Voyage of the Dreadnaught: Four Stella Madison Capers (20 page)

“But—good heavens—what about the blood
type?”

“She was my father's sister. And, I'm
afraid, it turned out we had the same blood type, too.”

“Stella—dearest! How long did they keep you
in for?”

“Two years. It took that long to quell my
temper, and stop acting like a crazy person. I think I really was
temporarily out of my mind. I was that upset.”

“I don't blame you.”

“But I had to behave normal enough for them
to even begin to listen to me. It was the only way. Something
extremely difficult to do under heavy sedation. You know they drug
everybody in those places?

“I can't imagine.”

“Not everyone to the same extent, but they
do. Even more so at eight o'clock”

“Eight o'clock?”

“PM. The bedtime hour. There's no such
thing as insomnia in a place like that. Especially if you can't
behave.”

“My word. I do some of my best work during
bouts of insomnia.”

“A lot of older people do. But you can't do
it there. It's practically impossible to do anything there, really,
except the most basic of human functions. Simply because you feel
like a zombie most of the time. But I finally made friends with a
young aide, who helped me a great deal.”

“Another divine intervention!”

“I think so. Little Clarita Alverez. She
helped me track down the last remaining shreds of my paper trail.
The one I tried so hard to erase, for three years before that, so
you-know-who wouldn't find me, again. And because all my current
documentation disappeared with Aunt Mad... well, I had to locate
enough witnesses, who could remember me, and go to court. But you
know how long the court system takes.”

“What about duplicate driver's
license's—passports—that sort of thing?”

“The name Stella Madison always bounced
back to Aunt Mad. Who was recorded to have died of heart disease,
the same year all this happened. But I don't for a moment believe
that. In fact, I wouldn't put it past her to try covering her
tracks—my tracks, I mean—thinking she was doing me a favor, before
she even got to the apartment in California. The one I had already
rented for us there, where we agreed to meet. Then again, she might
have just taken off on her own. As much as she loved me, I think
she'd had quite enough of rest homes by then. Not to mention her
finest hours.”

The colonel was quiet, just trying to take
it all in. But he still had hold of her hands, so Stella was
encouraged by that. In fact, she felt as if a great burden had been
lifted off her. Why hadn't she told him sooner?

“You know, dearest,” he spoke thoughtfully,
“if we ever get back to civilization, I'd like to try and look into
this a little, myself. I've had to do a lot of people-searching in
my profession, and I don't mind saying I'm pretty good at it.”

“Well, if you'd like to, dear.”

“I would. After everything you've been
through, it would at least put your mind at ease, knowing what
really happened.”

“It certainly would.”

“What is your real name, then. The one you
traded off to Aunt Mad.”

“Stella Madison.”

“What?”

“Stella Madison, dear. She was my father's
sister, and I was named after her. I thought I told you that,
already.”

Millie had a turkey for Thanksgiving. In
fact, she had brought three—who knew how far the nearest grocery
store would be when living in the wilds of Alaska? Little did any
of them know how literal that situation would become. At any rate,
when the holiday finally rolled around, their meal lacked nothing
that might be found on millions of other American tables for that
special day. Some things were even better.

For instance, the cranberry sauce was made
fresh, from a patch of berries Lou Edna had discovered at the far
end of the meadow, just where the muskeg began. It was a beautiful
spot near the edge of the forest, that led to a piece of land which
had the most sunlight of any place in the tiny valley. Because it
was directly in the path of sunrise as it came spilling in over the
rocky coast, every morning. Before bumping into the mountains that
ran along each side of their narrow inlet.

It wasn't until the little family had gone,
and the rest of them took a picnic to see if there might still be
enough of a crop left to can, that they discovered the beginnings
of a cabin near the place. Which might have been exciting (the
prospect of other people living somewhere close by!), if evidence
hadn't pointed to it simply being a project of their two youngest
family members. The tools laying about were marked,
Dreadnaught
, and all the lumber had been carried over from
Mason's sawmill. So, the young couple was simply building a nest of
their own. And doing quite the nice job of it, too.

Less than a week later, it began to
snow.

Huge silent flakes floated down in the
morning, and by late afternoon, there was already a blanket of
white everywhere. As temperatures dropped, and activities began to
shrink to inside projects, where it was warmer, Stella had a
feeling she would like this season most of all. The loveliness from
every window, the coziness of the wood stoves, and the wonderful
closeness that came from everyone working and enjoying themselves,
together.

Even Gerald, who had long since lost the
cut-off serape he had worn constantly to keep himself warm, had
become stronger and more tanned after weeks of working outside on
the
Mah-Bo II
. Of course, it could have also had something
to do with not taking thirty pills every day, too. He had stopped
doing that after their last storm at sea, when he couldn't keep
anything down for over three days. Only to discover he hadn't felt
so good in years. Which, as often happens in such cases, led from
one good thing to another. It started with him wanting to move some
of his larger plants outside during their dormant season.

Something the colonel ended up helping
with, not only because he needed something physical to do after
spending so many hours writing at his desk every day, but because
Stuart's enthusiasm for growing things was contagious. It was the
reason the colonel's rooftop garden at the
Villa Nofre
was
so abundant when Stella first met him. Not to mention the many
little wooden pots and planter boxes that were lined up in front of
their bank of French windows, and tucked into various nooks and
crannies all over their living quarters, even now.

Then there was the matter of having to
enclose the area with wire and fence in order to keep the deer
away. A project that had particular appeal to Mason, who had run
out of things to do inside, already, and liked to stay busy. So it
was that a routine developed among them, where the men went outside
to work every afternoon (being retired, they liked their slow
mornings), while Stella and Millie continued the latest development
of a project of their own. It was a cookbook offering famous
recipes from
The Last Resort
, that they could sell to
tourists who enjoyed their stay here.

If they ever got any.

Having come to Alaska to run a lodge, they
decided to ignore the fact they were still shipwrecked. At the
moment (the first clear day after an entire week of snow) they were
too happily engrossed in trying to take the perfect picture of a
freshly baked Huckleberry Betty for the cover, to even think about
setbacks.

The light coming in through the large
porthole above the sink counter in the galley suddenly glowed
beautifully down onto the red ceramic baking dish (maybe they
should add a sprig of evergreen and put it in the holiday section),
and Stella snapped several angles of it. Just to get things right.
Then, as they had their heads together and were clicking silently
through the preview slides to decide which was best, they began to
hear the far-off drone of a motor.

“Stuart and the kids!” Millie nearly
knocked over the little bowl of whipped cream they had set next to
the dessert (for added appeal), just trying to get to her jacket
that was hanging near the door. “They actually came back!”

Which made Stella realize she and the
colonel weren't the only ones who had been worried about putting
such temptation in front of their former house thief. Especially
since they had passed the three-week mark, denoting the earliest
they might possibly expect them to return. But it didn't turn out
to be the rest of their family, after all. As the noise of an
engine increased, and the two of them stood out in front of the
wheelhouse, looking around in all directions...

They finally spotted a lone snow machine
heading toward them on its way through the pass.

They were saved!

At the very least, they were saved! No
matter who it turned out to be, there were other people living on
this very island who could get them back in touch with
civilization. Which led to a royal welcome—a bit overwhelming to
the bewildered visitors—when the motor finally shut down and two
bundled up riders climbed off in front of the bridge.

“What is this-place?” said a female voice,
pulling off her helmet at the same time, and letting loose a
waterfall of long black hair. “Sammy, look at this-place! It looks
like a—a—”

“A hotel!” Millie finished for her.
“Welcome to
The Last Resort
! That's the name of it. Come on
in for some coffee and Huckleberry Betty. Fresh out of the
oven.”

“We didn't bring any money, though,” said a
man, dressed in camouflage, with a rifle slung across his back. He
also had a cascade of black hair, but it only fell to his shoulders
when he took off his helmet. “Just out for some hunting. We come
every year. Can't get here unless it snows.”

“Oh, it's on the house. Right, Stella?”

“Of course it is. We're so happy to see
people, we're hoping you'll stay for supper, too. Here come the
men, they must have heard you drive up.”

At which point, the colonel, Mason, and
Gerald appeared at the head of the path to the waterfall, where
they had been running more wires for electricity out to Gerald's
new potting shack.

“By the hoagie—if this isn't Christmas come
early!” Mason gave the man a friendly smack on the shoulder. “Where
did you come from, boy?”

“More importantly,” said the colonel,
“Where are we?”

“We've been stranded out here for months!”
Gerald was so excited he was shaking. “We're shipwrecked!”

“Where's the ship?” Sammy asked, as they
all tromped over the bridge to the mudroom Mason had designed that
formed an entryway where the large hole in the boat had been. Just
in front of the indoor lake. Which was now railed off with a wide
deck that hung out over the water, and sported a built-in bench and
table for Stuart to fish from. There were even racks holding his
fishing poles, though he hadn't been there for weeks.

“This is it,” said Millie. “We decided to
turn it into a lodge, since that's what we came here for. Except
we'll probably have to tear it down if we're in a federal
wilderness area. Or on someone else's property.”

“It's someone else's property,” the woman
answered, sluffing out of her forest green jacket and hanging it on
one of the wooden pegs. They were a striking couple. He was
handsome, in a rugged sort of way, and she was quite lovely. Except
it was almost impossible to tell how old they were. Not too young,
and not too old. It was the oddest thing, Stella thought... maybe
because they had such beautiful skin.

“It belongs to some rich-guy who
never-comes anymore.” Even the woman's voice was lovely. Had a
sing-song quality to it.

“So, no worries, eh?” The man gave the
colonel a wink and a nudge.

“Well, I don't know about that,” he
replied. “But I suppose it wouldn't hurt to make an offer. Just for
this little piece, anyway.”

“You have to find him, first. Right,
Mary?”

“Yeah, our family's been living on the
other-end, over the mountain. We got a whole village out- there.
Both of us were raised-up in it. This is my husband, Sammy Robert.
We're middle-age, now, and even we never saw that old-man,
yet.”

“It's a good place because it's a wild
place,” Sammy added.

“Oh, I like how you got this all fixed-up!”
Mary followed Millie up the companionway stairs, looking everything
over along the way.

“Wait till you see the galley,” Millie
replied. “I mean, the dining room.”

Getting ready for Christmas was festive.
Or, at least, as festive as it could be with only half a family. It
had been nearly six weeks since the
Mah-Bo II
chugged out of
the inlet, on a promise to return as soon as possible. There had
been several discussions about it. Especially after Gerald,
summoning every ounce of courage that remained in him, agreed to
ride back to the village—with some others who had dropped by during
a hunting trip—and try to make contact with the outside world. The
most important thing being to locate the owner of the property they
were shipwrecked on, and find out if they didn't have enough to
either buy, or work out some affordable arrangement to stay.

An idea that became more appealing every
day. The remote location, without a single road into it and such a
hazardous inlet to get past by water, perched on the very edge of
one of the most notorious stretches of ocean in the north country,
couldn't be all that expensive. Could it? At least, that's what
Stella thought, who had never felt more at home in her life. Or,
more safe.

Not to mention they had turned the little
spot into something of a paradise they were all growing more and
more reluctant to leave. No matter what condition Mason's lodge
turned out to be in. Why, it was even better than the
Villa
Nofre
. The truth was, none of them wanted to move from
The
Last Resort
, anymore. Not when they had settled in so
comfortably, could live so cheaply, and—most of all—would still be
in the same place, should Cole and Lou Edna ever come back.