by Warren Troy
Denny didn’t ride quite as fast as he usually did, to spare Gwen any excess roughness. When they stopped about halfway to check the loads, she told him if he wanted to go a little faster, it was okay. “I’m enjoying this trail; it’s smoother than some I’ve been on.” Denny smiled and gave her cold nose a kiss and they continued on, a little faster.
By four in the afternoon, they arrived at Denny’s homestead, the new cabin right in front of them. They both sat there a moment, enjoying their arrival.
“Denny, it’s a beautiful cabin, even better than I expected when you told me about it. You’ve made a good life here. I feel I’ve come home, somehow.”
“Because you have, Gwen.” Gwen got off her machine and jumped on Denny, hugging and kissing him with pure joy. Whether he knew it or not, he had given her a new lease on life. She had given up expecting much, and this was better than she could have imagined.
They went inside, Gwen starting a fire in the woodstove to warm the cold cabin, while Denny started bringing things in, stacking them out of the way until they could sort everything out. The two of them sat at the spruce table in their outdoor clothing until the cabin warmed up.
Gwen insisted on making eggs and bacon for dinner, though Denny wanted to do the cooking. He sat watching her bustle about, finding everything she needed. Though it was a simple meal, the two of them were well aware it was their first one together on the homestead, and that made it special.
Though they were beat from the long day, the two of them had trouble dropping off, talking quietly until sleep finally overtook the both of them. The last thing Denny heard Gwen say was, “We’re going to need a bigger bed.”
The next morning and what occurred then became the traditional start of a day for Denny and Gwen. Though he was an early riser, she was always up before him, stoking the fire, getting coffee fixings together, and when the stove was hot enough she’d get a good breakfast going. Denny would awaken to those great morning smells, put on his boots and jacket to answer nature’s call, then come in to a hot mug of joe waiting at the table. Though Gwen never knew it, Denny would sometimes watch her from bed as she bustled around the cabin, pretending to be asleep if she looked his way.
She wasn’t sure when Denny began saying it, until one morning she realized he always said, “Morning, love.” It had been such a natural sounding greeting that it slipped right by her. She, in her wry way said, “Morning Mr. Caraway.” Denny loved her saying that, as much as a more affectionate reply. It was Gwen speaking in her own way.
The first time Denny brought in an armload of firewood to put in the wood box by the fireplace, Gwen went right out after him and brought in another. When he went out to clear some freshly-fallen snow from around the cabin, she had a basin of water waiting to warm his hands and face when he came back in. Though the two had feelings for each other already, being alone in the bush away from outside influences that could alter their relationship drew them closer day by day. They complemented each other in nearly every way, and the old saw about two people becoming one, growing into each other, was no truer than with these two.
The rest of their first winter together smoothly slipped along. The temperatures dropped down to forty below several times, but they were warm and snug in the log cabin. They were forced to stay in during a few blizzards lasting several days, and did little indoor chores such as repairing clothing and cleaning gear, playing card games or dominoes, and drinking the mixture of coffee and cocoa Denny had begun drinking during his first year on his old homestead. Gwen was a little leery of such a mixture, but once she tried it, she was hooked. All in all, life was sweet. When the storms passed, they both went out and cleared away the snow, freed the snow machines from winter’s frozen grip, and kept the homestead going.
Chapter Twenty Two
Supplies begun running out faster than Denny had anticipated with the two of them there on the homestead. When he had lived alone, he would often miss a meal, busy working on his chores and projects. Gwen made sure he was well feed, which also meant, when he was enjoying one of her well-cooked meals, she got to spend more time with him.
So, in early February, with the cold holding at twenty below, a light snow drifting down, they bundled up in clothing of wool and down and headed out to the highway, using both snow machines, with the big sled attached to Denny’s rig. When they got to the trailer in Salcha, old Elliot was shoveling snow from the driveway and front porch steps, while his grandson Drew shoveled the roof. The old man had been really wonderful about caring for Denny’s place when he was out on the ‘stead, asking nothing in return. Of course, Caraway always found a way to make it right with him, often bringing him some game meat or buying him beer at the Salcha grocery.
Gwen gave Elliot a hug, thanking him for being so sweet. With a self-conscious smile, he said, “Oh, I’m just an old man with time on my hands. It gives me something to do.” Denny smiled at Elliot’s offhand way of making it seem as if they were doing him a favor.
As with Charlie Brady, Elliot had been surprised to see Caraway with a woman by his side. Smiling broadly, he said, “How in the world did a crusty old homesteader like you get himself such a nice lady to take care of him?”
Gwen immediately replied, “He just wore me down with begging and pleading. I felt so sorry for him, I finally gave in.”
Denny silently shook his head slowly back and forth, a twinkle in his eye.
Warming up the truck the next morning, they headed north to Fairbanks to replenish the supplies which had dwindled, making sure to get enough for the two of them. Gwen’s experience with stocking a cafe helped, though at first Denny thought she was overstocking. It turned out she knew what she was doing.
After their shopping was done, Denny called up Nathan Barker. Surprisingly, he was home. Denny drove up to the house so Gwen and Nathan could meet each other.
When Nathan opened the door and saw the two of them standing there, he was obviously very glad to see them. They got comfortably settled with some hot brandy to chase the chill away, talking happily together.
Nathan was home working on plans for a large new office building to be built in Fairbanks. The renderings of the building showed a very nicely designed structure, and the most interesting thing was that it was a single story, very efficiently set up to keep maintenance costs down.
Barker insisted they have dinner with him and stay the night. The two homesteaders were happy to do so. Gwen could see that Denny and Nathan had a strong bond between them. Caraway had told Gwen about Caroline’s plane crash and the aftermath, but Gwen could see that the two men’s connection went beyond that. When Denny suggested that Nathan show Gwen his game room, he was hesitant, not knowing Gwen as Denny did, but she was delighted to see all Nathan’s trophies and impressed him with her general knowledge of game animals, even from Africa and Asia. She told Barker that at one time she had planned on going to school to be a wildlife biologist. Denny told her he didn’t know that.
“Well, Mr. Caraway, there is a lot you don’t know, yet.”
“I hope not,” he said, “I’m having trouble keeping up with you already.”
The three of them had a chuckle over that.
Barker had a good breakfast cooking when the two got up the next morning. “Can’t go out in the bush without a good meal in your bellies, yes?”
Gwen and Denny nodded their agreement, and started in on the big meal, which included fresh fruit and rolls.
Before they left, Caroline walked in the front door. There was a moment between her and Denny which Gwen didn’t miss.
The two of them chatted a few minutes before he and Gwen said their good-byes. Driving away, Gwen was silent, and Denny knew exactly why.
“Gwen?”
“Denny.”
“Is there anything you want to ask me?”
“Is there anything I need to know, Mr. Caraway?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
“Then no, I’m fine.”
Denny had gott
en Gwen a good ski mask. He’d noticed a couple of spots on her face, signs of frostbite, and didn’t want it to get worse. On the trail ride back home, the snow began coming down heavily, and soon turned into whiteout conditions. They stopped about half-way home and considered whether to return to Salcha to wait out the weather or continue on. Gwen refused to turn around, so Denny told her to stick close and keep an eye on his snow machine’s taillight.
He held his speed down to make it easier for her, though he knew she could keep up at higher speeds. The whiteout was in full strength, but Caraway had taken the winter trail so many times he was able to run it almost by instinct, thinking about the next stretch ahead, and they made it home safe and sound.
When they pulled up in the front yard, Denny walked over and asked Gwen if it had been okay for her.
“It was no problem, Mr. Caraway. Maybe next time though, you’ll remember the sled blocks the taillight from view.”
Denny knew Gwen wasn’t seriously scolding him, but he was embarrassed about it anyway.
Before the end of winter, Denny got to experience Gwen’s abilities to survive in the bush. The moose meat hadn’t lasted as long as expected. They had taken Elliot a nice load of meat when they had gone out to get supplies, and now they had to restock the cache. Since winter was winding down, a whole moose would leave a lot of meat to thaw in the spring, but they had a hand meat grinder, a pressure cooker, and plenty of quart jars, so processing the rest of the meat would be no problem.
It was nearly March, and the weather had risen to fifteen above, though it could plummet into the sub zeros at any time. Denny and Gwen got all geared up and went looking for a nice barren cow or small bull, both better eating than an old bull.
They hiked about a mile along their side of Lanyard Creek before they saw some fairly fresh moose tracks. It seemed to be a group of three animals. They hadn’t gone several hundred yards more, moving as quietly as possible on their snowshoes, when they saw the three moose ahead of them in the open, just outside the edge of thick forest. There were two cows and a young bull, perhaps two to three years old.
Moving closer to Denny, Gwen whispered in a soft voice, “The young bull looks good.”
Denny nodded. Without another word, Gwen dropped her snowshoes, and slipped into the trees, quickly moving out of sight. Denny wondered what she was up to. When he looked back at the moose, barely fifty yards away, they were looking right at him, and a moment later they broke for the trees.
Denny suddenly realized what Gwen had planned to do, and moved out into the clearing, over to where the moose had been, and waited. Perhaps five minutes later, he heard a loud BOOM! coming from the trees. He broke into a fast trot, following the moose tracks into the trees. Denny was brought up quickly by the sight of the two cow moose standing close on his right, their hackles up, ears laid back, staring at something he couldn’t quite see, though he knew what he’d find.
Sure enough, after a short walk into the trees, avoiding the angry cow moose, he found Gwen, her pack off, knives out, trying to work the moose into position to start field dressing, and that was a lot of weight to move around.
Looking up at Denny, she smiled and said, “About time you got here. Give me a hand with this big boy.” Denny gave a single silent chuckle and went to work with his able partner.
He saw she had made a perfect heart shot and the big bullet had, according to Gwen, knocked the moose down like a bolt of lightning. She talked while they worked, and Denny listened. “Dad made sure I learned to make the first shot count. He started me off on rabbits and spruce hens with an old twenty-two. The first time he let me shoot his big gun, I was fourteen and a skinny kid, no remarks please. It actually knocked me half over. My dad was ready. He stood behind me and kept me from hitting the ground. My shoulder hurt for days. I got good with it though, and brought home meat a few times after Dad died.
“For all she had done, Momma wasn’t a hunter. Couldn’t bring herself to shoot a moose or even a black bear, though she did shoot one that had gotten into the cafe’s kitchen when they first opened the place. When I asked her why she could shoot the bear in the kitchen, she said it was because he was ‘being rude.’ Momma could shoot, even though she didn’t do it much.”
A little over an hour later, they had the young bull dressed and quartered. Denny and Gwen decided they could get the snow machine and big sled close enough to minimize the work needed to haul all that meat home. Gwen volunteered to go get the snow machine and sled, and Denny okayed her without hesitation.
Denny realized he had a real treasure. He wondered what else he would find out about Gwen before all was said and done. He figured they had plenty of time to learn each other, yet, he suspected she’d come to fully know him well before he learned everything about her.
Twenty minutes later, he heard Gwen bringing the rig out onto the little meadow outside the trees. It was a short easy distance for them to load all the meat in the big sled and haul it back to the cabin. They spent the next few hours butchering up the moose, putting it in game bags, and stashing it in the cache. They were going to hang the meat on the cross pole tied on between two small spruce, but they had seen some wolf tracks on their hike out and didn’t want to take any chances. They probably had six weeks and maybe a little more before they would have to process and can the meat. Until then, they were well stocked with fresh cuts. After they had washed up, Denny swept Gwen into his arms and said, “You did well out there, my love, I’m proud of you.”
Gwen pulled back a little, and went into a funny little routine, hanging her head, putting her hands behind her back and acting the shy girl, rubbing one foot on the floor. “Aw, shucks, Mr. Denny, it weren’t nuthin’!”
Gwen was amazed when Denny broke out in real laughter. She’d never heard him laugh like that before. Likewise, Denny had never seen Gwen being silly before.
As was bound to happen, Gwen did some rearranging of the cabin’s interior. Denny wasn’t sure what to expect, but what he had already discovered about Gwen told him to simply let her do whatever she felt needed doing.
Gwen basically moved things around so her own possessions blended right in with what Denny already had in the cabin. It was amazing to him that when she was finished, it looked pretty much the same, only with more inside including the several pieces of furniture she had brought, small items she didn’t want to leave behind. When she was finished, all the new furnishings looked as though they belonged there.
Denny told Gwen he had a lot of milled boards in the old cabin to be used for shelves or cabinets. Her eyes lit up at that. So, during the last real month of winter, Denny made several open-front cabinets and added three nice shelves to the cabin. Though Gwen wasn’t a frilly sort of woman, she had some nice things to go on shelves — chachkas, she called them, for the sake of dressing up the place. She had managed to bring in the crystal whiskey glasses and several goblets without breakage.
Denny found no fault with anything Gwen did, though if he had, she never would have known.
Chapter Twenty Three
Spring came in quickly. The temperature rose steadily and break-up lasted only a few weeks, despite heavy snowfall that winter. There were a number of days when a warm wind blew down the Salcha River corridor, melting the snow at a rapid pace. For a while, Gwen and Denny were worried about flooding. The Salcha rose high and fast, and so Lanyard Creek followed suit. The new cabin was back far enough to be safe from high water. The flood waters reached the pilings of the old cabin. Fortunately, it did no real damage. Still, it was a little worrisome until the water began to recede.
One morning Denny came out to see how conditions were, and while scanning the creek saw something unexpected and disturbing. Caught in a mass of branches and other water-carried debris, a hand and forearm was sticking up out of the tangle. He walked as close as he could get and saw it was a man who had somehow drowned, probably in the Salcha, and been washed into Lanyard. Denny got a length of rope from the old cabin, tied one en
d to one of the foundation posts, the other around his waist. He waded out in the strong current the short distance to where the body was caught up and tried to remove it. Caraway found that he needed to cut away some of the branches. Wading back to the bank, he got his Swede saw, went back out, and cut away what was holding the body prisoner. Struggling against the creek, which seemed to want to keep its macabre possession, Denny managed to pull the man up to the bank. Gwen was now outside watching, a dark look on her face.
Gently laying the body down, Caraway went inside the cabin to get into some dry clothes. Gwen insisted he sit and have a cup of hot tea until the shivering brought on by being in the icy water subsided.
“Do you know him, Denny?”
“No, never saw him before. He could have been carried a long way, maybe even from the campsites near the highway. He looks Native. Whatever the details, I have to take him in, and soon.”
Gwen would have been fine staying alone on the homestead under normal circumstances. This situation, however, put her in a different frame of mind. Looking at Denny with a slight pleading in her eyes, she said, “Fine, I’m going with you.” Seeing the look in her eyes, he simply nodded.
They carried the body into the old cabin away from any roaming predators. Early the next morning, wrapping him in a blanket tied to stay in place, they put him in the plastic ATV trailer Denny had purchased the year before.
The trail was in pretty good shape for the ride, though quite boggy in some spots. The bridge Denny built had been damaged slightly by the high, fast-running water, but it was still solid enough to let them cross safely.
Gwen sat behind Denny, and though she was a tough Alaska woman, she wearied of hearing the poor soul bumping and bouncing along behind her in the little trailer. Knowing what was making the sounds began to weigh on her mind. Finally, she asked Denny to go a little slower. He wondered if the ride was banging her around too much, and she told him, “It’s not me I’m thinking about.” Denny caught on right away and he slowed down a bit. Still, they got to the highway before six p.m., so the North Star Cafe was still open.
