Pathways (9780307822208)

by Bergren, Lisa T.

  It took her an hour to put in the sixty stitches, and she was actually relieved when Eli passed out again after watching her poke and pull the 3-0 Silk as she sewed the gashes shut. She paused to check his pupils with her penlight.

  “He’s fine, Bryn.”

  “Appears that way,” she responded. “Just passed out again, I guess.” She cast a worried glance in Eli’s direction and resumed her stitching. Before long, Eli was sleeping fitfully, on top of an old bearskin rug—appropriate, Bryn mused—and covered in a Hudson’s Bay blanket.

  “Think we ought to radio for a helicopter to take him out?” Bryn asked.

  “Nah. He’s survived worse. Besides, you’ve given him better care than old Doc Towne would’ve.”

  “We could have him sent to Willow instead of Talkeetna’s clinic. He’d get good care there.”

  “No. I tell you, he’s been through worse.” Grunting from the effort, he went down to his knees and gently, quietly pulled Eli’s shirt upward. There, at Eli’s side, were four foot-long scars, red and angry even though they were obviously several years old.

  Bryn gaped. “What happened?”

  “Year after you and your dad left last. Eli and I were out hunting, and the griz came out from nowhere, charging us. Eli got off a round, hit him right between the eyes.”

  “That didn’t kill the bear?”

  “One of the thickest formations of bone, right there,” Ben said, gesturing between his eyes. “It just made him madder.”

  “Eli shot him again?”

  “Yep. Hit him in the shoulder, but he just kept coming. To make matters worse, I missed too. He was on top of us before we could say lickety-split.”

  “What are you two doing checking out my chest?” Eli teased with mumbled words, suddenly coming to.

  “Giving you a further exam,” Bryn tossed back. “Didn’t know you had other bear wounds.”

  “Stitched the boy up myself,” Ben said proudly.

  “That’s why the scars are so ugly,” Eli muttered.

  “That’s why I knew you couldn’t do any worse,” Ben added. “Didn’t take me near as long though,” he teased her.

  “Why didn’t you take him to town?”

  “You learn to do for yourself in the bush. Basic survival medicine. If it’s bad, really bad—for instance, when your life is hanging in the balance—that’s when you call for help. Not before.”

  “Bush code of honor,” Eli mumbled, already drifting back to sleep.

  Ben moved to sit on a chair again. He nodded at her, lifting one brow in appreciation. “You got the right stuff, girl. Not many women could’ve done what you just did.”

  “I guess I can rise to the occasion.” Still shaky from the whole experience, she found pride in the moment. “I’d still feel better if Eli was seen in a hospital.”

  “We’ll ask him when he comes to,” Ben said, settling the matter. “I’d say that it’s his call.”

  “I’m his doctor,” Bryn said, lifting her chin a little.

  “That you are,” Ben said with a smile that said he was remembering their last summer together.

  “That … what Eli and I had is over, Ben. We’re just friends.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “We—oh, think what you like. I’m telling you the truth.”

  “Right. Better go and fetch my canoe before the breeze changes direction and I have to paddle upwind again.” He rose to go. “I’ll check on you two tonight.”

  “Aren’t you … aren’t you afraid you’ll run into that bear again?”

  “This is bear country more than it is my country. Been living side by side with them for decades now. You surprised that sow, I’d wager.” He grinned and raised his hands. “You don’t surprise them, you don’t threaten their cub or their dinner, and they’ll never lay a paw on you.” He looked her over. “Don’t let this bad time keep you inside, Bryn. Summit has a lot to show you.”

  She was mute, thinking how scary it would be to go back to that riverbed and wondering what Ben’s words meant. What would Summit teach her? Was it that obvious, her dissatisfaction with life? Her casting about for direction? For happiness?

  The shutting door awakened Eli again. “Ben go?”

  “Yeah. Said he’d be back tonight to check on us. Eli, I think we should get you to town. To Willow, where they can check you out.”

  “My head okay?”

  “I think so. I’d guess it was a mild concussion. As Ben thought, the wound above your eye seems mostly superficial. Freaked me out with all the blood coming down. I didn’t even have to do stitches there. A few butterfly strips and it should heal all right.”

  “And my ankle?”

  “Think it’s probably a bad sprain.”

  “Then that settles it. Not much more they could do for me in town. And it gives me a chance to see if you’re going to be as fine a doctor as I always thought you’d be.”

  She turned away and poured herself a cup of tea, then sighed. “First sign of infection, I’m radioing for help. Animal wounds can be nasty.”

  “Deal.”

  “I want to keep an eye on you, so you’ll be here for a few days. Need to let … anyone know?”

  “I’ll radio my office. Cancel my flights for a week.” He didn’t mention Sara Cussler.

  Bryn checked her watch. “Another hour and I’ll give you more Tylenol. How’s the pain?”

  “Been through worse.”

  “When?”

  “Car accident, Denali, when I was seventeen. That broke my arm in three places. The bear attack with Ben. He stitched me up and then hauled me out on a stretcher over very bumpy ground. Took us eighteen hours. Ripped up this wrist water-skiing in Illinois,” he said, raising his right hand. “And when I was eight, a neighbor kid shot me in the thigh.”

  “Shot you?”

  He smiled at her reaction. “Clean through. Lucky for me he missed any major arteries.”

  “I’ll say. You Alaskans have it rough.”

  “We’re tough.”

  “Or accident prone. You want some water? Some tea?”

  “Tea would be good.” He shifted and winced.

  “I’ll get you some tea and then a pail of lake water to ice down that ankle.”

  “I could get used to this. Service with a smile. A doctor who looks like a dream. A—”

  “Don’t.” Bryn steadily looked at him. Wanted to squelch the beginnings of flirtation, for both their sakes. “Don’t, Eli.”

  The next day Bryn fried some fish and prepared a luncheon salad of fireweed greens dressed with sugar and vinegar. She could feel Eli’s eyes upon her as she moved between the skillet on the stove and the small table beside it. A crackling fire roared in the stove, and the fish were cooking quickly.

  “You’re a good doctor,” he said at last.

  “Think so?”

  “Know so.”

  “Sometimes I wonder.” She wiped her hands on a cloth and looked over to him. He had his ankle elevated on a crate, and his face was bruised. Blood from the lacerations was still seeping through the bandages. “You don’t look so hot.”

  He ignored her barb and continued to study her. “Where’s your dad this year, Bryn?” he asked softly.

  She turned back to the stove, pretending to fiddle with the fish. “He had other plans.”

  “But you still came. I thought the only reason you came was because of him.”

  “Used to be,” she said, cocking her head, her eyes still on the browning breadcrumbs that coated the trout. She didn’t want to be staring into his hazel eyes, knew he’d pull the truth from her before she was ready to share. He was her patient, not a boyfriend. She didn’t need to saddle him with her sob story about a wandering father.

  “And now?”

  “Now I thought I’d come and see Summit on my own. See it through my own eyes, not my father’s.”

  “You seem tired.”

  She let out a hollow laugh. “Yes. Medical school was rough. Harder than I anticipa
ted.”

  “Think you’ll like it, being a doc?”

  “I think so. I didn’t kill you,” she tossed over her shoulder.

  “No,” he said slowly, gently.

  “Fish is done,” she said, scooping the long forms from the pan and setting them on two dinner plates. When he didn’t respond, she looked up. “Eli?”

  “Yes.” He rose clumsily and limped over to the table. When she set his plate down, he took her hand, his touch electric in intensity. “Bryn?” He waited until she met his gaze.

  She hoped her eyes answered him. She couldn’t risk this again. What did he want? Surely he didn’t think they could pick up where they’d left off, not with five years in the interim, not with Sara Cussler in the picture.

  Abruptly he dropped her hand. “Smells great,” he mumbled.

  “What’s your middle name, Doc?” he asked Bryn the morning of his third day with her. They had spent a long afternoon beside the crackling fire in the stove, talking, sharing tidbits from each other’s lives.

  “Skye,” she answered tentatively.

  “Bryn Skye Bailey. Pretty.”

  “Thanks.” She paused thoughtfully before going on. “Listen, I’m going to go out. Look for some stones. For my fireplace.”

  “Back to the riverbed?”

  “Yes.” She pulled on her parka and grabbed her fishing rod. “Maybe catch us some dinner.”

  “You’re not afraid?” he asked mildly.

  “Back in the saddle and all that,” she said with a quick shrug. “As Ben says, it’s more a bear’s country than mine. I’ll just make lots of noise. And carry this,” she said, smiling back at him as she motioned to his pepper spray like a game-show queen.

  “Armed and dangerous,” he mused, obviously flirting. What was it between them? It was as irresistible as a frozen, isolated, perfectly smooth pond to an old ice skater.

  “Need anything before I go?”

  “I can get it if I need anything. Oh, got any more books to read?” Eli had gone through two novels and her pioneer guide in the three days he had stayed with her.

  “You’re voracious,” she said, moving to the bedroom shelves to see what else she might scrounge up.

  “I love it when you use vocabulary words on me,” he flirted.

  “Eli—”

  “All right. How ’bout a Bible?”

  She paused. “No … I don’t think we’ve ever had one up here.”

  “Oh.”

  She ignored the meaning behind his slow oh and grabbed the first three books she could put her hands on. Suddenly she just wanted out of the cabin, away from Eli, away from the uncanny sense that he knew where she fell short, knew what she was missing. It was galling. “Okay. You have books, you have water, you have wood to feed the fire. Anything else?”

  “No. I’ll be fine. As I said, I can get it.”

  Bryn turned to go, but Eli caught her wrist in a firm grasp. Her eyes flew to his thick, masculine fingers that grew more gentle as she paused, to the handsome face of her patient. “Take care out there, will you?”

  “Sure,” she said flippantly, pulling her hand from his grip. It was happening again. This thing between them. Bryn stopped at the door before closing it behind her. “You’re making good progress, Eli. There’s no sign of infection, and you’re able to move about some now. Maybe … maybe it would be a good idea for us to get you situated at your own cabin. I could come over to check on you, still make your food …”

  “Oh. Sure, Doc. Maybe tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow,” she said with a nod, then shut the door firmly behind her as if to punctuate her decision like a solid, rounded period to a sentence.

  Bryn hiked back to the riverbed, as irritated with Eli as she was worried about the bears. He had no right to start things with her again. What was he thinking? What about Sara? And who does he think he is, asking for a Bible as if every household, even cabins, had to have one?

  She was on a spiritual journey of her own, taking it in her own time, exploring in her own way, thank you very much. Her grandparents had always been devout Christians; her parents, not so much. She had med school friends who were Buddhist, Jewish, Muslim, Unitarian, far-right Christian—the whole gamut. What was it about Eli that made him think he had it all nailed down?

  And why was she so defensive?

  She shouted and sang, not wanting to surprise a black bear, a brown bear, any color bear, scouted out the immediate area, then settled in to fish where she had caught her last trout. That fish had been forgotten on the bank in the wake of the attack, perhaps picked up by bears or an eagle or another scavenger. This day, Bryn intended to fish and cook what she caught, come bear or high water. She had a hankering for fresh food, anything fresh.

  She unhooked the nymph and drew out the line, preparing to cast. Two weeks out at Summit and she was already salivating at the thought of broasted chicken from Boston Market or a tossed salad from the local delicatessen. It didn’t take long to grow weary of canned beans and corn and tuna and smoked salmon. What she needed was some couscous. That would be great.

  Her daydreaming only made her lack of luck at the river all the more aggravating. Four hours later, she gave it up, heaving a stone into the water with a cry of frustration.

  “Teaching her a lesson?” came a voice behind her.

  She whirled. It was Ben. “What is it about you people? Eli snuck up on me three days ago, and now you.”

  “Sorry. You okay?”

  “No. No, I’m not. I’m hungry and I’m tired and I can’t seem to catch a thing.”

  “I had better luck,” he offered calmly. “Caught a whole string of them this morning. Left a few at your cabin for you and Eli. He sent me down to check on you.”

  “I don’t need to be checked on.”

  “Said you’d been gone for hours. He was worried.”

  “Well, I’m fine, thank you. Ben.” She added his name in a milder tone, hoping to soften the sharpness of her retort. She sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m all riled up.”

  “Can see that. Want me to listen?”

  Bryn sat down on a large, rounded boulder the color of a pigeon along a beach boardwalk and sighed again. “Maybe.”

  Ben reached for her rod, hooked the fly on the bottom ring, laid it gently beside her, then perched on another boulder nearby. “I’m all ears.”

  Bryn took a deep breath, puffing out her cheeks and letting it out slowly. Where to begin? “Dad’s in Peru. He took up with a woman twenty years younger than he is, almost my age. My roommate, in fact. Divorced my mom and retired early. They do nothing but travel. I think they’re even thinking of starting a family together.” She let out a humorless laugh. “Can you believe that? If I ever have any kids, they’ll have aunts and uncles the age of most cousins.”

  Ben raised his eyebrows in surprise. He nodded sagely, his hand to chin. “As long as I’ve known your father, he’s been a seeker. Always searching for something that will make him happier. I’d always hoped he’d discover it here.” When she didn’t speak, he went on. “You’re looking for the same thing, girl. Happiness. But happiness is not something you get to. Those who are happy enjoy the getting-to-it-ness of life. Life itself breeds joy. If you see it in the right light. And if you see it in the light of the Father’s eyes—oh yes, my, that’s when life is sublime.”

  He let her ruminate over his words for a moment. He hadn’t condemned her father or her. “You and Eli. You’re Christians. Is that what brings you happiness? That sense of peace I feel around you two?”

  “I’d guess that’s on target. It’s the foundation, sure. But happiness is a choice mostly, Bryn. It’s a choice. Deepening my walk with Jesus makes me a better man each day. Opens my eyes to the light that the Father sees us in. But becoming a Christian doesn’t mean everything is easy, that we’re only brought joy. Take Eli, for instance.”

  “Eli?” she asked warily.

  “Yes. That boy has loved Jesus for years. He’s a good man, a solid man.
Jedidiah and Meryl have good reason to be proud. He’s got a job he loves, lives in a place he loves. But the woman he’s been in love with for years—not saying who that is, mind you—doesn’t share his beliefs. That keeps him away from one of the things he wants most in life. Makes him miserable every time he thinks about it. He’s tried to get past her, tried with everything in him, but it’s hard.”

  “There are more obstacles than faith between us, Ben.”

  “Right. But God has a funny sense of humor. An interesting way of leading us down the winding path, if we’re careful to listen to him.”

  “He’d speak to me?” The thought had never occurred to her before. “I mean, I know there’s a God. I’m that far anyway. But I don’t know if I’m ready to swallow that he’d send his Son to die for me. Don’t know if Jesus is really who he said he was. Maybe he was just a teacher. A good man who—”

  “Listen to me, Bryn Bailey,” Ben said carefully. “Jesus Christ is either who he said he was or a complete fraud. He himself gave those around him no room to think otherwise. He is either the Son of God—our Savior—or he is a madman.” Ben stood. “Look it up. Start with Romans. Decide for yourself. You’re a reader, a scholar. Maybe you’ll find a bit of that Happy Road you’re seeking.”

  “I don’t have a Bible here,” Bryn admitted.

  “Yes you do. Brought Eli’s over from his cabin. Thought he might be missing it.”

  “How’d you …? That’s quite a coincidence.”

  Ben smiled, his gray eyes sparkling, his wrinkled face kind. “That’s one of the first lessons you learn as a believer, Dr. Bailey. There is no such thing as coincidences. Only divine appointments.”

  Bryn cooked the trout as she had planned, watching them. When she flipped them, she added the fresh carrots and, at the last minute, the canned okra. She seasoned it all and covered it with a lid before taking a seat at the table.

  “You’re quiet tonight,” Eli offered, sitting in a chair in the corner, his leg on an upended box.

  “Had a talk with Ben today.”

  “Oh.”