by Deb Vanasse
Nathan shook his head resolutely. “I’ve got to work it out on my own.”
“But it would be so easy for you to just move in with us while the Donaldsons are here. Josh and I would stay out of your way, wouldn’t we, Josh?”
Josh nodded, though he wasn’t clear how you stayed out of anybody’s way in a 10 Χ 20 cabin. Spend a lot of time on the trapline, he supposed. If the weather continued to be as mild at it had been, up into the twenties for the last few days, that would be easy enough.
“Dad,” Nathan said. “I know you mean well. But being on my own here turned out to be for the best. I never should have spent all that time living with you two in the first place. What I always wanted was to prove myself in the wilderness, on my own.”
Josh watched for his father’s reaction. His eyes looked puzzled, but he kept listening.
“Now this is a greater opportunity for me to prove to myself that I can survive alone, even in the dead of winter.”
Their father stroked at his beard. “Dead is what you’ll be if you’re not careful. The arctic cold is no man’s friend.”
Nathan nodded. “I know it’ll be tough,” he acknowledged. “But I did some reading before I came up here. And I’ve read some in Harry’s books. Think of all the indigenous peoples who’ve survived whole winters in primitive shelters at more extreme temperatures than these. We’re just talking about a few days.”
Their father raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying you’re going to build yourself an igloo like the Eskimos live in up north?”
“Dad,” Josh interrupted. “Nobody lives in igloos anymore, and the Eskimos in Alaska never did.” He’d learned that in seventh-grade social studies.
“Josh is right,” Nathan agreed. “They lived in sod huts.” He stirred at the last bit of soup in his bowl. “And they stayed quite warm. You act like shelters made from natural elements like snow and earth are inferior to those that are manmade.”
Their father pushed his bowl to the side and leaned forward. “All I’m saying is that you should take a few precautions, like telling us where you’ll be. We’d leave you alone, but at least we could find you if . . . if something went wrong.”
A hint of a smile formed above Nathan’s scraggly beard. “The adventure comes with the risk.”
He rose from the table and stacked their bowls beside the dishpan. Josh wondered how long it took him to haul his water on foot, bucket by bucket. The creek was a good quarter mile away. Josh found the task tedious even using a snow machine, a sled, and a forty-gallon pail.
“Good to see you,” Nathan said abruptly. It was his way of dismissing them.
“So you’ll be gone when the Donaldsons get here tomorrow?” Josh’s father asked as he zipped his jacket.
“More or less,” Nathan answered vaguely.
Even after they returned to their own cabin, Josh saw the worry that hung in his father’s eyes.
Josh lit the lantern and hung it in a frosty window. A circle of light spread across the blanket of snow tucked neatly around the cabin. Beyond the solitary trail to Harry’s cabin, no track of man or animal marred the thick cover, as if in the still and dark winter night, life had drained itself from the landscape. Crystalline edges of individual flakes caught the light, glinting upward toward the darkened sky, where a myriad of stars glinted back.
As a child, Josh had heard that every snowflake had a different pattern, unique from all others that had ever fallen. But surely that couldn’t be true. Beyond the circle of light, the two-foot layer of snow stretched for miles into the darkness, across the meadow, over Willow Creek, and up the face of Denali, the great mountain. There the layers deepened and hardened, topping vast expanses of glacial ice that crawled into valleys. And from there the snow stretched on for hundreds of miles, north to windswept Barrow; west to the ice packs of the Bering Sea; east to the frozen depths of the Canadian Arctic; and south to Anchorage, where traffic ground it to gray slush. What was one snowflake in all of that?
He turned back toward the room. A dreary sameness hung about it, despite the scraggly spruce tree that stood propped in one corner, its boughs strung with limp strands of cranberries and popcorn. This Christmas, like the last, had been far from festive, with no lights, few gifts, and no one but his father and his brother to share it with.
His father sat motionless, bent toward a book opened across his lap. The lantern light threw dark lines across his face, and Josh could tell by the blank look in his eyes that he wasn’t really reading but pondering something, most likely his older son.
Josh sat on the sofa beside his father. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and took a deep breath.
“Dad, you know, maybe it would be better, better for Nathan, if he could have this cabin. I mean, he wants to prove himself, living alone. It doesn’t sound like he has any intention of moving back in while we’re here.”
“No, it doesn’t.” His father’s voice sounded small and distant.
Josh shifted where he sat, choosing his words carefully. “Well, if he insists on living alone, wouldn’t he be safer living here than out there somewhere?” He lifted his eyes toward the vast expanse of wilderness beyond the window.
His father sighed and looked at Josh with weary eyes. “He would be safer, but I’m not sure how he’d do all alone, even with a snug cabin to shelter him. Have you noticed how thin he’s getting?”
“He’s always been thin, Dad. Nathan has his standards about what he’ll eat.”
“That’s just it. His standards. I hate to say this about your brother, but sometimes he lets his standards rule over good old common sense. That’s where you and I come in.”
“But Dad,” Josh said. He struggled with the sound of his voice, not wanting to sound urgent or pleading. “It’s not as if we have to abandon Nathan. We could be nearby.” He hesitated. “Wasilla, maybe. We could come out on weekends. I’ll bet we could stay at Harry’s place, when the Donaldsons aren’t there. And when they are, they could check up on Nathan.”
His father put a hand on Josh’s knee. “I know you’d like that.” He paused. “And who knows, maybe it would be best, for you and for Nathan. I’ll have to think about it.”
Josh allowed himself a little smile. It was the most cause he’d had for hope in a long time.
9
The door opened wide and Shannon greeted Josh, her eyes lively and her face flushed.
“Hi! If you came looking for your brother, he just left,” she explained.
Josh looked over his shoulder, noting a line of footprints heading into the woods.
“He’s an incredible person, isn’t he?” Her voice was full of admiration.
“He’s different,” Josh admitted. “Actually, I came for Pete.”
“Oh,” she said. “Come in.”
Pete hopped off the bunk at the sight of Josh. “Guess what I got for Christmas?” Without waiting for a reply, he continued. “A brand new pair of skates!”
Josh grinned. “That’s great. You know, I used to play hockey before we moved out here.”
“You did? My friend Mike plays hockey. I wanna play, too. But first I gotta learn to skate.”
“That helps.”
“Hey, maybe you could teach me. I’ll bring my skates next time.”
“Sure thing.” Josh didn’t want to squelch Pete’s enthusiasm by telling him about the hours of shoveling they’d have to do to clear even a tiny rink on the pond. He shifted uncomfortably, aware of the growing pool of melting snow beneath his boots.
“Say, Pete, you ready for a ride?”
Pete gave him a knowing look. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “I’m ready. I already told Dad you’d be taking me out.”
“Out where?” Shannon asked.
“Oh, just out and about,” Josh replied.
Pete hurried to pull on his snowsuit. Frank stuck his head around the corner of the cabin’s only inside wall, the one that set off an area that Harry used for storage. “Hello, Josh. Good to see you again. Shannon
, did we bring those three-inch nails?”
“We brought two bags of nails. Are those the ones?”
Frank shook his head. “No. I meant to bring a third.” He sighed. “I guess this other set of bunks will have to wait. No running back to town from here.” He paused a moment, staring back where he’d been working.
“Dad might have some three-inch nails,” Josh offered. “Leftovers from when we put our place up.”
“I think I’ll go check on that, then. Pete, you’re going trapping with Josh?”
“Dad!” Pete said. He struggled with his last mitten. “You weren’t supposed to tell.”
“Sorry,” Frank admitted. “But I’m sure your sister won’t interfere. Will you, Shannon?”
Shannon’s eyes narrowed, but she kept her silence. Her father stepped around her to get his coat and hat.
“I can give you a ride over there if you want,” Josh offered. “Pete can ride in the sled.”
“Thanks, but the walk will do me good,” Frank replied. He pulled the door shut behind him, leaving Josh to face Shannon.
Shannon drew in a deep breath and steadied herself. She spoke slowly, deliberately, her eyes fixed on Josh, her words directed at her brother. “Pete, I don’t think that riding around for hours in the cold looking at dead animals is the best way for you to spend your time.”
Josh took a step closer to her. He looked down into her face and spoke in a loud whisper. “And how would you suggest he spend his time here? Surfing the Internet? Watching the home shopping channel? Cruising the malls? In case you haven’t noticed, we don’t have any of your kind of entertainment out here.”
“And who said that was my kind of entertainment?” Shannon sputtered back.
Josh ignored the question. “Trapping is one of the ways we put food on the table. It’s how we get a little money to live on.” Josh glanced over at Pete, who was watching them, wide-eyed. Maybe he’d never seen anyone stand up to his sister before, Josh thought. If not, it was about time he saw someone who would.
“Your brother Nathan doesn’t need to kill animals to survive in the wilderness,” she retorted.
“My half brother Nathan has some strange ideas.”
“I don’t think his ideas are strange. He believes in respecting the earth and all of its inhabitants.”
“And how did that topic come up on his way out the door?”
“We sat and had some herbal tea with him before he left. And we just got to talking, about why he came to live here,” she retorted, her voice smug.
“Let’s see. I’ll bet he said he wanted to prove himself in the wilderness.”
“Something like that.”
“And I don’t suppose he mentioned how our father watches out for him every step of the way, so he doesn’t starve to death or something with all of his noble ideas.”
“As a matter of fact, he said he’d rather live truly on his own. He was looking forward to these few days away.”
Josh remembered his father’s parting words when he’d gone off with the snow machine. “See if you can figure out where your brother’s headed. Maybe you can follow his tracks.”
He sighed. Ever his brother’s keeper. “I don’t suppose he said anything about where he might be going.”
“No,” Shannon said, as proudly as if she herself had shown such independence. “He didn’t.”
Josh glanced at the bunk. All of the bear photos were still tacked to the wall, along with the quote. Nathan would be coming back, anyhow.
“Josh, I’m getting hot. Can we go now?”
“Sure thing, buddy. That is, if your sister’s not going to stand in our way.”
Shannon looked away for a moment. When she returned her gaze, her brown eyes flashed with defiance. “Fine,” she said resolutely. “He can go. But I’m going, too.”
“You’ll get cold.”
She was already reaching for a pair of snow pants. “No, I won’t.”
“You’ll get sore, riding in the sled.”
She pulled on her boots. “I don’t care.”
“You won’t like what you see. Most likely some dead animals.”
She zipped her coat. “I know that.”
“Then why do you insist on coming?”
“If you’re dragging Pete into this, the least I can do is be there. For support.”
Josh let out a little laugh. “For support.” He shook his head. “All right, then. Let’s go.”
The trail was full of bumps, and with the sled behind, Josh had to go extra slow. At the first stop, Pete climbed off the machine with Josh. His sister stayed where she sat.
“Now what?” she asked. The words snapped like a frozen branch.
“Now we check the first set,” Josh replied. He reached over Shannon for his basket of traps and lures. She shifted out of his way. He felt the force of her inattention, her determination to ignore his actions.
“What’s a set?” Pete asked.
Josh slung the leather straps of the basket over his shoulders. The basket hung heavy, like an awkward, oversized backpack.
“I’ll show you,” Josh said. “Follow me.”
He trudged ahead to where a tall, straggly spruce stood above the rest of the trees, following the faint outlines of boot prints from his last visit. Several inches of snow had all but erased them. He looked back to see Pete struggling to plant his boots, one step at a time, in the larger tracks Josh was making, giving the impression that only one walked here instead of two.
When they reached the tall spruce, Josh knelt at its base and brushed the snow away from a gentle mound, revealing a three-sided formation he had fashioned of sticks braced against the trunk of the tree.
“This is a set,” Josh said. “A cubby set. The trap sits at the front and the bait is inside. The animal has to step in the trap to get to the bait.”
“Can I look inside?” Pete asked. He knelt in the soft snow beside Josh.
“Sure.”
Pete peered into the set. “There’s no animal.”
“Nope. No action here.”
The second set showed no sign of action either. Josh felt a familiar discouragement set in. If his father was going to seriously consider Josh’s plan to give the cabin to Nathan and move to Wasilla, they’d need some money to get started. And selling furs was the only hope for that.
At the third stop, Josh brushed the snow from the entrance of the cubby set, revealing the lifeless brown form of a large marten. He sprung open the jaws of the trap and lifted the creature out of its hold so that Pete could have a closer look.
“Can I touch it?” Pete asked. The boy’s eyes held the same mix of curiosity and horror that Josh remembered feeling the first time he’d seen a dead animal up close. For Josh it had been when he was a year or two younger than Pete, on his first deer hunting trip with his dad, back in Montana. One moment the buck had sprung out of the woods and into the meadow, and the next its long legs had crumpled, the graceful animal brought down by a bullet from his dad’s rifle.
As many animals as Josh had seen killed since that day, often by the work of his own hands, he had never grown used to the stiff, cold reality of death, which wrung all life from a creature in one final instant. Maybe no hunter or trapper ever did.
Pete pulled off a mitten and stroked a finger along the thick, dark fur of the marten’s back. “So soft,” he said. “What do you do now?”
“Reset the trap, take the marten home, skin it, and sell the fur,” Josh said matter-of-factly. He lifted the lid of the trapper’s basket and dropped the animal inside. Then he glanced back at the sled, only twenty yards away. Shannon sat with her knees drawn up close to her chest, staring off at the horizon, acting as if she hadn’t seen the dead marten or the trap that caught it, as if by sheer will she could alter this reality.
“Getting cold yet?” Josh spoke the words loudly.
Her response was a flash of her dark eyes, the only part of her face visible above the edge of her red scarf. Her eyelashes and t
he wisps of hair around her face had grown frosty, and Josh saw that her cheeks were pale, not rosy like her brother’s.
Josh knew she had to be chilled, sitting virtually motionless there on the sled for the last hour. She must be sore already, too. Josh felt a twinge of guilt. He could have lined the sled with a few sleeping bags to cushion her.
It was utter foolishness, this insistence that she ride along for Pete’s benefit. She should be back in the warmth of the cabin, reading some book that let her experience nature from a distance, without the harsh realities of cold and death to deal with.
Josh reset and baited the trap, and Pete helped him arrange the pine boughs that camouflaged the set.
“You could catch another one in the same place?” Pete asked.
Josh nodded. “Once you’ve caught one there, you know you’ve got a good spot, where the animals are active.”
“I thought you looked for tracks or something.”
Josh shrugged. “Sometimes. But tracks can be hard to follow.” Even human tracks, Nathan’s tracks. He’d made a brief attempt to locate his brother at the beginning of their expedition, following alongside Nathan’s meandering footprints for a while. Where the tracks plunged into a ravine, Josh had slowed the machine and squinted, trying to make out where they led so he could pick up the trail on the other side. But he lost sight of them, and when he drove around to the upper edge, he didn’t see where they came out, either. At least he could tell his father he’d tried.
“Climb back on the machine, buddy. Next stop’s the creek.”
Pete scrambled onto the seat. Josh glanced at Shannon and said, “That’s where you get out and get your blood moving.”
Shannon did climb out of the sled when they reached the creek. She followed as Josh and Pete picked their way along the frozen bank.
Josh turned to Pete. “Here we’ll look for tracks.”
Pete looked puzzled, so Josh explained. “Mink like to travel along the frozen creek. With this new snow, we should see some fresh tracks to tell us where to hang the snares.”
They tromped on, their boots crunching and squeaking against the dry snow. The sky above them was the palest of blues, lit only by an angle of light. All around, the snow seemed tinged in blue as well. Josh found his eyes seeking out other shades—the purer white of birch bark, the grayish trunk of a cottonwood, the dark branches of the spruce heavy with their burden of snow. Then, through the trees, he spotted a patch of gray-white, not more than fifteen yards away.
