The Last Homestead

by Warren Troy

  “I’m sorry Denny, it was a surprise to see you out of the blue after all this time. It caught me off guard. I wonder if you’d like to have dinner with me after the service this afternoon and catch up?”

  Denny chose his words carefully. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you know I was coming. It was a quick decision, when I read about Ed, instead of going up to Fairbanks for supplies as I had planned. Besides, I didn’t even know you were back in Hazel until Ruthie told me.”

  Gwen smiled and said, “Leave it to Ruthie to broadcast the world’s news at the drop of a hat.”

  “Tell you what, Gwen, how about if I come by the cafe for lunch tomorrow to visit, before I head north again.”

  “No, that’s okay, Denny, maybe we just better leave it alone.

  “Okay, Gwen, you take care of yourself. If I get down this way again, I’ll let you know ahead of time.”

  “Sure Denny, you take it easy.”

  Gwen O’Mara turned and walked away, back into the warmth of the cafe. Denny started up the truck and headed to the motel. He made himself accept how things were, though just then, he felt as if he was in a country western song. Even though they’d see each other at the service and reception, he knew they’d keep some distance, which was probably for the best.

  Denny hung around the motel until it was time to go to Ed’s service at the little church east of town, the one Gundross had attended all his years in Hazel. The minister there kept his words brief, letting Ed’s friends speak for him.

  Denny recognized nearly everyone who spoke, and a lot of the people in the pews. Glancing around, he saw one face he had no desire to see. Bucky Waters was sitting in a far back corner. Denny faced forward again, an old familiar heat starting to build in his neck. He forced himself to calm down and listen to the testimonials. When the service was over, he stood and turned to leave, and saw Waters was already gone, which was fine with him. Seeing his old homesteading neighbor and nemesis was unexpected, and all the bad feelings between them had come to the surface again. He had hoped he’d never see him again. After all, it was Waters who had caused him to leave his first homestead by developing the land right across the tundra from him, which would ruin Caraway’s wilderness sanctuary. Another neighbor, Monty Leer, had also been involved, but because Leer was a decent man, Denny harbored no grudge against him.

  Gwen was at the service too, of course, and as Denny had figured, they simply cast each other a quick glance and nothing more passed between them.

  Caraway drove over to where the reception was being held, at Ed’s old house, which had been a homestead until the town had grown up around it. Ed had added on to the one-room structure, until it had become a five-room home with indoor plumbing. You could see where it had grown out of the old cabin, which was still visible at one end of the building. He and his wife, who had passed away before Denny had met Ed, had lived there for many years, raising their son Jeff.

  There were at least fifty people there, including Ed’s son, who had flown up from Seattle to take care of the arrangements and Ed’s estate. Denny introduced himself after his old friend Walt, who had bought Denny’s first homestead, pointed Ed’s son out to him. Jeff Gundross smiled and said his father had spoken about him a number of times.

  “He told me, Mr. Caraway, you reminded him of the old-time homesteaders he had met, if you don’t mind me saying so. Dad said you were a decent man of many parts, as he put it, and he told me he missed your company a great deal after you had moved away.”

  Denny thanked the personable young man for telling him, and they shook hands.

  Denny sat down on the couch in the living room, a cup of hot coffee in his hand. Through the screen of people in front of him, he noticed Bucky Waters standing by a table covered with dishes and bowls of home-made food people had brought. Waters wasn’t aware of him.

  Caraway became disgusted watching him. Waters had a plate piled high and a mouthful of something he was chewing on. Denny knew Bucky and Ed hadn’t gotten on well. And yet Gundross, being the kind of man he was, let Bucky come in and buy what he needed for his homestead needs, as long as Waters had cash to pay for the supplies. Bucky had a chip on his shoulder over that demand, even though he’d previously given Ed one bad check and had taken too long to pay off the tab Gundross had graciously allowed him. So, Waters being there stuffing his face, was really a cheap shot. The final straw for Denny was when he saw Waters stuffing a couple of small rolls in his pocket.

  Rising from the couch, he walked over to Bucky, pulled the plate out of his hand and, setting it on the table, told him quietly and firmly, “I think you’re through here, Waters.”

  Waters almost lost the food in his mouth when Denny made his presence known. A slight shudder ran through him a moment after he saw Denny. Through his half-eaten food, he managed to say, “You miserable bastard,” before turning and walking out the front door.

  Denny was so angry, he had to go outside for a while to cool off. He went out the back door, not wanting to have another confrontation with Waters, knowing he had little control of himself at that moment.

  Five minutes later, a calmer Caraway came back into the house, said his farewells to a number of people he knew, and headed out to his pickup. He started the truck to warm it up and sat listening to some music on the radio, lost in thought and memories.

  Suddenly the driver’s side door was yanked open and Bucky Waters lashed out at him. The punch caught Denny off guard, landing square on the side of his jaw. Dazed, Denny swiveled around in his seat and shoved Bucky away with his feet, giving himself time to step out of the truck. Bucky seemed a little surprised, expecting his sucker punch to put Denny out, standing there, not knowing what to do next.

  Shaking his head to clear it, Caraway looked straight into Bucky’s eyes. Bucky slumped visibly when Denny lined up on him. Taking two steps forward, Denny faked a punch to Bucky’s head, causing him to throw his arms up to protect himself, and Denny gave him a hard shot to the gut. When Bucky dropped his hands to cover his stomach, Denny gave him a hard right hand to the jaw. The punch put him down, but Denny lifted him up again and gave him another good one to the nose. He wanted to make sure Bucky didn’t forget his error in judgment.

  Standing there, feeling strangely calm, Denny said, “Now we’re done.” Bucky just grunted and lay still on the ground.

  Looking to his left, Denny saw a dozen people, including Gwen, standing outside Ed’s front door. He noticed most of them were smiling. Bucky Waters was no stranger to any of them. They knew all about the bad deeds he had done over the years, and were not sorry to see him get some pay back.

  Gwen walked up to Caraway, the smile off her face. She stood a foot away from Bucky, totally ignoring him. Looking into Denny’s eyes, she said, “Feel better now?”

  “More than you know, Gwen.”

  “Don’t be so sure of that, Mr. Caraway. You forget, I’ve known him longer than you and I’m not sorry to see him get taken down. I know my mom would be proud of you. The least I can do is offer you some dinner, if you’re interested.”

  “That sounds good to me. Meet you at the cafe?”

  “What, did you forget the way to my cabin?”

  “‘Course not. I’ll see you around seven.”

  “Fine, and bring a bottle of red wine.”

  When Denny woke up, it was already light. He was surprised to have slept so late, usually getting up before the sun. Gwen was gone, and a little note on her kitchen table told him she was glad to have spent time with him, but had to open the cafe. “Come in for breakfast, unless you sleep till noon, in which case it’ll be for lunch.”

  Denny smiled. It had been an unexpected and very satisfying evening. Though the isolated life up north was fine for him, being with Gwen had certainly been special, a pleasant departure from his normally serious life. Combined with finally having definite closure with Bucky Waters, it had taken some of the sadness away from giving Ed his send-off, and Caraway was sure, wherever Ed was, he had no
objections.

  Having another meal at the Log Cabin Cafe brought back some of the good feelings he’d had in Hazel while building his original homestead. A trip to town for whatever reason always included meals at the cafe. Even before his relationship with Gwen O’Mara had become intimate, he always looked forward to time spent there. He’d never had any real traditions in his earlier life, living in Reno, but coming to Alaska and homesteading had awakened the desire to do so. Being a regular at the cafe seemed fitting.

  Denny had ordered his usual breakfast. He found the flavor and quality of the food was still the same as when Gwen’s mom still ran the place.

  He didn’t have much conversation with Gwen this time. They were content to just hang around each other, Caraway enjoying his meal and her company as he used to, watching her take care of the customers. Knowing Denny was there made her normal routine more enjoyable.

  She did ask him about his solitary life, and he told her how it was for him, living so far out and away, and how it differed from his first bush home.

  Time came for him to leave. He walked up to the counter to pay his bill, but Gwen refused the money. Denny gave her a long look, a momentary little smile playing across his weathered face. He touched her cheek, then left the cafe. He wasn’t aware of the little thrill that ran through her after the slight contact. Cranking up his truck, he left Hazel once again.

  Chapter Five

  Denny still loved the drive north from Hazel. Fact was, he never tired of traveling anywhere in Alaska, be it by truck, snow machine, or by shank’s mare. He was always ready to explore new places. Maybe that was why he often broke new trails when he already had one cut to get to the same place, to have a different route to travel along. When he wasn’t busy with all the chores necessary to survive out on the land, he explored the area around his homestead, often staying out overnight, loving the stillness of the forest, listening for the occasional sound of some animal passing by. Though he’d had unexpected non-human visitors to his camps, he’d always known how to handle the situations. Sleeping out under the trees, he’d wake up numerous times to look around, listen and even sniff the air. Denny was truly a forest dweller, like any other denizen of the woods.

  He arrived in Anchorage about five hours later, having driven a little faster than he usually did, in spite of the slick road surface. Denny wanted to gather his needed supplies as quickly as possible and head back to his ‘stead. Despite the events of the past several days, he missed his little plywood cabin. Coming up from the south, he could shop in Anchorage, then head straight back to Salcha.

  Denny filled all the plastic gas cans and his truck’s tanks prior to leaving Anchorage. He’d already loaded the bed of his truck with bags and packages of foodstuffs not readily available outside city limits. It was all pretty common fare — beans, coffee, flour, sugar, and such. Of course, he included some treats, several packages of Oreos and a bag of his favorite sweet, licorice whips.

  One thing he added was a hand grain grinder, bought at a health food store in lower Anchorage, and two five-gallon buckets full of whole wheat grain. He intended to grind his own flour to make fry bread, and was going to try making real loaves of bread, too.

  On the way out, almost by reflex, Denny pulled off to check out an outdoor supply store. He didn’t really need anything, but wanted to see what they had. It turned out they had several things he could use.

  Denny found a pair of what were called Arctic Expedition gloves. They were well made, tough and water proof, and had special insulation that was thin, yet warm. Denny told the salesman he preferred mitts over gloves for use in extremely cold weather. The guy assured him the gloves would keep his hands warm in any weather Alaska presented, and Denny took him at his word.

  The other piece of equipment that interested him was a sleeping bag. Though he had a good down mummy bag, he never liked the style, preferring more room to move around, for comfort and in case he needed to get out of it quickly.

  This bag looked really good, and had a little insulated cover for his head. It was extremely light and very expensive. Denny considered whether or not to spend that much money, until he recalled what Ed Gundross had told him — buy the best gear possible, because it just might save his life sometime. He bought the bag, and the gloves.

  Glad to get out of the city, Denny continued north on the Glenn Highway, the need to get home urging him on. A few times along the way, he thought about the events of the previous several days. He’d had a much better time than he’d anticipated, and was feeling good about life in general. He’d expected a long drive, and not much more.

  As always, when he had to be away Caraway had mental images of his little homestead waiting for him to come back. Running up the Glenn and then onto the Richardson Highway heading towards Salcha, he drew designs in his mind for the garden he planned on starting in spring for growing basic vegetables — potatoes, carrots, onions, turnips, and perhaps some cabbage and lettuce too. He’d bought seed in Anchorage. It would certainly enhance his diet to have some produce to last into the winter months.

  He also put his thoughts towards building the log cabin he had been considering for a while. Though the plywood cabin he had now was serving him well enough, it had some shortcomings. Denny craved the look and feel of a snug log home. He had loved living in the one he had bought from George Whiting where he began his homesteading life. Though it had needed lots of work, the small log structure had been perfect for him. He had come to realize the new frame cabin he’d built while living in the bush outside Hazel had really been more than he needed. Perhaps his mind, at the time, was still oriented to the mainstream life he had been living before coming to Alaska, when he believed in the theory of bigger is better. He now knew what was really necessary to exist in wild country. A smaller cabin was easier to keep warm, requiring less wood and therefore less rigorous labor. He’d learned there was much he just plain didn’t need to still be well supplied and happy.

  Seeing the road sign announcing Salcha, Denny actually got a little bubble of excitement as the old mobile home came into view, a thin covering of snow crowning its roof. Being in Salcha meant he was back in his own territory. Though he spent little time in it, the trailer was invaluable for keeping some of his goods safe and sound.

  He saw his neighbor Elliot had plowed the driveway and side yard, as he always did in winter, despite being in his late seventies. He was a decent man, and a long time Alaskan. Living in a small rural community, Elliot knew the value of good neighbors.

  Denny brought him some fresh meat whenever he came out from the homestead, and an occasional six pack of beer from the Salcha grocery store. Elliot wasn’t much of a drinker, but he enjoyed a brew from time to time. The old fellow had refused any money for his help, and Denny was grateful for all he did.

  Caraway went into the trailer and found it to be above freezing. He had started up the propane heater and set it on low before leaving, planning on staying there when he got back from Hazel. He wanted to head out for the ‘stead in the morning before first light, to make use of what light there was at this late time of year.

  Denny took a plastic container of frozen moose stew from the refrigerator’s little freezer and set it out to thaw, putting it on a little box right in front of the heater outlet. He went back outside after putting on his parka and new gloves to start loading up the big sled with what could remain outside without freezing. He put the full fuel cans up front, then loaded the bags and packages of dry goods in next. There was enough to make a full layer in the sled, which would keep things from sliding around while on the trail. He pulled a heavy canvas tarp over the top in case of snow, and took the perishable things inside to keep in the fridge until morning. The new gloves had kept his hands warm indeed.

  The rest of the evening went peacefully. Denny ate the moose stew, played some quiet music and sat back on the couch to relax a while before hitting the sack.

  The man never liked leaving his homestead, knowing the longer he
was away, the greater the chance something could happen to the place. Well, tomorrow would come soon enough and by late afternoon he’d be home and everything would be fine.

  Chapter Six

  It was still pitch black when Denny went outside the next morning, a big bowl of oatmeal and several cups of instant coffee in his belly. He slipped the powerful headlamp over his hat and switched the beam on. His breath was coming out as white clouds in the bitter cold air.

  It took a little while to load the rest of the goods into the sled, and he went inside to shut down the trailer down.

  He had slipped the little .38 revolver back under the couch cushion and retrieved his trusty old .44. Caraway was used to the weight of the big pistol. It had become a natural thing for him to have it hanging on his hip.

  He made sure the truck was locked up, then turned his attention to the snow machine parked under the carport. Pulling the tarp off, he primed the carburetor and gave two good pulls on the starter rope. It didn’t start right up as it usually did. Several more pulls and the engine came to life, though reluctantly. A seed of doubt sprouted in Denny’s mind.

  On the way out from the cabin it had started up all right and ran well until about half way down the trail to Salcha. It was then the machine had slowed down, feeling tight, so Denny had stopped and shut it off. He lifted the hood to check things out visually, and saw nothing unusual or out of place. After starting it again and riding for a while it seemed okay, but he paid close attention to the sound and feel of the engine as he continued on.

  Mounting the Skidoo, he gave it some throttle to run it over to the sled and hitch it up. Denny rode it only a few yards when the engine made several loud clunking noises and stopped.

  Fully concerned now, he pulled on the starter cord several times. Instead of coming to life, the engine simply went clank, clank, clank! Denny knew some major metal part had given it up. It was obvious to him that an engine rebuild on a machine this old wasn’t the way to go. The time he dreaded had arrived: a new snowmobile was necessary.