Tonight they would be alone, too. Only the two of them in the tent she would stop and retrieve at the overnight layover site. Unless Pete and Buck camped early and they caught up to them, she and Sandy would make their own camp alone tonight. Alone, but together. Most of the other mushers would take advantage of Tom Goodman's generosity and stay another night in Duluth. But she and Sandy would make camp tonight alone. Together.
Tonight — she had decided in the wee hours of the morning — tonight she would tell Sandy of her love for him and demand the truth from him in return. Love was too precious and too hard to find to toss away without a good fight to hold onto it first.
They reached the layover site just before noon, and Sandy decided they would eat their noon meal there. He helped her dismantle the tent and pack it on her sled before they examined the food the hotel cook and the Dubuques' cook had prepared for the separate packs. While they shared whatever looked good with each other, Laura didn't push Sandy into conversation, following his lead when he limited comments to the food or the fast trail.
"We'll hit Grand Marais early tomorrow, since we don't have to break trail like we did on the trip down," he said at one point.
"Um hum."
"If we had a full moon, we could probably drive on in tonight. Probably make it in by a little after midnight."
"Oh." Laura searched her mind for a reason not to agree to that. "Like you say, the moon's not full. It might be dangerous."
"I suppose," Sandy agreed with a shrug. "Well, if you're done eating, we should get moving."
She jumped up and reloaded her sled, while Sandy did the same. After they hit the trail again, she worried all afternoon about him wanting to drive on into Grand Marais that night, wondering if he would chance pushing on. Finally she realized the uselessness of worry. If she didn't have a chance to talk to him tonight, she would do it after they got home. Sandy Montdulac would know she loved him before another twenty-four hours passed.
#
Laura stumbled one more time, then whoa'ed her dogs. "Sandy," she called, knowing he probably couldn't hear her since he had taken the lead a half hour ago. As she expected, he kept on going. Instead of following, she headed her dogs into a clearing she could barely see among the trees. He'd come back for her as soon as he noticed she wasn't behind him.
They'd made even better time than they'd thought, not stopping any more often than necessary to rest the dogs and not slowing to ride side-by-side and exchange conversation. From the landmarks around her, it was only about another three hour trip home. But if Sandy did decide to go on in, her dogs needed a rest first. And she needed to wait until her eyes adjusted to the full darkness, which would soon fall. Right now the shadowed half light between daylight and night made her mis-gauge her footfalls too often when she trotted beside the sled instead of riding the runners.
Deciding she was going to have a hot meal, she dropped her snow anchor and headed for a deadfall, where she could find dry wood in the center. She soon had a fire going and, when Sandy pulled into the camp site, she was searching in her pack for the beef steaks she'd requested from the Dubuques' cook.
He parked his team and headed for the fire. "Sorry. My mind was wandering and I didn't pay any attention to how dark it was getting."
"Anything you want to talk about?" she asked.
"No." He glanced at her, but she couldn't make out his features in the dim light.
"We can go on, if that's what you want," she said reluctantly. "I'm going to have something to eat first, though."
"No," he repeated, and she stifled a relieved smile. "No sense taking any chances. I might even be talked into cooking those steaks if you ask me nice."
"You're afraid I'll burn them!" She put a teasingly disgusted tone into her voice. "I'll have you know, I've been practicing with Katie. And what makes you think one of these steaks is for you?"
"A little thing like you can't eat both of them." Sandy chuckled and picked up a branch to poke the fire. "We need to let the wood burn down to coals first, or those steaks will char. You want me to help you get the tent up?"
She did, and a while later, they also had the dogs fed and their own food ready to eat. However as hard as Sandy tried to keep the conversation flowing about innocuous things, he jumped away from her like a cat on a scalding hot tin roof whenever she came too close. The last straw came when she carried their plates into the tent, where he had the kerosene heater glowing with warmth, and he took his plate from her. Instead of sitting cross-legged on his bedroll to enjoy his food, as Laura did, he remained standing and picked up his steak with his fingers to take a bite.
"Good," he said. "I've got some bread in my food pack. I think I'll stick a slice on each side of this and eat it that way while I check on the dogs."
"Damn it, Sandy!" Laura yelled at him. "Sit down! I'm not going to lunge at you and try to have my way with you!"
In the lantern light his shoulders heaved and his eyes darkened. He glanced at his plate, then set it down on his bedroll and straightened.
"It's not you I'm worried about, Laura," he said in a quiet voice. "I think I'll take my bedroll and sleep on my sled tonight."
"Please don't," she said in a softer voice. She put her own plate aside. As hard as she had worked to make the steak exactly right, at the moment it looked about as appealing as a burned shoe. "Sandy, please. I want to talk to you tonight. I want to tell you — "
"Don't!" He stared at her so longingly it was all she could do not to rise and lunge at him anyway. "Don't," he said in that quiet voice again. Then he knelt in front of her and reached out to cup her cheek.
"You don't understand, Laura. If we don't say it, somehow it will be easier to make believe it never was."
"That's a lie, Sandy. Nothing will make it any easier."
He dropped his chin to his chest and shook his head, his arm falling away from her face. Reaching down, she picked it up again, clasping his rough hand between her own.
"I love you, Sandy."
"No. No, don't."
She ignored him. "I love you, and I'll love you until the day I die. No one will ever again make me feel the way you do. I don't understand why you won't admit you love me, too, because I feel inside that you do. But as humbling as it is, I can't keep from wanting you to know I love you, even if I never hear you say it in return. I love you, Sandy."
He curled his fingers around her hand and reached his free hand up to place the index finger under her chin. Gently, very slowly, he leaned forward and kissed her. A soft kiss, a clinging kiss. A kiss with so much finality in it, it brought tears to her eyes as the last flicker of hope died inside her.
He moved back and said, "I can't, Laura. I won't. You'll find someone else someday."
She repeated his words. "I can't. I won't. But believe this, Sandy. Even though I know I'm not woman enough to make you happy, I do want that for you. I want you to find someone who has whatever it is I'm lacking and build a life with her. You're too wonderful a man to be alone the rest of your life."
He surged to his feet. Fists clenched, he glared down at her. "Damn it, you still don't understand. There will never be anyone else. I love you too much, Laura. Too damned much!"
She gasped, but he was through the tent flap before she could stop him. For just an instant she thought about going after him, but some instinct held her back. She did get to her feet and hold the tent flap back so she could see out. She had to search through the darkness, but finally she saw him. He stood at the edge of the clearing, his shadowed body almost a part of a huge pine, whose branches didn't begin to spread until high overhead.
His back was to her, hands shoved into his coat pockets and shoulders bowed. Keever was near him, and the dog strained against his chain, trying to get to his master. Sandy slowly turned toward him, then dropped into the snow and clung to the dog's neck. He was too far off for Laura to hear if he said anything, but she could have sworn she heard a sob carried on the night breeze. Or maybe it was only her own b
eginning tears.
She closed the tent flap and removed her coat and boots before she climbed into her bedroll with the rest of her clothing still on. Stuffed with goosedown, her bedroll would keep her warm even in the sub-zero night, but she laid her coat over her, also. The small heater didn't help much in the recesses of the tent.
She never heard Sandy come in. She thought her agony and tears would keep her sleepless, but she drifted off after her tears were only half exhausted — or at least feeling as though there were plenty left. And perhaps there would be more bitter tears shed in the days — and nights — to come. Tonight her body, exhausted from too little sleep the past three nights and the hard day on the trail, overrode her mind again and she slept.
***
Chapter 23
No word ever came from Duluth, so Laura assumed George Dyer had suffered whatever punishment Judge Nordic gave him without the humiliation of a trial. Sandy very effectively kept his distance during the next few weeks of final training, using Pete as a buffer between them and disappearing into his own house in the evening as soon as he cared for his dogs. Even the excitement of finally being in reach of participating in the Alaskan race couldn't bring Laura completely out of the resulting dejection.
The day before she and Pete were to leave for Alaska, David and Cristy got married at the huge log house at Ladyslipper Landing. Tom Goodman had refused to take "no" for an answer when he offered to let David and Cristy be married there and to host the reception. With Tracie for a flower girl and Laura for Cristy's maid of honor, Sandy had no choice but to rub shoulders with her the entire day. Sandy gave Cristy away, his face beaming with pride, and Laura hadn't seen him so relaxed in weeks as during the ceremony. However afterwards, during the reception, his moroseness reappeared.
Katie and several of her granddaughters prepared the reception, combining it into a send-off dinner for Laura and Pete. All David's and the Goodman's friends came out from Grand Marais, as well as some of Pete's friends and relatives. The house was crowded, and instead of enjoying the celebration, Laura had to make a huge effort to paste a smile on her face.
The first chance Laura got, she slipped unnoticed out the kitchen door. On the mud porch she jammed her feet into her boots and took her cloak from the peg. Outside she leaned her head back and stared at the velvet black sky, striving for the peace and contentment the jubilant enthusiasm inside the house made impossible.
A movement caught her attention, and she glanced toward Blancheur to see a small figure rise to its feet beside the sled dog. Tracie. What on earth was she doing out here in the frigid cold? It must be thirty below, but at least the wind wasn't blowing. She walked toward the child, and Tracie stood still, waiting for her.
"Tracie, aren't you cold?" she asked.
"No, Miss Laura." Her voice held a hint of tears. "I just wanted to be by myself for a minute. I'll come back in now."
"Is there something wrong, Tracie?" She knelt in front of her, tipping her chin up and trying to see her face in the darkness. "Do you want to go out to the kennel and talk instead of going back into the house right away? It's at least a little warmer there."
Tracie shrugged her small shoulders. "It don't matter. It won't make nothin' different."
Laura stood and took her hand. "We don't know unless we try, darling. Come on."
Tracie followed reluctantly. Inside the kennel Laura dropped her hand long enough to put a couple logs in the wood heating stove and light a lantern in the office. When she sat down in the desk chair, opened her cloak and held out her arms, Tracie ran to her, sobbing her little heart out.
For a long time Laura could only hold Tracie close and let her cry. The child sobbed and choked so hard it scared Laura, and there was no way Tracie could talk and tell her what was wrong. Tears leaked from Laura's eyes, also, and she pushed Tracie's hood back, laying her head on the child's soft hair.
At last Tracie pulled back from the soaked collar on Laura's dress and sniffed mightily. Laura shifted her in order to reach her handkerchief in her dress pocket. She wiped the tears off, then held the hanky to Tracie's nose.
"Blow, darling."
Tracie complied, but the minute she looked up at Laura, new sobs broke free.
"Oh, darling," Laura said, hugging her close again. "Tracie, sweetheart, please try to stop crying long enough to tell me what's wrong."
She gulped, and said in a broken wail, "I . . . I don't want . . . to . . . to go awaaaaaay!" She flung her small arms around Laura's neck and buried her face again.
"Oh my God," Laura whispered. Bending her head, she held the child tighter, her heart breaking anew. She'd fought this knowledge every day while she tried to come to terms with Sandy's plans to leave, but it wouldn't be denied now. It hit her full force. She was losing this precious child from her life as well as the man she loved.
"Oh, Tracie," she moaned in a heartbroken voice as she rocked Tracie and herself in the chair. "I don't want you to go, either. Or your father. But I can't stop him."
She thought the child hadn't heard her, but after a long span of shared misery, Tracie controlled herself long enough to speak, although she wouldn't relinquish her hold on Laura's neck.
"Who can talk my Daddy into staying here? Aunt Cristy tries, but Daddy goes into his room and shuts the door. Then he goes out real late and takes Keever for a run all by himself with the sled. I seen him do that bunches of times, when everyone thoughts I was sleepin'. And now Aunt Cristy's married and there's nobody to even talk to Daddy."
Oh, Lord, how much sleep had this tiny child lost during the last few weeks? Why did no one ever think of how it would effect the children when they wallowed in their own misery?
She had, though, Laura thought to herself. But she hadn't had any right to interfere in Sandy's treatment of Tracie or make judgments on his decisions. Had she? A slow burn of anger began, the heat drying the tears on her cheeks.
She rocked Tracie until she felt her slacken in her arms and fall asleep. Sensing more than knowing for sure that anyone else was there, she glanced up to see Sandy in the office doorway.
"I noticed she was gone and was looking for her," he said, inclining his head toward Tracie. "I'll take her over to bed now."
"How long have you been standing there?" she demanded in a quiet yet unyielding voice.
"About ten seconds. Why?"
She studied him intensely. Only the child in her arms kept her from letting the lava-like anger inside her erupt. Finally she rose to her feet and handed Tracie to him.
"Put her to bed," she ordered.
"That's what I said I was going to do."
"And you always follow through on what you say you'll do, don't you, Sandy?" she hissed in a low voice. "Even when it's your own damned stubborn pride forcing you to make a wrong decision."
He stepped back as though she'd struck him. "Stay out of my business, Laura."
She cocked her head and looked at him. "No. No, I won't, Sandy. Not for my sake, either. I've learned something, Sandy. I've learned that there are more important things in my life than my own goals. David told me lots of times that I was spoiled, but he never acted like that was a bad thing. I doubt very much he would have fallen in love with Cristy so easily, however, if I'd been more like her. More giving and not so self-centered."
"I don't consider you like that, Laura," Sandy said in a voice that sounded as though he'd rather bite his tongue off than say the words.
"It's not your opinion that matters to me right now," she said honestly. "I laid my heart at your feet once, and you rejected it. Maybe I grew up a little bit then, but it wasn't until I saw what my love for you was doing to this tiny child that I really felt a surge of maturity."
"Laura — "
"Shut up, Sandy." She backed over to the desk and leaned against it, placing her hands on either side of her. "You're leaving here because I love you, aren't you, Sandy?" He glanced away from her, but she said, "Look at me, Sandy. Now."
"Let me get Tracie to be
d, then we'll talk."
"No. No, you don't even have to answer me, Sandy. I know it's true. If it weren't for me, you could stay here in Grand Marais and raise Tracie among the people who have come to love her."
"Damn it, Laura, you've got it wrong again!"
"Then tell me why, Sandy. I've spent the last ten minutes holding that child in my arms, listening to her sob her heart out because you were taking here away from here. Tell me why you're doing that, Sandy."
Despite her demand, he avoided her eyes again. "Because I love you, Laura," he admitted after a moment. "You're right, and I lied. I told you that our last night on the trail, on the way back from Duluth."
She let out her breath in a whoosh and shook her head. "That doesn't make sense. It didn't make sense when you said it then, and it sure as hell doesn't make sense now."
"Don't curse, Laura."
"I'll damned well curse if I want to!" she hissed. Her fingers gripped the edges of the desk until she thought it would surely break off. Suddenly she realized how cold they were, and she pulled them free, shoving her hands into her cloak pockets. Sandy turned and started out the door.
"I'm not going to Alaska tomorrow," she flung after him.
He halted as though the door had slammed on his face. Slowly he turned back around. "It won't make any difference, Laura. After the Northshore Race, I had several offers from kennel owners around Duluth. And there was one from a man up in Thunder Bay, across the Canadian border. That man also has a brother over in Russia. He said if I didn't want to come to work for him, his brother would be interested in my coming over there."
"You know," Laura said in a musing voice, "maybe I was wrong to fall in love with you. I guess I didn't know you at all. I thought the man I was falling in love with was a strong man, not a coward who runs away from problems."
"Please try to understand, Laura," he said in a tortured voice instead of the angry one she expected. "If it were only me, I'd have stayed in Alaska and fought the Dyers until the bitter end. And I'd stay here now, if I could. But with Tracie involved, I can't. I can't take a chance that they'll end up getting her away from me."
Winter Dreams Page 26
