by Bonnie Leon
— 9 —
Paul punched down a mound of rising bread dough. The image of Carl Gladwell remained imprinted in his mind, as did the expressions of shock and horror on Carl’s widow’s face and those of his children. He’d never forget.
He worked the dough. Life was tenuous. Incidents like what had happened at the Gladwell place could be counted on, especially in this territory. Every day people were snatched from loved ones. And the risk takers, like Kate, walked a more unstable road than most. Something would happen to her. She’d been lucky so far, but that would change. Paul pressed the heel of his hand into the bread and rolled it out, and then slapped it down.
Finally, he divided the dough into two sections. Almost brutally, he shaped them, then placed the yeasty loaves in baking pans and set them in the warmer.
He walked to the window and stared at the trail leading from the back of the house. Kate was a risk taker. He didn’t want to love her. It meant one day he’d lose her. And with her drive to prove herself, that meant probably sooner than later. He imagined life without her—how it would feel if she were to die. An ache swelled inside his chest. It was impossible. He was stuck. What was he going to do?
I’ll break it off. The sooner, the better.
But how would he fall out of love? Maybe if he didn’t see her anymore, the passion he felt would ease and finally fade? Even as Paul reasoned it out, he knew there was no easy fix. He’d allowed himself to fall in love. He’d promised himself never again, but here he was—trapped by love. He rubbed his temples where a throbbing had set in.
It had been six years since he’d lost Susan. And he still thought about her every day. The longing for her remained. But we were married. I haven’t known Kate very long—less than two years. Maybe it will be different with her. Maybe I can forget her.
He had to end it.
The dogs started barking. Paul figured it must be Patrick and stepped onto the porch. He was surprised to see Lily heading toward the cabin. He didn’t want company right now, especially not Lily. When Sassa found out that he’d split up with Kate, she’d be back trying to match up him and Lily.
“Hi.” Lily stopped at the bottom of the steps and lifted a pie to chin level.
“Afternoon.”
“Mama and I made some pies and thought you might like one. It’s still warm.”
“Thanks.” Paul walked down the steps and Lily handed him the dessert. “What kind is it?”
“Rhubarb.”
“One of my favorites.” He breathed in the aroma of sugar, spices, and fruit. “Mmm. Can’t wait to try it.” Sugar glistened on the golden crust and red juice oozed out of slashes cut into the shell. “It’s too early in the year for fresh rhubarb.”
“We still have some that we put up last year. Mama figured we’d better use it.”
“Tell her thank you.”
“I will.”
The two stood silent and awkward. Paul didn’t know what to say. It would be rude not to invite Lily in. “I was just about to make myself some lunch. You hungry? We could have pie for dessert.” He hoped she would say no.
Lily’s brown eyes brightened. “It’s been a long while since breakfast. Lunch sounds good. You sure you don’t mind?”
“’Course not. I can always use a little company.”
“You know . . . Mama—she’s likely to get her hopes up even if you and Kate are . . . well, together.”
“Don’t worry about that.” Paul barely hung on to his cheerful expression as he stepped back and allowed Lily to walk up the steps ahead of him.
“I’m sorry about Mama.” Lily stopped on the porch and looked back at Paul. “She thinks a lot of you.”
“I’ll have to remember to thank her.” He reached around Lily and opened the door, then followed her inside and set the pie on the table. “I have soup simmering.”
“Smells awfully good.” Lily stared at Paul. “It’s embarrassing the way Mama acts, as if I’m desperate. I’m not, you know.”
“I didn’t think you were.” Paul took two bowls out of the cupboard. “The right man will come along.”
Sadness seemed to dim the light in Lily’s eyes. “I suppose so.”
“Your friendship matters to me. You and your family have been good neighbors. And recently your mother hasn’t said a word about us.” ’Course that will change if I break things off with Kate.
Lily lifted her lips in a half smile and raised her eyebrows. “She did send me over with pie.”
Paul chuckled. “That she did.” He took the lid off a pot of soup. “You like split pea?”
“Love it. But the peas aren’t ready yet.”
“I have a few left over from last year.” He grinned. “Like the rhubarb, figured I’d better use it up. I’ll need the jars soon.”
“Hope the weather stays nice. That way we won’t have long to wait for fresh vegetables.” Lily sat at the table and clasped her hands in front of her.
Thankful to have something to do, Paul sliced bread from his last loaf and set the pieces on a plate. He placed it on the table, along with butter and a knife, then set out salt and pepper. After ladling soup into the bowls he placed one in front of Lily, the other across from her. Retrieving two spoons from a drawer, he handed one to her before sitting down.
“It looks good.” Lily stirred her soup. “Smells good too.” She took a slice of bread and buttered it and took a bite. She chewed slowly. “I love fresh butter.”
“I have it only because your mom’s generous enough to share the cream from your cow.”
“We have so much we don’t know what to do with it.”
The two ate quietly. Paul wasn’t sure how he felt about having Lily here. He forced himself to relax. It was just Lily. He’d known her since she was a girl.
An amiable mood settled over the two. “Will your mother worry?” Paul asked.
Lily smirked. “Don’t be silly. I’m with you. The longer I’m away, the better she’ll feel.”
Paul laughed. “Suppose you’re right.”
“This is nice, though. I usually have my brothers talking over each other or arguing about who caught the biggest fish or hauled the most firewood . . .” She shook her head. “It’s always something.”
“They’re just boys. It was the same in my family.” Paul felt a pang of homesickness. He’d enjoyed the wrangling between himself and his brothers.
He’d imagined having a family with Kate. He’d even thought about what their children might look like with her height and auburn hair and amber-colored eyes. Without warning, the son he’d lost flashed through his mind . . . and Susan. She hadn’t looked anything like Kate. He wondered what their son would have looked like. He’d had dark fuzz on his head. He might have had dark hair like Paul’s.
No one could ever replace them. He spooned in a mouthful of soup but could barely swallow it past the lump in his throat. What would he say to Kate?
Eager to see Paul, Kate dropped down above the mirror-smooth surface of Bear Creek and landed on the sandbar. She took in the lush beauty around her and doubted there was any place in the world as stunning as Alaska in June. It was her favorite time of year—long days that stretched into midnight, trees and plants clad in vibrant greens, and wildflowers carpeting the earth.
She tried not to think about what had happened to Carl Gladwell. It was too awful. It had been her plane, her prop . . . her fault. She should have been more careful, looked to make sure all was clear.
She knew better than to go down that trail of thought and turned her mind to Paul and her life in Alaska. She had the job and the man of her dreams. And she’d be spending the next two days with Paul. She couldn’t wait to look into his dark brown eyes and feel embraced by his gentle smile. But after what had happened at the Gladwells’, she wondered what she would see in his eyes. They’d held a haunted expression when she and Paul had parted. It unsettled Kate. She’d seen it in his eyes before, as if he possessed a dreadful secret.
Again the horrible
scene intruded on her thoughts. She fought to hold it back, but it flared to life anyway. Had it been her fault? Had she been careless? She thought through the moments before the terrible sound of the prop hitting Carl. She’d done as she always had. There was no reason to worry, no reason for Carl to be where he’d been—anyway, none that she knew about. How could she have known his little girl had wandered out in front of the plane?
Things like this happened, where no one was at fault. Kate knew that if she wanted to live and work in the bush, she’d have to accept the brutality it could bring. It was part of life here and there was nothing that could be done about it.
She had done the best she could to calm her guilt, but it remained. She heard the motor of a boat and looked out the window and saw Paul standing in Patrick’s dory as it moved across the creek toward her. He stood with his shoulders back, legs slightly apart, hands clasped in front, holding onto his pack and medical bag.
Kate waved. He tossed her a stiff nod. When Patrick reached the sandbar, Kate stuck her head out of the plane door and waved.
“You got any mail?” Patrick hollered.
“Not today.”
“Okay.”
He directed the boat up to the rocks, where Paul leaped out of the boat. Paul waved at his friend and strode toward the plane. He climbed in and tossed his pack on a seat, set his bag beside it, and then pulled the door shut and bolted it.
“Good morning,” Kate said, making sure to sound cheerful.
“Hi.” Barely giving Angel a pat, Paul moved up front and sat. “Where we headed?” He scarcely glanced at her.
“We’ve got a stop in Valdez and Cordova, then we’ll swing around and head to Seward tomorrow.” Kate waited for some kind of touch or hug from Paul, but he didn’t even look at her. She’d expected him to be in a bad mood, but this was more than a mood. Fear tightened in her gut. “All set?”
“I’m ready.” Paul watched the bank.
Kate throttled up. “Sorry I’m late. I slept in.”
Paul didn’t respond.
He just stared out the window. Kate had the sick feeling that something was terribly wrong. Fear jittered through her. “What happened at the Gladwells’ place was a freak accident. I know that you’re upset about it. But you did everything you could. We have to trust God.”
“I’m sorry for blowing up like I did.” Paul looked at her. “I know God has a reason for things like what happened up there. I know it,” he repeated as if trying to convince himself. “But sometimes I don’t understand. Sometimes it’s too much. I’m not strong like you think.”
Kate let off the power and allowed the plane to idle. “Is that what’s bothering you?”
Paul shook his head. “No. It’s more than that.”
Kate caught something in his look that terrified her. “Then what is it?” The silence in the cockpit felt suffocating. “If anyone is to blame, it’s me.”
Paul studied his hands. “It’s nobody’s fault, but you don’t forget something like that.”
“True. But we’ve got to go on. I’ve been fighting my own demons—why didn’t I see him?”
“It’s just like you said—a freak accident.”
He was saying the right things, but his tone seemed stilted. “Just one of those things,” Kate said.
Paul nodded, slowly and thoughtfully. “Yeah. Sometimes it seems like the world’s doing its best to kill off decent people.”
He’s thinking about his wife. He’d never told her what happened, just that she was dead. “I figure that when something like this happens, it makes you think of your . . . wife.”
Paul stared at her, his expression startled and hurting. “It never goes away. Never.” Again he turned his gaze out the window. “Poor Mrs. Gladwell. Can’t stop thinking about her kneeling beside her husband, his blood spilled all over the ground.”
He sucked in a deep breath and turned in the seat so that he faced Kate. “I didn’t want to talk about this now, but there’s no good time.” He looked squarely at her.
“No good time for what?” Kate’s insides trembled. Was Paul about to tell her the secret he’d been carrying inside?
“Death—it’s everywhere.” He shook his head. “We can’t escape it.”
“True. Everyone’s going to die someday.” Kate tried to keep her tone light.
“Yes, but you tempt it, Kate. Every time you get in this plane, you’re asking for trouble.”
“I—”
“Don’t. You know you do. All the pilots do.” He stared at his interlocked fingers in his lap. “I thought I could do this . . .”
“Do what?” Kate’s pulse thumped. She kept her eyes on him, wishing she could stop the unbearable words she feared most.
“I thought I could love you.”
“You don’t love me?” Anguish shot through Kate and she gripped the control wheel.
“I do.” Paul rubbed the back of his neck, then turned his serious dark eyes on Kate. “But I can’t. I just can’t.”
“What do you mean?” Kate tried to quiet rising panic.
Paul’s expression pleaded for her understanding. “Pilots go down all the time, Kate. Next time it might be you. You’ve already had two crack-ups and several close calls. One day your luck will run out.”
“I’ve been flying most of my life. I’m twenty-seven years old and I’m still here. I’m not going to die in a plane crash.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I’m careful and skilled.”
“So was Frank. And so were most of the other pilots who died following their obsession.”
What could Kate say? Being a pilot was dangerous. Finally she sputtered, “What do you want from me? I can’t guarantee that nothing terrible will happen. No one can. And you’re just as bad. You’re in the air nearly as much as I am.”
“You’re right. I could die any day . . . just like you.” He stared out the window. “But as selfish as this sounds . . . if I’m dead, I don’t care.” He looked at her. “If you’re dead, I have to live . . . without you.”
“So, what are you saying?” Kate knew, but she had to ask.
He folded his arms across his chest. “It would be better . . . if we didn’t see each other anymore.”
Kate’s stomach dropped. “But you said you love me.”
“It’s because I love you that I can’t see you.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“I can’t love you. Don’t you see? If I do, I’ll lose you.”
Kate couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “If we break up, you’re losing me. And whether we’re together or not, if something happens to me, you lose me.”
Paul’s expression turned more miserable. “I know it sounds crazy, but the longer we’re together, the more I’ll love you, and when the inevitable happens . . .”
“You can shut off your emotions just like that?” She fought tears.
Paul worked his jaw. He didn’t answer.
“Fine. It’s better that I know now. What a fool I’d be to love a man who can stop caring anytime he wants.” She spat the words at him.
“You don’t understand. It’s not like that. I can’t shut it off. I love you—more every day. Every moment we spend together my love grows stronger.” He shook his head. “When I lost Susan, I swore I’d never love anyone again.” He sat back and looked away. “I’m sorry, Kate. It’s over.”
— 10 —
Kate had been dreading this delivery. She hadn’t seen Paul since they’d ended their relationship. What should she say? Should she act like nothing happened, treat him like any other customer?
When she circled above his cabin, her throat tightened. There was no sign of him. Maybe he was at Susitna Station. She hoped so. Or maybe he wouldn’t recognize the plane. She’d had to bring Jack’s pontoon plane today.
And although she knew eventually they’d work together, she couldn’t bring herself to fly with him yet. Sorrow felt as if it would squeeze the oxygen out of he
r lungs.
She’d imagined spending their days here, fishing the rivers and streams, working in the garden, adding on to the cabin for the children they’d have. She felt the familiar ache in her chest and the frequent tears that kept her eyes red-rimmed. She wiped them away, determined to show Paul that she was fine.
I am fine, she told herself. It’s over, and dwelling on what happened won’t change anything.
The plane splashed down on the quiet stream and she headed toward his dock. When she saw Paul step out of the shed, her stomach turned over.
Angel recognized the stop and ran for the door, her tail wagging hard.
“No. Not today, girl. You stay.” Kate grabbed a box of supplies, and keeping an eye on Angel to make sure she stayed put, she opened the door and stepped out, package under her arm.
She closed the plane door and waited on the dock, watching Paul walk down the path. She loved how he carried his body, broad shoulders back and long strides. When he approached, she couldn’t manage a smile and simply nodded. “This is for you.”
Paul took the box and glanced at the return address. “Good. I’ve been waiting for these—nearly out of gauze and bandages.” He tucked the box under his arm and set his dark eyes on her. “How you been?”
“Good. Busy. You know how it is this time of year.”
“Yeah.” Paul glanced at the creek.
“You been doing much fishing?” Kate asked.
“In my spare time. I have quite a few in the smokehouse.” He glanced at the small wood structure at the edge of the clearing behind his house, then looked at the plane. “So, you’re flying Jack’s plane today.”
“Yeah. I need pontoons.” Kate looked back at the Stinson. “It doesn’t fly as nice as mine.”
“Well, you’ve got the best, right?” He gave her a stiff smile.
Kate nodded, then said, “I better get moving. I’ve got a lot of stops to make.”
“Sure. Take care of yourself. I’ll see you.” He took a few steps up the trail, then stopped and looked back at Kate.
She forced a smile and waved, then climbed into the plane. She moved away from the dock. Tears blurred her vision as she lifted off the water and headed north. She felt no joy in her job—what good was it to continue to fly if it meant living without the man she loved? But as the thought pounded her mind, another niggled at her. What kind of man would insist that she choose between her love of flying and him? Anger swelled, replacing sorrow, and she swiped away the tears. Maybe Paul wasn’t the man she thought he was.
