by Henry, Sue
As she stopped and for the first time prepared to back the Winnebago into its space, the older woman stepped out of the Jayco and came to help direct the maneuver. Standing behind and to one side, she semaphored directions until Jessie had successfully parked and made sure the rig was as level as possible.
“Good job,” she commented with an approving nod as Jessie climbed down from behind the wheel.
“Used to drive a school bus.”
“No wonder you do well.”
Few national parks have hookups for RVs, and Whistler’s was no exception. The stove, refrigerator, and furnace ran on liquid propane gas and the lights on battery power, but to run any appliances that used AC power required a generator.
Jessie remembered this when she heard one running noisily nearby. Maxie noticed her attention.
“I thought about starting mine to make coffee but decided I’d rather put my feet up and make sure that Jameson’s isn’t going bad in the bottle. You okay with that?”
“Absolutely. But I have gin and tonic and some brandy,” Jessie offered. “We drank yours last night.”
“Honestly, I’d rather have Irish, if you don’t mind. You have any cheese and crackers?” She grinned. “Patrick had mine for an afternoon snack.”
She didn’t mind at all, and they were soon seated in Maxie’s chairs, sipping contentedly between bites of Jessie’s favorite Double Gloucester on saltines, while Tank and Stretch rolled in the grass at the lengths of their tethers.
“Where is Patrick?” Jessie asked, for she had expected the young man to step out of the motor home to greet her.
“Hiked off somewhere to take a shower. He’ll be back pretty soon.”
Late afternoon shadows from tall trees flickered between bright bands of sunshine on the windshield of a brown-and-cream-colored pickup driving slowly around each of the loops that connected to the outer road of Whistler’s Campground. Inside, two young men, one blond, one dark, carefully scrutinized everyone they passed.
“We’re never gonna find him in all these people, Lew. There’re hundreds of campsites.”
“If he’s here, we’ll find him. If he’s not, we’ll try the other campgrounds and all the Jasper RV parks—like I said. He’s gotta be around somewhere.” The dark-haired boy’s exasperation was evident in his tone and the impatient look he directed at his travel companion.
“But that old lady may not have stopped here at all.”
“Look, Kim, she’s not gonna drive a motor home all night, is she? She’ll stop and go on in the morning. Old people don’t like to drive at night.”
“Why not?”
“Because their eyesight isn’t good anymore, stupid,” Lew snapped. “Now shut up and keep looking.”
Both boys were tired and discouraged after a long day of searching for Patrick Cutler and too much of each other’s company. Kim had once again begun to exhibit uneasiness with the whole idea of trying to find their friend, and Lewis, tired of Kim’s complaints and apprehension, was growing more stubbornly determined with every pessimistic whine and beginning to wish he’d come alone.
He sped up slightly as he steered the pickup around a curve of the outer road and turned into one of the last campsite loops. As they passed a restroom and shower building, Kim suddenly sat up and pointed out his open window in excitement.
“Stop. There he is—right there.”
The brake Lew abruptly applied jerked both boys forward and halted the vehicle in the middle of the road.
“Where?”
But Kim had already opened the door and leaped out. “Pat. Hey, Patrick!”
Much of the campground lay in the shadow of a tall mountain that rose immediately to the west, blocking the late afternoon sun, but the air was still comfortably warm. Voices could be heard among the tall birch and cottonwood trees, and here and there flames flickered in metal fire pits and barbecue grills. Someone was cooking steak, and the tantalizing smell that wafted through the air reminded Jessie that she had taken some chicken from the small freezer and put it in the sink to thaw as she drove. Maxie agreed to sharing dinner and volunteered to make a salad.
Hoping to finish before Patrick returned from his shower, Jessie quickly related the conversation she had overheard at Bow Summit concerning the two men who were looking for a red-haired boy. When she finished, Maxie frowned and remained thoughtfully silent for a moment or two before asking, “You didn’t find out what they looked like?”
“No, I didn’t think about it until the woman had already gone.”
Maxie stood up and walked across to untangle Stretch’s tether from Tank’s.
“Well, I agree that it could hardly be anyone else, though odder things have happened. There could be another redhead.” She came back and sat down to sip her drink.
“Did he say anything today that would give you a clue about who those two might be?”
“Not a word, and not a sign that he’s aware anyone’s looking for him. I wonder if he knows they are. I did get a little more from him about his friend in Fairbanks. They went to high school together and were evidently pretty good mates until this Dave moved to Alaska two years ago.”
“Anything at all about his family?”
“He wouldn’t say, except that his father died when he was nine years old. There was something about a stepfather that he doesn’t like, so his mother must have remarried. But I got a feeling that she’s gone as well—and recently, I think—because he seemed upset and changed the subject rather too quickly. He talked a fair amount about computers and the internet—sounds like he’s pretty good with them.”
“Dammit, I don’t like this at all. What can that kid be up to that he’s not telling?” Jessie sat up and glared in irritation.
Surprised at the outburst, Maxie gave her a searching look. “Jessie?” she asked mildly. “Why are you so suspicious and angry at Patrick?”
“I’m not.”
“Yes you are,” she said gently. “And you have been, right from when he crawled out from under your rig. Think about it.”
“I’m…It’s not…It’s the situation that…” Jessie stammered, taken aback at the idea. She stared in confusion at Maxie, who waited calmly for her response.
Turning her attention inward, she examined her own feelings and detected the knot in her stomach, the tension of her body, and the frustration that wrinkled her forehead.
“I am angry,” she said, eyes wide in self-discovery. She flopped dispiritedly back into her chair, and some of the ice water she was holding splashed over the edge of the glass.
“Yes,” Maxie nodded. “I think you’re partly angry at the things we don’t understand that he won’t talk about. But another part of it may be some unresolved issues of your own. Is that possible?”
It certainly was, Jessie realized. So busy she had been almost overwhelmed with all that had happened in the last few months, she had neglected to notice that there was a lot of anger floating around undetected, along with everything else.
She was still intensely angry at the loss of her cabin—the arson that had destroyed almost everything she owned and held dear. Each time she remembered something else that had been consumed in the blaze, her anger had grown till there was now an inner conflagration of unexpressed exasperation and rage. And there was anger and indignation at the friend who had betrayed her.
Then there was the loss of her relationship with Alex Jensen, almost three months before. More sad than mad, she recognized that there was still a spark of passionate anger in that disappointment, too—anger that he had thought she might give up the sled dog racing she loved, anger that he had actually left when she refused. And she was angry with herself for letting it upset her.
Both these angers were mixed with this current animosity. But why should she be so angry with Patrick? Not a stolen lunch, for God’s sake—not his crawling under her motor home to get out of the rain. Was she jealous that he was riding with Maxie, not with her? No, she was relieved. There! That was close. Sh
e turned the idea over in her mind and realized that to feel that kind of relief she had to resent the very fact of his being there. He was a disruption, the puzzle of his presence an unwelcome distraction from her pleasant anticipation of this trip, her enjoyment of driving cheerfully alone up the long road north. She wished he, and whoever was looking for him—if they were—would just go away and leave her out of their problems.
As quickly as these realizations came, most of the anger faded. In a way, she still wished she had never heard of Patrick Cutler and been able to head north in the cheerful mood in which she had started. But knowing that he wasn’t the ultimate and only cause of her frustrations made her more tolerant. He really wasn’t a bad kid, she supposed—though she still wondered what was going on with him and if he were really being followed. But she would leave that alone and enjoy his company for the time being. Most likely he wouldn’t be around long anyway. If she knew anything about young men his age, it was that they liked company their own age, and he would probably want to take off on his own soon.
She turned to Maxie, ready to share her thoughts, and found her smiling.
“You’re a big girl. I thought you’d figure it out.”
Jessie decided to let that go as well and was glad she had when she looked up to see Patrick coming around a corner of the Jayco, hair still damp from his shower, wearing clean clothes.
“Hey, Jessie,” he grinned. “You made it.”
She wondered just how much of the conversation he had overheard.
For the rest of the evening Jessie relaxed and asked no leading questions, and Patrick said nothing to indicate that he had been eavesdropping. The three ate dinner together and talked about their separate trips along the Icefields Parkway. Patrick showed off some postcards he had “picked up” at the gift shop in the Columbia Icefield Centre, and though shoplifting flitted through her mind, Jessie dismissed the idea and told him they were good choices.
Maxie had been impressed by the white mountain goats they had seen licking minerals along the side of the road at one viewpoint. “I’ve been through here twice and never seen any before. There they were—a herd of—how many, Patrick?”
“Six—three little ones, two ewes, and that one huge male. They were a lot bigger than I thought they were from pictures. I’d like to have one of their skins with all that white wool.”
“I doubt they’d stand still for skinning,” Maxie commented dryly.
By ten o’clock they were all ready for a rest, tired by a day of sightseeing. Patrick seemed especially tired. Yawning, eyes drooping sleepily, he once again agreed to stay with Maxie in the Jayco.
Jessie locked the doors to the Winnebago’s cab and coach and closed the curtains and blinds so that she could pad around inside wearing only the oversized T-shirt in which she slept and a pair of socks. With a cup of tea and an apple, she settled against a pile of pillows on her bed to read for a while, with Tank snoozing contentedly in what was becoming his customary spot, the floor beside her. Through the ceiling vents and half-open window next to the bed, she could still hear soft voices in the distance—some harmonious group singing around a fire pit—and a person or two passed on their way to the restrooms not far away.
In half an hour she had found mountain goats in the Rocky Mountain Nature Guide, learned more than she wanted to know about the predaceous diving beetle, and was reading that the diverse-leaved cinquefoil stops “bleeding and dysentery in both man and beast,” when she fell asleep with the book spread open where it had come to rest, under her chin. Roused quite some time later by the sound of vehicle tires passing slowly over gravel, she laid the book aside, turned off the light, and slid quickly back into dreams.
When a voice at the window spoke almost in her ear and startled her awake, it was still dark.
“Jessie? It’s Maxie. Will you let me in?”
“Yes, of course. What’s wrong?” But the older woman had already gone to wait for the door to open.
Throwing back the covers, Jessie pulled on the jeans she had worn the day before and turned on the galley light as she went past the switch.
Maxie’s face wore a frown as she stepped in and sank to a seat at the table. “Patrick’s gone.”
“Gone where?”
“Just gone. I woke when I heard the door open, and he went out without turning on a light. I didn’t get up—thought he probably didn’t want to wake me by using the toilet in the rig and was going to the restroom. I must have gone back to sleep, thinking I’d hear him come back, but he didn’t. A little later I got up and turned on the light. This note was on the stove.” She handed over a lined rectangular piece of paper that had obviously been torn from a small notebook.
“Thanks for everything, Patrick” was all it said, in slightly uneven, youthful handwriting.
“He’s gone,” she repeated. “With all he owned—his pack, jacket, hunting knife—everything.”
They stared blankly at each other across the table.
“Sorry, Maxie, but I’ve gotta say it,” Jessie said, shaking her head and running the fingers of both hands through her sleep-tousled hair. “Like a thief in the night! I know it’s just unfounded suspicion on my part, but did anything of yours go with him?”
Maxie looked down at the table with an oddly embarrassed expression. “Nothing as far as I can tell, except—a package of cookies, two bananas, half a loaf of bread, a jar of sweet relish, and a can of tuna.”
The giggle started out as a single almost silent chuckle, but tears of mirth were soon running down Jessie’s face.
“He stole—your lunch,” she managed to get out between whoops of glee.
10
FOR THE NEXT TWO DAYS OF THE JOURNEY JESSIE’S wish for solitary travel was granted. She drove, explored, and stopped for the night with only Tank for company.
Leaving Whistler’s Campground early, they said good-bye to Maxie and Stretch, who were headed straight for Prince George, 234 miles west, where they planned to stop overnight to visit a friend. Jessie, on the other hand, drove into Jasper to fill the Winnebago’s gas tank and couldn’t resist investigating some of its appealing attractions.
The north side of the single long street was lined with small shops and restaurants, while the railroad station dominated the side to the south. Reminiscent of a Swiss village, many of the commercial buildings were decorated with balconies and gingerbread trim below steep roofs. With views of the towering Rockies to the southwest and plenty of room to park along the street, it was a pleasant place to wander along window-shopping with a trickle of tourists that by June would increase to a flood. Bypassing the gift shops full of Tshirts and postcards in favor of the Jasper Rock & Jade shop, she browsed through cases and bins of stones and minerals, bought a honey-colored quartz crystal with gold threads running through it, a moss agate that supposedly inspired peace of mind, a small bluish sphere of ocean-picture agate that looked like a globe in miniature, and a piece of green jasper, simply to remember the town.
As she left the shop, treasures in hand, calling a final thank-you over her shoulder to the shop owner, she almost collided with a man at the door who had apparently been on the point of entering when he changed his mind and turned abruptly across her path.
“Sorry,” he mumbled as they bumped shoulders, and without looking back he walked hastily away to disappear around the corner.
Restoring her balance with a hand to the wall, Jessie continued down the street and soon discovered a small bookstore, where she was delighted to find a short biography of Edith Cavell, a British nurse who smuggled Allied soldiers out of Belgium to Holland during World War I, was captured and executed by the Germans, and for whom one of the highest of the beautiful local peaks was named.
A glance at her watch told her she shouldn’t take much more time if she was to reach the campground she wanted that night, so she headed for the tourist information center that sat in the center of the town’s grassy park for a quick look at their offerings. Armed with a handful of pam
phlets and maps, she couldn’t resist buying a small square bell for Tank’s collar that made her smile because it was humorously intended to discourage bears with its tiny tinkling. For any of the grizzlies she had ever seen, a cowbell would have been a better choice.
Now seriously in a hurry, she was moving toward the door when a half-familiar figure suddenly turning away caught her attention. At first she thought it was Patrick Cutler because of the hooded black windbreaker jacket, sunglasses, and blue hat he was wearing, but it was a baseball cap with no floppy brim, and his profile showed a ragged fringe of mustache below a slightly hooked nose. She realized he was familiar only because, turning away in a similar fashion, he had almost knocked her down at the rock shop. Embarrassed, she guessed, or just rude. Well, it was a small town and she’d seen other people more than once on the street. Dismissing both incidents, she returned to the motor home, where Tank was patiently waiting.
Before leaving Jasper she made a quick stop at a liquor store for her own bottle of Jameson’s and another at a grocery for supplies to fill her depleted larder. There she found the produce section filled with fresh spring vegetables. Many of these went immediately into her shopping cart—tomatoes, carrots, broccoli, mushrooms, onions, cucumbers, and more—with plans for the salads for which she was winter-starved. As she picked out huge purple grapes and several apples, she thought again of Patrick and wondered where he was and, thinking of Maxie, tossed in two cans of tuna. Several things she’d never seen in Alaska also joined her collection—brambleberry jelly and canned raspberry juice, an unfamiliar kind of sausage, Scottish breakfast tea, and a very British-looking pastry or two. It was fun to pick out food for no one but herself, but she added a bone for Tank, a gift from the friendly butcher.
At ten o’clock, when she had packed everything away and was driving back through town, she saw the ill-mannered man once more, standing on the street watching her motor home pass with the rest of the traffic. Things certainly come in threes, she told herself and forgot about him as she headed west toward Prince George.
