Glacier Gal

by Langdon, L.

  “Was that you? I thought it was the radio.”

  Gerri watched Sven stepping out of the cabin. He had obviously just awakened, but other than his sleep filled eyes, he looked fresh and alert. He also looked incredibly attractive. He had a quizzical smile, which, as usual, made her want to sigh. He wore a T-shirt which was slightly too small, emphasizing his muscular frame. She tried to avoid staring. An errant thought, quickly squashed: if I had grown up here and he was my boyfriend I would have had a hard time keeping my promise to my mother… She gathered her wits.

  “I’m sorry. Did I wake you up?”

  “No. Well, sort of, but I’m glad you did. I overslept. You have a beautiful voice.” He wished now that he had stayed inside and listened. As he was about to ask her to continue, she interrupted.

  She pointed to the shore. “Do we have time for me to take a walk?”

  “On the beach?”

  “Or in the woods. I just like to walk, and it might be fun to explore a bit.”

  He looked at the shoreline and then at his watch. “Sure, why not? We’ve been going hard for the past few days.” His lips twitched in private amusement as he turned away to get the Glacier Gal’s skiff down from its rack. His easy acceptance had more to do with her sweet look of entreaty than any burning desire on his part to explore the beach.

  After Gerri had climbed into the skiff, he handed her the oars. “The outboard motor is too noisy for such a peaceful morning. I’ll teach you how to row.”

  As usual, Gerri was a quick study. Everything went well until she decided that she was an expert and started to act like a speed demon. Quickly, she was on her back in the bottom of the skiff, and Sven was doused with a splash from an errant oar.

  He laughed—he had seen that coming, but not in time to stop her. “Are you OK? Do you know what happened?”

  “I’m OK, except for my pride. One oar kind of missed the water, so it splashed you and, because I was pulling on it so hard, the lack of resistance made me fly backwards onto my butt.” She laughed shamefacedly. “How embarrassing.”

  “Don’t worry about it—it happens. It’s called catching a crab. You’re doing fine, overall. Just concentrate on getting your stroke down pat, and worry about your speed later.”

  Sven wondered whether he should say more. He’d noticed this tendency in her before. Gerri caught on to things quickly, but she was so eager to do well that she sometimes rushed a little too much, forgetting about Murphy’s Law. He decided not to belabor the point—her embarrassment would help to teach her the lesson.

  She guided them to the beach with no further mishaps and they scrambled out of the skiff. Sven grabbed one side. “Get the other side and we’ll carry it away from the water.”

  Gerri gave him a puzzled look as she complied. They were about fifty feet away from the shore when he stopped. “This should be enough.”

  She looked back at the water. Why so far? The only thing she could think of was the rising tide. But so far? Sven watched her puzzle it out—he was coming to enjoy seeing the wheels turn in her head.

  Gerri glanced up and saw him watching her. Uh, Oh! Now it’s a challenge. She thought about the tide. It might rise… What? Maybe a foot while they were walking. But the beach is flat! And the angle… She had it now. “This beach is very flat—unlike a lot of them which are steeper. So as the tide comes in the water will cover it quickly.” She grinned triumphantly. “Right?”

  “You got it.”

  She looked back at the shore. “This will be perfect for my journal,” she murmured, thoughtfully.

  “What journal?”

  Gerri grimaced. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “I’m keeping a journal with ideas for teaching. I want to be an extra-good teacher.”

  “You’ll be a great teacher. I’m sure they’ll love you.”

  Gerri didn’t really want to discuss this. They had talked politics, but this was so personal. Then, too, she liked to have Sven admire her, so confessing weakness was anathema. But refusing to talk when he was so obviously interested seemed unpleasant as well.

  Sven could see that Gerri was uncomfortable. “Come on. Let’s walk down the beach as we talk.” It might be easier to talk while walking. She could pause—or stop talking altogether—without so much self-consciousness.

  “Well, it’s complicated. They’re starting to desegregate the schools in South Carolina. It’s going to be stressful for everybody. They’re closing the black high school, so if I’m able to get a job—which is by no means certain—it will be in a tense atmosphere. And I don’t know how to say this diplomatically, but many of the white teachers and staff will be expecting someone like me to fail. Some of them will want me to fail. Any time I make a mistake in the classroom, someone will whisper about it.”

  “But every teacher makes mistakes. One of my favorite math teachers even did that on purpose occasionally. She said it was good for us to find a mistake in someone’s reasoning.”

  “I think that’s true. But you’re talking about an atmosphere of mutual respect. I won’t have that, I’m afraid.”

  Sven made a growling noise. “I don’t know what to say. It frustrates me that I can’t do anything to help.”

  Gerri smiled. “Nobody can. I can only hope that we get through these times. And I can only try to be as good as possible.” She linked her arm through his and squeezed him to her as they walked. “But it’s sweet of you to say that. I appreciate it.”

  This reminded Sven of the episode in the bar. He liked the feeling of Gerri brushing against him. He liked it way too much. He was at war with himself. One part of him wanted to stop and give her a real hug. The other part reminded him that he shouldn’t be thinking that—she was a kid, and she was his employee, for crying out loud. Women’s Lib—to the extent that he understood it—would consider that to be taking advantage of her. He made a note to ask her about that at some safe, later date.

  As they walked along, Gerri could feel the tenseness in his arm. She didn’t want him upset, but it made her feel good that he again wanted to protect her, even though he couldn’t do so this time. Better to change the subject. There would be plenty of time to be depressed come autumn—and she hadn’t even gotten to the part about whether she could even get a high school job. When she saw a chance to change the subject, she took it eagerly.

  “What was that? I just saw a stream of water squirt up from the sand.”

  “That’s a clam. Some people go out with shovels and dig them up.”

  Talk turned to their plans for the day—neither of them wanted to return to the earlier subject. And when they had finally returned to the skiff, the water’s edge was no more than fifteen feet away. Gerri looked at Sven in surprise. “Wow! The tide really came in quickly. What’s the fastest that it can be?”

  “There are places where the Glacier Gal can’t outrun it—places that look like river rapids when the tide is moving. I’ll show you one before the summer is over.”

  “How about a glacier? Before I came to Juneau, I decided that I wanted to see a glacier as part of my adventure.”

  He looked at her in surprise. “There are lots of glaciers around. I’ll make sure that you see one. But there’s one that we can walk right up to just out the road from Juneau.”

  “Out the road?” That phrase didn’t quite sound right.

  “Yeah, about fifteen miles or so.” She still looked puzzled. “You know that there’s no way to drive into Juneau. The farthest you can drive from downtown is about 30 or 40 miles. The major road is Glacier Highway. So when you drive away from the city on Glacier Highway, we say that you’re going ‘out the road.’”

  “You mean the road just ends?” No major road in South Carolina just ended. They went somewhere or they merged into another road.

  Sven nodded. “That’s right. There’s a guardrail at the end. Beyond the guardrail is just forest—wilderness. I’ll show you that, too, though it’s not really much to see.”

  Gerri had to digest
this. In many ways, Juneau seemed like a normal town. Then there would be something completely unexpected to remind her that Alaska was a very different place.

  ___

  On the way back, Gerri rowed with concentration and care—she refused to have another rowing mishap. Once they were back aboard, Sven started up the engine and pulled the anchor immediately. Now it was time to go to work.

  As they motored along, Gerri kept her eye on Sven. The way he chose where to put down the fishing lines seemed like magic—or at least mysterious. It had something to do with the tide, the current, whatever he could glean from the fathometer, and even what birds were feeding nearby. When she had asked about it, he was uncharacteristically at a loss for words. But whatever he did, it seemed to work. It was rare that they weren’t busy.

  Gerri had had a question rolling around in her mind since the morning. “You mentioned the radio this morning. It seems as though you haven’t used it much this trip. Not the one with the radio stations, the one you talk on.”

  “I guess I haven’t. Normally I use it to get weather forecasts or to talk to other fishermen—about where fish are biting or just to chat. Now I have you to chat with, and we’re finding plenty of fish on our own.” He watched her nod, but that gave him an idea and he turned the shortwave radio on. “I’ll let you do the talking.”

  Gerri was intrigued, but… “What would I say?”

  Sven gave some quick instructions and suggested that she try to get Wally to see if his engine had been fixed. “Just ask for Wally, aboard the Meanie.”

  Gerri took the mike. “Is that really the name of his boat?”

  “That’s just Wally’s sense of humor. He says the boat is mean to him.”

  Gerri hesitated briefly. Would Wally be hostile over the air? She shrugged inwardly and opened the mike. “This is Gerri aboard the Glacier Gal, looking for Wally on the Meanie. Are you there, Wally? Over.”

  She didn’t hear anything from Wally, but another boat quickly replied. “Glacier Gal, this is the Betty J. You working for Sven?”

  “Yes I am. He’s got me on the radio.”

  “Tell him to make that permanent. You sure sound nicer than he does.”

  Another voice cut in. “Glacier Gal, where are you? Nothing’s biting for me. Maybe I’ll try my luck where you are.”

  Sven stopped her and murmured instructions.

  “Sven says to tell you that we’re heading toward Pelican. He’d rather not be more specific.”

  “Not fair. He’s a highliner. He’s supposed to tell us poor mortals where they’re biting.”

  The first voice cut back in. Who said these fishermen didn’t gossip? “Just keep talking, Gerri. We’ll each get a bearing with our RDF and find you that way.”

  Gerri looked to Sven. “I didn’t understand any of that.”

  “A highliner is someone who consistently catches more fish than other people. An RDF is a radio direction finder. If two different boats get our bearing from their positions, they can draw lines on a chart from their locations. Where the lines cross is where we are. But he’s just kidding.”

  Now, a new voice came on. “This is Ace Artin on the Smoothie. I’m an old friend of Sven’s. Don’t listen to them. You have such a lovely voice; I can’t believe you’re wasting your time on Sven’s boat. Come work for me—I’ll beat whatever he’s paying you.”

  Gerri rolled her eyes. “You’re very kind, but I’m happy here.”

  Ace responded immediately. “You say you’re heading for Pelican. Are you going to be there tomorrow night?”

  Sven nodded. “Yes,” Gerri said.

  “They’re having a town dance. Come on out. I’d love to meet you, and I’ll show you a few steps. You’ll have fun, and it’ll let you get away from that old guy for a while.”

  But I don’t want to get away from Sven…but a dance sounds interesting… She looked at Sven for guidance, but he was staring out the window of the pilot house with a scowl worse than the one he had worn when she first met him. Not the time to ask… “Thank you. I don’t know if I can, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

  Sven put his hand out for the mike. But when she handed it to him, he didn’t talk—he put it back in its holder and snapped the radio off. Ace fancies himself to be such a damn smooth operator. Sven hated the idea of him getting his hands on Gerri. Like it’s my choice… “I can’t stand the guy. He tries to be a ladies’ man. He’s got a nerve—he’s older than I am.”

  “You’re not that old.”

  Sven didn’t know how to take that. Was she defending him or defending Ace. “Just so you know, he gave himself that nickname.” Yes, he knew that was petty, but it had just slipped out.

  “Pelican’s such a little teeny town;” Gerri said cautiously, “A town dance sounds interesting.” Sven gave her an annoyed look.

  She was puzzled by his hostility. “He said you were friends—or you used to be,” she coaxed. “How long have you disliked him?”

  Sven sighed. He knew he was out of line here. In fact, he was behaving like an ass. Finally, he gave up—there was no way he could climb out of this hole with his dignity intact. He turned and said with a rueful grin, “For about five minutes. Ever since he started being fresh with you.” He searched her face. “Would you really like to go to that dance?”

  “For a little while, maybe. If you go with me.”

  That brought a smile back to his face. “OK, it’s a deal.”

  Later that night, after they had anchored and turned in, Sven found himself brooding, unable to sleep. What had caused him to be so childish when Ace had been talking to Gerri. Was he really trying to protect her? She was young and inexperienced, so that would be understandable—in some sense, Sven had taken responsibility for her.

  But he feared that that explanation was an evasion. He wanted Gerri for himself. He had to control that impulse—she was adorable, yes, but barely out of college. Her adventure should not include getting seduced by her boss, especially since he had so spectacularly failed the only woman that he had ever been truly close to.

  Chapter 14

  Gerri checked her watch. She still had time. They had arrived in Pelican early in the afternoon and sold their catch at the Pelican Cold Storage quickly, so she had no excuses. She didn’t want to be a stereotypical female; taking forever to get ready for the dance.

  But she did want to make special preparations. She was enjoying her time on the Glacier Gal, but, though she didn’t consider herself a girly girl, it was still nice to have the chance to dress up a little and to feel feminine. And especially to look feminine for Sven. There, I’ve admitted it. That was silly, of course, but harmless. Sven was her constant companion lately, and he just happened to be one of the most virile men that she had ever encountered.

  Her mother—and others—would harp to her about such dangerous thoughts, but Gerri knew better. Nothing would come of it and she would be returning home in a few weeks. Besides, she felt comfortable around him. He didn’t ignore the fact that she was black, but he didn’t seem to find it freighted with significance. It was like her being from South Carolina—just another part of who she was. And once they got past her gender deception, she felt an easy acceptance from him. And she valued that very much.

  After washing up in the head—one of the few things she disliked about the boat—she returned to her cabin. Her special preparations for the dance had two parts. The first was to change her hairdo. She had come to like her afro for everyday wear. But tonight, she wanted to look more clearly feminine. She didn’t have the time or the desire to do a major overhaul, but since her hair had grown out a bit, she was able to pull it back into an afro puff.

  She stared at the result in her small hand mirror. Would Sven like it? She hoped so. She thought it looked decent. It occurred to her to wonder what the other people at this dance would think of her, but as long as no one was nasty, she really didn’t care.

  The second part of her special preparations was a dress. For this, she cou
ld thank her mother—and she vowed to do so profusely in her next letter. Gerri—who was accustomed to being a blue jeans girl in college—had been incredulous when Olivia had insisted that she pack a dress: “You never know where Rich might take you. Why not be prepared? Besides, you like this dress—and it sheds wrinkles very well.”

  Of course, her mother could never have imagined this occasion, but her foresight was much appreciated. And Gerri had helped with the wrinkles by pressing the dress under her suitcase in her cabin.

  Finally, she was ready. With one last look in her hand mirror, she went looking for Sven.

  Sven had a bad case of nerves. He had finished cleaning up the galley—his gratefully accepted duty now that Gerri was doing the bulk of the cooking. He tried reading, but he couldn’t concentrate. Drawing was out of the question for the same reason. He couldn’t do any busywork out on deck because he didn’t want to soil his only presentable shirt and slacks. Out of desperation, he puttered around in the pilot house, arranging things that were already arranged. It wasn’t as though Gerri was late. He glanced again at his watch. She should be out in a few minutes. He decided to go out and check the moorings.

  He hadn’t been this nervous on a date (it’s not a date, he unconvincingly told himself) since high school. He wasn’t worried about Gerri—not exactly. And, in spite of his behavior the day before, he didn’t dislike Ace. But he wouldn’t trust Ace with a woman. And especially not a woman that Sven cared about. He refused to analyze precisely what ‘cared about’ meant, but he knew that Gerri fit firmly into that category.

  What if Gerri was fascinated with Ace? What if Ace offered to show her his boat? But Gerri had wanted Sven to come with her to the dance, so maybe he was worrying too much. Easy to say…

  Lost in his worries, Sven didn’t hear Gerri come out on deck.

  “I’m ready if you are,” she said shyly. She stood still, waiting for his reply, but waiting—and hoping—more for his reaction.

  Sven didn’t have a reply. He didn’t have any words at all. Gerri stood on the back deck, which was above the level of the float, so that it was as if she was on a pedestal. She wore a bright, summer dress with a demure, square-cut neckline. It had a profusion of bright white, yellow and green, and it ended about six inches above her knees. She looked ravishing. Sven didn’t know where to look first. Her hair: she had a different style—a bun, but a curly one. It managed to look impishly cute, while simultaneously making her look young and innocent—as if Sven needed to be reminded of her youth. Her legs: he’d never actually seen them before, so they got extra attention. They were trim, curvy, and well muscled. Thanks to all of the walking that she did, Sven supposed.