by Warren Troy
Sure enough, the bull made a quick little charge right at the wheeler and Denny ran into the trees, half hiding behind a big spruce to watch the moose.
Now directly in front of the ATV, the moose blew a heavy cloud of breath from its ponderous muzzle and thumped the front rack with its hoof, making a loud metallic sound. The noise spooked the moose and it pivoted to the right, and glided into the trees, away from Denny.
Caraway waited several minutes, then walked over to the ATV. The front rack where the moose had struck it had a definite dent in the tubular metal, but no other damage. Restarting the engine, he continued on his way, watching the trees for the cantankerous old bull.
Half an hour later, he arrived at his homestead. As was always his way, he sat for a minute on the machine, glad for a safe arrival home.
The log cabin and the old plywood cabin he used now for storage both looked to be in good shape, though there appeared to be several tufts of bear fur snagged on nails sticking out of the bear boards.
Opening the door to the cabin, Caraway saw his home was as he had left it, though there were some vole droppings on the floor, and later he found an old nest in some paper and rags gathered together under the bed, now deserted.
When he started a fire in the wood stove, the cabin immediately filled with smoke. He had forgotten to remove the coffee can from over the top of the stove pipe. Putting a ladder against an eave, he climbed up and rectified the situation, then waited a few minutes for the smoke to clear.
Sitting by the now crackling fire showing through the open stove door, the supplies stashed away, his feet up by the fire, a cup of hot tea in hand, Denny thought to himself, “You’ve been away from home too long.”
That night, he thought of Gwen as he dozed off to sleep. He was caught in a quandary. Denny had turned fifty-one while working for O’Bannion. As much as he loved being back on the homestead, he felt as if things were not the same for him there, and he knew what it was. For the first time in all his years homesteading, he was beginning to feel the pangs of loneliness. He had never given being alone any thought before. Now, he wasn’t sure what to do. He’d be damned if he’d give up the homestead, no matter what. Being with other people the past few months had been a mixture of accepting and often enjoying human company, and annoyance at not being able to have his long-accepted peace and solitude.
Though glad to get the newspaper clipping and the abrupt note from Gwen, he half wished she hadn’t communicated at all. It had stirred his emotions, which were usually neatly wrapped up and stored away. Even so, once he was settled in his own bed, Denny slept better than he had in months.
Over the following weeks, he busied himself with the chores of living the homestead life. Firewood was in low supply, as working all summer had put him behind, so he began cutting and splitting right after arriving back home. He did have some wood leftover, stacked, and seasoned. As an experienced homesteader, he always cut more than he anticipated needing and cut more during the winter, when hauling by snow machine and sled was possible. Though he had been cutting wood for years, and had to travel a little farther to find good trees, he had a whole forest to choose from, and within a month he was well supplied, for the rest of the winter season.
Denny had a special place by the edge of the creek close behind his cabin which he used for gathering water all year round. He had cleared stones and deepened a nice pool, building a small wooden platform to stand or kneel on to fill his buckets. If the winter got extra cold, he’d have to move farther out because the water by the bank would freeze solid. Simply a fact of life there on Lanyard Creek.
Three days after getting home, he took time to go out and take a moose for winter meat. It was the easiest hunt he’d ever been on. He walked about one hundred yards down the back trail and there, standing broadside to the trail, was an older cow moose. He watched for a while to check for a young moose with her, but she was alone, barren. The moose never even moved from where she stood stripping willow leaves off a now sorry-looking bush. Denny took careful aim and made a clean head shot. The moose went down instantly, never knowing what hit her.
Now there was meat. Field dressing and quartering the animal was much harder than the hunt itself. So close to home, Caraway didn’t need the snow machine and sled. He simply picked up the quarters, ribs and other bits and carried them to the hanging rack next to his cabin. He spent the next day butchering the meat, packing it into the cache and moving the gut pile, hide, and unusable parts a good distance from his home.
The supplies Denny had brought in included the treats he liked to have around: licorice whips, chocolate chip cookies, and peanut butter. When the day’s work was over and he could relax in the cabin, he often enjoyed a cup of coffee, perhaps a good book, and a stack of cookies on the table.
He had put the disappointment of Caroline Barker being unavailable out of his mind, helped somewhat by the note from Gwen. Upon reflection, it was the brief intimate connection with Caroline that had put certain things in perspective.
Chapter Twenty One
After two months back on his land, Denny decided to head into town. He felt an urge to go to the North Star Cafe for the burger he had intended to enjoy when he first got back to Salcha. Denny loaded up the snow machine with his trail gear and headed out to the highway. The weather had gotten quite cold — well below zero, and there had been several heavy snowfalls which had settled and compacted, so the trail surface was good. Already stocked up with major supplies, he left the sled behind. The few things he’d pick up in Salcha could go in the snow machine’s rear rack. This was the first time Denny had gone to town on a whim, rather than out of necessity.
Denny left home in the dark and arrived at the North Star Cafe in the dark, though it was barely four-thirty in the afternoon. Charlie Brady, as always, was ready with his coffee when Caraway walked in.
“Mr. Caraway,” Brady said.
“Officer Brady,” Denny responded.
“Haven’t seen you in a while. How have things been?”
“Been working out of Fairbanks. Bear guards aren’t in high demand during the winter, so season’s over. It was a good job, though it got a little crowded with the crew and all.”
“Anything more than two people can be a bit much, right?”
“That’s right Charlie. How about one of your good burgers. I’ve been wanting one for a while.”
“Coming right up. With everything, right?”
“That’s the way I like it, with fries, and don’t forget the ketchup.”
As Denny ate, he regaled Charlie Brady with his experiences working with Carlton O’Bannion, and how it had ended.
Denny noticed a change in Brady’s face at the mention of O’Bannion. He knew Brady’d had a long career as an Alaska State Trooper working wildlife situations and wondered if he and O’Bannion had crossed paths. Turned out he was right.
“Denny, I wish you could have somehow let me know you’d be working for the man. I would have warned you off. Think I’ll get in touch with one of my old trooper buddies still on the job and have him check up on the guy, just to keep him on his toes.”
“Fine with me, Charlie. Do what you think is best.”
It had been a long day on the trail, so Caraway told Brady good night and headed down to his trailer on the snow machine to spend the night. He had decided to go into Anchorage early the next morning to get a new chainsaw. Though the one he had was good quality, ten years on the job had worn it out. He found he couldn’t get the one he wanted in Fairbanks when he got the rest of his supplies. He wished his old friend Ed from Hazel was still around, because he trusted Gundross and could depend on him. But, Ed was gone now. He wondered if his saw shop was still open, with a new owner.
Denny hadn’t planned on doing what he did; he was merely responding to subconscious urges. In Anchorage, he stopped at one chainsaw dealer, picked up a new saw that was the same model as the one he had worn out, paid for it, and was back on the road in fifteen minutes, onl
y stopping one more time to gas up, then continuing south until he reached Hazel. Though he liked the journey down the highway to the little coastal town, he didn’t pay as much attention to the scenery as he might have if he didn’t have something else on his mind. By the time Denny reached Hazel, he had come to a decision about where he wanted his life to go. He went right over to the Log Cabin Cafe and parked, sitting in the truck until he saw Gwen through the window, coffee pot in hand.
He took a deep breath, got out of his truck, and went into the cafe. Gwen was cleaning off a table, and she looked up as Denny reached her. Taking her in his arms, he gave her a long, serious kiss. She didn’t resist, and when they stopped, several customers were chuckling in the background. He smiled a full smile at her and said, “I’ve missed you too.”
Later that night, having made up for much lost time, they lay snuggled together, talking quietly.
“So, Mr. Caraway, did you get what you came for?”
“I really didn’t know what to expect, but I had to come back and find out. Sad news about Bucky.” There was a definite lack of sincerity in his voice.
“Not to my way of thinking, Denny. So, what are your plans? Still have your homestead up north?”
She gently touched one of the three scars on his upper left arm, a permanent reminder of the dangers of living in the deep bush. When she’d asked him what had happened, seeing the scars for the first time, he told her he’d had a difference of opinion with an old, hungry winter bear.
“He wanted to have me for dinner and I refused the invitation.” He had given one of his little half smiles then, but Gwen didn’t smile back.
“Of course, Gwen; I have no plans to leave it. Did that once before.”
“I recall. You probably wouldn’t want anyone else out there, would you, being a solitary man.”
Denny’s gut got tight when Gwen spoke, but all he said was, “Something on your mind, Gwen?”
She took a little breath, then said, “There’s not much here for me in Hazel. A lot of the people I knew are gone, I don’t like the ones living here now, and as I said in the note, dammit, I’ve missed you. You got under my skin, Mr. Caraway, and it turns out there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s pretty obvious to me you still enjoy my company, so what would you think about having me as a homesteading partner. Do you think you’d have room for me? I know how to split wood, dress out a moose, and haul water, as you well know. I’m more than willing to give it a try if you are. Besides, I’ve got a good snow machine and sled for hauling, my dad’s old rifle, and plenty of cold weather gear, so you’d be getting a complete package deal.
“I don’t know, Gwen, can you cook?”
Gwen began giving him a flurry of small punches in the ribs, until he grabbed her arms, pulled her against him and, looking directly into her eyes with an intensity that made her go limp in his arms, said, “Gwen, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Let’s sleep on it, see how it feels in the morning.”
“I won’t feel any different in the morning Denny, and besides, I don’t feel like sleeping.”
Denny decided he wasn’t sleepy yet either.
Denny woke up to the smell of fresh coffee and the sound of bacon sizzling in a skillet. Stretching and yawning, feeling relaxed and content, he got up and went into the kitchen. Walking up behind Gwen, busy at the stove, he grabbed her around the waist and kissed her neck. He felt a little thrill run through her.
Without turning around she said, “You better put something on, so you don’t get splattered with hot grease somewhere you’ll regret.”
“How do you know I’m not dressed already?”
“Oh, I can tell, Mr. Caraway.”
He smiled and walked into the bathroom to wash up.
Over breakfast, Denny and Gwen discussed the details of her move to Lanyard Creek. They never asked each other if they were sure, because there was no doubt in either of their minds this was the right thing.
It took two weeks to sort out and pack up everything she would be taking, and it was going to take several trips to the homestead to get everything out there. Winter was the best time for freighting, and would make the task easier.
Gwen wasn’t kidding when she said she had plenty of cold weather gear. She had hats, including a fine beaver skin trapper hat, gloves and mitts, a Carhartt arctic lined set of coveralls with a hood, a down parka, wool pants, insulated pacs, and more.
Her dad’s old rifle really was a beaut. A collector would have given his eye teeth for it. It was a Winchester model 71, the last version of the model 1886. It was a special piece though, because it had been reworked by Harold Johnson, a famous gunsmith from Coopers Landing, Alaska, who had rechambered it for his .450 Alaskan cartridge, as was stamped on the barrel. It was capable of bringing down the biggest animal in Alaska, the brown bear. Denny wondered if she could handle such a powerful round but was wise enough not to say anything, figuring he would eventually find out.
Gwen had considered selling her parents’ old cabin before Denny showed up. Now she went down to a friend’s realty office, and asked her to get the selling process started while she and Denny got things cleared out. Rhoda, the realtor, assured her it would be an easy sell, at a price that surprised Gwen. She had no idea the property was worth so much.
Finally, they got things all set for their journey north. Gwen had a four-foot by eight-foot utility trailer to tow behind Denny’s truck. She told him whatever wouldn’t fit in there or in his truck wasn’t going. She donated a lot to the Hazel thrift store, and gave some things away to people she knew, including a few electric kitchen appliances she’d have no further use for. She looked forward to living the homestead life, remembering the way things were when she was a kid. Her parents gave up their simple life slowly, modernizing only when it seemed beneficial and a better way to live. They hadn’t had indoor plumbing in the family home until her dad had died and Gwen insisted on it. Now, using an outhouse again sounded just fine. Gwen wondered if Denny used a seat of hard foam insulation to keep from getting frostbite of the butt in winter. The foam almost instantly warmed when you sat down in the privy even when it was thirty below outside.
Rhoda had potential buyers before they left Hazel, retired folks who had come up from the Lower 48 the previous spring to visit in a huge RV and decided to stay. They didn’t even argue the price. So, things were on track. All the necessary preparations falling so easily into place seemed to affirm they were on the right path.
Three weeks from the day he arrived in Hazel, Denny drove his truck onto the trailer’s driveway in Salcha with Gwen beside him. It had been a busy time for them both, so loading the sleds could wait until morning.
The propane heater was running on low, and the trailer was chilly, and Denny turned it up. They were hungry, so the two of them drove over to the North Star Cafe for a meal. When Charlie Brady looked up and saw Denny walk in with Gwen, he was caught off guard, never having seen Denny arrive with anyone else, much less a woman.
Gwen walked up to him, stuck out her hand and said, “Hi, I’m Gwen O’Mara, and you must be Officer Brady.”
Charlie gave Denny a fake scowl, then smiled at Gwen and told her to call him Charlie. He looked at Denny and said, “You sly dog, you. What did you do, go to the university and take up with a co-ed?”
“Enough of that, Charlie,” Gwen remarked, a little smile on her face. Changing the subject, she said, “This is a nice eatery you have here, how about a tour of the facilities?”
“Oh, it’s not very interesting to see.”
“It is to me. I know my way around a cafe, believe you me.”
Charlie poured Denny a cup, told him to sit, and took Gwen into the kitchen. Denny heard them chuckle a few times, and wondered if it was the kitchen they were discussing.
“Can a man get a meal around here?” He yelled at the two of them still conversing in the kitchen.
“Hold your horses, Mr. Caraway,” Gwen yelled back. “We’re talking professionally over here!” So
on enough, Denny heard the sounds and smells of cooking coming from the kitchen. He was glad there were no other customers in the place, making the little get-together possible and more enjoyable.
After a while though, Denny became antsy to get out to Lanyard Creek with Gwen, to watch her reactions to the homestead. He had a feeling she would love it. He knew Gwen would be a good partner. Only time would tell how good.
The three of them sat down to a dinner of halibut and chips, after Charlie had put the closed sign up and shut off the outside lights. This, he knew, was a special time, and he enjoyed being part of it. His opinion of Denny Caraway had actually gone up, though he already had plenty of respect for the man. Now, he had more because Denny was willing to commit to something with this gal that would change both their lives, no matter the outcome. Charlie had known a number of homesteaders in his time, some of them real old sourdoughs who had resided way out in the bush for many years. Most of them were a “little off” in his opinion, and he knew it was from living alone for so long. He’d already decided Denny had gone a little feral and wondered how far that would go. But now things had changed. This new development for him could only be a good thing.
The next morning Denny and Gwen loaded up the sleds and headed out the trail. Gwen proved to be a good trail rider, keeping up with Denny as he pushed along. Gwen’s sled was big enough to haul a fair load. Another trip with this sled and Denny’s big aluminum rig, and one more with his sled alone would probably do it. Denny had a good eye for such things, and Gwen knew how to pack. In fact, they worked smoothly together as if they had done so for years, helping each other to get the job done. Watching her carefully packing a box with some fragile keepsakes, Denny got a little lump in his throat. He still hadn’t grown accustomed to being with her in this way, but he liked it a lot. When she turned and saw him giving her a look she hadn’t seen on him before, she gave him an inquiring little lift of her chin, and he smiled at her. “Just like bread and butter,” he thought.
