by Deb Vanasse
“Dad’s not going to let you do anything stupid, Nathan.”
“He can’t stop me.”
“But he’ll try. You know he will. He’ll follow you through every phase of this plan of yours.”
“There are places where he won’t find me.” The defiance was rising in Nathan’s voice.
“Dad’s a hunter. He tracks animals. You think he won’t be able to find you and your animal friends?”
Josh paused, letting the words sink in. Nathan sat in silence, stroking his beard.
“Nate, there’s only one way you’re ever going to be able to do what you really want. Convince Dad you want our cabin. Get him to move back to town.”
“But I don’t want your cabin. I don’t want any cabin. I want to live out there.” Nathan nodded toward the window.
Josh struggled with the rising river of guilt that stormed his insides. Nathan wouldn’t last the winter if he carried on this way. To try was utter foolishness. Suicidal. Their dad was right. Nathan needed them to look after him until he came to his senses.
If he came to his senses, Josh reasoned. He could go off in the woods and never return, even with them close by. He’d made his determination clear. Didn’t he have a right to do as he chose, even if it was crazy? And if they couldn’t stop him, why should they hang on here?
“Just say you want the cabin, Nate. You don’t have to actually live there. Just get us out of the way.”
The thin smile returned to Nathan’s face. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’ve never really taken to the wilderness.”
Josh struggled against the smug sound of his brother’s voice. He wouldn’t defend himself, pointing out how much he had adjusted, all things considered, how it was more than crazy to want to live among animals instead of people. None of that would serve his purpose.
“I guess not, Nathan. Not like you have. I’m sure you’ll do fine on your own.” He swallowed hard. “But you’ll never really know while Dad and I are here. Dad won’t let you find out.”
Josh stood and zipped his coat. He’d said enough, too much perhaps.
Nathan stayed where he sat, stroking his beard. “Maybe you’re right, little brother. Maybe you’re right.”
11
A long silence on the subject set in. Josh knew his dad was still worried about his older son; he checked on him daily now. And Josh knew he had reason to worry. Even as he waited to hear whether Nathan would suggest that they leave, he struggled with his guilt over planting the idea. But he reminded himself that Nathan would do whatever he wanted. He always did.
The following week when they went to Wasilla to sell furs, Josh and his father sat at a table in the same fast-food restaurant they’d visited months earlier. Josh recalled the group of high school students he’d watched with envy. Today their table, and most of the restaurant, was empty. A gray-haired woman hummed softly as she wiped the remains of the noon rush from the countertop. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
Josh’s father pushed aside his tray and spread a copy of the thin Wasilla weekly in front of him. Josh sipped a thick chocolate shake through his straw. He forced himself to focus on the sweet, syrupy flavor, not the hope that surged inside. His father had the paper open to the classifieds.
“Damn apartments start at six-fifty a month,” his father grumbled.
“What about jobs?” Josh prompted.
“Let’s see. Here’s one: Handyman needed for light maintenance and repairs. References required. Townhouse Square.”
“Townhouse Square. Sounds like an apartment complex. Maybe we’d get a break on the rent.”
“Maybe.” Josh’s father sighed and closed the paper. “Don’t know what I’d do about references, though. Been away from working for a while.”
Josh noisily sipped the last of the shake from the paper cup. “There’s the guy you worked for down in Anchorage.”
“If he’s still around.”
“And what about Frank Donaldson? I’ll bet he’d let you use him as a reference.”
His father pushed the paper aside. “That’s another thing. They should be back next week. Got to see if Frank would look in on Nathan when he’s out there with his family.”
His plan sounded definite. Nathan must have spoken to their dad about the cabin.
“So you decided it would be better for Nathan after all to have our place?” Josh hoped his voice sounded casual, as if he were asking about the weather.
Josh’s father swallowed the last of his coffee. “Actually, Nathan decided. Says he’d feel more comfortable at our cabin.”
He got up to leave. “Nate needs some kind of change, that’s for sure.” His voice was grim.
“Aren’t you taking that with you?” Josh asked, nodding toward the paper. Maybe you should call about that handyman job before we leave town.”
His father tucked the paper under his arm. “No need to make any calls yet. One thing at a time.”
Josh knew better than to dwell on the subject of leaving. It could end up being one more deflated dream, when it came down to actually happening. And if he seemed too eager, his dad might suspect his involvement in Nathan’s sudden interest in their cabin. The less said, the better.
But when his father suggested they talk with Frank on the first day the Donaldsons were due back, Josh allowed himself a small helping of hope. He pushed aside his lingering guilt over leaving Nathan alone in the wilderness. Nathan would do whatever Nathan chose, he told himself again, be it with or without them.
After exchanging the usual pleasantries, his dad broached the subject.
“Say, Frank.” Josh’s father looked down, then back up at Frank. “Josh and I are thinking of moving to town. Wasilla. We’d let Nathan have our place. ’Course, we’d like to come on some weekends, see how he’s doing. Think Harry would let us stay here once in a while?”
Frank shrugged. “Don’t know why not. Got to missing the city life, did you?”
Shannon looked up at the mention of city life.
“Yes and no. Josh does, for sure.”
Her brown eyes caught Josh’s, and she gave him a quizzical look.
“Oh, boy,” Pete exclaimed. “You’re moving to Anchorage, Josh? You could be our neighbors.”
“Not Anchorage. Wasilla. We’re thinking of moving to Wasilla.” Josh felt lighter just speaking the words.
“Hey, Josh. Dad and I brought our skates. Will you go skating with me?” Pete asked.
“Hope you brought your shovel, too. We’ll have to clear a spot.”
“There’s one on the porch, and I like to shovel.”
Josh grinned. “Good enough. I’ll come back with my skates and our shovel. But even with the two of us, it will take a lot of shoveling.”
“I’ll help.” Josh stared at Shannon as she continued. “Dad’s got another shovel in the back of his truck. It would be something to do.”
“Suit yourself,” Josh said with a shrug. It couldn’t be any worse than having her tag along on the trapline.
Josh returned by snow machine, racing along the trail, exuberant. His dad must be serious after all, to bring the plan up with Frank. He wondered how long it would take to pack up and leave. They didn’t have much.
He sat Shannon on the back of the machine this time and put Pete in the sled, along with the shovel and two hockey sticks, which had been gathering dust in a corner of their porch. He’d almost forgotten he had them. With the discovery of the sticks, he’d climbed back to the loft and dug the puck from the bottom of his wooden crate.
After an hour of hard shoveling, Josh, Pete, and Shannon had a ten-by-twenty patch of ice cleared on the pond, with snow banked up around the edges of the tiny rink. The three of them, still breathing heavily and their cheeks rosy with the effort, sat on a snow pile and took off their boots.
Pete’s new skates fit fine, but Josh and Shannon ended up trading the too-big skates she had borrowed from Frank for Josh’s too-small skates he’d dug out of a box on the porch.
>
“You skated much before?” Josh asked Pete as he pulled the laces tight for him.
“Not much. And I never played hockey. Dad took me to some semipro games, though. It’s cool.”
Josh smiled. “It is. If I’m not too rusty, I’ll show you a few moves. These tight enough?”
Pete nodded.
“How about yours?” he asked Shannon.
“Good enough, I guess. I’ve never put on a pair of skates before.”
Josh yielded to a little smile. He had to give her credit there. Most girls he’d known wouldn’t embarrass themselves trying to skate for the first time in front of someone else. But then she wouldn’t be trying to impress him.
Josh’s first few strides across the tiny rink felt foreign, but he quickly regained his fast, even pace. The surface was surprisingly smooth, thanks to a solid freeze back in November before the snow fell. On his second lap around, Josh stopped abruptly in front of Pete, spraying a rooster tail of ice particles into the air.
Pete stood, wobbling slightly on his new skates. “Wow, you’re fast,” he said.
Josh grinned and reached out a hand. “Come on. I’ll show you a few tricks.”
He gave Pete a quick lesson in power skating, showing him how to use the upper muscles of his legs rather than his feet to propel him forward. “Now you try a few laps on your own,” he said, giving the boy a small push. Then he skated over to Shannon, who was making a few hesitant glides along the rink’s edge.
“You’ll get cold if you don’t move any faster than that,” he chided. He reached out a hand.
She held on tight, and he pulled her along for the length of the rink. She teetered beside him, her balance uncertain. When they reached the end of the ice, he tried letting go, but she ended up on her backside.
“Let’s try it again,” Josh said, holding out both hands for her to grasp. “You’ve got to find your own center of gravity and hold on to it. And use your edges. Those skates are a little dull, but you still should be able to catch an edge. That’s the only way you’ll be able to maneuver and turn.”
“Turn?” Her eyes looked bigger than usual.
“Sure. It’s not that tough. You’ve just got to get comfortable with shifting your weight from one skate to the other.”
“One skate? I’m not doing so well with two.” She smiled as she said it. The hair around her face as well as her eyelashes was growing frosty.
“Here, I’ll hold you steady,” Josh said, circling his arm around her waist. “Right foot first. Glide! Now left. Glide!”
He was almost sorry when she caught on quickly and he was able to let go of her after only a few laps. The wobble was gone, and she skated confidently, though slowly, around the rink.
Josh grabbed one of the sticks and pulled out the puck he had stuffed in his pocket. He sped up and down the tiny rink, swiping at the puck with a steady rhythm of his stick, taking the corners, switching to a backward stride without ever losing control of the black disk. He was surprised at how quickly it all came back to him, not just his stride and stick handling but the thrill of motion and precise control.
He stopped hard at the end of the rink, breathing heavily. It was like the hard stop at center ice, with the crowd cheering at his name called out in the starting lineup. “And at center, Josh Harris.“ He could almost hear the announcer’s booming voice. What would it be like playing now, not just in a recreational league, but for a high school team, with his classmates cheering in the stands?
He used the blade of his stick to draw goal pipes in the pile of snow at the end of the rink. Then he backed up and practiced shooting. Hard on the ice right corner, hard on the ice left corner, wrist shot, slap shot, high to the left, high to the right. They were all still there, the shots he had worked so hard to master, the shots that had made him one of his team’s leading scorers. Before long he’d have a chance to prove himself again on a real rink.
Pete skated alongside him, holding the other stick out in front of him. “Can you teach me to play?”
Josh grinned. “Not in one afternoon. But here, I’ll show you some shots.”
He showed Pete how to hold the stick and turn the blade to control the puck. He had him practice shot after shot into the make-believe net.
“Not bad,” he said finally. “Not bad at all. Make sure your dad gets you a stick the right size when you go home, and keep practicing. I’ll be coming down to watch you play for one of those semipro teams someday.”
Shannon grabbed at his hand. “One more time around the rink with me, and then we’d better go. I’m starting to lose feeling in my toes.”
Josh skated beside her, slowing his pace to match her steady stride. For that moment, it was hard to believe that harsh words had ever passed between them.
When they got back to Harry’s cabin, Josh’s father was sitting at the table with Frank.
“Made a pot of chili and invited your dad over to share it,” Frank explained. The warm, spicy smell filled the cabin.
“I’m starved,” Pete exclaimed, dropping his snowsuit to the floor.
“Not starved,” Shannon corrected. She picked up the snowsuit and shook the drips from it. “Just hungry.”
“Whichever,” Josh said. “I am, too.”
They sat around the table, and Josh let the satisfying warmth of the chili fill his stomach. Pete and Shannon laughed with their dad, exaggerating all the effort of clearing the rink and learning to skate. Even Josh’s father was smiling as he took in their conversation.
This must be what it’s like to have a real family, Josh thought. He looked over at Shannon. Her dark hair gleamed in the light of the lantern, and her face still glowed from being outdoors. He wondered if she took after her mother, in looks and in her serious way of taking care of things, whether it was Pete’s snowsuit or the balance of the ecosystem.
After dinner was through and the dishes washed, dried, and put away, Shannon slipped out to the outhouse and Josh and his father prepared to leave. Josh was happy to hear his father going over the Wasilla plan once more with Frank.
“And if on the weekends when you’re here, you can look in on Nathan, we’d be much obliged.”
Nathan. They’d gone all night without mentioning his name, and everything had seemed so right. Josh knew he should feel bad, thinking that way about his brother, but he was tired of feeling bad about Nathan. Instead, growing warm in his zipped parka, he stepped outside to wait for his father.
He stood on the cabin steps and looked up into the blackened sky. It was a rare night of warmer air—around zero, most likely—with no clouds yet obscuring the stars. Hands in the pockets of his parka, he searched until he located the North Star, the one point around which all the constellations seemed to revolve. As he stood staring, a flickering band of green light began to work its way across the sky.
Josh heard the crunch of footsteps and looked down. Shannon was picking her way through the snow, back toward the spot where he stood.
She slowed when she reached him. Her brown eyes looked even softer in the starlight. “Look!” He pointed with one hand toward the sky. High overhead, the flicker of green had grown to a stream of shimmering green, pink, and purple that danced among the stars.
Shannon gasped. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
Josh felt an odd thrill move through him. The eerie spectacle of the aurora always seemed like a living thing.
“The colors are incredible,” Shannon said.
Josh nodded. “You’re lucky. This is one of the best displays I’ve ever seen.”
“They aren’t like this in Anchorage,” Shannon whispered.
“Too many lights,” Josh said.
For a fleeting moment, Josh felt her eyes on him. “Why would you want to go back to the city and miss this?” she asked. “And not just this. Everything—the fresh air, the pure white snow, the total quiet.”
Josh looked down and caught her eye. There was no explaining what she, a s
ometime visitor to the wilderness, would never fully understand: the bitter cold of winter, the swarming bugs of summer, the way nature rose up and challenged you at every turn, the aching feeling of being alone day after day with no one to share your deepest thoughts and longings.
“It’ll be better for Nathan if we leave,” he said. He turned his eyes back to the sky. The lights were fading as quickly as they’d grown, shrinking to a single wave of flickering green.
“Nathan’s fine,” Shannon said quietly. “He doesn’t need your cabin.”
Josh turned his face back toward hers. “You don’t see him all the time. He needs a change. And my dad—he worries about Nathan. Like now. When he’s out there somewhere.”
“He’s fine,” she repeated. “I can’t tell you any more than that. But really, he’s fine.”
Josh stared at her. It was as he suspected. She knew where Nathan hid. Not that it mattered, but he wanted to know more.
Just then the cabin door opened, and his father came out. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said.
Josh gave Shannon a final look. Her lips were pressed together in a tight, unwavering line. Even if they’d had all the time in the world, she wouldn’t have given up Nathan’s secret.
12
As the days grew longer and light streamed through the cabin windows for seven hours at a time, Josh allowed his hope to surge, like a tiny plant struggling out of its seed. His father had laid out their plan to Frank, and all that remained was word that Harry would let them use his cabin occasionally, to check on Nathan.
“Nate, you’ll have your own place before long,” their father told him soon after the Donaldsons left.
“My place,” Nathan said. His words were hardly a reply.
Josh glanced at Nathan’s bear wall. The collage of pictures had grown, with more carefully printed quotes sprinkled among the photos and drawings. Live the dream to its fullest, read one. Look in its eyes and see yourself, said another. The new quotes were not attributed. Josh wondered if they were Nathan’s own words.
Josh felt Nathan’s eyes on him as he studied the wall. “Impressive creatures, aren’t they?” Nathan asked.