by Kim Baldwin
“Probably lynx. We have one that comes through now and then, checking out our woodpile for mice, though we’ve never seen it. Their paws kind of spread out, to act almost like little snowshoes to keep them from sinking in the snow.”
“A lynx?” She vaguely knew what one looked like, but had no idea how big they could get. Cougar sized? “Are they dangerous?”
“Not to people. They’re very shy and solitary. Generally they go for things like snowshoe hares, birds, fish. Although now and then they can take a young Dall sheep or caribou, if smaller prey is scarce.”
“I heard this really weird noise coming from over there.” She pointed. “It was an animal, I think. Kind of a shriek, kind of a scream. Eerie.”
“Hmmm. Porcupine, maybe. It’s their mating season. Or could have been a raven. They make all sorts of oddball sounds.”
A bird or a porcupine, and she’d let it scare the shit out of her. She felt foolish. She had a lot to learn about Alaska and the wilderness, apparently. And a ready teacher was available. “Shall we call Bryson?”
*
The bath wasn’t the long, luxurious soak Karla was used to, but considering the locale, she was grateful for the opportunity to warm up from her walk in a real old-fashioned tub that allowed her to immerse herself completely. Although in terms of bathroom conveniences the Rasmussens had only the traditional outhouse and honeypot—an indoor bucket with seat used in extremely cold weather and emptied frequently—they had the luxury of running water and a bathtub, set up in a small room accessed through the door at the rear of the cabin. Of course the water from the tap was always frigid, since it was piped directly from the river bottom, but it didn’t take long to boil enough on the stove to make things comfortable.
Though Maggie wasn’t apparently ready to talk to her, Karla had been encouraged to see her going through the photo album. And Maggie had at least said “Good morning” as Lars and she came back inside. Give her time.
Spending the day with Bryson would be a welcome distraction from her apprehensions about Maggie’s reaction to her news. Her whole Alaskan experience so far had been surreal. To be expected, she supposed, with her emotions all over the place and her surroundings so alien. But most bizarre was the turnaround in her perception of Bryson Faulkner.
Bryson had taken the brunt of the frustration, fatigue, anger, sadness, and grief that had transformed her into some bitch cousin of herself. She replayed in her mind how she’d acted at the Bettles Air gate. No wonder Bryson had been reluctant to take her on as a passenger. She owed that blond gate attendant an apology, too.
She wanted to kick herself because she didn’t usually make snap judgments about people. Her appraisal of Bryson as an ass had been incredibly unfair and irrational. Fortunately, she seemed the forgiving type. And the hours ahead would give Karla the opportunity to try to make amends and give Bryson a better impression of who she really was.
Like Bryson, Alaska was really growing on her, much to her surprise and despite the frigid weather, the white-knuckled flying, and the lack of some of the modern conveniences she’d always considered essential. She didn’t miss her television or the Internet when there was such a feast for the eyes everywhere she looked. Now she had an idea how humbled the early explorers must have felt at seeing the vast, pristine wilderness of an unexplored and largely uninhabited land. She couldn’t wait to see more of it, especially in Bryson’s company.
Abby would have hated all of this. She didn’t appreciate a beautiful sunset or a simple walk in the park. She’d bitched when the power went out for more than a few minutes or when the satellite reception pixilated because of storms moving through. They had chosen their apartment partially because Abby insisted there be several good restaurants in the area that delivered. And the one time Karla suggested they spend their vacation at a lodge in Yosemite, Abby thought she was kidding. Are you crazy? What would we do all day? Fight off mosquitoes and stare at trees? I say Vegas or New York. San Francisco. Somewhere with some nightlife and great places to shop.
Perhaps being here was helping her put some things into perspective. Why had she always acceded to Abby’s desires, often at the expense of her own wishes and dreams? Abby had been so strong-willed she’d been afraid if she didn’t give in, Abby would find someone who would. And Abby had left her anyway. She felt like a fool.
Karla lingered until the water turned lukewarm, then hurriedly toweled off and dressed. The louvers in the door allowed some of the heat from the woodstove to penetrate the inner room, but it was several degrees colder here than in the main living space.
Maggie was still in bed leafing through the photo album when she emerged from her bath. Lars, in the kitchen brewing tea, turned Karla’s way and beckoned her with a tilt of his head. “Finally reached Bryson. She’s got no plans today and will be happy to take you out and show you around. I’ll run you over in the skiff whenever you’re ready.”
“Great. I’ll take a mug of that and then I’m good to go.” She glanced over at Maggie as Lars poured her tea and whispered, “Has she said anything more?”
“She sees the resemblances you pointed out between her and your mother. I think it’s made it all more real. Here, why don’t you take hers over to her?” Lars handed her a second mug.
When she set the chamomile tea down on the nightstand beside the bed, Maggie looked up at her. Her eyes were swollen and red, but she’d dried her tears, and she was contemplating Karla intently in a way she hadn’t before, curious and…hopeful? Karla’s spirits lifted as she stood patiently waiting under the long scrutiny.
“Sit,” Maggie finally said, patting the bed beside her. Karla settled carefully onto the edge within arm’s reach and put her mug beside Maggie’s.
They studied each other without speaking for several seconds.
“So…sisters, huh?” Maggie said finally, smiling tentatively.
She smiled back. “Yeah. Still sinking in?”
Maggie nodded. “I always wanted a sister.”
“Me, too. So much I invented an imaginary one when I was little. Her name was Emily.”
“Did you tell your parents about her?”
“Oh, yeah. They used to set a place for her at the table and pretend to tuck her in next to me at night.”
Maggie let a long pause elapse as she seemed to mull that revelation over. “So it must have been especially tough on you to find out all these years later you’ve had one all along.”
“I imagine it’s pretty much the same as you’re feeling. Both our parents lied to us. About things we had a right to know. And I get the impression you didn’t think it possible of yours, any more than I did of mine.”
“No.”
“They’ve both passed away?”
“Yes. My father was a logger. He was killed in an accident on the job not long after Lars and I married. My mother…” Maggie looked away. Karla knew she’d never view that word again quite the same. “My mother had ovarian cancer. She died four years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
When Maggie’s eyes met hers again, they were moist with tears, but full of compassion. “Those first few weeks after the funeral were so tough to get through. I imagine you’re still feeling like you’re on an emotional roller coaster.”
“Good way to describe it. The smallest things set me off. A piece of music or picture of someplace we went on vacation. The scent of patchouli. It all comes rushing up and just overwhelms me.”
“I know it’s a cliché, but time does help,” Maggie said. “God knows I still think of them both often and miss them terribly, but with not the same kind of raw ache and terrible emptiness I felt in the months right after.”
“I’m sorry you’ll never get the chance to meet Mom. Not that I’m excusing what she did. But she was a wonderful woman with a big heart. Smart, and with a wicked sense of humor.”
Maggie glanced down at the photo album, which was open to a snapshot of their mother taken when she was in her early forties, just befo
re she’d started showing signs that something was wrong. She was holding a camera up near her face, evidently about to take a picture, but someone had snapped a photo of her instead. She was looking sideways at the photographer with an annoyed but endearing scowl, an expression that said Oh, don’t take that! “She apparently had her reasons for doing what she did.” Karla detected an unmistakable note of bitterness in her voice.
She didn’t know how to respond, so she reached for her tea and sipped it, and Maggie did the same.
“I’m so angry at all of them,” Maggie volunteered. “My parents, and yours.” She ran a hand protectively over her swollen belly. “A part of me realizes they were all acting in what they thought were my best interests, at least in terms of the adoption. But the deception afterward. The hypocrisy. That’ll take a while to accept.”
“I certainly understand, I think. If there’s anything I can do—”
Maggie put her hand over Karla’s. “You came all the way here to tell me this. To meet me and get to know me. That’s so much.”
“You make me sound unselfish. But I assure you I’m not. I have no family but you now, Maggie.”
Maggie smiled broadly for the first time that day, her smile so much like their mother’s that Karla’s heart ached. “That’s not true. Now you have Lars, too. And very soon, a niece.” She opened her arms, and Karla slipped into her embrace. They hugged each other tight. “We’ve lost too many years already,” Maggie whispered in her ear. “Let’s not waste any more, sis.”
*
Two hours passed in a flash. Karla climbed up onto the bed beside Maggie and went through the photos with her, telling her stories about when and where they were taken, interspersed with other memories of her childhood. They laughed as much as they cried, until finally Lars interrupted them.
“Want me to call Bryson and tell her you’d like to make it another day?” He smiled down approvingly at them.
“Oh, gosh. I completely forgot.” Much as she wanted to continue getting to know her sister, Karla was looking forward to seeing Bryson, too, and who knew when the weather would provide her another opportunity. Besides, she wasn’t about to be rude to Bryson again. She started to look at her watch but it wasn’t there. She’d left it next to the tub. “What time is it?”
“Nearly two,” he said. “You have about four hours of daylight left.”
Maggie yawned loudly beside her, and Karla remembered that Lars had mentioned she often needed an afternoon nap.
“Since she’s expecting me, and since you could probably use a little rest, Maggie, I’ll go over for a short visit. But I’ll be back in time to cook dinner.”
That got a great out of Maggie, and a thank God out of Lars. They all laughed.
She hugged Maggie, relishing the warmth of her return embrace, and hopped off the bed. By the time she and Lars were suited up in their outerwear and boots, Maggie was settled into the pillows and comforter on her side, her eyes closed and her expression serene.
“I’m happy you two seem to be hitting it off so well,” Lars said as he started the engine to the skiff and they started downriver to Bryson’s cabin.
“Better than I dared hope.” The clouds had fled, and the sun had already melted most of the recent snow. It felt warmer out by several degrees than when she’d returned from her walk. “She asked me how long I can stay.”
“And you said?”
“I told her I can probably be here until the baby’s born, maybe a little after, if that’s what you both want.”
He grinned broadly, the relief on his face unmistakable. “I wager she was as delighted to hear that as I am.”
On impulse, Karla hugged him. She felt better than she had in weeks. Not only were things going wonderfully with Maggie, she was about to get some quality time to get to know Bryson better. “No happier than I am, Lars. No happier than I am.”
Chapter Thirteen
Bryson was extraordinarily patient under most circumstances, as imperturbable as one of the hundred thousand glaciers that dotted the landscape of the state she loved. The ability to tolerate any lengthy delay with good humor was necessary if you wanted to thrive in Alaska. Every year, she had to endure weeks of breakup and months of minimal sunlight. And she had to wait for endless intervals for the weather to clear so she could take to the air.
But all her patience abandoned her today, and she was pacing back and forth in front of her cabin window. Why was she so anxious for Karla Edwards to arrive? Her initial impression of Karla had been as bad as possible. She’d assessed her as a self-involved, petulant annoyance. But she’d been so damn tired she’d been less than charming herself. And who wouldn’t be edgy and preoccupied with herself after flying halfway across the world to meet a long-lost sister, unannounced, still grieving for her mother? She’d actually been quite pleasant during her visit at the cabin. And she was related to Maggie, which somehow made her all right.
It had been a long while since Bryson had looked forward to something so much, felt such a heightened excitement at the thought of spending a few hours in the company of another woman.
But she was being ridiculous. This wasn’t a date. Karla hadn’t indicated she was even gay, let alone that Bryson was on her radar. And their first meeting had certainly been less than auspicious. Regardless, she hadn’t been able to get Karla out of her mind. Why had she remembered things about Karla in vivid detail so often lately? What she looked like, sounded like, even smelled like, for God’s sake. Bryson didn’t wear perfume, so she’d immediately picked up Karla’s clean citrus-floral scent in the enclosed cabin of the Super Cub.
Had something happened with Maggie? It had been nearly three hours since Lars telephoned, and she’d expected the skiff long before now. On her next pass by the satellite phone, she paused and stared at it, willing it to ring. When it didn’t obey, she reached for it and started to punch in Lars’s number, then thought better. Things were probably pretty intense over there, and the last thing they needed was an interruption. Karla and Lars would either show up or call. It wasn’t like she had a lot else to do. She set the phone back in its cradle.
Too restless to confine her pacing indoors any longer, she grabbed her coat and headed down to the river.
The sun was shining bright against the mountains, but even at its height it rose only fifteen degrees above the horizon these days, so it cast deep shadows over the white-tipped peaks, outlining every jagged outcropping. In addition to the track of the sun, she measured the coming of winter in the amount of snow on her part of the Brooks Range. Each significant snowfall lengthened and stretched the blanket of white, until finally it covered everything above and below: first the mountains, then the forest and tundra, and finally, the rivers and lakes.
Interior Alaska was in that capricious phase of transition, the nights routinely below freezing, the days warm enough to melt any snow that had fallen. The ground had been mostly frozen that morning when she went outdoors to quiet Bandit’s noisy tirade with a handful of seeds, but now it was spongy again beneath her feet.
She walked upstream a hundred yards to a large, smooth boulder that frequently served as her perch for casting a line into the water. The rock had a natural depression similar to the curve of a semi-reclined lounge chair, allowing her to relax comfortably for long hours without needing additional padding.
The granite had absorbed enough of the sun’s rays to warm her through the thin layer of her jeans. She unzipped her jacket and leaned back against the rock, closing her eyes but attuned to the sound of the skiff’s engine.
Where should she take Karla? If the choice were entirely hers, they’d be up in the Cub, flying low over glaciers, seeking a glimpse of caribou. This time of year, the massive Porcupine Caribou Herd, numbering a hundred thousand animals, was often split into two major groups, the nearest one wintering some 180 miles northeast of Bettles near Arctic Village. Seeing the animals up close, whether on land or from the air, never failed to impress outstate visitors. But the roun
d-trip flight would take four hours, which was about how much daylight was left and allowed them no time to find and admire the herd.
Besides, considering Karla’s attitude toward bush flying, it was probably better to choose a location within easy walking distance. That still left several possibilities. They could scale Mathews Dome, a relatively easy climb with an amazing panoramic view, or follow the Flat River up to Icy Creek, where the canyon was so narrow the sheer cliffs on either side rose claustrophobically close to the hiker beneath. Another option would be to follow the Wild River south to Madison Creek. She’d often seen moose there in the swampy areas, but that was probably too far away to make it back before dusk.
She caught the subtle chop of the skiff’s engine long before the boat came into view. By the time it motored around the bend, she was standing offshore near Lars’s usual tie-off spot.
She recognized the royal blue of Karla’s down jacket long before she could make out her face; she was standing in the open rear of the skiff. Just as Bryson raised her hand to wave, Karla did likewise, and it warmed her from within to imagine that Karla might be anticipating their visit as much as she was.
The broad smile on Karla’s face when the skiff pulled up reinforced that hope and reassured her that things had probably gone well with Maggie.
“Hi,” Karla hollered as Lars cut the engine.
“Hi yourself. You look like your visit’s been a positive one.”
“Couldn’t be better.” Karla appeared so relaxed and happy she might have been a different woman entirely.
“Maggie’s still dealing with the whole adoption thing,” Lars said as he secured the boat. “But the two of them were having such a good time getting acquainted, time kind of got away from them.”
