Once More with Feeling (27 page)

“Dr. Woodward?” Laura croaked.

“Ummm?”

“Why is there a moose outside the car?”

“Actually, Mabel’s just a calf.”

“I think we’re splitting hairs here.” Laura struggled to remain calm. “Why is she—uh, Mabel—standing so close?”

“Relax. We’re at Wolf Lake, where I collect samples. It happens to be in the middle of a moose preserve, about an hour and a half from the nearest town. Chances are you’ll be seeing a lot of Mabel and her buddies over the next couple of weeks. Unless,” he added with a chuckle, “Elsie here manages to teach them a few commands like
stay
and
lie down.”

Laura sat very, very still as she watched Mabel being led away by a crusty-looking dark-haired woman dressed entirely in denim. Elsie obviously used the same image consultant as Dr. Woodward.

“Why don’t you get out and stretch your legs?” Dr. Woodward suggested, poking his head in through the driver’s side.

“What time is it?”

“Three.”

“Three
A
.
M
.? It’s still daylight!”

Dr. Woodward chuckled. “I told you the sun only sets a couple of hours a night. Tell you what. Before you grab a few hours of shut-eye, we’ll have a little breakfast up at the cabin.”

“Cabin? Oh, good.” Laura let out a nervous laugh. “Believe it or not, I was actually afraid we’d be staying in tents.”

“It’s up a ways. Follow me.” Dr. Woodward hoisted his knapsack onto his back, picked up his odd collection of fishing paraphernalia and one of her suitcases, and headed toward the woods.

As she trudged after him through the thickly wooded area, dragging her other suitcase along with her tote bag, Laura’s spirits were lifted for the first time since she’d landed on Alaskan soil. She was picturing a homey little hideaway: stone fireplace, tasteful knotty-pine paneling, lots of the plaid Claire was so fond of, big beds made of rough-hewn wood and covered with puffy quilts. All that was required to turn her back into a fully functioning human being, she decided, all she needed to banish the cobwebs from her mind and the charley horses from her aching shoulders and back, were a cup of hot coffee, a hearty breakfast, and that steaming shower she’d been craving since somewhere over Idaho.

The building that appeared at the other end of the rocky path put an end to her momentary spurt of optimism. The cabin looked like the one the Billy Goats Gruff had lived in before urban renewal came along. It was small and boxy, made of oversized Lincoln Logs. Hanging over the front door was a pair of antlers. A makeshift porch had been constructed from splintery wood. On it were two different items that told Laura everything she needed to know: a large plastic jug of water and a gas lantern.

“There’s no electricity, is there?” she asked dully, even though the answer was clear. “No running water, either.”

“We manage quite nicely,” Dr. Woodward insisted cheerfully. “Besides, you’ll be amazed at how quickly you get used to it.”

He was smiling, Laura noted.
Smiling.
As if being stranded a thousand miles from nowhere in the middle of the night were something to be pleased about.

“Of course,” he went on, “the outhouse is a little tricky, mainly because it’s a good distance away.” He chuckled, responding to some inside joke. “Besides, if the smell doesn’t get you, the mosquitoes will.

“Come on inside. I’ll give you the grand tour. Then I’ll see if I can hustle up some breakfast.”

Laura lugged her suitcase and tote bag up the stairs, onto the porch. As her right shoulder muscle went into spasm she wondered glumly how much extra weight her hair dryer accounted for.

The inside of the cabin, her brand-new home away from home, was consistent with the outside. The same rough-hewn look—walls capable of scraping off human skin—was repeated there. At least the bare wooden floors had been given the once-over with a sander. There was plaid, all right, in the form of a sagging sofa that looked as if it predated the antique Jeep. As far as amenities were concerned, that was about as far as they went.

“You’ll be sleeping up there, with Sandy,” Dr. Woodward told her in a near whisper. After dropping his knapsack onto the couch, he gestured toward a ladder mat led up to a loft.

“Up there? Sandy?” Laura repeated the words as if she’d never heard them before.

“There’s an inflatable mattress up there. A sleeping bag, too, so you’ll really be in the lap of luxury. Just be careful you don’t hit your head when you sit up. And watch out for the boxes of supplies. The loft’s the only place to store them. That is, unless we want the bears to get them.”

“Bears? You’re kidding, right?”

Dr. Woodward cast her a strange smile. “If I were you, I’d worry more about Sandy’s snoring than the bears.”

“Wait a second. Sandy
is
female, isn’t she?”

“As far as any of us can tell.”

At least something’s going right, thought Laura.

“Now, about that grub.” He opened the cooler that was pushed into the corner, underneath a shelf. On it were half a dozen mismatched mugs, most of them with spidery cracks running up the side. “We’re in luck! Sausage!”

“Oh, good.” She’d just realized she was famished.

“Great. A little reindeer sausage, a cup of instant coffee . . .” Dr. Woodward looked over at her and smiled, a gleam in his dark eyes. “If this isn’t heaven, I don’t know what is.”

Laura forced a smile, though she was wondering who she’d be eating for breakfast: Cupid, Donner, or Blitzen.

* * * *

All her life, Laura had tried to be a good sport. In high school she participated in the school cheer during pep rallies. At beer parties in college, she’d managed to look as if she were having a good time as her date lost his Rolling Rock on the rug beside her. When her wedding ring had become united as one with Lake Ontario, she’d pretended not to care.

Desperately she reminded herself of her masterful past performances as she sat in the middle of a huge lake. There was sunblock on her face and lips, mosquito repellent on every other bit of exposed skin, and hiking boots laced up so tightly over a pair of damp socks that she had no doubt jungle rot was in her future. She’d had so little sleep she was having trouble focusing—both her eyes and her mind. Yet she had no choice but to try her hardest to follow Dr. Woodward’s lead in rhythmically paddling a silver canoe, the only thing between the two of them and a lakeful of creatures she was trying hard not to picture.

“Think we’ll catch much today?” she called, anxious to hear the sound of a human voice.

“I expect so. We’ll set these traps and leave them until tomorrow before checking to see what we’ve got.” He gestured toward the metal contraptions he’d tossed into the rear of the boat.

“Then what?” Perhaps if she had a better understanding of what she was really doing out here, she reasoned, she’d feel better about all this.

“Ship ‘em home, back to my lab at the university. They keep fine in gallon jugs, those plastic ones water comes in. I can fit eighteen in a giant cooler.

“If things go smoothly,” Dr. Woodward went on, “we should be finished by four this afternoon.”

Four o’clock, she thought ruefully. Back in New York, it’ll be eight. The time for winding down after a long, leisurely Sunday. Eating bagels and cream cheese left over from brunch. Leafing through those second-string sections of the
Times...

She missed home terribly. Not only home; all the amenities that civilization had to offer. She’d been in Alaska less than fifteen hours, and already she craved so many of the things that up until now she’d taken for granted. Bath-rubs. Flush toilets. Dry feet.

Still, she had to admit her surroundings were spectacular. The surface of Wolf Lake was as smooth as a sheet of ice. Long strands of willowy grass stuck out in the shallowest parts, near the shore. There were lily pads as well, with yellow flowers on top that reminded her of icing rosettes on birthday cakes. All around the lake the rich greens and golds of bushes and trees encircled the water like the gilt frame on a Victorian mirror.

The sun felt pleasantly warm on her back. She smiled at the sound of a loon’s cry, cutting through the mist rising off the lake. Looking down into the water, Laura could see clumps of underwater plants, undulating gently as the motion of her paddle disturbed what was otherwise complete calm. Down at the bottom she saw something move. Something brown, mottled with tan ...

“I see one!” Laura cried. “I see a sculpin!”

She never meant to stand up. Yet somehow, in her excitement, she’d forgotten the single most important rule of canoeing. Jumping to her feet, she suddenly felt the earth move. If not the earth, at least the slippery metallic bottom surface of her own personal version of the
Titanic.

“Aw-ooh-eee!” Laura was vaguely aware that she let out a sound more piercing than a loon ever made as the canoe rolled over. Out spilled the fish traps, the canteen, the plastic bag containing lunch, the notebook, and Dr. Woodward. The next thing she knew she was sitting in a foot of cold water, her knees sticking out as if she were engaged in some childish game. For a few seconds she remained frozen, aware that water was creeping into every available space between fabric and skin but too stunned to do anything about it.

Then she spotted a little brown fish swimming between her legs, toward her.

“Eeek!” She scrambled to her feet, fighting not only gravity and the awkwardness of a pair of boots as supple as concrete blocks, but also the slippery lake bottom. She knew she sounded like a cartoon character who’d just spotted a mouse. But at the moment her dignity was the last of her concerns.

“Are you all right?” Dr. Woodward asked calmly. He was standing shin-deep in lake water, but otherwise dry as he worked at turning the canoe back over.

“I think so.” Unless you count the mildew growing in my armpits, Laura thought miserably.

“Then help me with this. We’ve got to keep going.”

She helped him right the canoe, then eyed it warily. The last place she wanted to be was in that boat. Still, she was about to climb back in when she noticed something black on the back of her hand. At first she thought it was some form of plant life that had mistaken her flesh for a rock.

Then she realized what it was. She let out a scream that cut into the peaceful silence of the lake like an ambulance siren.

“A
leech!”
she shrieked.

Panicked, she flicked at it with her fingers. To her horror, it didn’t budge. Again and again she tried to brush it off. But the tenacious little blob refused to move.

“Get this thing off me!”

She held her left hand as far away from herself as she could, unable to look at her own pale flesh blemished by a black smear without her panic escalating.

“It’s only a little one,” Dr. Woodward said matter-of-factly.

“Get it off! Get it
off!”

“It can’t do any real damage—”

“Get it off me!”

Calmly Dr. Woodward reached over and pulled the leech off her hand. “There. It’s gone. There’s a little blood, that’s all. Your hand might bleed for a while, but you’ll be fine. Come on, I’ll help you back into the canoe.”

As he took hold of her arm she shrugged him off roughly. “I don’t want to get back into that stupid canoe!” she cried. “I’d sooner die than get back in!”

“Laura, we’re a good half mile from shore, and—”

 “I
hate
this! I hate all of it!”

“If you’d like, we can talk about how we can—”

Laura realized that he was speaking, but his words had no meaning. She could neither hear nor see beyond her own desperation. “I haven’t slept for two days. I haven’t eaten recognizable food since I left New York. I haven’t peed in a real toilet since I got off the airplane.”

“I don’t know what you were expecting, but—”

“I was expecting some basic amenities! Things like normal food, a normal bed, and a normal bathroom. I thought I’d spend a few hours a day looking at fish eggs through a microscope in a lab with piped-in music, then go for a stroll through the woods, stopping for a snack at the vending machines. I thought ... I thought . . .”

“Perhaps if we could talk calmly about—”

“I don’t
want
to talk calmly!” She could feel all her self-control slipping away. ‘
L
I can’t take any more! I hate reindeer sausage! I hate Mabel the moose and her disgusting nose secretions!  I hate mosquitoes and leeches and even those sculpin that are so ugly they deserve to live at the bottom of a lake! Most of all, I hate the entire state of Alaska!”

Dr. Woodward nodded. “I see.”

“I want to go home. Take me back—
now!”

He opened his mouth as if he were about to speak. In the end, he clearly thought better of it. Instead, he simply shook his head slowly, drawing his lips into a thin, straight line.

Chapter Sixteen

“Here,
Laura.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Dr. Woodward set a plate down in front of her. She was sitting at the only table in the cabin, so clumsy and rough it looked as if it had been a Cub Scout project. Pretending to be absorbed in a paperback, she barely glanced up.

Still, she couldn’t help noticing that what he’d brought her looked suspiciously like breakfast. “What is it?”

“Bacon and eggs.
Chicken
eggs. There are no surprises this time. I promise.”

“I
am
pretty hungry.” She hesitated only a moment before picking up a fork and digging in.

The simple meal Dr. Woodward had prepared tasted surprisingly good. She’d also slept well, sinking into a deep, satisfying sleep mere seconds after her bunkmate Sandy began snoring as deeply and loudly as Papa Bear.

“This is wonderful,” she commented, already halfway through the eggs.

“I figured you deserved it.”

Laura just grunted.

“You’ll be pleased to know I finally got through to the airline,” Dr. Woodward went on. “I made you a reservation on the one
A
.
M
. flight tomorrow night. You can change your ticket at the airport—”