The Moose Jaw (21 page)

Back inside, I was happy to see that very little had gotten on the floor.  I cleaned that up with a strong solution of Pine Sol, and then opened the windows so the place could air out.  It was better already, since I’d left the door open while down at the creek with the laundry.

I went to her side and knelt down and stroked her forehead.  “No damage done.  The breeze will have all that stuff dry by late afternoon.  You O.K.?”

She’d stopped crying but was clearly weak.  Nevertheless her lips curled slightly in a gentle smile.

“Yes.” She said.  “I am truly sorry.  I just couldn’t help it.”

“I know you couldn’t.  No harm, no foul.”  I said.  “But, we need to work out a better alarm system for next time.  I’ve set a bucket by the bed.  If you think that’s going to happen again, cry out ‘Oh, shit!’  I’ll get the idea.”

She reached a hand out of the sleeping bag and held it on mine as I stroked her head.  She gave it a little squeeze and then closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

‘Poor thing.’ I thought.  ‘What a thing to have happen.  Must have been awful for her.’  I remained kneeling beside her, stroking her head with my hand for a while.  Then I left her to rest while I set about cleaning up the breakfast dishes.  When that was done, I brought in more firewood and topped off the water in the green stove’s boiler. It looked as though I might be needing a lot of hot water.

The cloud cover lifted at midday and the sun broke through, so, with the light breeze out of the west, the bedding dried quickly.  The foam would have taken another day to dry completely so I rigged a couple of leftover logs into a makeshift mangle and pressed out most of the water.  That helped, but there was no way it was going to be ready for action that night.

Just before sundown I scouted up and downstream to mark all the tracks that were there at the time.  This would give me a ready reference in the morning. When I got back to the cabin I strung a perimeter trip wire about twenty paces out from the cabin and deployed my mini-claymores.  If anyone, or anything came prowling in the night I’d be alerted by the blast of a twelve gauge shot shell detonating.  As I said before, the chances of actually wounding or killing an intruder with these things was slim, but the shock factor is superb.  And, since they were number four shot loads, there was always the off chance a few of the pellets would find their mark.  Hit or miss, the intruder, man or beast, doesn’t waste any time making tracks.  Better yet, they’re so rattled, they never take time to cover those tracks so you get a good read on who came calling.  Of course, I already knew who my visitors would be.  I just hoped the foxes didn’t come back for a while and alarm us all unnecessarily.  I’d cleaned up enough shit for one day.

When I came in from setting up my perimeter defenses, I was surprised to find Morgan up and around.  She’d commandeered one of my flannel shirts and was padding barefoot around the cabin looking very much at home.  She was setting the table with plates and bowls and flatware for two when I came through the door.  She looked up as I entered.

“Hello.” She said it as if she said the same thing to me every day of our lives when I returned home from work. 

“Hello.”  I replied dubiously.  “Should you be out of bed?  I mean, are you sure you’re not overdoing it?”

“I’m alright, I think.  I feel stronger.  The oatmeal and the sleep did me good.  I wanted to do something to help.”  She smiled apologetically.  “I couldn’t fix dinner.  I don’t know where everything is, but I thought I could lay the table.”

I returned her smile.  “Not much to fix,” I said.  “Soup and crackers.”

I’d added a few more potatoes and some potherbs to the bird soup during the day, and had left it simmering on the stove while I went about my business.

“I can open a can of something else if you’re tired of the soup.”

   She indicated the soup would be fine, so I took the lid off the pot and gave it a stir.  Then I clanged the lid back in place and added a few logs to the fire.

“Be ready in about twenty minutes.” I announced professionally.  “Isn’t much, but we’ll cook up a hearty breakfast in the morning.”

The fire started popping and snapping as the new wood began to burn.  It was getting comfortable in the cabin but it still wasn’t what you’d call toasty.  

“Are you warm enough in just that shirt?” I asked, thinking how beautiful her hair looked cascading over the green and black checks of the buffalo plaid.

Her feet and legs were bare to well above her knees.  She looked down at the shirt and gave it a tug.

“Do you mind?” she asked.

“Not at all,” I said.  “It never looked better.”

 I had lit the kerosene lamp that stood in the middle of the table, and in its light I could see she’d brushed out her hair and washed her hands and face.  The sleeves of the shirt were still rolled up to her elbows and the skin of her forearms and legs glowed like white marble.  It occurred to me that I’d never seen her standing up before.  She was taller than I’d imagined.  Close to six feet I guessed. The legs below the hem of the shirt were sleek and long and beautifully formed.

“You clean up nice.” I said, acknowledging her efforts.

She snorted in derision, but smiled at the compliment nevertheless.  

The soup began bubbling, so I brought it to the table and we sat down to eat.  She ate one bowl hungrily without speaking and I offered another.  She held out her bowl.  I filled it and she ate half of it before setting her spoon aside.

“I think I know how I got in the river.”
  Calm, matter-of-fact, but I could tell she was restraining a lot of emotion as she spoke.

“I haven’t got it all yet, but it’s coming back, a little at a time.  I know most of it but there are still some black places.  I will tell you about it, but I want to have it all right in my mind first.  O.K.?”

I had a mouthful of hot soup so I just nodded.

She went on. “I looked around the cabin while you were gone.  I couldn’t find a bathroom so I went outside and found your, ah, your facilities – out back.  A little primitive, but it has all the comforts of home.  Except running water, of course.”   

I was glad I’d thought to add a few refinements to my privy since the original design.  It really was quite nice now.  I’d built a box seat with a lid on top of the planks covering the pit.  And there was toilet paper in a two pound coffee can on the floor, and stove ashes in a five gallon plastic bucket.  Rustic, but still, a pretty good privy.  I even provided handy wipes and a spray can of insect repellent.

“Sorry,” I said, “I should have told you about the outhouse before I left.  We can make it a little more user-friendly if you like.”

She smiled.  “It’s fine as it is.”

I remembered to add, “If you have to use the, ah, facilities in the night, wake me.  We get the occasional bear so I’ve rigged an alarm system around the cabin.  Don’t want you setting it off.  I’ll go out with you and light your way.  She said she wouldn’t trouble me, that she would be careful.  But I insisted, so she agreed to wake me if the need arose.  To move off the subject of booby-traps, I said how happy I was to see her fully recovered.

“Now that you’re up and about, I’ll show you around tomorrow.  It’ll be another week before my friend Haywood comes in with his plane, so I’m afraid we’ll have to make do until then.  Best you know where everything is.”

It occurred to me as I said this, how odd it was that, thus far, she hadn’t even mentioned getting back to civilization. 

She put that one to rest.  “I’m in no hurry.  I feel safe here with you.  I’m very much at home in this cabin.  It’s almost as if this is where I belong.”  She laid her hand on mine. 

“Now, I hope you don’t think I’m awful, but I’ve eaten, and I’m getting drowsy and wish to go to bed.  But there is no mattress on the bed.  Am I to share your sleeping bag tonight?”

I thought that would be a very nice arrangement indeed.  But I resisted the temptation.

“That would be cozy, but I’m afraid there’s room for only one.  We’ll share the bearskin, though.  You get the sleeping bag tonight, and I’ll curl up next to you with a blanket.  I’ll bank the fire so it will be warm enough.”

She came over to my side of the table, bent down and kissed me on the forehead and said, “Thank you.  I’d argue, but I’m too tuckered.”

With that, she crawled into my sleeping bag, and in a matter of minutes, was fast asleep.

I had a small nightcap, banked the fire, and turned in myself.  The floor was a bit harder than the cushy air mattress under the sleeping bag, but the bearskin offered some padding.  I dropped off to sleep almost as soon as I’d settled under the blanket.

***

I can’t imagine that I didn’t hear her unzip the sleeping bag, but I woke up instantly when she joined me under the blanket.  She put her arms around me and pressed her face into my neck and said, “Please.  Just hold me.”

I thought she was crying but I couldn’t be sure.  So I held her.  She was still wearing my shirt, but it had come unbuttoned and now covered nothing but her arms and back.  I was acutely aware of the pleasant sensation of her naked breasts and belly pressed up against me.  Once again, she fell into deep sleep shortly after I wrapped my arms around her.  I didn’t.  How could I?  It had been so long, and she smelled so good.  But, be that as it may, I must have dozed off sometime during the night because the false light before dawn was soft in the east window when, at last, I awoke.  She was still in my arms and breathing in a slow, rhythmic pattern of untroubled sleep.  I didn’t want to move and wake her so I just lay there holding her and watched the light grow brighter in the window.  It was a beautiful way to greet the new day.

Pleasant as it was, my bladder was bursting.  Reluctantly, I disentangled our arms and legs.  She stirred only slightly as I lay her head gently on the pillow and backed out from under the blanket.  Then I went out into the cold morning.  In my haste for the tree line I nearly forgot the trip wire.  That would have been a nice little surprise on a full bladder!  Fortunately, I remembered and stepped over it without breaking stride. 

On my way back, I stopped long enough to remove the claymores from their triggers.  I pocketed them, but left the trip wires in place.  Then I got the coffee brewing and took my morning stroll up and down the water’s edge.  Not much of interest.  It looked like a few caribou had crossed downstream in the night, but no bears, and even better, no McCaslins.  I went back and sat outside by the Coleman and smoked a pipe while I waited for the coffee to perk.  It was getting colder every morning and this morning there was a frost on the ground.  The air was nippy but there was no wind.  Still, my fingers were a little stiff as I laid out all the fixings for breakfast.  I wouldn’t start cooking anything until Morgan was up, but I wanted to have it all ready.  The coffee had just started perking when she appeared in the doorway wearing my heavy down jacket; she was also wearing my ducks on her feet.  Her hair was a soft, red tangle and her eyes were still swollen with sleep.  I thought she was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen.

“I keep borrowing your clothes,” she said apologetically as she passed, headed for the outhouse.

I caught her just before she reached the perimeter wire.  I pointed it out and told her to step over it.  She looked at me curiously, but did as I said.

“Alarm system,” I explained, and pulled one of the claymores out of my pocket so she could see the shotgun shell inside the pipe.

She nodded her understanding and continued up the path to the privy.

While she was gone, I went into the cabin, added some wood to the fire and filled a washbasin with hot water from the boiler.  I set it next to the sink with a bar of soap and a towel.  Then I went back outside and started breakfast.

The bacon had just begun sizzling in the pan
when she returned.  I watched her step over the trip wire gingerly, taking care to keep my rubber shoes from dropping off her feet.  She didn’t stop when she got to the cabin.  One hand clutched at the front of the baggy coat, holding it closed; she kept her head turned away from me and extended her other hand in a straight-arm gesture as she passed.

“Don’t look at me,” she pleaded.  “I’m a mess.”

Then she was through the door and into the cabin.

I turned the flame under the bacon to the lowest setting.  She obviously needed a little time to perform her toilet.  I didn’t want to rush her.  It took fifteen minutes or so before the bacon got transparent.  I judged she’d be ready in another five so I shifted the strips over to the side of the big pan and cracked four eggs into the sizzling grease.  There’s nothing like that sound.  I covered the pan and poured a cup of coffee for myself.  I didn’t even know if she drank coffee.  I didn’t really know much about her at all.  I resolved to address that today.  She was strong enough now, and it appeared she was handling the mental trauma pretty well.  Remarkably well, I thought.  I hadn’t much experience with rape victims, but I thought it had to be unusual for a recently raped woman to crawl naked into the bed of a strange man.  Granted, she came just seeking comfort, but still…

The eggs had just reached the “easy-over” stage when she reemerged from the cabin.  She had combed out her hair and washed, and was wearing her own Levis and shirt under the down jacket, but she was still sporting the ducks.  Her lips shone with a transparent luster, which I credited to Chap-stick, since I didn’t have much lipstick in my kit.  All in all, she looked good.  Better than good – lovely.

I raised the coffee pot toward her. 

“Please.” She said. 

I poured her a cup.  “Sorry I don’t have any cream.  There’s condensed milk if you like.”

“No,” she said, taking the offered cup in both hands.  “I’ve learned to drink it black.  Thanks.”

“How do you like your eggs?” I asked.

“Scrambled, but any way is fine as long as they’re not too runny.”

I lifted the lid and let her have a look.  The steam and the aroma of the bacon rolled up into the frosty air.