Aspen in Moonlight

by Kelly Wacker

  She put her hand on her chin while her mind ran wild speculating on the possibilities and parallels. She wanted nothing more than to text Sula, to tell her what she had found, but without a cell signal or Wi-Fi at the cabin, it was pointless. She glanced through the picture window to the deck. Her mother, sitting in a chair with her feet propped up on the railing, was engrossed in reading her book. She could tell her about the discovery, but she didn’t expect she would be nearly as enthusiastic or as full of wonder as Sula would be. Melissa would just have to be patient and talk to Sula when she could.

  She returned her attention to the photos on the coffee table and found a second photo of the artist, a woman and presumably Ursula, at work. The camera was closer to her, and it confirmed she was using an easel. The painting attached to it seemed roughly the size of the one in Melissa’s living room, but she couldn’t see its surface. Ursula seemed to be looking down at the palette in her hand and dipping her brush into a glob of paint. Wearing a wide-brimmed felt hat, a long-sleeved shirt with the cuffs turned up, and wool pants tucked into tall, laced boots, she looked like a quintessential artist-adventurer of the 30s. She was a mountain woman, all right, just like her great-granddaughter was today. Melissa smiled and scrutinized Sula’s namesake in the photo. She and her great-grandmother really did share the same build and proportions, but her face, blocked by the brim of her hat, eluded Melissa.

  She hoped to find more pictures of Ursula and maybe even one of Evelyn. Certainly, she must have been the photographer, but it would be good to confirm that she was there. Melissa looked through the remaining photos—more scenic landscapes, a few snapshots of a bright-eyed shepherd dog sitting in the back of a rugged pickup truck that they must have driven there—but no pictures of Evelyn and no more of Ursula.

  All that remained in the box was the book. Melissa gently lifted it out and inspected it before opening it. Bound in green leather, the front and back covers were covered with green-and-white marbled paper. The title, Saga av Eydís Bersa, was printed in gold ink on the spine. Melissa knew that the word saga meant an epic story, usually one about a hero and his many adventures. The title was worn and faded, indicating that book had been read repeatedly and wasn’t just some pretty tome that sat on a bookshelf to impress.

  Melissa scanned the first few pages. It seemed to be written in a Scandinavian language, and given Evelyn’s connection to Ursula, it was probably safe to assume it was Norwegian. Like most art historians, she studied French and German, and even though she couldn’t read what was printed in the book, she was able to recognize some of the words and dates, enough to ascertain that it was published in Oslo in 1922.

  The book was beautifully illustrated with engravings colored with rich, earthy hues, each page protected with a tissue-thin sheet of glassine paper. The linearity of the illustrations reflected the Art Deco style popular in the 20s, but they also had an organic fluidity that Melissa associated with the earlier Art Nouveau. The stylistic blend was unusual and captivating. Melissa turned the pages of the book slowly, looking for illustrations. After studying several, she realized that Eydís Bersa must be the figure depicted repeatedly in each image. Interestingly, the figure was a woman, and she seemed to be some kind of medieval warrior or knight. And if that wasn’t intriguing enough, she wore a bearskin coat. The head of the bear was still attached to it and was perched on top of her head. Some images didn’t have any human figures at all, only a solitary bear walking through forested landscapes.

  “Huh. More bears,” Melissa said quietly to herself and flipped through the pages looking for more illustrations. As she turned a page, a photo slipped out of the book. She caught it in her hand before it landed on the coffee table and saw the note written on the back:

  My beautiful, camera shy she-bear.

  Melissa stared at it wide-eyed. She took a breath and held it as she turned over the photo. Ursula Bergen, standing confidently with her hands on her hips, beamed at her with a broad smile. She recognized that smile. It was shocking how much Sula resembled her great-grandmother, almost as if she were seeing Sula transported back in time to the 30s. Almost. Ursula’s face was more angular, her chin a little more squared, and her hair was blond and straight, not dark and wavy. But, still…Ursula and Sula were unquestionably related.

  “Hello, Ursula. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

  “Who are you talking to?” Melissa’s mom asked, walking in from the deck. She looked around as if expecting to see someone in the cabin.

  Melissa held up the photograph in her hand. “Mom, meet Ursula Bergen.”

  “Oh?” Her mother walked across the room and joined her on the couch. She slipped her reading glasses on to take a closer look at the old photo. “Wow. I see the family resemblance. This was in the box?”

  Melissa pointed to the book on the table. Her mother picked it up, flipped through it, and paused to look at an illustration.

  “Whoa…” Melissa said when the image caught her eye.

  “What?”

  “Doesn’t that look familiar to you?” Melissa pointed at the engraving.

  “Mmm…maybe?” Her mother said, frowning in concentration. “I’m not sure.”

  Melissa picked up the book and rested it in her lap for closer inspection. The illustration depicted a woman standing in a forest clearing. Nearby, along the edge of the woods, stood a bear on its hind legs. “This looks like Grammie’s painting that I have, the small one.”

  Melissa’s mom pursed her lips and shook her head. “I’m not seeing it.”

  “Well, it doesn’t look exactly like it. One is a print and the other a painting, but the subject matter, setting, and composition are the same: woman in a clearing, a bear in the woods looking at her. That seems an unlikely coincidence.”

  “You’re the art historian. I wouldn’t have picked up on that, though. It looks so different from the painting.”

  Melissa continued to stare at the illustration and considered what was in front of her. A photo of Ursula with a note, written by Evelyn, calling her a “she-bear,” was tucked into a book that had something to do with bears. Was that a private joke they had shared? Or maybe a term of endearment? The photo was placed in front of an illustration of a woman and a bear, and it had striking similarities to one of Ursula’s paintings that had belonged to Evelyn. That couldn’t possibly be a coincidence. And, if it wasn’t, what the hell was its significance? And what was up with all the bears?

  Melissa’s questions grew exponentially. “I’m wondering if Ursula made that painting in reference to this. And why did Evelyn have both of them?”

  Melissa’s mother nodded thoughtfully and patted her on the knee. “You have your work cut out for you figuring that out.” She stood up. “I’m going to take a shower before your dad gets back. I forgot to tell you that he wants to have lunch in Buckhorn, and afterward I’d like to go to the visitors’ center at Sula’s bear conservancy.”

  “Bears…” Melissa shook her head slowly.

  “Hm?”

  “Nothing. That sounds great, Mom,” she said, excited by the thought of seeing Sula and sharing these photos with her. She felt like she was playing a game of connect the dots and the image was starting to take form, but it teased her by remaining tantalizingly incomplete.

  While her mother showered upstairs, Melissa took the photograph of Ursula to the dining table and grabbed Evelyn’s picture album from the shelf under the stairs, then opened it to the page with the missing photo labeled “Ursula” in white ink. She carefully slid the photo into the empty corners glued to the black paper. It fit perfectly.

  The visitors’ center at the Colorado Bear Conservancy was busy. Melissa was happy, knowing it was good for the organization, and she felt proud of Sula as she looked at the exhibits with her parents. She had texted Sula as soon as they arrived but hadn’t yet received a reply. She tried Sula’s cell number, but it went straight to voicemail. Finally, she called Sula’s office number. It rang twice and then was answered, b
ut the voice on the other end didn’t belong to Sula.

  “Colorado Bear Conservancy. This is Anna. How may I help you?” Sula’s office manager spoke in a pleasing formal voice.

  “Hello, Anna. This is Melissa Warren.”

  “Oh, hey, Melissa!” Anna’s voice immediately lost its cool “professional” tone. “How are you?”

  “I’m great, thanks. I was trying to get in touch with Sula. I’m actually here at the center right now with my parents. I was hoping we could say hello.”

  “I’m so sorry, but she’s not here. She came in but had to leave to help Betty with something. I don’t know if she’ll be back in today.”

  “I hope everything’s okay. I just came from the ranch, and it didn’t seem like anything unusual was going on.”

  “She said something about raccoons in an attic.”

  “Well, if anyone could charm a raccoon out of an attic, Sula would be the one,” Melissa said, hearing Anna’s snort of laughter on the other end. Melissa thanked her, exchanged a few pleasantries, and ended the call. Having anticipated seeing Sula all morning, and with so many things she wanted to tell her, she was disappointed not to find her at the center.

  Her phone buzzed as several messages came in. She scrolled through them quickly, hopeful, but none were from Sula. Her father waved at her to get her attention.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah…” Melissa said, looking up. “Sula’s not in the office. Her office manager said she’s helping Betty remove some raccoons from an attic.”

  “Oh,” her father said. Melissa noticed he was wearing a new green ball cap embroidered with a bear paw print, which he must have gotten from the gift shop while she was on the phone. “You look so disappointed.”

  “I am. I was hoping to tell her about my discovery this morning. It’s okay. I’ll talk to her later.”

  “I’m sorry she’s not here,” her father said. “Your mom and I are really enjoying this place. You’ll have to tell Sula we’re learning a lot and think it’s great!” He held up the visitors’ guide. “There’s even a nature walk around the lake. You want to go with us? Your mom’s already headed that way.”

  Melissa nodded, pleased with his approval, and tamped down her disappointment. Her parents would be with her for only one more day, and she wanted to take full advantage of enjoying time with them. She refused to behave like some lovesick teenager and ruin a good time. Melissa smiled at her father as he put his arm around her in a tender, paternal gesture, and together they walked out into the bright mountain sunlight to join her mother.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  “Ah, thanks,” Betty said, popping the plastic lid off the coffee that Sula handed her. Placing the lid on the dash of the truck, she blew across the top of the paper cup. “Did you remember to call Lars when you went into town?”

  “Yes. He said he’d have Little Lars go over and mind the office and that he’d give him a heads-up about what we were doing.” Sula grinned. “I love your husband. He’s probably the only man I know who, when you tell him his wife is about to harass a mountain lion, says, ‘okay, you girls have fun’ and hangs up the phone.” Sula wasn’t being entirely truthful. Before telling them to have fun, Lars did inquire if his wife had her Winchester with her. When Sula told him the rifle was by her side, she’d heard a sigh of relief.

  “Yeah, that sounds about like Lars.” Betty sipped the hot coffee cautiously, watching Sula as she unzipped the duffel bag and removed a bright-yellow weather radio. “The radio in here works fine. My truck isn’t that old.”

  “This radio isn’t for us. It’s for Notch. I mean, the lion. Some recent research has shown that they don’t like the sound of human voices and will move off, even abandon a kill, if they hear humans talking. Apparently, they are most averse to talk radio.”

  “Huh. Never thought I’d have something in common with a mountain lion.”

  Sula laughed. “I figured we’d use the radio to wake him up and make him want to leave the cabin without us having to go in.” Sula pulled two safety-orange plastic cases from the bag. “And then we’ll use these.”

  “Are those what I think they are?”

  “Yep. Bear bangers.” Sula popped open the clasps on one case, opening it to show Betty a bright orange-and-black single-shot pistol. The pistols, part of their non-lethal nuisance bear management kits, used a gunpowder blank that made a loud bang and launched a whistling pyrotechnic seventy-five yards, like fireworks but without the colorful explosion at the end. Intended for bears that had become habituated to raiding trash cans or bird feeders, they were designed to frighten them and to reinstall a sense of fear of humans.

  “That’ll scare the bejesus out of him.” Betty pointed to the other unopened case. “Why did you bring two?”

  “Because we’re going to work together and make sure he runs in the right direction.”

  “Away from the other cabins and the lodge.”

  “Exactly,” Sula said.

  “That’s going to make a lot of noise, don’t you think? I thought we were trying to keep this operation quiet.” Betty held up her coffee and squinted at the logo printed on the sleeve of the cup. “By the way, this fancy coffee is really good.”

  “I’m glad you like it.” Sula chuckled and closed the case. “I was thinking, if anyone says anything about the sounds we…well, you could explain that it was some illegal fireworks and the guilty parties have been dealt with.”

  “That’s pretty smart, kiddo.” Betty narrowed her eyes at Sula. “I don’t think I ever realized you’re so sneaky. I’ll remember that. So…we’re going to scare him out of the cabin with the radio. And then what?”

  “Let me explain,” Sula said and began to describe her plan.

  Sula crept up the cabin stairs with her cell phone in one hand and the weather radio in the other. She paused, placing the radio on the edge of the porch and stepping gingerly on the floorboards. Trying not to make a sound, she made her way to the front window. Nearly three o’clock; it was time to put their plan into action. Sula figured the later in the day, the better, but she didn’t want to wait too long. The goal was to startle him awake and have the upper hand.

  Checking at regular intervals, Sula found him sound asleep each time, though his position varied. Not expecting anything different this time, she stood to the side of the front window and turned on the phone’s camera, moving it slowly across the glass pane until she could see the mountain lion on the screen.

  Head down, eyes closed, and breathing heavily, he lay on his side with his enormous paws dangling limply off the edge of the sofa. Sula leaned forward to admire the handsome cat with her own eyes. It was a rare treat to see one up close in an unguarded moment. She smiled at him, shaking her head gently, and mentally chastised him. He needed to get back to bedding down in the woods where he belonged instead of on a leather couch. But, really, how could she blame him? That sofa looked awfully comfortable. She exited the porch carefully and gave Betty a thumbs-up.

  “You ready?” Sula asked when she was back at the truck.

  “Yeah. Let’s get going,” Betty said, opening the door. “I’m tired of all this sittin’ around, doin’ nothing, and trying to be quiet.”

  Sula reached into the duffel bag, removed two packages of foam ear protectors, and handed a set to Betty. “They’re as loud as a .22. You’re going to want these.”

  “Huh?” Betty cupped a hand to her ear, amused at her own joke, the wrinkles in her cheeks and the corners of her eyes accentuating her grin.

  Sula rolled her eyes. Betty pinched both foam cones between her fingers and pressed them into her ears. She took her glasses off and polished them on the tail of her denim shirt before picking up the single-shot pistol. Sula, inserting her ear protectors, watched as Betty put the blank and the cartridge in the pistol as if she’d done it before, treating it with the confident manner of someone who had been familiar with firearms her entire life. Sula prepared her pistol—a double-shot model—
slipped a tin of blanks into her pants pocket, and tucked two more cartridges into her shirt pocket.

  Betty took a position in front of the cabin, nearest the corner of the wall with the open window. Sula surveyed the perimeter, walking a wide arc around the cabin to confirm the area was clear and no one was nearby. It took a few minutes to complete the sweep. When she returned she nodded to Betty, who returned the gesture.

  Sula went to the porch and turned the radio on, cranking the volume all the way up. The caustic voice of a man pontificating about local politics filled the air. Stepping back, she heard a loud thump and a crash from inside the cabin. She refrained from looking in to see what Notch was doing.

  “He’s awake!” Sula yelled, no longer worried about making noise. She scurried behind Betty, who stood at the ready with her legs slightly apart, her arm extended, and pistol pointed up into the air. Sula broke into a run, stopping next to a big pine, and turned to face the cabin.

  Without warning, Notch bounded from the open window—a magnificent golden blur. BANG! Betty fired her pistol, the cartridge emitted a shrieking whistle as it traveled, throwing white sparks as it spun into the sky. Notch landed on the ground, and the cartridge exploded in the air above him. He crouched, shoulders bunched, head down, and ears flat. He seemed unsure of where to run or even if he should. After a split second of indecision, he bolted for tree cover.

  “Good boy,” Sula whispered as he moved toward her. She fired her pistol. The whistler flew in a corkscrew pattern, concluding with a bright explosion and a puff of white smoke. The mountain lion shifted directions and, with agility and speed, headed uphill.