Glacier Gal

by L. Langdon

  None of this would be mentioned in her letter. Her parents would be alarmed, of course, especially in light of the fact that she and Sven were alone together much of the time. She didn’t feel threatened in the least, however. Sven was courtly and maybe even a little shy. She almost wished that he would show a more aggressive interest.

  The atmosphere between them had changed since the dance, however. She felt more of a physical awareness toward him, and she thought that he shared that feeling. He still respected her, but he now teased her occasionally. Not in the nasty way that some young males affected, but affectionately. He had started demonstrating a predilection for puns. He seemed happy when she reacted, even if it were just to roll her eyes at him and groan.

  ___

  The next day, they stopped fishing a little early. The weather was nasty, which, alone, would not have stopped Sven, but the Glacier Gal’s fathometer went on the fritz. This instrument was vital. It measured the water’s depth beneath the boat and helped Sven decide, according to his usual magic, where to fish. The next morning, he announced, they would return to Juneau to get it repaired.

  Gerri started preparing the evening meal as soon as they anchored. She decided to probe Sven’s past while they ate. She wasn’t sure just how to approach it; the things she was most interested in—courtesy of Edwin—were probably what Sven least wanted to talk about. She would start with general questions about his past and hope for the best.

  “So,” she said as they sat to eat, “What was it like, being in high school in Juneau?”

  Sven looked at her with a half smile. She had hardly put any food in her mouth. “Wow. We just sat down. You must have been saving that up to ask.”

  He was right, of course, but she wouldn’t admit it. She shrugged. “Not exactly. We don’t get much of a chance to talk in the evenings. You get tired of me and disappear in your cabin.” She wanted to kick herself. That had come out sounding like she was whining.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head emphatically, “I don’t get tired of you. Not ever.” He paused, knowing that he should give her a better explanation. He didn’t want to share his painting with anyone—Rosie Craig excepted—but if he were to do so, Gerri would be the one. Another reason to tell her occurred to him—he hated to be a coward, but this would take Gerri’s mind off asking him about high school.

  Gerri watched him as he sat thinking and wondered whether he would say more—whether it would be polite to press him.

  She saw him come to a decision. “Can you keep a secret? Only one other person knows about this.”

  She started to joke, but he looked very serious. “Yes. Anyway, I don’t know anyone to talk to here except you and Mindy. Am I supposed to keep the secret from my family in South Carolina as well?”

  He looked at her intently. “I don’t care about the people in South Carolina, but, yes, keep it from your roommate as well.”

  “Well, as long as it’s not…” She didn’t know how to say it, but open ended promises made her nervous.

  “Don’t worry; it’s nothing harmful.”

  “OK, I promise.”

  He took a breath. Whatever this was, Gerri reflected, it was important to him. He seemed finally to come to a decision. “After we’re done eating, I’ll show you what I’ve been doing in my cabin at night.”

  Curiosity was eating at Gerri, but Sven seemed to be in no hurry. He finished cleaning up the galley, taking special care to have the table clean and dry.

  “Wait here,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” Now that he had committed to showing Gerri his drawings, he was nervous. He realized that her opinion was inordinately important to him. He returned with a sheaf of papers, laid them down in front of her, and then sat down beside her.

  Gerri glanced at him for approval and he gestured toward the sheaf without saying a word. She picked the papers up and started looking. As she did so, her mood went from bemused to astonished to fascinated. They were a collection of drawings. The styles varied widely; from clever caricatures almost like comics to finely detailed scenery pictures to portraits. They had one thing in common. They spoke to her. They drew her in and demanded her attention.

  “Sven, these are wonderful. You’re very good at this. Some of them I don’t even want to give back.”

  Sven exhaled—unobtrusively, he hoped. He had been hanging anxiously, caring about her opinion more than he wanted to admit. “Keep going,” he said, “There are more.” Even though he affected a casual air, he had chosen which ones to show her—and which not to show her—with great care. And she hadn’t gotten to the most important ones yet.

  Gerri continued looking. Then, she came to one that made her laugh out loud. It showed Wally standing on the deck of his boat. His face was screwed up in a frown. “You surely captured Wally. Has he seen this?”

  “No. Remember? Only one other person knows that I do this. Keep going.”

  Gerri cycled through several more pictures. Then came one that made her gasp. It was a picture of her on the front deck of the Glacier Gal, with her head thrown back, laughing delightedly. “This was when I saw the porpoise, wasn’t it?”

  “It was. Do you like it?”

  “I love it. But…” She squirmed. “It’s too beautiful. I don’t think I’m that beautiful.”

  Sven grinned with equal parts amusement and relief. “That’s how I see you. The artist gets to exercise his judgment.”

  She continued. Next was a picture of Gerri on the float, heavily laden with all of her luggage. I guess it did look like I was carrying everything I owned.

  The last picture was also of Gerri. She was carrying a fifty pound lead sinker in each hand, with the strain showing on her face—overlaid by an almost smug expression of triumph. That made her laugh. “That’s good. Did I really look that self-satisfied?”

  “Yes, but you earned the right.”

  Gerri started going through the drawings again. She wanted to ask for some, but actively soliciting a gift seemed to be poor manners at best. Then she noticed a common feature. “All of them have this little design in the corner. Is that a secret code or something?”

  “Or something. That serves as my signature. Yes, it’s deliberately obscure. Remember that this is a secret, and I’d like it to stay that way.”

  Gerri squinted. “They don’t even look like letters.”

  “They are—two ‘S’s overlapping with an ‘H.’ My initials. And an extra ‘H’ on the front for symmetry and additional obscurity.”

  “HSSH. Hmmm.” This didn’t exactly qualify as solving the mystery of Sven’s past, but she’d take what she could get, when she could get it. “So what’s your middle name?”

  “Sven.”

  She twisted her lips as she studied his amused expression. Once again, she was struck by how good he looked with that rakish grin. She jerked herself back to the matter at hand. “Then what’s your first name?”

  “Sidney.” His grin got bigger as he added in perfect falsetto. “But please don’t call me that. I hate that name.”

  Gerri hissed in disgust, and then jerked sideways in her seat to nudge his shoulder sharply with hers. “OK, funny man.” As she thought about it a bit more, she shuddered. “That day at White Sulfur Hot Springs is not my favorite memory.”

  “Mine either. But that’s all it is—just a memory. Don’t worry about it.”

  “I’m so thankful that you didn’t draw me like that.” She glanced at him sharply. “Or did you?”

  “No, I didn’t. I’m selfish. I draw you as I want to remember you.” …and because I find you fascinating.

  Gerri didn’t know how to react to that. She was warmed by his apparent vision of her, but the ‘remember you’ part reminded her unpleasantly of the fact that her time with Sven must end.

  He interrupted her reverie. “Would you like copies of some of these? I want to keep the originals to paint from.”

  Surprises and more surprises! “You paint too?” Gerri looked around the galley as if
she expected to see some paintings pop out.

  “Yes, but not here on the boat. I’m too busy and it’s too hard to store my supplies. I paint at home during the winter. And sometimes I use these sketches to keep my memory sharp.”

  “I’d love to see some of your paintings some time.”

  He nodded. “We can do that.”

  “Who’s the other person that knows about your painting?”

  “Rosie Craig. She runs a book store in Juneau. I’m in there a lot, and I’ve bought a bunch of books on painting and on visual perception. So she knows about my interest. She even has a few of my paintings.”

  “A book store!” This opened up whole new exciting possibilities for Gerri. For practically the first time in her life, Gerri had some time to read for pleasure, a book store where she could be just a regular customer—without worrying about the strictures of segregation, and, last but not least, enough money to spend for pleasure. “Tell me where it is. I’d like to visit it.”

  Sven gave her directions, and then added: “We’ll probably be in town for a few days until the fathometer is fixed.”

  They had another early start the next morning. By this time, both of them were eager to reach port. Gerri was at the helm (steering the boat, she would have said a month ago) when she saw the sun glint off an iceberg dead ahead. She had seen a number of icebergs in the distance, but, with their present heading, they would pass very close to this one. She was reaching for the binoculars as Sven came in from the back deck. He squinted at it briefly and grunted. “An iceberg. A big one. Don’t hit it.”

  She turned and saw him grinning at her. “I think I will, just to surprise you.”

  “That would get us an unexpected and very uncomfortable swim. That reminds me. You haven’t gone swimming yet. We’ll stop and do that some time, just so you can see what the water’s like.”

  “I know what it’s like: freezing. Brrr! No, thank you.” She thought for a minute. “Do you ever go swimming? Really?”

  “Occasionally. More when I was a kid. Last year some lines got wrapped around the prop and I went down to clear them.”

  “How can you stand it?”

  “Mind over matter, I guess. The water’s about 50 degrees in the summer. The first few seconds are rough. Then I have about 20 minutes to stay in before I get so cold that my muscles won’t work right. But you’re right. You won’t find many tourists swimming.”

  Gerri watched the iceberg as they got closer. She realized that it dwarfed the boat. Hitting it would be as deadly as hitting a rock. “I’d like to take a picture as we go by.”

  “Good idea. I’ll take the wheel while you get your camera.”

  When she got back, he had brought the Glacier Gal to a stop several yards away from the berg. The boat rocked gently in its own wake. Gerri took several pictures and then got up her nerve. “Would you stand over there?” She asked, “I’d like to take a picture of you with the iceberg in the background.”

  Sven obliged, muttering about breaking the camera. After she had several of him—she hoped that he didn’t realize that some of the close ups of him barely showed the iceberg—he took the camera and took some shots of her.

  Sven was delighted at this opportunity and had every intention of asking her for some of the pictures of her. He had every faith in his ability to capture her in painting and drawings, but this provided a different look. He was hungry for all of the remembrances that he could get.

  When he had taken several of her (some of which he intended to use to create paintings in the upcoming winter), he handed the camera back to her. “How about a picture of you on the iceberg itself?”

  “Are you serious?” But she allowed herself to be persuaded. He maneuvered the boat to within inches of the iceberg, and they used a pike pole about ten feet long to hold themselves in place and to steady her. “Won’t I slip? It is ice, after all.”

  “Step carefully and use the pole for balance and you’ll be OK. The surface is rough and you’ll find footholds.”

  Finally, they left the berg behind. Gerri could hardly wait to get these pictures developed. Wait until my family sees these! But an iceberg, she remembered, is only a little piece flaked off of a glacier. “This makes me want to see a glacier even more.”

  Sven was not about to pass up this chance. He had thought—unhappily—about the fact that he had no reason to see Gerri until they were leaving Juneau. “I’ll be glad to take you while we’re in town.”

  “Really? I’d love that. Thank you.” Not only would she get to see a glacier, but she’d get to spend time with Sven away from the boat. “How close will we be able to get to it?”

  “How close do you want to get? I can put you inside it if you want.”

  “What does that mean?”

  But Sven was back into his role as a man of mystery. “You’ll see.” Gerri vowed that this expedition would turn out better than his last surprise at White Sulfur Hot Springs.

  As they approached Juneau, Gerri was again at the helm. Sven was training her in all aspects of seamanship, which she loved. As they came close to the city, she found herself stealing looks at the mountains surrounding the town. What a beautiful setting…I’ll never get tired of seeing it.

  “Turn to the starboard, helmsman,” Sven said with a smile. “I want to get fuel before we tie up at the float.”

  As Gerri dutifully headed toward the Union Oil dock, Sven reconsidered his words. “I don’t know about this Women’s Lib stuff. Do I have to call you the helmsperson?”

  Gerri laughed. “Don’t do it on my account. I can think of better places to put my Women’s Lib energy.” She cut the throttle. Approach slowly…

  “Good work,” Sven replied. “I was just about to tell you to do that.”

  After they had topped off their fuel tank, it was just a short jaunt to the boat harbor. As they approached the boat harbor, Sven took the helm and Gerri kept an eye out for Wally. He was to meet them and catch a ride with Sven when he took the fathometer in for repair. He wasn’t there when they docked, so she jumped onto the dock and secured the Glacier Gal, bow and stern. Only then did she see him walking down the float.

  Another boat had followed them in and was docking in the berth next to them, but it was going too fast and was about to crunch into the dock. Gerri was proud of her competence—docking at the oil dock and efficiently tying the boat in just now. For some perverse reason, she wanted to impress Wally to win his respect. She braced herself against a piling and prepared to shove against the newly arriving boat to lessen its impending collision against the dock.

  Just as it was about to come within reach, however, Sven appeared by her side. “Watch out,” he said sharply. “Step aside.”

  Obediently, she moved, but complained, “I had it.”

  Sven pushed against the oncoming boat. Gerri’s eyes widened when she saw how much effort he was expending. His arm muscles corded powerfully under his tee shirt and she heard him grunt with the strain. If he had to work that hard… Even he didn’t completely stop the boat—he stepped aside at the last second and let it thud into the piling.

  “At least, I thought I had it,” she conceded. “It really wasn’t moving very fast.”

  Sven nodded. “Small velocity, but a very large mass. Momentum is mass times velocity, if I remember correctly.”

  Gerri considered that. “I remember that now,” she said quietly. If she taught physics instead of mathematics, this would have been a great example to use in class.

  “I was afraid that you’d get squashed between the boat and the piling.”

  Wally had arrived and was listening to this conversation. Gerri realized that in her efforts to look competent, she had achieved the opposite. “I’m sorry,” she said ruefully, “I’d hate to be remembered for shouting ‘Oh no! Momentum!’ just as I was being squashed.”

  Sven grinned mischievously. “Don’t worry about it. And besides, nobody ever remembers someone’s dying words anyway.”

  “Wha
t do you mean?”

  His grin turned sly. “Because, by definition, they’re just mentioned in passing.”

  Gerri giggled—she couldn’t help herself. ‘In passing?’ He got me again. Then she shoved Sven—hard—while still giggling.

  “Hey, what was that for?” He neutralized her shove by gathering her in his arms.

  “Because you made me laugh at something terrible!” But she was in no hurry to get out of his arms.

  Chapter 16

  Gerri left quickly, on her way to Mindy’s apartment. Mindy would still be at work, but Gerri could get some of her laundry out of the way while she waited for her to get home. But, especially, she wanted to check her mail. Even though she was having the time of her life, she missed her family. And maybe the letter would include some news from Rich.

  It felt good to fall into the rhythm of walking again. She and Sven walked along the beaches frequently now, but there was nothing like walking on a sidewalk to stretch out and set a fast pace. As she walked, she let her mind drift. She had already admired Sven, and she was delighted that he was becoming more relaxed and open around her. Of course, that meant that she was subjected to his awful puns, but they were kind of fun in their very awfulness.

  And again—she was doing this too often lately—she imagined living in a world without racial overtones. Would Sven consider dating her? She knew that she felt good around him, and she would certainly accept if he asked.

  And then there was Wally. She couldn’t figure him out. When she and Sven had finished their brief horseplay at the dock just now, she had caught Wally looking at her intently. Was it a hostile look? No, she didn’t think so. But neither was it a friendly look. It was…assessing. Well, she wouldn’t worry about Wally. As long as Sven liked her, that was enough.

  And Mindy, she remembered. She wanted Mindy to like her as well. She would definitely spend time with her. Maybe she could help with Mindy’s political activities. She would ask.

  As soon as she got to Mindy’s apartment, she dropped her load on the floor and eagerly looked around. As Gerri had expected, Mindy wasn’t home. Even if she was not travelling for her job, she would have left for work already.