Pathways (9780307822208)

by Bergren, Lisa T.

  “How’d you get into it in the first place?” Bryn asked.

  “Father was a vet and always fostering wounded or abandoned wildlife in New Hampshire. An owl with a wounded wing. A falcon. Ferrets. Anything you can name. We had a couple of bears when I was growing up. People brought him animals from all over the Lower 48. It became the family business.” The teapot whistled, and he turned to take it from the stove and pour each a steaming mug. “Enough about me. How do you find Summit this year, Bryn? I wasn’t around the last two times you visited. But I well remember the year you two were ten or eleven. Inseparable, you were.”

  She could feel the heat of Eli’s embarrassment, but she concentrated on Ben. “It’s pretty here. But a little … far away from everything for my taste.”

  Ben sat down and looked at her from over the rim of his mug. “Takes awhile. You’ll see it eventually—what brings your father here.”

  “Besides a break from my mother?” It was out before she realized what she was saying, but there was something about Ben that invited confidences. His open kindness, lack of judgment.

  He smiled and nodded, seeming to sense that now was not the right time for eye contact. “Alaska calls a body home. Your father’s got it in his blood. I’d wager you’ll soon have it in yours as well. Once it’s in there, there isn’t a way to get it out. No way to remedy the ache when you’re away other than to visit. Or move here permanent.”

  Bryn smiled in confusion. “You make it sound like a disease.”

  “Some might call it that, yes.”

  He was puzzling, this wizened old man. She wondered what it was about Ben that her father had disliked, but for the life of her she couldn’t figure it out. He was a genuine, sweet gentleman. Maybe Peter was afraid Ben would see into his soul as he was seeing into Bryn’s. Afraid that he’d open up to the old guy when he wasn’t ready to open up to anyone. Her thoughts floated until Ben brought another cup of tea.

  They talked of Eli’s blossoming business plans and his parents, about Bryn’s studies, her mother in Newport, her grampa in Boston—it hit her then that Ben reminded her of her beloved grandfather. How she missed Grampa Bruce’s smiling eyes and the way he would trace his old finger down her jaw tenderly when he was telling her something he wanted her to remember forever …

  When their mugs were empty, Eli and Bryn said good-bye, promising to come back the following week to meet his “babies.”

  Eli followed Bryn down to the canoe, allowed her to get to the front, and then pushed off of a large rock without ever getting his boots wet. As they paddled away, he asked quietly, “What did you think?”

  “About?”

  “About Ben.”

  “I think he’s a very nice old man. I don’t know why my father doesn’t like him.”

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “I might.”

  “Want to go fishing?” Eli changed subjects. “I can teach you an old Tlingit tribe method and catch you a passel of trout for dinner.”

  “Yes. I’d like that,” she said. “But let’s stop and get my dad’s fly-fishing rod too. I want to try my hand at it.”

  “You got it.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Eli was showing Bryn how to stand on the logjam and use Ben’s dip nets to try to catch trout the way the natives caught chinook salmon on the Pacific rivers. Ben had handcrafted the nets years before; they weren’t as effective as fly rods with the trout, but they were twice as much fun.

  As Bryn stood spread-eagle over the rushing river, on top of logs that waved a little under her weight, she grinned. It was risky, this. With one misstep, she’d be in the frigid water and heading toward the lake through the small rapids. She couldn’t remember the last time she had the tingle of anticipation running down her back, the relentless smile on her face from pure excitement. A dark form slithered toward her, and she dropped the long net. Too late. She studied the silver water a little farther upstream, hoping to give herself a better chance at dunking the net in time.

  Across the water, Eli whooped with glee. “Got one! He’s nineteen inches long if he’s an inch!” he shouted. “Get to it, ya Californian. If you don’t catch at least one, you don’t get to eat tonight.”

  “I’m working on it,” she tossed back, her eyes still on the water. There! She plunged her net downward so hard and so deep the hand carved pole nearly slipped from her grasp. She gave out a little yelp, and Eli immediately responded in concern.

  “Bryn?”

  “I’m okay. Just missed a fish and almost lost the net.”

  “Don’t do that. Ben’ll kill us.”

  She glanced over at him and then did a double take. He was so cute, with his old airman’s cap on backward. His hazel eyes studied her, and she deliberately looked back to the river. “Catch a fish, Bryn, or you won’t eat. Don’t lose the net or Ben’ll kill us,” she mimicked. “I can’t win,” she pretended to whine.

  “You’ll get the hang of it,” he said. She could barely hear him over the water’s rush.

  Five minutes later, after several more failed attempts, she came up with her own prize trout. She hooted with glee, smiling over at Eli, and he grinned back at her. He was scrambling over the old silvered logs to get to her and help her with the fish when a shot rang out, from high up, in the direction of the glen over the ridge behind them.

  Eli froze, then frowned. He studied the green peaks, and his head shook back and forth slightly.

  “What was that?” Bryn said lowly.

  He kept shaking his head for a moment. “That came from the area where the Dall’s sheep have been grazing.”

  “Hunters?”

  “Poachers, this time of year.”

  Bryn frowned.

  “I’m going to go check it out. Stay here, Bryn. Or go back to the cabin.”

  “No way. I’m coming with you.”

  His head whipped around. “Not a good idea. I’m going to sneak up on them. If it is poachers, I want to get a good description so I can report them.”

  “Two witnesses are better than one.”

  Those hazel eyes studied hers. Fear, concern, and admiration all ran across his face. He paused a moment longer, then gave her a nod of assent. “We’ll have to move quickly. Ready?”

  She licked her lips. What had she gotten herself into? But as Eli gripped her hand in his and they made their way across the logs to the other side and began bushwhacking up the side of the mountain, across several streams, and through the forest, she smiled in satisfaction and anticipation. It was an adventure. Wasn’t that why her dad wanted her here? To see Alaska in its natural beauty? Learn to love the land as he did? What better way to do that than to do some surveillance on a couple of lousy poachers?

  A thousand feet up they paused and took deep drinks from the canteens at their waists. Another shot rang out, and automatically they ducked. Looking about, they saw no one.

  “Over that next ridge,” he said, gesturing toward a ragged, rocky hump another five hundred feet away, almost straight up. “We should be able to see them from there.” They began moving again, slowing down over the loose shale and moraine left from the receding glaciers that had once dominated this valley. “Find your foothold and a handhold before you move,” Eli told her sternly.

  She swallowed a defensive retort, but she knew Eli was right. They were one handhold away from a long, prickly slide down the face of the mountain. The adventure was quickly becoming less fun. But she was determined now. Nothing was going to make her turn back.

  In fifteen minutes they reached the ridge and scrambled on their stomachs to look over into the next shallow valley where the sheep loved to lounge about. From the Baileys’ cabin they could often see their white forms frolicking in play or standing like statues as they grazed. Now the sheep were definitely on the move, making their way across impossibly narrow ledges, leaping five feet at a time, higher and higher, away from danger. Below them they could see two men hacking up an old ram, obviously intent on taking
the head home as a trophy.

  Bryn shivered. She didn’t know if it was from the wind, omnipresent at this elevation, or from fear. “Do you know them?” she whispered.

  “No,” he said softly. She studied Eli out of the corner of her eye. His face was red and his jaw tensed. He was obviously enraged at the poachers, this invasion of his valley. There was something primal and all masculine in his demeanor that made Bryn’s scalp tingle in anticipation. “You can’t go out there,” she said. “They’re armed, Eli.”

  “Let’s at least get a good description for the authorities; they look to me to be about in their midforties. Dark hair on both. By their duds, I’d guess they were Alaskans, not Outsiders. If one’s an outfitter, he could lose everything.”

  Bryn nodded. What did she know? She had her own Eddie Bauer shirt and pants on today, purchased just before she came. “If they’re from here, why poach? Why not wait until hunting season?”

  “Maybe one’s a hunter who wants a jump on the season and is willing to pay the right price. Or if they’re both just poaching, they’ll probably sell the head. The Chinese will pay a good price for the horns. They’ll grind them up and sell the powder as an aphrodisiac. And they use the eyes as a supposed remedy for cancer. Or maybe they’ll sell the whole thing, mounted, to a lodge somewhere. There’re lots of ways to make money.”

  “Eli.” She was staring straight ahead. One of the hunters had glanced their way, then abruptly stopped, as if he had spotted them.

  Eli looked his way too. “Time to go, Bryn. Remember their faces.” Together they scrambled backward and rushed down the rocks below them. The sharp shale bit into Bryn’s hands, and she winced as she was cut. If it hadn’t been for her tough jeans, her legs would’ve been a mess too. They were nearing the bottom when a low voice yelled, “Hey! Stop!”

  “Run, Bryn,” Eli said. “We have to get to the trees. We’ll hide there.”

  A shot rang out, and the rocks split five feet to Bryn’s left. She froze, hands up.

  “Keep moving,” Eli demanded, taking her hand and yanking her forward. “That was just a warning. We won’t get another.”

  She could hear the men running behind them, grunting and swearing. Slipping and sliding over the loose rocks as they had. The ground leveled out a bit, and Bryn welcomed the cool shade of the forest. They ducked low branches and dodged trees, sometimes side by side, holding hands, other times with Eli in front, breaking trail for her. He turned a sharp corner and rushed down a steep hillside. Behind her, Bryn could hear the men talking quietly. Eli disappeared in the foliage, and Bryn’s heart leapt up to her throat.

  She glanced around frantically. “Eli? Eli!” she called in a stage whisper. A strong hand grabbed her forearm and yanked her roughly to the ground. He covered her mouth with his other hand, preventing her from screaming, and pulled her deeper beneath the underbrush next to a decomposing log. “We can’t outrun them,” he whispered. “Hopefully, they’ll think we went down this steep bank and give up on us.”

  They panted for air, trying to be quiet, hoping to gain control before their pursuers caught them. Five feet to their right, they heard branches breaking and the heavy breathing of the pursuing men. They’re right on top of us. Bryn pulled herself in a little more, as if she could shrink to the size of the log and disappear, and squeezed her eyes shut. Her ears pounded with her pulse, as if they could hear every last sound in the forest.

  “Better a fine than a manslaughter charge,” the taller of the two said to his companion.

  “You’re the idiot who cracked a shot at them. And Dall’s fines are up to five hundred.”

  “It’s my plane the feds would come after. I’d lose my license. Ah, they were just a couple of kids. Hikers. We scared them. By the time they get to a radio, we’re outta here.”

  The other man kept panting, obviously thinking as he looked down the hillside. “By their tracks, it looks like they ran down this bank. We could check it out.”

  “And what are you going to do if you catch them?”

  He didn’t answer, obviously hadn’t an answer. “Let’s go,” he finally said. They turned and made their way back through the forest. The cracking of branches and cones beneath their feet faded into the distance.

  “I think they’re gone,” Eli whispered into her ear, his arms still around her. Bryn slumped in relief, realizing she had tensed up from skull to heel. Then she turned and gave him a long hug.

  “That was scary,” she whispered.

  “I’m sorry, Bryn. I never should’ve taken you up there.”

  “Hey, it was me who pushed it. No apology needed.” His face was a mere two inches from hers, and after the rush of adrenaline, the relief of escape, she felt a magnetic attraction to Eli. He was so handsome, and he had her in his arms. She tipped up her chin, inviting him to kiss her.

  Desire rushed through his eyes, and he leaned forward, his breath hot on her face, as if he intended to answer that call. But with a rueful smile, he pulled away and rose, offering her a hand. “Come on. We better get back to the cabin to radio in a report on those guys.”

  Bryn tried to swallow, her mouth dry. She made herself smile, covering her disappointment. What is it about this guy? He is so different! Why didn’t he kiss me? “Yeah. Better pick up Ben’s nets too on the way,” she said.

  They slowly descended back to the river and divvied up the four fish for dinner. “I don’t think they’ll come this way again,” he said, staring at her as if he wanted to say more. “Think they were from over the pass. Probably landed on a lake over there and hiked across, is my guess.”

  “Okay,” she said, pushing a rock with her toe in an effort to find something to do with herself. “I had fun today, Eli. The fishing … Even our surveillance trip, up until they fired at us.”

  He grinned at her. “Me too. See you tomorrow?”

  “I hope so. Let me know what the people in town say about the poachers.”

  “I will.” He reached up then and tenderly ran two fingers down her jawbone, his eyes staring into hers. Abruptly he dropped his hand, turned, and walked away, heading to his side of the lake.

  Nothing like a thousand yards of Alaskan water between us to cool things down, she thought, turning to head home. He obviously wanted to touch her, kiss her. What held him back? Where was the key to unlock the mystery of Eli Pierce?

  When Eli took off in his plane a few days later, Bryn fought the loneliness as well as the admission that she was actually missing him. And when he was back at Summit, taking her up to the ridge to photograph the Dall’s sheep, hiking, flying a couple times, Bryn knew that the spark she had felt the first time she saw him coming down from his cabin was growing into a billowing flame. The way he looked at her so tenderly, the way she felt when he was near, the way he tentatively reached for her hand—usually with the excuse to help her past a difficult area on a trail, but then he’d keep his grasp firm long past any real threat of slipping—it all left an imprint on her memory as clearly as a photo placed in a treasured album.

  The thought of him made a warmth grow in her belly and spread up to her face. If he would only kiss her! Then she’d know that he felt more for her than simply friendship, respect, platonic love. Every guy she had dated had been eager to kiss her, trying to maneuver her into position at the first chance. But Eli … he’d had plenty of opportunities and each time had pulled away. What was his deal?

  She dug her paddle into the water beside the canoe, on this day gliding to the north end to visit Benjamin White. Bryn, eager for Peter to give him another chance, had talked her father into going with her. Ben had brought home two black bear cubs the last time he was out on a job, and today Peter and Bryn would get to see them.

  Ben came out onto his deck as the canoe crunched over the rounded pebbles of his beach. Often the waves blew from the south end of Summit Lake, ending on Ben’s shore and working the rocks into gently rounded gravel, the kind people would put in the bottom of a fish tank in colors of a winter sk
y: gray and silver and black and white. Even now the waves lapped over the beach in a soothing wash and swoosh that reminded Bryn of the ocean on a mild day.

  “Greetings, neighbors,” Ben called, walking down to them. “Come to meet my new babies?”

  “If we can,” Bryn said. She stepped out of the canoe and accepted his warm, steadying hand.

  “Sure, sure, come ahead.”

  Bryn turned to watch her father and Ben exchange awkward greetings. After shaking, Peter shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced over at Bryn with an I’m-doing-this-for-you look. Ben turned away first, to lead them up the stairs and inside the snug little house. It was a welcome treat to enter his home, which had gas for the stove and a generator for lighting and emergency heat. He kept it very neat and orderly. She knew that every three months Eli flew in a new propane tank for him from Talkeetna, removing the old one and taking it to town to refill. In the winter, he had an extra on hand in case Eli couldn’t get into the high mountain valley. And today, like a counterattack against the gray afternoon, three lamps burned brightly.

  The baby bears were in a pen in one corner. The coal-colored creatures were small and their coats thin. “Logging operation must’ve driven the mother away,” Ben explained, picking one up. The cub wrapped his thick arms around Ben’s, and nuzzled toward his chest as if wanting to nurse. “I’m feeding them round the clock.”

  “With bottles?” Peter asked, reaching to pet the thick fur.

  “Yep.”

  “How’re the two that you told us about before?”

  “Macbeth is doing well. She’s established her own territory. Hamlet is still a troublemaker, rummaging for food in the garbage. Birdfeeders are his favorite.”

  “What will happen to him?” Bryn asked.

  “We’re going to capture him next week and move him deeper into the wilderness. Hopefully so far that he won’t find his way out. Want to hold her?”

  “Yes.” She accepted the tiny bear and stroked her black fur. “Ouch! Those claws are sharp!”

  “Here,” Ben said. “Let me get you her bottle. That’ll keep her busy.”