Out of the Wilderness

by Deb Vanasse

  But his embarrassment quickly turned to irritation. She was on a high horse, just like Nathan, trying to make them feel bad for a simple thing like eating meat. He stabbed at a chunk of roast on his plate and brought it to his mouth. He chewed it for a long time, savoring the sweet, pungent taste. He wasn’t about to let her make him feel guilty.

  7

  Pete reminded Josh about the promised snow machine ride three times before the meal was over. By the time the table was cleared, he’d pulled on his snowsuit and boots and was standing at the door.

  “I’m ready, Josh,” he announced.

  “I see that,” Josh said with a smile. He reached for the insulated coveralls hanging on a peg by the door. He felt sluggish again after the meal, and he’d been cooped up inside all day. A ride would feel great.

  “Don’t go too fast,” Shannon cautioned as they went out the door.

  “Right,” Josh said over his shoulder. So only Pete could hear, he added, “You don’t want to go fast, do you?”

  Pete look up at him earnestly. “Sure I do.”

  “Well, what your sister doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?”

  “Right,” Pete agreed.

  The snowstorm had gone as quickly as it had come, leaving four inches of fresh powder over everything. A snowfall made the woods seem like a brand-new creation, covering tracks left by man, animal, and machine, leaving new curves and mounds of white on every branch and bough. With the end of the storm, the temperature had predictably dropped. Josh felt the sting of cold on his nose and pulled the fleece neck warmer up to his eyes.

  “Pull up your hood and tighten it,” Josh instructed Pete, his voice muffled by the fleece. “If we put the helmet over the hood, it should stay on.”

  Pete looked like a miniature spaceman in the oversized helmet. Josh stifled a grin.

  He pulled at the cord of the machine, and the sound of the engine overcame the stillness of the night. He pushed the throttle, letting the track, propped up on a block of wood, spin free of snow and ice. Thick exhaust poured from underneath, and Pete stepped back, away from the fumes.

  Josh lifted the machine from the block, letting the back end drop to the ground with a thud. “Hop on!” he said loudly.

  Pete settled onto the seat, with Josh in front, and they took off. Josh maneuvered slowly through the trees in front of the cabin, but once they were out of range of Shannon’s watchful eyes, he pressed deeper on the throttle. Walls of spruce trees, their boughs hanging heavy with snow, closed in on either side. Traveling through them, Josh felt like a time voyager, warping his way to another world.

  When they reached a clearing, Josh brought the machine to a stop. Over the loud noise of the idle, he asked Pete, “You want to try?”

  “Driving? You bet!” Even past the hood and the plastic bubble of the helmet’s face shield, Josh could see his wide grin.

  “OK. Not much to it, really.” He climbed off the machine and pointed. “The throttle here makes it go, and this lever is the brake. The red button is the kill switch, in case you need to stop in a hurry.”

  Pete nodded and took off, tentatively at first and then with more force. Josh watched with a growing feeling of satisfaction, remembering the first time he’d sat behind the handlebars of the machine and sensed that he was at last in total control of something in his life.

  Making a wide loop at the end of the clearing, Pete was careening back toward the spot where Josh stood waiting when the machine jerked suddenly to the right. Josh watched, horrified, as Pete lost control and went flying off the seat of the machine, landing face down in the snow. The machine lay on its side, the track still spinning.

  Josh felt a horrible sinking sensation spread to the pit of his stomach as he ran and knelt next to Pete. He reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Pete? You OK, buddy?”

  Pete lifted his head slowly and looked around. “Wow. What happened?”

  “Looked to me like you hit a bump, maybe a stump buried under the snow, and lost control. Does anything hurt?”

  Pete rolled to his back and sat up before Josh could caution him otherwise. “Naw, I’m fine. That was cool. Can I try it again?”

  Josh brushed the snow from Pete’s suit. “I don’t think so. Flying through the air like that can be hard on a person. You sure you’re all right?”

  Pete nodded, the weight of the helmet forcing his head to bob vigorously. “I’m sure.”

  Josh allowed himself to smile faintly. “Fresh snow makes a great cushion at least. And now you see why we wear helmets.” He pulled Pete to his feet, and the thumping of his heart diminished. He’d flown off the machine himself before, but it had been more frightening watching Pete do it.

  Josh hit the kill switch and grabbed the handlebars, pushing all his weight against the machine to set it upright.

  “Listen,” he said to Pete before they climbed back on. “Let’s keep this part of the ride to ourselves. We wouldn’t want to worry your sister.”

  Pete nodded in agreement and climbed on behind Josh. The ride back was a little slower and much less eventful.

  As they pulled up to the cabin, a figure emerged. Josh brought the machine to a stop, turned the key, and looked up to see Shannon standing on the steps.

  Pete hopped off and ran to his sister.

  “How was it?” she asked, giving him a little hug.

  “Great!” Pete exclaimed, pulling the helmet from his head. “You should try it.”

  “I’m ready,” Shannon said, a look of determination in her eyes.

  “Thought you didn’t like machines,” Josh said.

  “I’ve decided it’s an experience. I like new experiences.” Her voice was firm.

  Josh gave her a long look. She wasn’t going to ask if he’d take her for a ride. She just expected it.

  He gave the cord of the machine a jerk, feeling the irritation ripple through the muscles of his arm. “Hope you’ve got some long johns on under those jeans,” he yelled over the engine noise. “It gets colder once we start moving.”

  Shannon stepped closer. “I’ll be fine.”

  Josh shook his head. Those jeans fit like a second skin over her narrow hips and long legs. Of course she wasn’t wearing an extra layer.

  They took off with a roar. Josh decided he’d drive as fast as he pleased and try to forget that the arms of a girl he had only just met were wrapped around his waist. The trees sped by in an evergreen blur.

  “Duck!” he yelled, and ducked himself, under a hanging branch. If she didn’t do the same, she would go flying off the machine. But the arms were still there, and he felt her scoot forward, readjusting herself closer to his back.

  Now they entered the meadow where the thin light of the moon and the stars was magnified by a mirror of snow. Josh pushed harder on the throttle, and they careened across the wide-open space. The machine almost floated over the smooth surface, and Josh felt a familiar exhilaration at the rushing air and the speeding scenery.

  Then a thin voice reached his ears through the helmet.

  “Stop! Stop!”

  Josh slid the machine to a stop and hit the kill switch. He turned his head to see what was wrong.

  Shannon let go of his waist and stood beside the machine. She slipped off her helmet and tipped her head backward, her eyes intent on the sky.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, pulling off his own helmet.

  “You were going so fast,” she said, her voice hushed. “And the stars were just a blur. Look at them now. There must be thousands up there. They’re fabulous!”

  Josh shook his head. Fabulous. Same stars she saw in Anchorage.

  Then he remembered all the times he’d looked to the stars, seeing them as a single point of connection between himself and the people he loved, and his hard edge of resentment softened. He watched as Shannon stood, gazing from one end of the black sky to the other, as if she were memorizing the position and intensity of each glittering light.

  He got
off the machine and stood beside her, looking up. Almost imperceptibly, she shivered. Without thinking, Josh nearly wrapped an arm around her, drawing her toward his warmth as a father would a child. But in the next moment, he felt foolish for even allowing himself to consider it.

  She most certainly would have jerked away. That’s what had happened the last time he had put his arm around a girl, during the seventh-grade social back at East Anchorage Middle School.

  Besides, he and Shannon were clearly cut from different molds. He wouldn’t want her thinking he was making moves on her, like he was some kind of love-starved wild man of the woods.

  Josh stepped back. “You must be frozen. We’d better get going,” he said curtly.

  Shannon climbed on the machine behind him and her arms found their place around his waist. He started the machine. Before hitting the throttle, he turned his head and said loudly, “Next time, you’ll wear long johns.”

  “I wouldn’t be so cold if you’d drive a little slower.” Josh barely heard her words as he gunned the throttle and they took off.

  Josh woke the next morning to a thin, bluish light seeping past the curtains of the loft and knew immediately that he had slept too long. His limbs felt heavy and his head fuzzy. Judging by the approaching sunrise, it had to be close to 10 a.m.

  He sat up, stretching his arms out in front of him, yawning and shaking the drowsiness from his head. In the winter, sleep came early and lasted long. He couldn’t have been up much past eleven the night before, begging off Frank’s challenge for a rematch of 500 rummy and crawling up to the loft, where Pete was already stretched out on the mattress that had been Nathan’s.

  Pete lay there now, his body curled like a leaf on a newly sprouted plant. Still fast asleep, he looked as young and vulnerable as one, too.

  “Hey, buddy,” Josh said, setting a hand on Pete’s shoulder. “Rise and shine. The day will be half gone before you get out of here.”

  Pete rubbed at his eyes and opened them wide. “Get out of here to go where?”

  “Home, remember? You guys are going home today.”

  “Oh, yeah.” His voice was flat with disappointment.

  “You’ll be back before long. Christmas break, your dad said. You’ll get to sleep at Harry’s place then. And I’ll take you trapping like we talked about. Only I wouldn’t tell your sister if I were you.”

  Pete’s face brightened. “Trapping. Cool. Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”

  “Smells like pancakes down there,” Josh said. Pete was fumbling with the buttons of his flannel shirt, the lower half of his body still encased in the sleeping bag. “Last one to the outhouse gets to do dishes,” Josh added.

  When his feet hit the floor at the bottom of the ladder, Josh was surprised to see Shannon standing at the cookstove flipping the hotcakes. She had pulled her hair back into a long, loose ponytail, but wisps of it curled here and there around her face.

  Shannon looked over her shoulder at Josh, and he smiled slightly in spite of himself. He thought he detected a hint of a smile in return, but it was hard to tell in the shadowy morning light.

  He flung on coat and boots for a quick trip to the outhouse but found himself lingering on his return. There was an almost magical quality to the winter morning. Light filtered sideways through the trees, streaking the sky with cotton-candy pinks and blues. Every twig and bough was bent heavy with snow, forming a collage of arches in the woods. If he’d gotten up earlier, he might have been treated to the sound of an owl hooting its last call before bedding down for the day, but now there was only the silent hush of winter in the woods.

  He had to admit there was nothing like a run to the outhouse on a cold morning to wake a person up and make him feel really alive. But then, Josh reminded himself as he stomped up the steps of the cabin, there were plenty of other things to make a person feel alive—MTV; girls; movies; hockey; even school, where you’d see more people in an hour than you’d see at Willow Creek all year.

  He met Pete at the door, bundled up for his own outhouse visit.

  “Brrr!” Pete said. “How cold is it out here?”

  Josh breathed in deep, filling his lungs with cold air. “Colder than yesterday, I’d say. Ten below, maybe. Let’s take a look.”

  He leaned over to check the thermometer nailed to the window frame. “A balmy eight below. Did you bring a pair of shorts?”

  Pete grinned and shifted slightly. “I don’t think so.” He shifted again. “I gotta go,” he added, pointing at the outhouse.

  “Don’t let me keep you,” Josh said, giving him a little shove in the right direction.

  Shannon handed Josh a plate of steaming hotcakes when he got inside, and he sat and ate as though he hadn’t eaten for days, savoring the warm mix of butter and syrup. Cold granola just wasn’t the same. His father and Frank were huddled on the sofa, with Frank looking over a plat book that mapped borough land while Dad explained where their plot and Harry’s lay.

  “Good breakfast,” Josh said to Shannon between bites. “Any coffee left?”

  Even though he drank coffee every morning with his father, today in front of Shannon and Pete, it made him feel older, more mature.

  Pete had pulled his chair right alongside Josh to eat his own plate of hotcakes.

  Frank stood up from the sofa and stretched. “Finish up those last few bites, Pete. We need to get going. With fresh snow on the road, we’ll have to drive slower on the way out.”

  Shannon leaned over Pete, peering at a pink area on the right side of his forehead, half covered by his hair. She rubbed it lightly.

  “Pete, how did you get this bump?”

  Pete gave Josh a knowing look and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know,” he said.

  “You need to be more careful,” Shannon scolded. “That’s close to your temple.”

  “Al, much obliged for your hospitality,” Frank was saying.

  “Our pleasure,” Josh’s father responded. “Sorry about the, uh, confusion with Nathan. He’ll be out of there when you come back next month.”

  “You mean we won’t get to talk to him again?” Shannon asked. She sounded disappointed.

  “Honey, from what we’ve heard, Nathan’s something of a free spirit. He’ll talk with us on his own terms, wouldn’t you say, Al?”

  “That’s Nathan, all right,” Josh’s father answered with pride.

  It took a few moments for Frank, Shannon, and Pete to put on all of their gear and gather their things. Just before they went out the door, Pete sneaked back to Josh and whispered, “Remember—trapping.”

  Josh grinned and tousled the boy’s hair. “It’s a deal,” he said under his breath.

  He followed the sound of the truck as it faded into the distance. As he listened, he let himself imagine the life Shannon and Pete were returning to, a life like the one that he longed for himself, filled with friends and phone calls and maybe even dates.

  Then the rumbling of the truck faded completely, and a stillness settled over the cabin once more.

  8

  Bears are made of the same dust as we, and breathe the same winds and drink of the same waters. A bear’s days are warmed by the same sun, his dwellings are overdomed by the same blue sky, and his life turns and ebbs with heart-pulsings like ours and was poured from the same fountain.

  John Muir

  Josh read the quote, printed in Nathan’s precise capitals and tacked to the log wall above the bunk where he slept. Alongside it hung pictures of bears carefully clipped from magazines. One showed a polar bear lumbering across a sheet of ice, its clawed toes pointed inward. Another showed a grizzly, its silver-tipped fur gleaming in the sunlight, pawing a bright red salmon from a stream.

  It was the photo of a black bear, standing on its hind legs, its dark eyes staring into the camera, that most struck Josh, bringing to mind the day when Nathan had seemed so willing to sacrifice all of their lives out of devotion to a bear. Josh’s eyes dropped to the shelf beside the bunk. He saw a crude drawin
g, done in ink, of two black bears, paws lifted toward each other, whether in play or in battle, Josh couldn’t tell.

  He looked back at the quote, trying to piece it together with the photos and the drawing. His life turns and ebbs with heart-pulsings like ours and was poured from the same fountain. The words suggested a mystical connection with the animal. Josh couldn’t relate.

  He felt Nathan’s eyes on him, staring. “Who’s John Muir?” Josh asked lightly.

  Nathan sniffed at the pot of soup he stirred and looked up. “A naturalist. He explored the wilds of America at the end of the nineteenth century. There’s a glacier named after him.” Nathan paused to bring a spoonful of broth to his lips. He blew on it, then slurped a taste.

  “Just right,” he proclaimed. He smiled, pleased with his efforts. “Let’s eat.”

  Josh pulled up a chair beside his father at the table. He still felt like an intruder whenever they visited Nathan in Harry’s cabin. It didn’t matter that Frank had sent a note confirming that Harry would allow Nathan to stay, as long as he was willing to make other arrangements whenever the Donaldsons came back.

  Frank had even included a list of the upcoming holiday weekends when he and the kids had tentative plans to visit the cabin and do a little finishing work to get it up to what he called “the wife’s standards.” The first of those weekends began the next day, but Nathan seemed unconcerned. In fact, he seemed downright cheery.

  “Great soup,” his father said.

  Josh brought a spoonful of the watery broth to his lips. A few grains of rice floated among bits of canned carrots and beans. He let the flavor settle on his tongue before he swallowed. It was on the bland side, but it brought a welcome warmth. Nathan kept his cabin chilly.

  “You like it, Josh?” Nathan asked.

  “Sure.”

  “You two can take the leftover soup if you like. I won’t be needing it.”

  Josh watched his father’s eyes fill with concern. “Nathan, you make it sound like you’re going away forever. I wish you’d tell us where you’ll be.”