care! I’m not staying here another night.” She stalked over to Brandon. “Bran, Lou—you said you were done hiking. If you’re heading down to Cody, would you take me and little Mikey with you?”
“Sorry,” Luis said. “We’re going . . .”
Brandon’s fingers dug into his shoulder. Turning his back to Minnie, he hissed, “I am not leaving that poor woman to walk to town alone. Either you help out, or we call it quits right now.”
Without waiting for an answer, Brandon turned back to Minnie. “We were planning to go a different way, but I think we can spare the time. We’ll be happy to see you safely to town.”
Damn. Brandon was taking his little play for dominance too far. Still, Luis needed him.
Luis dredged up a tight smile. “Sure.” Brandon’s act of generosity meant a half-day walk downstream to Cody and a full day’s hike back upstream tomorrow to where they’d cached their supplies—and although the area was sparsely populated, every hour the mammoths hung around was another chance somebody might come across the herd.
“It’ll only be for a little while,” Jerry called, “until I can fix the house up a little more. You’ll see, honey.”
Minnie looked up at the ramshackle construction she’d showed off so proudly only the day before. “All I know is I can’t spend another day here, risking my baby’s life. Come on, Mikey.” She took the child’s hand and began walking down the path, dragging the duffel behind her.
Estelle sighed. I must be getting old. In the Chicago emergency room, she’d managed those long shifts of heart attacks, car accidents, and gunfights bolstered only by catnaps and coffee. And now, after a relatively easy night of one death, one birth, and treating a few bumps and bruises, at f
our a.m. she felt barely able to drag herself to Annie’s house.
The rain had stopped, leaving scudding clouds to obscure the low sun.
When Sera had recovered from her fainting spell, Estelle had sent her back to Annie’s to get some sleep. For Estelle, there had been two more hours of afterbirth, cord-cutting, seeing the newborn suckling properly, and getting the new family settled in a relative’s house before she could rest.
She let herself quietly into Annie’s sitting room.
A whispery voice came out of the dark. “The baby?”
Estelle nearly dropped her med bag. Jesus. She’d forgotten that Annie slept in her sitting room recliner.
“A fine boy. Seven pounds and healthy. Lonnie wants to name him for Rufus.”
“Oh, poor Rufus. He used to go hunting with my Jim. Just last week, he fixed my porch step for me. Oh, we’re going to miss him. You go get your sleep, now, dear. I won’t let anyone bother you.”
“Thank you, Annie. Good night.” Or morning, or whatever it was.
In Annie’s spare room, Sera was curled up with blankets on the floor, leaving Estelle to take the dead son’s narrow bed. Like Marie’s childhood bedroom, Annie had left her son’s room much the way it was when he’d left home for the last time: sports magazines on a bookshelf, pictures of football and ice hockey idols taped to the wall, a high school ribbon for excellence in some unnamed endeavor. A pelt of what Estelle thought must be a black bear cushioned the floor under Sera’s makeshift pallet.
When Estelle woke in midmorning, Sera’s pallet was neatly folded away, Estelle’s dirty clothes were gone, and her shoes had been cleaned.
Voices drifted in from the sitting room. “Let the doctor sleep,” Annie said. “She did enough last night.”
Estelle hurriedly dressed. “What’s wrong? Is it the baby?”
The young man—Annie’s husband’s sister’s son or something—looked flummoxed. “Oh, no, Doc Dupris. It’s poor Rufus. That is, we got him uncovered and we knew you’d want to see him. You know, better soon than late.”
“She hasn’t even eaten yet,” Annie objected.
“That’s all right.” Estelle pulled on her jacket. “Some things are better on an empty stomach.” Although she’d want some serious coffee soon.
The day had turned fair with clear blue skies and a brisk, dry breeze. The town was quieter than usual, even the dogs seemed subdued. Behind the houses, clotheslines were full of shirts and jeans, all the crusty mud washed away. Estelle recognized her own clothes hanging from Annie’s line—Sera must have been busy. Still trying to be the good girl, but Estelle had to admit that Sera’s obsessive helpfulness was coming in handy.
At the far end of town, the mountain of rubble had been scaled back to reveal the wreck of two houses. Where the street ended, a tarp-covered form lay on the ground, guarded by a half-dozen respectful villagers.
Estelle knelt and crossed herself. “Could you bring a bucket of water and a cloth, please?”
“He don’t look too bad, Doc. He was under the ceiling, not much dirt.”
She smiled. “I appreciate that. I may have to examine a few things for the certificate.”
She pulled down the tarp. Athabaskan male in his late sixties, unquestionably dead. She’d treated Rufus for ulcers and prostate: he’d dreaded growing older and losing his faculties the way his father had. At least he’d been spared that.
Depressed skull fracture, severe crush injuries. Pajama bottoms and a tee shirt over a torso now flattened by half. Fingernails clean, nose and mouth clear. No bruising around the wounds.
She replaced the tarp. “It looks like he died instantly”—or within a few breaths, anyway. “He wouldn’t have suffered. You all were heroes, risking yourselves to dig him out, but digging faster would have made no difference. He was gone as soon as the house came down.”
Shuffles and half smiles and sighs of relief. “Can we carry him to the church, then?” someone asked.
“Of course. I’ll make out the certificate today.”
In the house that had put up Lonnie and Joan, the sitting room and porch were filled with patients, family members, and people who just wanted to hear the gossip. Some blessed soul handed her a mug of coffee and a plate of bread and jam.
Lonnie’s lungs were clear, no sign of pneumonia. Baby Rufus was nursing well, resting on a pillow on Joan’s lap.
“You absolutely must take it easy,” Estelle said, making sure Lonnie and all the sisters and aunties heard her clearly. “Keep that arm in the sling. I don’t want you lifting anything with that hand, you hear? Not even the baby, not until that collarbone is healed.” Hard to tell a new mother not to lift her child, but there were plenty of helpful hands around to fetch and carry.
The clinic held a few more bumps and bruises to attend to, and the routine of seeing patients and filling out the reports she’d been too busy to complete the night before.
A birth certificate. A death certificate.
Sera showed up at the end of the day, mud-caked and moving gingerly.
“Are you all right, chérie?”
“I’m fine, except sore all over.” She put a hand on her back and arched like an arthritic old man. “Ahh. I’ve been helping with the cleanup. They’ve almost got the road clear now. I guess they’re expecting a lot of people for the funeral.”
“Funerals are a big deal here. People come from miles around to support the community—they’re all related in some degree, whether by blood or marriage. It’s a chance for people to get together, just like at home.”
“Everyone seems more excited about the funeral than sad about Rufus. It feels . . . wrong. Not to be more torn up about the poor man.”
Estelle put an arm around her. “Every death is a tragedy, chérie, but our minds and our hearts can only hold so much sorrow. There will be plenty of grief in the next few days, but we cope by balancing the bad with the good. There’s a birth to celebrate, too.”
“I told the kids about jazz funerals back home, and about second lining. I don’t think they believed me. They all think I’m from fairyland or something. They’re always giggling when I talk—is my accent that strong?”
Estelle laughed. “Think how one of them would feel if they were plopped down in the middle of Bourbon Street.”
“They wouldn’t like it,” Sera said seriously. “Most of them have never even been to a town bigger than this one. Do you think we should stay for the funeral?”
Estelle shook her head. “We’re outsiders—funerals are for the community. Besides, tomorrow evening I have to fly Annie to Fairbanks for her heart valve replacement.”
“Good,” Sera said. “I’ve had enough of funerals.”
CHAPTER 16
Bigfoot
Wildlife Trooper Robbie Kanut figured this assignment was some sort of cosmic punishment for making fun of that army major.
As soon as he’d walked into work Thursday morning, the sergeant had said, “Heads up, Kanut. We got a spate of Sasquatch calls overnight from up Dirty Dog River.”
“So? We’ve got better things to do than run down hoaxers.”
“One of them described the creature he saw as ‘big as an elephant, only hairy.’ Sound familiar?”
Every trooper in the squad room had grinned, except Kanut.
The sergeant wasn’t amused. “They upped the ante on those characters the army was looking for, Anjou and Kim. Now they’re wanted for questioning in connection with theft of government property. So go up to Cody and see if they’re hiding out up there with those hairy elephants. And take your rifle—the army says the animals are dangerous. Keep your eyes open, too—there’s somebody up there wholesaling juiced-up pot.”
So as soon as roll call was over, Kanut had flown the A-Star up to Cody. Before landing, he did a quick recon by air. Growing a few marijuana plants for home use was legal in Alaska, but the state still went after unlicensed commercial operations, especially the growers who genetically enhanced their product. But tryin
g to spot an acre or two of cannabis in the middle of a forest was like trying to find a deer in a herd of elk.
There wasn’t much to the town of Cody: a few log houses clustered around an old supply post, a bar, and a Pentecostal church. The town had been there since Gold Rush days, long before the region had been designated a wildlife refuge.
Since the bar didn’t open till noon, Kanut started with the general store. Its dim interior was crammed with everything from sacks of rice and beans, to guns and ammo, to tools and hardware, all at inflated prices.
None of the people lounging around the store had seen anyone that looked like Anjou and Kim, but half a dozen earnest residents were eager to share their Bigfoot stories.
Kanut had heard his share of Sasquatch tales—every trooper in Alaska had. They tended to be second- or thirdhand, long on speculation and short on verifiable detail. But the mere fact that Cody’s homesteaders were willing to talk to the law at all convinced him they’d seen something—something that scared them more than the average grizzly. Maybe Major Butterick hadn’t just been blowing smoke about those “small, hairy elephants” he’d wanted destroyed.
A man named Frank—none of them offered a last name—was the most insistent. “It ain’t Bigfoot, it’s a bear, a giant bear. It was walking away from me and I saw it real clear: brownish-red fur, real shaggy. It walked like a bear—you know, knees jointed forward on the back legs. But I swear, its back was as high as my head. I turned and ran, as fast as I could.” As soon as he’d got over the shakes, he’d come to Cody to stock up on ammunition.
“It’s a grizzly sow with cubs,” said another man, who declined to give any name at all. “I saw ’em go by, just glimpsed ’em through the trees, and there was at least three of ’em.”
“It’s no bear, it’s Bigfoot,” said a thin young woman with a toddler in her lap. “Ask Lou. He chased it out of my garden during the storm. And Bran—he’s got a picture of a footprint on his phone. They’re a couple of hikers . . . you know, a couple.” She batted her eyes to be sure he took her meaning. “We let them stay with us during the storm. Nice fellas.”
