by Ken Jolly
Hazel yelled across, "What do you have, Gus?"
"Passenger," he jerked a thumb back at the cockpit," but I brought out the accumulated mail. Excuse me but he's likely going to need a little help." He edged back along the float to the cabin door and opened it.
Everyone starred, mildly surprised when a man dressed in a suit rather than the usual camouflage stepped from the plane.
"Jake Whitmore. He flew down from Seattle," Gus introduced him.
Hazel stepped in and introduced herself. "That’s awful bright hair you have?” commenting on the stranger’s red hair. Well, what brings you to Laurel? You don't look like a hunter and this time of the year it's all we usually see."
"I'm here to visit Jonah Blackheart.”
Hazel's welcoming smile dropped a little. The last time Jonah had visitors things had not worked out well. "I don't know anyone here by that name." She covered for Jonah. Until recently he had been going by the name of Matt.
"If he was here you couldn't miss him. Has a face scarred from a war accident?" He reached into a back pocket and pulled out a picture of himself and Jonah. Hazel was slightly relieved. It was hell digging graves with the ground freezing.
“Are you a friend of his?”
The stranger smiled, “I suspect I’m the only one that puts up with him.”
The old man craned his head past Jake's shoulder and spoke up. "Looks like he might be talking about Matt. He has quite a few scars." He looked at the photo. "Yep, that's him but his name is Matt not what you called him."
One of the other guys on the dock spoke up. "More than just a few scars. Someone did a real number on him. War injury, heh. We always wondered. He don’t talk about it.”
Hazel added, “He always told me he did that in a shaving accident.”
"Never the less whatever name he goes by I need to see him. I'm an old buddy of his."
Hazel was now curious, "I didn't know Jonah had any friends. You've come a long way?"
"Longer than you know. My pilot." he looked over at Gus for confirmation, "Says we cannot stay long because of the storm coming in."
"Matt lives up the mountain at the old Larson place, though as long as he’s been here you would think we would call it the Blackheart place. Takes a while to make a name up here.”
The old man interrupted. "I'm pretty sure he’s working the Lodge tonight. A new batch of hunters came in a few days ago. He has some cooking to do."
"Cooking?"
"Yeah, he works at the Lodge."
Gus interrupted as he finished securing the plane. "We're not getting out today. Flying is too rough in these winds. Looks like the storm almost beat us here."
Jake shivered to the bone as he looked down the Lake seeing the cold wind sweeping the lake into white caps slamming the dock’s pontoon. "It's a lot colder here than it was in Juneau."
"Juneau is at a much lower elevation warmed by the Pacific current. We are a bit higher and those winds get a little frosty sweeping across the mountain." Gus came to a final decision. "Looks like I'm spending the night."
Hazel addressed the old man that had helped with the lines. "Dan, can you take his baggage to the Lodge. I'm sure this time of the year they have room."
"Yep Miss Hazel. Can I borrow your snow machine?"
"Just make sure you bring it back. Last time you had it. I had to go looking for it. Tell Herb he has another guest tonight. I'm taking this young man up to my store before he freezes and get him some proper winter clothes." She cast a pointed glance at his city suit.
Jake had traveled light and it didn't take long to get his one bag secured in the toboggan that was towed by a ratty looking snow machine, which looked and sounded like it has seen better days.
Once they had braved the cold uphill walk to the General Store, Hazel set about digging through a pile of garments while Jake warmed by the old pot stove. "You may notice we don't have new clothes here. A lot of people barter or trade clothing so we have quite an assortment." Hazel found a sealskin parka and held it up. "Try this it looks like the right size." With a little more digging, she came up with a bright yellow snowsuit. "This might be the right size. It gets so cold here that once the sun goes down we lose the little heat of the day. Any exposed skin can get frostbite in minutes. There's a room in back where you can change."
“This yellow really contrasts with my red hair.”
“Good, hunters will be sure to notice you.”
Jake scanned the store. "Can I use your telephone?"
"I'm sorry dear, Laurel has no phone service. There's been talk of running a line over the mountains for years. We are cut off from civilization. We have a radio only it’s not dependable especially this time of the year. The same electromagnetic forces that contribute to the lights of the Aurora Borealis can also block radio signals so it’s always hit and miss.
"I suppose my cell phone doesn't work because of the mountains?"
"Right, we are pretty much the back end of nowhere. Most of us came here because we like being remote."
Jake came out of the backroom dressed in the bright snowsuit. "Looks like it fits. What much do I owe you?"
Hazel stood back and looked him over. "Not bad. As I said, we are not really a cash community as much as a barter one. Got anything to trade?"
"No, but I do have cash."
Hazel looked a little disappointed. "I guess that will have to do," she paused hopefully, “unless you have gold?"
Lindsey
After having snowed most of the day, the picture postcard sky streaked with the amber, blue and crimson tones of the coming sunset was just a prelude to the spectacular light show of the Aurora Borealis. Laurel being close to the Arctic Circle found the days rapidly getting shorter.
Below the shimmering sky, the building that served as the one room school was located centrally in the tiny hamlet. Handfuls of children spewed from every egress. There was the usual urgency to leave for fear that more learning might be inflicted upon their saturated and otherwise occupied minds. However, on this day the urgency is more pronounced. Snow had been falling since midday and the afternoon had dragged with the slow movement of clock hands.
"If Johnny was more focused in class, Miss Harper wouldn't give us so much homework!" stated Lindsey to her sister. Being the older of the two sisters, she paused while stomping in her snowshoes to vent her frustrations.”
"I know. Homework is criminal, but I don't think it’s Johnny's fault. He's just high spirited," Betty said.
Both girls had stopped to rest at the overlook. Walking home from school might sound like fun but in deep snow it was hard work and they still had at least another mile to go.
The white landscape interspersed with dark evergreens clad in snow provided some protection from the wind where they had stopped. The little meadow was majestic in its winter wardrobe but was a stage set taken for granted in the lives of the girls who viewed it daily.
"Well, we are almost home. Cutting across that field was a great shortcut. I bet Mom has something warm for us when we get home."
Lindsey hoisted her backpack filled with schoolbooks from where she had set it. "Sooner we get home the warmer we will be." She looked worried at the sky, "I think it might start snowing again."
Betty rubbed her hands together. Even though they were dressed for the weather, it was colder than it had been this morning. "I think it's getting colder."
It had snowed a lot during the day and the drifts were quite a bit deeper. Pushing through the fresh snow was hard work.
"You know it's your fault for wanting to walk!"
"I thought it was your idea."
They continued in silence each internally debating the merits of how they ended up walking home from school that day, when Lindsey pulled up short and pointed. "Look!"
Betty was really peeved, now both from the cold and plagued by thoughts of the upcoming homework. "At what?"
"There. It's a wolf." Lindsey pointed to a large black canine sitting on the crest of
the next hill.
"That's not a wolf," Betty scoffed, "It's just a dog."
"It is too a wolf. Look how big it is."
"And it's watching us! You don't think it will attack," Betty asked?
"Nonsense, wolves are scared of humans. Don't worry." Lindsey tried to reassure Betty, but she watched it nervously.
Betty suggested, "Let's get on home. I don't like it. Henry “Two Fish” told me stories of how a pack of wolves wiped out the Larson family over twenty years ago. I'm scared."
"Silly, that's just an old tale and this is just one wolf by itself. I'm sure if he noticed us he would be more scared of us then we are of him.
Nevertheless, the girls picked up the pace and Lindsey kept glancing over her shoulder. "That's creepy."
At home, they rushed in and slammed the door. "Mom, Mom!"
Their mother came in from the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron. To them their mother lived most of her life in the kitchen. "What's the matter?"
"A wolf, it followed us home!"
"It did not, but we saw one."
Their mother looked from one to the other seeing how scared they were. "I'll take care of this." She opened the coat closet and pulled out the rifle. Checked the action, making sure a round chambered and edged out the door.
To the girls it seemed like she was gone an eternity. The door opened. "Nothing out there now," she tried to calm them, though they could tell she was also a little worried. "We'll tell your father when he gets home."
Sam
The lodge was not the oldest building in Laurel, as it has only been open for five seasons, however it was the largest. Rough-hewn logs and multiple stone fireplaces provided part of the ambiance and primitive luxury that attracted many sportsmen. The real attraction was the location. This is the jumping off point into a huge wilderness that teamed with trophy hunting and great fishing. It was rapidly developing a reputation.
The Lodge was the economic sustainability of the village. Most of the settlers had their own reasons for coming here but the Lodge acted as the local cottage industry, which provided an income for those in town who needed an income. Some worked in service roles and others had become relatively famous guides in their own right. However, no one served as a bartender. Guests made their own drinks and this led to some colorful creations and drunken evenings. This policy aided and almost guaranteed the creation of elaborate hunting stories, which lived on longer than the people telling the stories.
Sam, The Lodge owner and proprietor, finished pouring his rum and coke, wiped the remaining ring on the granite with a dishtowel, and moved back around the bar to join Mark at a center table. Through habit, he dragged out a chair so he could face the open hallway. As a retired law enforcement officer, he always liked to sit where he could see whoever entered the room.
He had met Mark, a hunting guide, who was some years older than he was. Mark had relocated his business to Laurel for the hunting and the big trophies harvested from the wilderness netted big fees. While sitting around the fires in the evenings the two men had discovered things in common.
"Mark, did the weather drive you in also?" Sam gestured out the window to the driving snowflakes and rapidly darkening skies.
Mark shrugged. "Being cold is bad enough, you add wet snow and I had to get out of that blind before I turned into a Popsicle. By the time I got back here I was wading through waist deep drifts."
"Did you get anything," Sam inquired?
"Didn't get any or see any. I haven't seen signs of game all week. It's like being on the sterile moon. Then when the storm blotted out the light it was more like the dark side of the moon."
Sam shivered and it was not just from the cold. It turned eerie out there when they lost the light and he had a strange feeling of foreboding that he couldn’t shake and was still a little spooked.
"Yeah, I haven't seen anything either. Somewhat strange we haven't seen hide or hair of any game. This place is usually inundated with caribou. Even though the bears are hibernating, the migratory mammals should still be moving.
"I haven't seen rabbits, groundhogs, or rats. Nothing is moving out there," Mark, concurred.
"I did see some tracks," Sam added as an afterthought.
"Of What?"
Sam looked up from his glass of dark liquid. “Wolf. It must have been a whole pack. Some had the largest tracks I've ever seen."
"I'm a meat hunter," Mark bragged. “Can’t eat wolves but if nothing else shows by the end of the week I might settle for a wolf skin to decorate my office."
"It's going to be embarrassing explaining how I got skunked," Sam agreed!
"Me too! I might have done too much bragging, but usually I do OK. The old lady is going to be wondering what I've been up to."
"Well there's a few more days,” Sam consoled. "I expect the others should be here soon. It's a better man than me to stay out there. It’s too cold for man or beast."
Mark turned to the other man sharing their table. "Horace, I haven't seen you out hunting?"
"I'm not a hunter. Wouldn’t know which end of a gun to point. I'm a climatologist."
"What's that?"
"I'm here on a grant from the university. I’m studying global warming with emphasis on mammal migration patterns."
Sam gestured to the window. "Doesn't look like global warming to me. If anything it looks cold."
Horace who was always ready to talk about his specialty explained. "Climate is a complex subject. When it is warmer than average in some parts of the World we see the opposite effect in others, such as colder with earlier winters like we are having here. One theory is Global Warming actually helped trigger the last ice age."
Sam was suddenly interested from the hunting aspect, “What’s that about animal migration?"
"Well it’s only a theory, however based on the local lack of results in your hunting parties and the absence of game signs the theory is, some animals have an instinctive understanding of the shift in climate and migrate to more favorable areas, or maybe they are just denned up. No one knows for sure, however I've been documenting the empirical data…"
Sam interrupted him knowing from recent experience when Horace started up it was best to side track him
“You know what die-hards hunters are, “I’m not surprised that they are still out there."
Mark was getting up to procure more drinks when the door burst open with a curtain of snow blowing in.
Normally in this country, you build cabins with airlocks to save your warm air. Whoever designed this place was more into aesthetics than the practicality of living this close to the Arctic Circle.
Hazel entered followed promptly by a big guy in a bright yellow snowsuit. This was noticeable in an area where most people wore camouflage.
Mark looked away so the newcomer would not think he was staring and whispered, "I don't think he's local."
Sam glanced around his buddies sitting at the table, all of whom was in camo. "That bright yellow snowsuit kind of stands out. Do you think he's a hunter?"
This was confirmed when they moved pass us to the registration desk in the lobby. Hazel punched the bell annoyingly until Herb; Sam’s manager came out of his office. "You belong to that bag they brought in a while ago?" he addressed Jake. Jake's face was red from the windy ride to the lodge on the back of a snowmobile. He nodded affirmative.
"I put you in room thirteen. Your bag is already there. I think you will find it comfortable. We have dinner at seven, or I can have your meal sent up?"
"Seven is fine. Could I ask if you have a cook, Jonah...I mean Matt working tonight?"
"Do you know him?"
"He is an old war buddy. Can you send him up to see me when he gets to work?"
The manager looked puzzled;” I didn't know Matt was in the war?"
Jake grinned, "He didn't get those scars shaving."
Herb was puzzled, “He told me it was a shaving accident.”
Jake turned to Hazel. "It was nice of you to help
me. I really appreciate it."
"It was my pleasure. We don't get many new faces around here.” She smiled, which on Hazel’s face was scary from lack of practice. “Remember, next time bring gold."
After Jake climbed upstairs to find his room, the guys settled back around the table to finish their stories and drinks before dinner.
Herb walked back through the lounge. "Has anybody seen the Englishman, Henry Slocomb?
"Not me."
"Well he's the last one still out. His guide swung by to get him out of the blind and he wasn't there. The guide thought he might have missed him if he walked back to the Lodge early."
"I know who you are talking about. The quaint looking old fellow, with the fancy engraved double barrel shotgun. Haven't seen him" said Mark.
"It’s almost full dark out there." Sam looked out through the picture window where the snow had piled up even deeper. "Maybe we should wait dinner for him?"
The manager shrugged his shoulders. “Nah, we’ll just keep something warm for him. I expect he will show soon. Besides, I’m getting hungry cause of those fumes Jonah is kicking up in there; smells mighty good to me!"
Herb was right. The wafting aromas coming out of the kitchen were a temptation. Jonah never really lost his passion for cooking. He worked in kitchens across the world’s continents when he was on the run. Cooking for Sam was a great pleasure as he was afforded the freshest of local ingredients. Granted, the menu was limited to local game and fish, but Herb kept an “herb garden” that he tended like a newborn.
There was a good-size greenhouse off the back of the pantry and Herb with his green thumb had a great love of gardening. In this climate, he specialized in greens, a wide variety of herbs and baby salad greens. They provided the gourmet touches that appealed to Jonah.
Tonight’s offering was: Broiled Lemon Thyme Salmon Steaks with a white wine reduction sauce, served on a bed of white rice, Baby Greens dressed with a Lemon Thyme Vinaigrette. Dessert was fresh, hot Gingerbread with a Lemon Curd topping. They ate well in Laurel. No caribou jerky for this crowd!
