by Kim Baldwin
“Think you’ll be going back to the cabin?” Lars dug into the pocket of his jeans and extracted a key ring.
“I don’t know. I hadn’t really given it much thought,” Karla admitted.
“Take this in case you do.” Lars held out the keys. “The cabin isn’t locked, but the shed is, and there are keys for the skiff, ATV, and snowmachine. You know where everything else is.”
“Okay.” Karla zipped the keys into the pocket of her coat. “Hopefully it’ll only be for a few days.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Better view sitting up here, don’t you think?” Bryson said as they strapped themselves into Skeeter’s Cessna, Karla beside her in the copilot’s seat. “Is it getting any easier for you?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Karla was careful to keep her hands clear of the dual steering wheel and control panel, afraid she might accidentally hit something that would create problems for them in the air.
“Wish I could do or say something to help you enjoy this as much as I do.”
“It would take an awful lot for that to happen.” Karla fell silent as Bryson got on the radio and readied for takeoff. A few minutes later, the floatplane was skimming along the water runway. She was grateful for the Cessna’s powerful cabin heater because the weather had turned noticeably colder during their day in the hospital. The sun was out, but the temperature was still well below freezing.
“I meant it when I said you could stay with me. I’d be more than happy to have your company until Maggie gets home.”
Karla glanced over at Bryson. She probably would have readily accepted her offer just twenty-four hours ago. But realizing that Bryson might be interested in her had thrown her off-kilter, and she wanted some time alone to think. Had she imagined it? Was she so adrift because of recent events—especially Abby’s leaving—that she was merely longing for some kind of meaningful connection with another woman?
“I think I’ll go back to Lars and Maggie’s. At least for now.” She gazed out over the landscape below, struck yet again by the desolate endlessness of the Alaskan wilderness. She could see why so many who came here found themselves re-evaluating the choices they’d made. “I’ve spent so much time lately grieving or grasping for anything to keep me from thinking too hard about the future. I’m finally ready to face things. Try to figure out what I’m going to do next with my life.” The prospect scared the hell out of her, but the birth of her niece had inspired her to begin looking forward, not back.
“Sounds like quite a challenge. If you need someone to listen, you have my number. Hope you won’t hesitate to use it.”
“I appreciate the offer, Bryson.”
“Well, I promised Maggie and Lars I’d look after you. And I know what it feels like to lose a parent and find yourself at a crossroad.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
The rest of the trip they talked about more innocuous matters. The baby, Christmas in Alaska, the sorts of mundane things that Karla should remember since she was staying alone at the cabin. Karla knew that Bryson was being unusually chatty to keep her mind off the flight, and she was grateful. Before she realized it, they were descending toward Wild Lake.
“Should take right off again pretty quick, so I can get Skeeter’s plane back and still make it home before dark,” Bryson said as they splashed down. “Need anything before I go?”
“I’ll be fine.”
The plane drifted to a stop and Bryson cut the engine, then came around to help Karla out. They faced each other for a few seconds, the sudden tension between them so palpable Karla could feel herself beginning to blush. “Sure you don’t mind if I call you to come get me if being alone turns out to be a bad idea?”
Bryson grinned with that same sweet look of joy that gave her butterflies in Maggie’s room, and her voice was velvet soft when she replied. “I’d like nothing better. I very much hope you will.”
*
The next three days gave Karla a powerful demonstration of how quickly the weather in Alaska could change, and a glimpse of how the isolation of a long winter in the bush could do quite a number on someone’s psyche. The weather had kept her indoors and forced her to keep her promise to use the time to sort out things. Her life. Past, present, and future. What she’d done with it so far, and what dreams she had yet to fulfill.
Bryson had barely left when the snow began to fall, and it had been coming down steadily ever since. The thermometer now dipped into the single digits at night and rose to just below freezing during the short days, so the ground was frozen solid. Ice had begun to form at the shore of the lake, and every bit of snow that fell clung tenaciously to every surface, painting the world around the cabin a solid landscape of white.
The warm embrace she’d received into the Rasmussen household and sharing the best of her childhood memories with her sister had tempered her grief over her mother’s death. Other, happier recollections had begun to replace the haunting image of her mom in the coffin. And though the loss still overwhelmed her often, such moments were less frequent now and briefer.
And she’d begun to be able to think of Abby with a greater degree of detachment. Hours of picking their life apart, seeking answers to how she could have been so blindsided, had given her some insights on why their relationship had not been the unbreakable connection she’d considered it to be.
She accepted that they needed to share the responsibility for the breakup. It might have been Abby’s decision, but Karla had failed to see the warning signs, had become too complacent about the way they were living. Their life together had become so predictable that she assumed Abby would have no problem with the uncommon demands of her nursing job: her long hours, her frequent exhaustion, her preoccupation when she lost a patient.
Not that Abby had been blameless. She should have spoken up if she’d considered their communication lacking and their love life less than satisfying. Karla couldn’t read her mind. And from her viewpoint, it was unconscionable to begin an affair when they were living together and partnered in what they’d both agreed was a monogamous, long-term commitment. She was aware that couples sometimes drifted apart. She might have accepted that fact if Abby had been honest with her when she’d first felt the distance and inclination to stray.
But finding out that Abby kept pretending to love her even while she was sharing someone else’s bed was the part she couldn’t understand or bring herself to forgive.
Often when she’d been thinking about Abby, images of Bryson intruded, inviting comparisons between the two, and Abby always fell short. Bryson was generous and caring, while Abby was not only a liar but a manipulator. From the beginning, she’d used tears, charm, or anger to maneuver Karla into getting what she wanted, whether it was which movie they watched, their next vacation spot, or the type of dishes they would buy for their kitchen. And like a sheep, she had always demurred to Abby’s desires.
Abby had been all about herself and her own needs. She’d have hated Alaska with its lack of conveniences and isolation. And she cared nothing at all about wildlife or the out-of-doors, while it was clear that preserving and appreciating the environment was at Bryson’s core.
As the days passed, Bryson dominated her introspections more, but Karla couldn’t decide what she might do if Bryson was indeed as interested in her as she was in Bryson. What then? It was one thing to engage in some harmless fantasizing, and another thing altogether to contemplate acting on those desires. Could she trust someone enough again to open her heart? Especially someone she knew she’d be thousands of miles away from in just another few weeks?
The only way to find out was to take a leap of faith. Not something she would ordinarily do, but the one she’d made coming to Alaska had certainly been worth it.
A raging blizzard that morning, with high winds and snow so dense she could see only a few feet outside the window, had tapered off to flurries by early afternoon. Deciding to take advantage of the slight break in the weather, she went to the satellite
phone to dial Bryson’s number. To her relief, the connection went through.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Bryson. It’s Karla.”
“Hey there! I was just about to call you. Everything okay?”
“Yes, everything’s fine.” Except perhaps the fact that she couldn’t stop thinking about Bryson. “Why were you going to call me?”
“I just heard from Lars. The baby’s been moved into their room. But Maggie’s blood pressure is still high, and she’s had some problems keeping down food, so they’re not releasing her for at least another few days.”
“That’s not uncommon.”
“Yeah, that’s what they told her and Lars. So what were you calling me about?”
“I…uh…” She gripped the phone tighter. Her mouth had suddenly gone dry. “I wondered whether the offer’s still open to come spend some time at your place. I’m getting a little tired of my own company.” And she wanted to find out what the hell was going on between them, if anything, but she wasn’t ready to admit that part.
“Sure.” The enthusiasm in Bryson’s voice reassured her. “Do you want me to try to borrow Skeeter’s plane again to come get you, or can you manage in the skiff?”
“I think I can get there fine. I’ve handled small boats before, and I watched Lars pretty closely.”
“If you’re sure. When do you think you’ll be heading out?”
“Oh, a half hour or so. I just need to do the dishes and throw a few things into a bag.”
“I’ll expect you here in an hour or so, then. Be sure to wear a life vest, and take it slow and easy. Visibility isn’t great, watch out for logs and rocks.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. See you soon.”
*
Karla began to have second thoughts not long after the skiff was under way. The flurries had thickened by the minute to another blowing blanket of thick, heavy snow, and in the dark of the overcast sky she couldn’t see more than a few yards in any direction. The lake was a breeze, but once she got to the river, danger was everywhere—logs, rocks, gravel bars, and fallen trees to avoid.
“It’s not that far,” she said aloud to reassure herself. Just keep calm and go slow.
The words were scarcely out of her mouth when the boat slammed against a rock, mostly submerged in the river. A loud crunch of metal sounded as she lost her footing and hit the deck, hard. The engine died, and the boat began to slip sideways to the current.
“Damn it.” She grabbed the nearest bench and hauled herself up. The boat was spinning out of control, just a few feet from the shore. She dove for the controls, but before she could restart the engine, the skiff bounced off another rock and tossed her back onto the deck. She tried to catch herself but took the brunt of the impact in her right wrist. Momentarily stunned by the pain, she gritted her teeth and clutched her wrist as the boat whirled around, caught in the current, and grounded itself on the next gravel bar.
“Great. Just great.” As the pain began to subside, she wiggled her fingers, relieved to discover it was a bad sprain and not a break. Her circumstances, however, were less than ideal. The boat wouldn’t start, and the gravel bar she was stranded on was in the middle of the river, the temperature below freezing. She’d have to get wet to hike out, and she was probably about midway between the two cabins.
She climbed out and inspected the boat. Though the bow was dented, it seemed watertight. She secured the vessel to a large rock so it wouldn’t drift away if the water rose, then slung her duffel bag over her shoulder and peered through the snow at the distance between her and the nearest shore. It seemed only fifteen feet or so, but she couldn’t judge the water’s depth. As tempted as she was to cross as quickly as possible, she had to keep her footing, so she resigned herself to take it slow and easy.
The icy water flooded her boots on her second step, piercing her wool socks like a thousand tiny needles. She continued, cautiously, the water soon up to her calves, numbing her. Turning slightly upstream against the current, she fought every inch to keep from being swept away. Halfway there, the water was up to mid-thigh, the current exerting its full force and Karla more powerless by the moment. She almost succumbed to the rapidly rising panic that had sucked all the air out of her lungs and started her heart hammering.
By the time she reached the shore, she was gasping from the cold and had lost nearly all feeling in her legs. With trembling hands and chattering teeth, she stripped off her boots and her clothing from the waist down and pulled on long underwear, dry jeans, and fresh wool socks from her bag. She rubbed her feet vigorously to try to warm them, wincing at the pain in her wrist when she did, but her boots were the only footwear she’d packed, so when she put them on again, her new socks were almost immediately saturated as well.
She had at least three or four miles to go to get anywhere, but she was determined to tough it out. Rising to survey the shoreline in either direction, she decided to head to Bryson’s rather than return to the Rasmussen cabin. She’d doused the fire in the woodstove before she’d left, and Bryson’s home would provide the immediate warmth her feet desperately needed.
She stayed near the river for the first several hundred yards, but the snow completely covered the rocky bank, which made for treacherously slow going. Her feet felt half frozen and she had difficulty maintaining her balance. A twisted ankle was something she couldn’t afford.
Hoping for smoother footing, she entered the woods and paralleled the river, threading through the dense spruce trees. The wind began to pick up, and the snow showed no sign of diminishing. Now and then, a whiteout would temporarily obscure her view of the water, but she wasn’t afraid of getting lost. The river was on one side of her, and the mountains on the other, some half mile or more distant. As long as she kept moving downstream along the shoreline, she should find Bryson’s cabin.
*
Bryson peered north, listening for the skiff’s engine, cursing the fact that the thick snow muffled all sound. It was a little after three. Only an hour of daylight left, and Karla was so overdue she was edgy with worry. She debated whether to strike out on foot or take to the air. Hiking would be slower, but conditions were awful for flying. Even keeping the Cub low, she might miss seeing the skiff in the blizzard.
Frustrated, she hurried back to the cabin and threw a few essentials into a backpack, pulled on an extra layer of clothes, and set off to find Karla, working her way slowly upstream along the rocky bank of the river. She’d brought along a rescue whistle, which carried farther than her voice, and every quarter mile or so she would pause and blow it, then strain for an answer, but none came.
Something had happened. Something bad. She could feel it in her gut. It had been a mistake to let Karla set out by herself, after promising Lars and Maggie she’d take care of her. She’d covered less than two miles when dusk fell. She clicked on her flashlight and kept moving forward, sweeping the terrain ahead and the river to her right. The only answer to her repeated whistle blows was a lone wolf howl, far off in the woods to her left.
*
She was lost. Karla had been trying to deceive herself, but she accepted now that she had no idea where she was in relation to Bryson’s cabin. Not that it mattered, because it was pitch-black, and her feet were almost incapable of supporting her.
She felt like she had walked a great distance, but only because each step was so difficult. From the start, her feet were so numb from the river she had difficulty maintaining her balance. She’d fallen several times, twice on her sprained wrist. And the heavily laden trees around her had dumped their cargo of snow directly onto her head, sending icy pellets deep into the collar of her jacket. She was miserably cold. The biting wind had penetrated every available orifice and frozen the top of her wet socks into ice.
At some point, she realized she hadn’t spotted the river through the trees for quite some time. She headed in the direction she thought was right, but the shoreline wasn’t where she thought it was, and the forest and blowing snow were to
o thick for her to see the mountains to get her bearings.
She panicked and wanted to run. But she decided she better try to warm her feet. She sat on a downed tree and stripped off her boots, then her ice-crusted socks, with difficulty. She had two dry wool pairs left in her duffel and put them both on, then wrapped her feet in two thick sweaters and prayed for a letup in the blizzard so she could see.
She couldn’t have passed the cabin, she tried to reassure herself. It had to be just a short distance ahead. But her sense of direction was too unreliable to give her any confidence. The river valley was very wide at Bryson’s cabin. If she’d been traveling close to the mountains instead of the river, she might have passed by without seeing it.
And if she had, thirty miles of wilderness stretched between her and Bettles.
Indecisive, she froze, and soon it was getting dark. No flashlight. No matches. No weapon. Nothing but a few extra clothes, which didn’t seem to be doing much to warm her feet.
She tried not to be afraid, but she’d heard the wolves howl too often. Most of the time, they came from the right of the Rasmussen cabin and were a long way off. A few miles downriver, Lars often estimated. In other words, right about where she was sitting.
She pulled out the tigereye necklace and shoved it into her right glove, comforted by the smooth stone against her palm. She didn’t have many options. Try to keep walking, risking further injury and possibly getting even more lost. Or she could sit tight and hope someone found her before she froze or some predator got too interested. She was long overdue, so Bryson would already be out looking for her. She was that kind of woman.
But if Karla had already passed Bryson’s cabin in the storm before she started searching…or if they had been too far apart to see each other when they passed…then Bryson was heading away from her.
