Touching the Clouds (14 page)

“We’re just in time. Sun’s setting.” A pale yellow ball rested on the edge of the sea. The sky glowed gold, pink, and plum. The ocean was a deep purple.

“Amazing—God’s handprint,” James said.

Kate could only nod agreement, unable to speak past the lump in her throat, overwhelmed by the power and presence of God’s spectacular display.

Once the plane was on the ground, there was still a good deal of work to be done before Kate could find a place to lay her head for the night. “It’s awfully cold,” she told James. “I’d better drain the oil.”

“I’ll tie her down for you.”

Kate grabbed a bucket and tapped the oil. She’d reheat it in the morning before taking off. James helped her drape a tarp over the engine and secure it, and the weary travelers headed toward the settlement, hoping for a hot meal and warm beds.

By morning, the weather had deteriorated. Clouds hung low over the sea, their underbellies distended just above the bay. A sharp wind whipped water into whitecaps and sifted frozen ground into icy clouds that whispered over the snow.

With freezing air blasting from the west, Kate used a firepot to warm the engine, then heated the oil and poured it into the pan. Fighting the winds, she and James set off, heading north along Norton Sound toward Kotzebue.

She studied the frozen, empty landscape. Back home, in Washington, there were windfall apples, just-ripened pumpkins, and dew shimmering in the mornings. “Winter comes early here,” she said.

“It does.”

Clouds swirled and winds buffeted the craft. Kate dropped to a lower altitude.

“You think we’re in for a storm?” James asked.

“Don’t think so. Hope not.” Just then the village of Candle appeared, tiny and alone. “We’re not far from Kotzebue now.”

“Look at that,” James said, gazing out the window at the frozen ground.

Kate looked but didn’t see anything until a white shadow distinguished itself from the frozen tundra. “Is that a bear?”

“Yep. Polar bear.”

Kate had never seen one before. Hoping for a better look, she made a wide turn, dropped closer to the ground, and flew over the animal. The bear kept moving, its broad paws seeming to skim over the snow.

“He’s waiting for the sea to freeze up so he can get back to his hunting grounds.”

“He’s huge.”

“Yeah, and dangerous. You don’t want to face off with one.”

The bear stopped, stood on his back legs, and peered at them, then dropped to the ground and loped off, heading for the shoreline.

“A friend of mine, in Kotzebue, said he had one track him. Nearly caught him by surprise.” James shook his head. “Tom was just fast enough. Now he’s got a bearskin hanging on his wall.”

After one last look at the animal, Kate pulled back on the stick and left it behind. “I’d hate to have one sneak up on me.”

The wilderness on one side and the Bering Sea on the other, Kotzebue seemed to sit on the edge of the world. Smoke, barely visible against a white backdrop, trailed into the sky from tin pipes protruding from rooftops.

Kate set down on a small airstrip at the edge of town. James helped put the plane to bed.

“See you at 10:00 tomorrow,” he said. He pulled his hood nearly closed around his face and tramped toward the village.

Kate headed for a shack standing on one side of the runway. Smoke rose from a flue in the roof and drifted around the cabin, dressing it in a diaphanous vapor that faded in the arctic air. She’d been told someone would meet her there.

When Kate stepped inside, she was surprised to find that the cabin looked lived in. A small native woman with a round face and dark eyes sat in a chair beside a barrel stove.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Kate said, stepping back. “I thought—”

“No. No. You come in.” The woman smiled and motioned for Kate to step forward.

Kate moved inside and closed the door. “Is this the airfield office?”

“Yes. My husband, he helps here, but he’s at the store. So I am waiting for you.”

A baby slept in a sling draped across the woman’s chest. With a mewling sound, it yawned and stretched out chubby arms, its hands clenched. The woman lifted the nearly naked infant and held it up in front of her. “You hungry?”

Kate didn’t know if she was talking to the baby or to her.

The woman turned her almond-shaped eyes on Kate. “You hungry?”

“Oh. Yes. A little.”

“Good. Then you come to my house. I’ll feed you. You can sleep there too.”

Kate had assumed she’d stay at a roadhouse. “I don’t want to impose.”

The woman smiled. “No trouble for me. You come to dinner.” She tucked the baby back into its pack, then turned her attention to Kate. “I’m Nena Turchik. This is Mary.” She gave the baby a pat.

“Kate Evans. I’m glad to meet you.”

Nena crossed to the door and stepped outside. “Come on,” she said and hurried toward town. Although she wore a heavy coat over a mid-calf dress and mukluks, she moved swiftly.

Kate followed, each step crunching through a thin layer of snow. The air felt frigid and burned her cheeks and lungs.

Nena walked down a snow-covered street, then stopped in front of a small store. “This is it.” She stepped inside and held the door open.

Kate moved into what looked like a mercantile and was instantly enveloped in warmth and an unusual mix of odors— oats, apples, and the distinctive smell of whale oil. A man who was nearly as short as Nena stood at a counter, sorting through a stack of papers. To his right there was a living area with a sofa and two cushioned chairs. Beyond that was a small kitchen with a rough-hewn table and chairs.

He looked at Nena, then Kate, his brown eyes smiling from beneath the ridge of a knit hat. “Good. You’re here. Sidney said you were coming.”

“He told you? How?”

The man chuckled. “You don’t know about Mukluk radio?”

“Oh, yes. I do.” Kate had listened to the radio station. Its broadcasts could be heard all across the territory, even in the remotest regions. The people of Alaska depended on it.

“Mukluk radio makes sure everybody knows the news.” He stepped from behind the counter. “I’m Joe. It’s good that you’re here.”

“Thank you.”

Handing the baby to Joe, Nena picked up a small boy as he toddled out of a back room. She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Hello, my little Nick.” He put his pudgy arms around her neck.

Another boy emerged. “Mama, can we get candy now?”

“After dinner, Peter.” Nena turned to Kate. “It’s Halloween. You want to come with us when we go treating?”

“I’d forgotten about Halloween. Yes, I’d like to go,” Kate said, although she would have preferred staying indoors where it was warm. However, she knew how important first impressions were and didn’t want to alienate the Turchiks.

Kate joined the Eskimo family for a meal of fish pie and was surprised that she enjoyed every bite. “This is very good. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I thought we might . . . well, I’ve read a lot of books and . . . I kind of expected something like whale blubber or—”

“You like some?” Nena stood.

Kate was taken aback. “Oh no. I just thought that—”

“I have some. But most people from the outside don’t like it.”

“Well, I’ve never tasted it, but . . .” Kate didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to offend her new friends.

Joe laughed. “You don’t have to eat our traditional foods. Outsiders are not used to it. We understand.”

Kate nodded in relief.

Nena picked up the dish of fish pie. “You want more?”

“No, thank you. I’ve already eaten too much. I’m full up to here.” Kate held her hand at chest level.

After the table had been cleared and the dishes done, Nena bundled up the two older children. Peter wore a cowboy hat under his hood and Nick wore a bird-like mask over his face. “We will go out for Halloween now.” She smiled, her eyes becoming half moons. “There will be candy and fruit. And lots of fun.” She moved toward the door.

Cold air nipped at Kate’s cheeks when she stepped outside. Her eyes watered and she pulled her hood mostly closed around her face. Nena held a lantern aloft and walked behind the children, who scampered ahead. The cold seemed to have no effect on Nena or the boys.

The dark streets were alive with children dressed in costumes and fur-lined coats, and parents following their excited youngsters. Kate saw more than one child wearing a witch’s hat, and one little boy sported an eye patch. All the children wore smiles, their dark eyes sparkling in the lantern light.

The festive mood was infectious, and soon Kate forgot about the cold and found herself having fun right along with the children. Each time they went to a house they were rewarded with gifts of hard candy or dried fruit. Nena kindly introduced Kate to everyone they encountered.

The children headed down an alley, and Nena fell into step beside Kate. “Do you like Anchorage? Is it very big?”

“I do like it, but it’s a town like any other. Bigger than Kotzebue, though.”

“Is there a Sears store?”

“You’ve never been to Anchorage?”

“No.”

“They don’t have a Sears store, but there are other department stores.”

“What are they like?”

“Some are like your place. And there are shoe stores—”

“They sell only shoes?”

“Yes.” Kate smiled, charmed by Nena’s naïveté. “And there are jewelry and clothing stores too.”

“Maybe one day I can go to Anchorage,” Nena said wistfully.

“I can take you.”

Nena shrugged. “I don’t fly.”

“Why not?”

“Birds fly, not people.” She pursed her lips and glanced at the dark sky. Nena held her lantern higher and peered down the alley. It cast shadows across the snow and onto the houses.

Kate remembered the bear she’d seen earlier. “Do bears come into town?”

“Sometimes.”

A prickle of fear moved up Kate’s spine. She gazed down the dark street, praying a bear hadn’t found its way into Kotzebue on this night. As she and Nena followed Peter and Nick, she couldn’t keep from looking into the shadows.

After visiting every house in town, Kate and the Turchiks returned home. The boys dumped out their bags of goodies on the table and sorted through to find their favorite treats. Each was allowed two pieces of candy before hustling off to bed.

“Good night,” Joe said, taking the baby and following the older youngsters into the back of the house.

Nena and Kate made up a bed on the floor. “I wish I had something better for you,” Nena said.

“This is just fine.” Kate climbed beneath heavy blankets, feeling warm and content. It had been a good day.

“I’m glad you came,” Nena said. “You are a brave lady.”

Kate pushed up on one elbow. “I hope I can come back soon.”

“Me too. Goodnight.” Nena stepped out of the room and closed the door.

Kate rested her head on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. Here in the midst of a frozen wasteland, she felt content. Her eyes grew heavy.
I belong here, in Alaska.
She snuggled deeper beneath her blankets, thinking life was nearly perfect. Then a picture of Richard came to mind. She needed to write to him and tell him that she would never return to Washington or an ordinary life.

11

A
fter washing the last of the morning’s dishes, Paul stood at the window and gazed out. The snow had stopped, leaving a hushed world of white.
I’d better
get to the wood.

Paul made a simple lunch of peanut butter and honey sandwiches and a slab of ginger bread. He put the lunch and a canteen of water in a pack, pulled on a coat, and with the pack over one shoulder stepped onto the porch. Cold air greeted him. He liked the frosty touch on his face and the sharp, clean feel of chilled oxygen in his lungs. The temperature gauge read twenty-eight degrees.

Fresh snow was piled on rooftops, hung heavily on evergreen boughs, and buried shrubs. The strident cry of a raven cut through the silent world. On mornings like this Paul felt confident he’d made the right decision to move to Alaska. He filled his lungs with the revitalizing air.

The dogs stared at him, alert and tails thumping. “Morning,” he called, pulling on his hood and tramping down the steps, the crystalline blanket of snow squeaking beneath his boots.

He trudged through knee-high snow to the dogs and gave each a pat and a kind word. They pressed against him. Nita whined and sniffed at his gloves.

Paul knelt in front of her and held her face in his hands. “Glad you’re back to your usual self, girl. Figure you’ll be having a family in a few months.” He buried his fingers in her ruff and wondered what the pups would look like. Her tongue washed his face and he chuckled, pushing her back.

Buck barked until Paul gave him equal time. When he went to leave, the dog nipped at his sleeve.

“None of that.” Paul scrubbed Buck’s thick coat and considered letting the dogs run, but decided against it. The days were short and he had too much work to do to allow time for searching out adventurous canines. “I’ll need you tomorrow when I haul in the wood.”

He grabbed a shovel and a buck saw from the shed and set off down a barely defined trail. He geared himself up for a long day. If he wanted the timber ready for hauling before dark, he’d have to work steadily.

Thanksgiving was only two weeks out, and soon real winter would set in. The long season stared back at him like an endless dark tunnel of days. From the very first he’d fought the devils of the holidays. He couldn’t stave off memories.

In the Anderson household, Thanksgiving and Christmas had always been big events. The house would fill with people, and the aroma of roasting meat and freshly baked breads and pies wafted through the home. There were games, boisterous conversations, and laughter. He could still hear the fun.

He remembered a time when he’d stood alone on the barren flatlands of the Mojave Desert with the hot wind sighing all around him. That’s how he felt now—utterly alone.

He tried to shake off the melancholy and focus on the snow-laden tree boughs, brilliantly white against a flat gray sky. This was a beautiful place, and he had the company of his dogs and good neighbors.
I’m not alone.