Touching the Clouds (18 page)

“That’s not true.”

“No?” Helen leaned back, her eyes holding Kate’s.

“I have other interests.”

Helen didn’t respond.

Kate rummaged through her mind to come up with something she enjoyed besides flying. “I . . . I like to read.” It was true, but these days Kate rarely had time for books. “And I get to meet lots of interesting people in the bush. Once the weather warms up, I’ll have someone show me the good fishing spots. I love to fish.”

Helen smiled kindly. “It’s all right, dear. I understand passions. I have my own. Just make sure to include time for friends and diversions other than flying, at least once in a while.”

“You don’t need to worry. I’m not bored, not at all. There’s so much to learn about being a good pilot. Here everything’s new and challenging.” She propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. “I still can hardly believe my job is doing what I love most.”

“Why did you choose Alaska? It’s so far from home. Your family must miss you.”

“They do. But Mom and Dad plan to make a trip up next summer. I can’t wait to show them Alaska.”

“But . . . why Alaska, dear?”

“I wanted a challenge, a place where I could test myself.”

“You’ve mentioned that before. Why do you feel a need to . . . prove yourself? You’re a fine pilot. Everyone knows that.”

Kate had never told Helen about Alison and what had happened at Rimrock Lake—that Alison was dead because of her—that if she’d been a better pilot, her dearest friend would still be alive. “I don’t see anything wrong with challenging myself.”

“No. Of course not. But you seem compelled to push too hard.”

“I guess it’s just the perfectionist in me,” Kate quipped, trying to make light of the subject. She picked up her cup and took a drink. She knew what pushed her, why she took risks. There was no shutting out the voices in her head that accused her of being a failure, a lark-about, a murderer. Painful memories dragged her back to Rimrock Lake. Why couldn’t she forget? It was part of the past and yet it still tormented her.

She had so many questions. If anyone could answer them, it was Helen. Kate set down her cup, her fingertips barely touching the smooth china. Her voice quiet, she asked, “Do you know why God allows good people to die?”

“We all die sometime, the good and the bad.”

“But why would he take a young person, someone who deserves to live?”

“We can’t know God’s ways, dear. But he has his reasons. We just have to trust him.” Helen’s eyes turned more gentle. “What’s troubling you?”

“I was just wondering.”

Helen waited, as if she knew Kate needed to talk.

Kate sat back in her chair, draped one leg over the other, and folded her arms across her chest. She might as well tell her. Looking straight at Helen, she blurted, “A friend of mine died, and it was my fault.”

Helen’s expression looked grieved. “I’m so sorry.” She reached across the table and rested a hand on Kate’s arm. “I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.”

“It was.” Kate closed her eyes, the terrible day rushing back at her. “I was nineteen. Alison was my best friend.”

While Kate told her story, Helen kept ahold of her hands, gently squeezing from time to time. Kate told Helen everything, making no effort to hold back her tears. Sometimes it seemed there was no end to them.

Helen took a hankie out of the top drawer of a buffet and handed it to Kate. “It was an accident, dear. We can’t be in control of everything.”

“If I hadn’t convinced her to go and if I’d turned back when I saw the fog . . .”

“You didn’t know.”

Kate wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “I knew better.”

“You were just a girl.” Helen moved to Kate and put an arm around her. “It’s an awfully heavy burden you’re carrying. Don’t you think God could have saved your friend if that had been his will?”

“I suppose.” Kate dabbed at her eyes. “Why do you think he didn’t? Alison loved God. She was the kindest person I’ve ever known.”

“I don’t know why God does what he does. But I do know all things work out just the way he has planned. All we see of this world is what’s right in front of us. But there’s so much more, and God sees it all. Alison’s life didn’t end that day in the lake. She’s still living, only in a place we can’t see. She’s with God.” Helen took Kate’s face in her hands and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I’m certain she’s not angry with you.”

Kate took in a shaky breath, envisioning Alison in heaven. It made her feel better.

“Is that why you left Washington, why you refused Richard?”

A knock sounded at the door, and Albert’s greeting to Mike carried in from the front room.

Kate quickly wiped away her tears.

“Something sure smells good,” Mike said as he walked into the kitchen, rubbing his hands together. “Thanks for the invite, Albert. Figure the best food in town is here.”

With a light touch to Kate’s hand, Helen stood and moved to Mike, giving him a hug. “We’re so glad you could join us.”

Kate glanced at him. “Hi.”

“Hey, Kate.” He looked more closely. “You all right?”

“I’m fine.” She glanced away and dabbed at her nose with the handkerchief.

Helen rested a hand on her shoulder. “She’s just a bit emotional—girl talk. You know how it can be.”

Mike nodded, but obviously didn’t understand.

Albert peered into the oven warmer. The smell of apples and cinnamon wafted into the room. He looked at Helen. “How about some strudel and a game of Parcheesi?”

“Sounds good to me. You men set up the game while Kate and I get the dessert and coffee.”

“I’ll pour the coffee,” Kate offered, her mind still on Helen’s words. Was it true—had it just been a freak accident? There were those who didn’t think so, people who hated her—who would never forgive her.

14

P
aul took a bottle of Jack Daniels down from an upper cabinet, uncorked it, and poured the liquor into a glass. He stared at the amber liquid. He was about to break his own rule to drink for medicinal purposes only. It was New Year’s Eve and he was alone just as he had been for the last four years. After pushing the cork back into the bottle, he returned to his chair and the book
Call of the Wild
.

He sipped the drink, then set the glass on a table beside him and turned to the familiar story. But his mind wandered to previous New Year’s celebrations. His family had always gathered for fireworks displays or an evening of game playing at his parents’ home. One year, when he wasn’t quite a man, he and his brothers raided their father’s liquor cabinet. When their mother discovered them pickled, she’d given them a tongue lashing and then, grabbing the two closest to her, she dragged them by the earlobes to their rooms. The other boys followed, thankful they’d been out of their mother’s reach.

Paul smiled at the memory. It had made a lasting impression.

Like a malevolent shadow, loneliness crept about inside of him. He tried to concentrate on the story, but couldn’t block out his surroundings. The house felt too isolated, too empty, too quiet. He set the book in his lap, picked up the glass, and took a gulp. It burned as it went down, and heated his belly before gradually traveling to his limbs.

Eyes closed, he laid his head against the back of the chair. The indifference of the wilderness closed in, and a black hole of misery called to him. What lay ahead? Would he spend his life alone?

He returned to his book, but after reading the same paragraph five times, he set it aside. Taking the whiskey with him, he left his chair, went to the front door, and stepped onto the porch. It was quiet except for the sound of tree boughs in the wind and the clank of chains as the dogs roused. Clouds scuttled across a half moon.

He looked toward the Warrens’ place. They’d invited him for dinner and game playing, but the idea of Sassa’s matchmaking had kept him away. Jasper, the raven, cawed at him from his perch on the porch.

“You feeling lonely too?” Paul went to touch him, but Jasper flitted to a post out of reach. “What a friend you turned out to be. Go on, then,” he said, feeling betrayed and flagging him away. The bird took flight.

Paul’s thoughts wandered to San Francisco. What was his family doing? He allowed his mind to roam back to the last New Year’s he’d shared with Susan. If he’d known their time together would be so short, he’d have made sure to do something special—perhaps a night on the bay, sailing under the radiance of a bright moon with the city lights glistening off the water. She’d always loved sailing.

Instead their last celebration had been spent at his mother’s. That year everyone had gathered at the piano. They’d started with fun songs like “In the Shade of the Old Apple Tree,”
“
Let Me Call You Sweetheart,” and “The Red River Valley.” His mother had suggested some of the sacred tunes—she always did. Her favorite was “Beautiful Home Somewhere.” Susan had insisted they sing “When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder.” His heart squeezed at the memory. It still didn’t seem possible that she was gone.

He tried not to think about her, but loneliness yawned at him from the night. Paul downed his drink, then returned to the kitchen for another. He filled his glass, pulled on a coat, and headed back outdoors. This time the dogs whined, hoping for a romp.

A braid of green light rippled across the sky. There was another, and then one that blazed red and pink reached toward heaven. Paul never tired of watching the Northern Lights. They were startling and mysterious.
I wish . . .
He stopped the thought. Wishing did no good. Some things weren’t meant to be.

He leaned on the porch rail and sipped his drink. The wind gusted, sifting frozen snow across the top of the railing. He stared at the sky where the winter spectacle of lights had quieted. Clouds shielded all but a few winking stars.

“Why did you take her from me? Why? She was so beautiful, so good. She deserved to live.” The acrid taste of bitterness tracked a familiar path inside him.

His glass empty, Paul returned to the kitchen for a refill and downed another drink. Grabbing the bottle of whiskey, he dropped onto a chair at the table. The world was tilted and out of focus. He replenished his glass, slopping whiskey over the edges of the tumbler. He gulped down the fiery liquid. The lantern blurred and the room spun slowly. He’d had too much. Fresh air would help. He grabbed his coat, taking several tries to get his arms through the sleeves.

Paul stumbled onto the porch and down the steps. Slipping on the frozen boards, he barely caught hold of the rail before landing on his backside. He hauled himself upright, then strode to the dogs. He gave each a pat. “Sooo,” he slurred. “You wanna romp?”

He nearly fell over when Buck leaned against him. “Watch it, buddy.” His tongue felt thick and his words came out mangled. Giving the dog a good scrubbing around the neck, he unhooked his chain. Buck bounded around him, then took off up the trail. The other two dogs whined and lunged on their leads. When Paul freed them, they chased after Buck.

Walking a wavering path, Paul set off after them. They were soon out of sight and sound. Strong winds gusted, scattering ice and snow that lay on frozen birch and alder branches. Paul held out his arms, enjoying the shower. The world tipped, and he fumbled his way to the snow-covered ground where he lay on his back gazing up through tree limbs. Clouds had moved in and blocked out the stars.

Paul felt warm and mentally numb. He lay there a long while. Snow started to fall. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of the lacy crystals on his face. The sound of the dogs crashing through underbrush roused him from his stupor. He sat up and stumbled to his feet.

“Hey, Buck, where are you?” His words were slurred and indistinct. He peered into the forest, then hollered, “Jackpot. Nita.” They didn’t appear. Paul called again. Still nothing. “Where’ve you gone off to? Nita, you need to take care— you’ve got pups to think about.”

Dizzy, he leaned against a birch, wondering if he had enough wherewithal to make it home. The wind howled now, and the snow no longer drifted but came down in a heavy white curtain. Paul glanced about. Even in his drunken state, he knew he needed to get back to the cabin.

After one more unsuccessful call for the dogs, he staggered up the trail. A strong blast of wind stripped snow and ice from trees, and Paul heard a loud pop. He looked up just as a limb whacked him across the skull. Pain and bright colors exploded in his head. Then the world went black.

The next thing Paul felt was something warm and wet on his face. He struggled toward consciousness and tried to pry open his eyelids. He blinked and peered through spruce boughs and snow. He could make out dusky light. Buck stood over him. Paul pushed a tree branch off his head, and Buck enthusiastically washed his master’s face. Trying to avoid the unwanted bath, Paul turned his head, but the movement sent piercing pain through his skull, down his neck, and into his right shoulder. He tried to sit up, but the world spun and nausea rolled through him. He lay back down, closing his eyes tightly. Buck continued to lick him.

“Cut it out.” His eyes still closed, Paul pushed the dog back.

Buck whined and nudged him.

“Okay. Okay.” Paul looked up at the big dog’s face, only inches from his own. He could feel the warmth of his breath.

Moving slowly this time, he looked around, but didn’t see the other two dogs. “Thanks for staying with me, boy.”

His head throbbing, Paul pressed a hand to his brow. How long had he been out here? Buck lay beside him and rested his big head on his master’s chest. Paul buried a hand in the dog’s thick coat.

Knowing he needed to get back to the cabin, Paul forced himself up on one arm. Immediately the dizziness and nausea returned. He waited and gradually the spinning slowed. He brushed snow off his coat and pants and tried to make sense of the revolving world as he managed to get to his feet. Standing amplified the throbbing in his skull. He leaned against a tree, thinking back to the previous evening. He remembered the whiskey and the snowstorm. He was lucky to be alive.

Home seemed a long way off, but he managed one step and then another. How far had he come? With Buck at his side, Paul moved forward, his stomach churning and his head thumping. He probably had a concussion.
Keep going. Don’t
stop.