August kicked at the dirt thoughtfully. “Your mother cares a great deal about you, Rita.”
“Oh, I can certainly see that,” Rita said sardonically and turned her back to her father. No sense in letting him see the tears that had formed in her eyes.
“I felt just like you did when I was younger,” August remembered. “When I met your mom, I was a hard man with a grudge against God. I felt like God had disappointed me one time too many and therefore I didn’t want anything more to do with Him.”
“I’ve heard this story before,” Rita muttered.
“I know,” the aging August answered. “But, it seemed important to share it with you one more time. Your mom confronted me with my hard heart and, even though she loved me, she watched me walk away because she had the guts to stand up to me.”
Rita said nothing. She stuffed her hands deep into her jeans pockets to ward off the chill. If only there was someplace to warm her frozen heart.
“Well, anyway,” August said, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, “I kept thinking about the things she’d shared with me and the way she assured me God was still there for me. I ran as far and as fast as I could and finally God pinned me down in a place I couldn’t fight Him anymore.”
“I know,” Rita replied. “He buried you under a construction tractor after you fell over the embankment.” Rita remembered the story from its many tellings. Her father’s tractor had plummeted over a soft shoulder as he graded the roadway. He had been pinned beneath the equipment, broken and bleeding, and God had spoken to his spirit.
“I know it sounds silly,” August admitted with a grin. “But sometimes God has to get your attention. He’d done everything else He could, but my stubbornness required drastic measures.”
“Look, Dad,” Rita began, turning to face her father. “Couldn’t we just drop the subject? Isn’t it enough that I know how you feel and you know how I feel?”
“You mean agree to disagree?” August questioned.
“Yes.” Rita came to her father and put both hands on his shoulders. “I love you, Dad, and I need for you not to harp at me. Mother has preaching down to a fine art form, and I’d just as soon not have you hassling me as well.”
“All right, Rita.” August embraced his daughter. “I’ll leave it be. At least for now.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Rita whispered. She couldn’t help but wonder how she’d deal with her mother, but maybe if she put it off long enough, she wouldn’t have to do anything about it. Maybe Beth would just leave well enough alone and realize that Rita was a grown woman with a mind of her own.
Chapter 5
The first snows fell and autumn quickly became winter. Rita was in better physical shape than she’d ever been, and her heart was eager for the challenge of the Iditarod.
After spending six months working with her dogs, Rita had chosen a team of fourteen, twice as many as the minimum requirement for the race. They were a hearty, well-bred group of dogs, and Rita felt a genuine pride whenever she worked with them.
Week after week, Rita found herself engulfed in conversations that dealt with the business of dogsled racing, conversations that made her eager to feel the icy winds upon her face and the solitude of the long trail.
“You have to remember,” Mark told Rita as she worked to attach the brush bow to the front of her handmade sled, “it’s not always best to be out in front. If you head out early in the race and find the trail blown over, you may break trail through hip-high snow … maybe even higher. That’s tedious, exhausting work, and the dogs pay a toll for it as well as the musher.”
“So it’s better to pace yourself behind?” Rita questioned. She sat up and adjusted the hood of her insulated sweatshirt.
“Sometimes, but not always. It’s a matter of attitude and decision. You have to keep your mind cleared of other clutter and totally devoted to the trail. Then the choices are easier to make. You have to have a feel for the course. When you’re out there all alone and faced with decisions like where to make your camp and whether your dogs are up to another twenty miles without a rest, you realize that this is where experience, training, and attitude all make the difference between life and death.”
“But how do you decide when it’s right to take the risks when you’ve never run the Iditarod before?” Rita asked.
“Every Iditarod is different. No matter how many times you run it, you can’t predict what the elements will be or how the terrain will have changed. Then, too, the route changes from year to year. From Anchorage to Ophir, it’s the same trail for all years. After that, however, the northern route, during the even years, goes up to Ruby from Ophir and down the Yukon River to Nulato and Kaltag, to name a few. The odd year, the southern route leaves Ophir and goes down to Iditarod and across to Anvk. From there you follow the Yukon up to Kaltag, and then the race resumes identical trails again. And while I’m the first one to say that repeated experience on the trail is an important issue, it isn’t everything.”
Rita listened intently while Mark shared his secrets. She was still uncomfortable in his company, but she didn’t feel the anger she once had. With so much else to concentrate on, Rita had less and less time to consider her lifelong struggle to find her niche.
“How’s it going?” August asked as he joined Rita and Mark.
Rita gave her father a smile. “It’s going slow,” she replied honestly. “I told you this sled building thing wasn’t my forte.”
“But you’ve done very well,” August encouraged. “Your first sled turned out great, and this lightweight racer will be even better. I think you’re going to be pleased with the results.”
“I think so, too,” Mark agreed.
“I hope so,” Rita said, thoughtfully checking her work for any errors.
“Are you two still planning on going out tomorrow?” August questioned, referring to the week-long sledding and camping trip that Rita and Mark had arranged.
“Yep,” Mark answered before Rita could comment. “We’re all set and the dogs are more than anxious. I figure we’ll set out around dawn and be back in a week, maybe ten days.”
“Just like we used to do when we were younger, eh, Rita?” August teased.
“Something like that,” Rita replied. She was still uncertain about spending time away from her father and out on the desolate trail with Mark.
“Look, I’m going to finish up here and go home. I still have some gear to take care of and dog food to pack. I’ll come over in the morning, and you be ready to leave by sunrise,” Mark said, getting to his feet. “I hate being kept waiting,” he added in a joking voice.
“Don’t worry about me,” Rita glanced upward. Her heart did a jump as she noticed Mark’s warm brown eyes. She tried to steady her nerves and sound more severe than she felt. “I told you I could take care of myself,” she added.
Mark laughed and gave a little bow. “Then I shall await the pleasure of your company on the trail tomorrow, ma’am.” With that he was gone, and Rita stared after him, shaking her head.
“He’s a good man, Rita,” August said as if reading the question on his daughter’s mind. “I trust him, and I know he’ll take good care of you on the trail. Trust him, Rita. He might very well teach you something you don’t know.”
Rita nodded slowly and gave her father a brief smile. Trust him? She didn’t even know him outside the realm of the Eriksson dog kennel. Why should she believe him to be so trustworthy?
“Dad?” Rita questioned with a sudden thought. “I’d like to have a pistol. May I borrow one of yours?”
August nodded. “That’s a good idea. I’ll make sure you have one for the Iditarod, too. Sometimes it’s necessary to put down an animal. You can never tell when a moose is going to jump in the middle of your dog team. It’s happened before, and they almost always have to be shot.”
“I remember a moose wreaking havoc with one of the teams several years back,” Rita agreed.
“I do, too,” August replied. “I’ll make su
re you have what you need.”
“I have you, Daddy.” Rita jumped up to hug her father. “And you are all I’ll ever need.”
August embraced his daughter but said nothing. He certainly couldn’t tell her what was in his heart. He couldn’t explain that she needed the Savior and that without Him she would be hopelessly lost. Breathing a silent prayer, August gave his youngest daughter over to God, knowing that there was really little else he could do.
The wind had picked up and the sky threatened snow, but nevertheless, Rita and Mark, with lamps secured on their heads, mushed out into the darkness with their dog teams. They had decided to explore the area to the south and maybe even check out the trail for the Copper Basin 300.
The snow wasn’t all that deep, but it had glazed over with ice from a recent warming and refreezing. It made a good trail, and Rita was surprised to learn that Mark had already spent many hours in the area, choosing the path they would take.
When they stopped for lunch, several hours later, Mark explained.
“I wanted this first day to be rather simple. You know, that way you could get used to the trail and being out away from civilization. And, it wouldn’t be all that taxing for the dogs. We’ll make camp about twelve miles down the way. There’s a nice place by the river where we can set up camp under the trees. We’ll have all the water we need and plenty of shelter,” Mark told Rita.
“I didn’t realize you had this all mapped out,” Rita replied. She enjoyed some warmed-up tuna casserole her mother had sent along.
Mark stirred up the fire, enjoying himself and the freedom of the vast wilderness before him. “I am the teacher, remember?” His words were spoken in a gentle reminder, and for once Rita knew, in order to object, she’d have to work hard to conjure up her anger.
“I just meant that I didn’t realize you’d spent so much time and preparation on this trip. I figured we were just kind of heading out into the great unknown,” Rita answered.
“After today,” Mark replied, “we will be. I haven’t planned every detail out. Rest assured there will be many elements of surprise on our adventure.” He lost himself for a moment looking into Rita’s eyes. She quickly captured his heart. Turning away before Rita could perceive his thoughts, Mark called over his shoulder, “You ready to press on?”
“More than ready,” Rita responded, unaware of Mark’s emotions.
They broke camp and pressed to the south. The valley floor soon gave way to foothills and dense forests of black and white spruce, as well as aspen and birch. From time to time, stunted black spruce and the absence of hardwood trees betrayed the sure signs of permafrost ground. This was ground that never thawed, and nothing rooted well in its frozen subsoil.
It reminded Rita of the parable of the sower. The seeds that fell upon the rocky soil couldn’t take deep root. She shook off the image, wondering why she’d even thought of it. No doubt eighteen years of Bible stories and Sunday school had to exist in memory somewhere. Sending the reminder of her mother and father’s faith deeper within the dark recesses of her memories, Rita pressed on to keep pace with Mark.
Without warning, a snowshoe hare darted out across the trail, causing Rita’s team to take off in a free-for-all chase. Rita struggled to keep her grip on the sled’s handlebars. She wouldn’t forgive herself if she lost her team, especially in front of Mark.
“Gee, Dandy!” she yelled above the barking huskies, trying to tell her dogs to go back around to the right. By now, they were nearly heading in the opposite direction from which Rita and Mark had been making their way. “Come gee! Dandy, come gee!” Rita called out. When Dandy finally heard his mistress’s instructions, he managed to direct the team back to the trail, much to the disappointment of the other ten dogs behind him.
Rita tried not to look flustered, but she was keenly aware that Mark watched and evaluated her every move from where he’d brought his own dogs to a stop back on the trail. Expecting some sarcastic comment regarding the incident, Rita was surprised when Mark turned back around and called out the command that sent his dogs forward. Breathing a sigh of relief, Rita tried to be more prepared for any more interferences with her team.
Shortly before the last bits of muted sunlight faded from the sky, Mark brought them, without further mishap, to the place he’d planned for their first night on the trail.
Rita put up her small domed tent only after seeing to the needs of her dogs. August had explained to her on many occasions that the dogs were her life’s blood on the trail. Taking care of them first insured that they’d be in prime condition to take care of her later.
Rita found spruce boughs and made beds for each of her dogs, while a roaring fire heated up August’s personal choice of dog food. It was a hearty combination of commercial dog food blended with beef liver, vegetable oil, and eggs. All were chosen to give the highest degree of benefit to the active sled dogs.
With the dogs now fed and sleeping in fuzzy balls to ward off the minus-twenty-degree winds, Rita found herself able to settle down to preparing her own supper.
“I’ve already got the stew on the fire,” Mark offered when he spied Rita digging into the food packs.
“I’m glad,” Rita replied, plopping down beside the fire. “I’m absolutely starved.” It felt good to sit and rest, even in frosty air that stung her eyes.
“I’d kind of like some coffee,” Mark said, pulling out a zippered bag of instant coffee.
“That does sound good,” Rita agreed. While Mark found cups, Rita studied the surroundings. She realized how perfect their camp was. They were sheltered from the wind by a rocky ridge that followed the river for a short way. This was coupled with the canopy of spruce trees that lined the river.
They also had water—even if they did have to break the surface ice with an ax. With a little more effort, they soon had enough firewood to enjoy the evening, allowing both of them to sit back and bask in the warmth. Mark had been very wise to choose this place, Rita decided. A part of her wanted to tell him so; another part warned her not to make any kind of comment that betrayed her emotions.
Supper passed in relative silence. Mark seemed content to enjoy the quiet and the meal, while Rita nervously wondered how to relate to her traveling companion. Before their talk had always revolved around sledding, dogs, and the Iditarod. What if she were required to talk of something more?
As if reading her mind, Mark began to speak. “You know it’s hard to sit out here in the middle of nowhere with all of this monumental beauty around you and not be in awe of it.”
“It is impressive,” Rita agreed in a guarded tone. “It makes it hard to consider leaving.”
“Leaving?” Mark questioned. “Where would you go?”
Rita shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve thought about moving to Texas.”
Mark chuckled. “Cowboys and oil wells instead of dogsleds and snow?”
“I don’t know. It was just a thought,” Rita replied. “I’ve always liked the things I’ve read about it. Lots of sunshine and wide open spaces. You can have it rustic and rural or live it up in the glamorous city night life. I guess Texas has a little bit of everything.”
“Maybe I could call you ‘Texas Rita,’” Mark joked, but Rita just lifted her chin defiantly.
“Maybe you wouldn’t need to call me anything.”
Mark hid his smile and turned away from Rita. There was no sense in irritating her further. “Look,” Mark said and pointed to a glowing green light that loomed up from the horizon and grew in size until it seemed to fill the sky.
Rita watched as it changed in shape and size. The green soon gave way to a more prominent outline of pink and then, as the color intensified and darkened to a reddish hue, yellow fiery flickers sent fingers upward through the image to paint the sky.
“The northern lights,” Rita commented as she watched the night show. “I’ve always loved them.”
“I just don’t know how anyone could watch them and doubt the existence of God,” Mark said in a low,
husky whisper.
“What’s God have to do with it?” Rita said rather flippantly. “It’s a natural phenomenon. I read all about it and it has something to do with the sun.”
Mark turned from the light show to study Rita a moment before replying. “I don’t understand how you could have spent years in church and fellowship with other Christians and say such a shallow thing.”
Rita instantly felt defensive. Obviously, Mark was yet another devout Christian. Why hadn’t she considered that before? There wouldn’t have been any way at all that her father would have taken on a less than fully devoted man of God as his partner. Oh, she knew her father had told her Mark was a good man and a Christian, but since Mark had never bothered to make it an issue with her, Rita had felt safe to let things lie undisturbed.
“Look,” Rita said with only the slightest hint of irritation in her voice, “I’ve tried to look at things like my folks, and apparently you do. I’ve joined all the groups, read all the Bible handouts, prayed all the prayers, and held my head just so when the minister preached his sermons. I’ve spent a lifetime being preached at, prayed at, and talked at and, as shallow as it might seem to you, I just don’t feel the same way you do.”
“I think that’s the most honesty you’ve given me since we met,” Mark remarked in a way Rita hadn’t expected. It so flabbergasted Rita that she said nothing as Mark continued. “I know how hard it is to feel like God is real. I went through a bad time of that myself. People kept saying, ‘Well, if you just believed the way you should, you’d understand.’ Then they’d all kind of stand around with this knowing look, all nodding at each other like I’d missed the joke. I hated it.”
“Exactly,” Rita said, totally amazed that Mark actually had put her feelings into words. “Or they give you that little shake of their head, where you can practically hear the ‘Tsk, tsk’ under their breath, and they talk about turning you over to God to be dealt with. Like you were a sack of potatoes that needed to be washed up for dinner.”
Brides of Alaska Page 30
