Out of the Wilderness

by Deb Vanasse

  There was no sense pursuing the matter any further. Josh gave a final glance at the table full of high school students as he rose to leave. He tried to picture himself in their midst, but the image wouldn’t come. He resigned himself to being grateful that the checks had provided food beyond the bear meat and rice.

  They even had a turkey for Thanksgiving. It was a lot for just the two of them, but Josh stuffed himself happily. Nathan would have none of the wanton waste he found in the holiday, when people celebrated food just for its own sake.

  “Maybe we should take some food to Nathan today,” Josh’s father suggested the morning after Thanksgiving. Nathan didn’t like taking handouts, but he could sometimes be convinced to eat their leftovers if their father insisted they’d otherwise go to waste.

  “You go on ahead, Dad. I’m thinking about looking for ptarmigan up on the ridge.” Josh figured he deserved a day off from correspondence lessons, especially when a C− on the last test was all he had to show for his hours struggling with algebra.

  Josh swallowed the last of his coffee and pushed his cup aside. “You know, Dad, when we first got here and you let me drink coffee with you, I thought it was the greatest thing. Now I’m not even sure that I like the stuff.”

  “Coffee gets you going in the morning, at least,” his father said. He yawned and stretched where he sat. “Start to feeling like a bear, ready to hibernate this time of year when the nights get long.”

  “True enough,” Josh replied. The clock ticking on the shelf above the stove said ten o’clock, but through the window the sky was still streaked with the pink and orange of the dawning day. Errant flakes of snow sifted aimlessly toward the ground.

  Minutes sifted like the snow, settling into one hour and then another. Gray clouds thickened in the sky, blanketing the cabin in the semidarkness of a midwinter day. The warmth of the cabin and the diffused gray light made Josh tired. He knew that getting outside would revive him, but the simple preparations for hunting threatened to sap what little energy he had.

  His father was equally lethargic. He had bagged the leftovers and set them in a cool spot by the door, then stretched out on the couch, where he snored lightly. Josh caught himself dozing in the armchair. Like an old man, he thought with disgust.

  The rumble of an engine outside the door startled them. It was a sound they seldom heard at Willow Creek, except for a few times when a hunter from Anchorage was adventurous enough to turn off the highway and drive the twenty miles of dirt road filled with potholes to reach the trail, barely wide enough for a truck, that ended a few hundred yards from their cabin.

  Josh pushed back his chair and stood to get a good look out the window. A bright red extended-cab pickup sat in front of the cabin, looking as out of place as a robin in winter. The doors on the passenger’s and driver’s sides swung open at once, and Josh watched as a man climbed down from the driver’s seat. He couldn’t get a good look beyond the passenger door, but it seemed as though two figures had descended there.

  The knock on their door was as startling as the sound of the engine had been.

  “Who in the world?” Josh’s father wondered aloud, reaching for the door handle. Josh stayed at the window, not having the slightest idea what to expect.

  The door swung open with a creak, revealing a tall man; a boy at his side; and behind him, a girl. The man held out his hand to Josh’s father.

  “Frank Donaldson,” he said. “And this is my daughter, Shannon, and my son, Pete. Sorry to intrude like this. We’re thinking we might be a little lost.”

  “Donaldson.” His father’s voice shook ever so slightly, but he grasped the stranger’s extended hand firmly. “Al Harris. And my son Josh. Please, come in.”

  The three stepped inside, the girl nudging the boy forward. Josh looked them all over, hoping his father would have the presence of mind to offer them a seat.

  “Quite a drive you’ve got yourselves here,” Frank said. He took off his wire-rimmed glasses and wiped at the lenses with the end of his scarf. “That last twenty miles took us an hour at least. Glad we’ve got the four-wheel drive.”

  “And guess what we saw,” piped up the boy, who stood half of his dad’s height. “A fox! It ran right across the road in front of us.”

  Frank shook his head, grinning. “It about sent us right into the ditch. Shannon here is quite the animal lover, and she screamed ‘Stop!’ like we were about to hit a freight train.”

  Josh studied the girl. Her eyes were large and brown and soulful, giving her the look of a doe staring out from the woods. They seemed to take in everything at once—the tiny room; the meager furnishings; the ferns of frost spread across the windows; and finally, Josh himself. He held his gaze steady, determined not to turn away.

  She pulled the red wool cap from her head, and thick brown hair cascaded down. It must reach halfway down her back, Josh guessed. She looked to be older than him, by a year or two at least.

  The boy was already trying to wriggle out of his coat. His sister bent down and whispered something in his ear.

  Frank shifted where he stood, little puddles forming as the snow began to melt from his boots. “We’re looking for my uncle Harry’s place.”

  Josh suspected only he could read the look of dismay that passed over his father’s face. “Of course, Harry Donaldson. Harry’s place.” He paused. Where Nathan lives, Josh added silently.

  “You know him, then?” Frank asked.

  His father cleared his throat. “Sure do.” He paused again. “Say, if you folks have a minute, why don’t you take your coats off and set a spell. We’ll put on a fresh pot of coffee. Josh and I get mighty lonesome for some company.”

  Frank looked puzzled. “Really, we don’t mean to impose. Just a few directions.”

  “Might be a bit more to it than that,” Josh’s father said. Not giving them time to object, he added, “Here, Josh will get your things.”

  Josh caught the girl’s eyes again as he took her coat. It was an expensive, thermal-lined brand, with trendy zippers and pockets everywhere. It smelled fresh and new. Maybe she was one of those girls who spent her weekends swooshing through powder at ritzy ski resorts. If so, she was in for a big disappointment here. He tried to guess her age. Sixteen, maybe.

  “So you’re Harry’s nephew. How’s he getting on?” Josh’s father asked. He pulled out a chair for each guest. Josh scooped water for the coffee and set the pot on the stove.

  “Not so well these days,” Frank replied. “Sometimes he can barely get around. We’re the only family he’s got now in Anchorage. He’s my wife’s uncle, and she thinks he should move in with us, but he’ll have none of it. I guess if you know Harry, that’s not such a surprise.”

  “He’s an independent sort,” Josh’s father said. “I do seem to remember him mentioning some family coming to Alaska from . . . where was it?”

  “Seattle. Been in Anchorage since August. Harry got to talking about the cabin, and we thought we’d have a look.”

  “So you’re just checking up on his place for him, you and the kids?”

  “Sort of. Actually, he wants us to finish it up and use it. A weekend retreat from the city. He’s seen how these kids love being outdoors.” He laughed a little. “Not like their mother. She likes her conveniences. Says she’ll let this be my project, with the kids, till we get the place fixed up.”

  “And how old are you, kids?” Josh could tell that his father was stalling for time, postponing an attempt at explaining why his son had set up camp in Harry’s cabin.

  “I’m fourteen, almost fifteen,” Shannon said, her voice soft but firm.

  Only fourteen, Josh thought. He had been off with his guess of sixteen. Perhaps it was the reserved look about her, as if she was taking everything in, recording it somewhere deep inside, that made her appear older. She didn’t seem at all like the giggly seventh-grade girls he remembered from the last time he’d been in school.

  “And I’m nine, almost ten,” Pete chimed in, sw
inging his legs beneath the table.

  “Not till July,” his sister said, smiling, reaching out to smooth his sandy-colored hair.

  Frank shifted in his chair and reached for the steaming cup of coffee that Josh’s father handed him. “So about Harry’s place. My understanding was that it was just beyond the end of this road. We parked there and walked to a cabin. But a young man met us at the door.”

  “What’d he say?” Josh asked, curious.

  “When I mentioned Harry’s name, he went on and on about what a great guy he is. But when I asked where I could find his cabin, he didn’t give a real direct answer. Started talking about how meaningless it was to think that anything belonged to anyone, something about how a cabin is nothing more than a collection of trees that belong only to the land.”

  “Dad said that guy must have some case of cabin fever,” Pete interrupted, grinning.

  “Pete,” Shannon chided. “We don’t make fun of people just because they’re different.”

  “Anyway,” Frank continued, “when I saw I wasn’t getting much information from him, I decided we should head back down the road and try the left fork. That’s when we came upon your place. Thought sure Harry said go to the right, but maybe I got it turned around.”

  Josh saw his father’s eyes drop toward the floor. Then he looked up and drew in a deep breath. “No, you had it right,” he said. “That’s my older boy, Nathan, you met there.”

  Frank looked puzzled. “Harry mentioned some neighbors. But not anyone living in his cabin.”

  Josh’s father stroked at his beard. “Nathan sort of . . . took it upon himself to move into Harry’s place. Takes real good care of it. Harry always liked Nathan. Guess Nathan figured Harry wouldn’t mind.”

  Shannon looked at Josh and then at his father. “Why doesn’t Nathan live here?”

  Josh waited for his father to answer. The more he’d thought about Nathan’s reaction to the bear shooting, the more unusual it had seemed. He wasn’t about to try to explain it to a stranger.

  After a few seconds, his father answered. “Nathan did stay here till just recently. But it does seem like a cabin grows smaller in the winter. And Nathan likes his privacy.”

  Shannon nodded. “I understand.”

  “Anyway, he didn’t figure Harry would mind him staying there. Better to have a place lived in than empty.”

  “That’s what Uncle Harry said when he told us we could use his cabin, didn’t he, Dad?” Pete’s young voice put a special emphasis on the word we.

  Frank turned the coffee cup around in his hands. “We hate to be the ones to kick him out, but . . .”

  “Look, if you aren’t in too big a hurry, why don’t you let me go talk this over with Nathan, explain that Harry sent you. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

  Josh watched as his father put on his coat and tucked the bag of Thanksgiving leftovers under one arm. Once again, he was letting Nathan’s actions put them all in a difficult place. He couldn’t imagine Nathan backing down and coming home. And, he realized, he couldn’t imagine himself having to put up with Nathan again on a daily basis. Against his better judgment, Josh let a tiny spark of hope light inside. Maybe somewhere in this mess there would be a way out—a way out of Willow Creek for good.

  5

  It took a moment for Josh to realize that he’d been left with the task of entertaining three strangers.

  “You want some more coffee?” he asked, holding the pot up awkwardly. He felt Shannon’s eyes on him, and a warm flush crossed his face. It must look stupid, all right, a guy his age serving coffee as if he were the maid.

  “Thanks, but no,” Frank replied. “Think I’ll go check on the truck while we’re waiting. Heard a little knocking under the hood those last few miles. Probably nothing, but it never hurts to check.”

  “Dad,” Shannon said, “get over it with the truck. You worry about that machine like it’s another child.”

  Frank ignored her chiding. “I guess I could’ve offered your dad a ride, since the truck’s warmed up and all. You have much trouble with keeping yours going in the winter?”

  Josh smiled. “It’s twenty years old, but it does all right, except when it gets real cold.”

  “How cold is real cold?” Frank asked.

  “Oh, twenty, thirty below. Oil runs pretty thick at those temperatures.”

  Pete gave an exaggerated shiver. “Brrr! That’s cold. Think it’ll get that cold tonight?”

  Josh glanced out the window at the thermometer attached to the frame near the top of the glass. Snow now fell in a thick curtain of white. “Ten degrees, and snow. I’d say you’ll have to come back some other time if you want to get really cold.”

  The door creaked as Frank let himself out. An engine roared outside.

  “Wow, that’s a loud truck,” Pete exclaimed.

  Josh grinned. “It’s not Dad’s truck—it’s the snow machine. Lots easier to use in the winter than a truck, and more fun to drive.”

  Pete stood suddenly, nearly knocking over his chair, and came to stand near Josh, where he tried to rub the frost from a bottom pane so he could see.

  Josh crouched beside him and blew on the pane. He rubbed it with the sleeve of his flannel shirt, but only in time for Pete to catch a glimpse of the back of the machine as Josh’s father roared off toward Harry’s place.

  “Maybe when he gets back, I can take you for a spin,” Josh offered.

  “Would you?” Pete asked, turning to look Josh in the eye. His voice sounded as if Josh had just suggested a day at the video arcade.

  Shannon shook her head. “Pete, I don’t know why you find machines so appealing. They’re noisy and they ruin the quiet of nature. Can’t you just enjoy the outdoors on its own terms?”

  Josh stood back up, turning his full attention toward the girl. “If you end up spending much time out here, you’ll find the outdoors gets to be just more of the same day after day. Personally, I could do with a few more machines. They make life a lot easier and a lot more fun.”

  Shannon tossed her hair so that it hung neatly down her back. “Too few people realize how machines complicate our lives. We become slaves to their demands, and they pollute the environment.”

  Josh’s mouth formed a half smile. “If having a TV and a phone makes me a slave, bring on the chains. Pretty easy to talk about doing without conveniences when you take them for granted every day. Sure, it’s great getting up without an alarm buzzing in your ear. But it’s all downhill from there: no hot water for a shower, no radio to give you the latest news and songs, no blow-dryer for your pretty hair.”

  The last part came out before Josh realized it. He hadn’t meant to sound bitter and he hadn’t meant to get personal. But if Shannon was offended, her face didn’t show it.

  “I just think we all have a lot to learn about living more simply. Have you ever read Thoreau?”

  “Thoreau? The nature guy? How do you know about him?”

  “My honors English class. He’s my favorite author. That’s why I jumped at the chance to come out here with my dad. I’d love to live in the woods like Thoreau did, away from all the commotion of the city.”

  Thoreau. Nathan’s hero. Josh shook his head. “Once you try living in the woods, you’ll find it’s a lot different than you think.” He turned his attention to the bear roast his father had set out to thaw by the stove. He poked at it with one finger and felt the flesh give. It was ready for the oven.

  Pete was at his side. “What’s that?” he asked.

  Josh held the pan down so the boy could see. “Bear meat. You want some?” he teased.

  Pete made a face. “Not till it’s cooked. And I’m hungry right now.”

  “Pete, where are your manners? You don’t just go around begging for food,” Shannon admonished.

  Josh laughed. “It’s OK. I’m getting hungry myself. Not a big selection here, though.”

  He rummaged through the cupboard. “Here’s some granola. Do you like that?”


  “Does it have any chocolate pieces in it?” Pete asked.

  Josh held up the clear plastic bag to scrutinize its contents. “Used to have. Those are my favorites, too. But it looks like I left you a few.” He set the bag on the table and peered deeper into the cupboard.

  “Got a little moose jerky, too. Want to try some of that?”

  Pete nodded eagerly. “Real moose? Did you shoot it yourself?”

  “Pete, really. All these morbid details,” Shannon said.

  “Actually, my dad did. But I helped him cut it up and make the jerky.”

  “How’d you do that?”

  Josh pulled out a chair for Pete and sat down beside him. “Well, you start with a couple of really sharp knives.”

  Shannon gave him a disgusted look and got up from the table. “If you two are going to discuss butchering, I think I’ll move, if you don’t mind.”

  “Be my guest,” Josh said, making little effort to contain his grin. “You’ll find out just how small this cabin really is. Can’t get away from much of anything.”

  The glare from Shannon’s eyes deepened as she moved to the couch.

  “Anyway, you cut the moose in quarters,” Josh continued, chewing on a handful of granola.

  “What about the guts?” Pete asked.

  “Oh, you gut it before you bring it home. It’d smell awful otherwise.”

  Pete wrinkled his nose and grabbed for another handful of granola.

  “What’s it taste like?” he asked, nodding toward the strips of jerky.

  “Pretty much like the stuff you buy at the store. It’s tough and chewy and smoke-flavored.”

  “I’ll try some, then,” Pete said, reaching for a piece. He pulled off a section with his teeth and chewed vigorously. “Not bad,” he said through his mouthful.

  “Glad you like it. Takes a bunch of time to slice it thin, dry it, and smoke it.” Josh looked over at Shannon, sitting cross-legged on the sofa, thumbing through one of the old magazines they kept lying around. “Want to try a piece, Shannon?” he asked.