by Vella Munn
“They’re just glad to see us together.” Calley closed her eyes, content beyond her wildest dreams. The sun caressed her cheeks, reinforcing her belief that she’d been married in the one perfect place. “Drive on, sir. I’m ready to blow this town.”
“Don’t you want to know where we’re going to spend the night?”
Calley smiled but didn’t open her eyes. “This is your show,” she pointed out. “I’m just along for the ride.”
Dean put the jeep in gear and pulled out of the parking lot as their friends waved them off. Calley stirred herself long enough to respond, but once they were alone, she settled back against Dean again. “You’re putting me on the spot, aren’t you?” he teased. “Are you going to hold it against me if there are any snafus?”
“Of course,” Calley said with a laugh. “I expect perfection from start to finish. I assume you’ve booked us into a luxury hotel on the Admiralty Islands.”
Dean whistled in mock distress. “Would you settle for a furnished cabin?”
“I suppose, but you have to keep in mind that I’m accustomed to a certain life-style. I’m not sure how long I can handle such primitive arrangements.”
“I could always send you back home.”
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
In response to her statement, Dean pulled her even closer. “I have no intention of getting rid of you, Calley. But you do understand that we’re going to have to make business a priority. I’d like nothing better than to spend weeks serving as your guide, but since a lumber company is paying our bills—”
“I know,” Calley reassured him. “It doesn’t bother me. Honest. Are there really as many brown bears on the island as I keep hearing?”
Dean nodded. He explained that the estimate of one brown, or grizzly, as they were sometimes called, per square mile on the Admiralty Islands was an accurate estimate. Both Calley and Dean were concerned that the demand for logs would jeopardize the island the Indians called the Fortress of Bears. There was no way men and their saws could come on to the island without it having an impact on the wildlife there, but that impact could be minimized.
Their first destination, after dropping by their off-campus house to change their clothes, was the airport. They boarded a charter plane to Alaska and touched down in Juneau. A rental car was ready for them there. “You really are trying to impress me,” Calley observed as Dean filled the trunk with their luggage. “No foul-ups so far.”
“Actually,” Dean admitted, “this car is courtesy of the loggers we’ll be seeing tomorrow. However, we do have tonight to ourselves.”
After leaving the airport, Dean drove to downtown Juneau, where he gave Calley a tour of the main street with its historic buildings surrounded by forested mountain slopes. They checked in at the Alaskan Hotel and Bar, for Dean thought Calley would like to spend the night in a place that was on the national register of historic sites. Calley was delighted with the rustic bar and historically decorated rooms.
They walked a short block to the Red Dog Saloon, and after entering through swinging doors, they stepped onto a sawdust floor. “Your finest for my bride,” Dean told the bartender. He pushed back an imaginary ten-gallon hat. “How’s this for luxury?” he asked her once their frosty beer mugs had been delivered.
Calley could barely keep her eyes off the relics from the gold-rush era that decorated the saloon. “It’s perfect,” she said with a sigh. “I couldn’t ask for more.”
“I could,” Dean said softly. He leaned across the small table so that his voice wouldn’t carry. “After dinner we’re going back to the hotel.”
Calley shivered under his unspoken suggestion. He was right. Perfection was a night together in a room that took them back over a century. They lingered over their beers before walking through the now quiet town to a restaurant specializing in baked salmon. Although their conversation centered around their meeting tomorrow, Calley was all too aware of a heightened tension between them. Tonight was going to be different. Tonight was the first time they’d sleep together as man and wife.
Arm in arm they made their slow way through the peaceful town back to the hotel. “I wish we could be here for a week,” Dean said. “There’s so much I want to show you. The old Russian church, the graves of the men who first found gold here, the governor’s mansion.”
Calley giggled, resting her head on Dean’s shoulder as they walked. “We wouldn’t want to disturb the governor.”
“Good point,” Dean observed. “I guess there’s nothing left to do but get some sleep.”
Sleep, it turned out, was the one thing they almost didn’t get around to. While Dean moved around the room, getting organized for the early morning flight to the Admiralty Islands, Calley indulged in fantasy. She sat on the high bed, fingering the hardwood headboard. The man intent on his task wasn’t a modern researcher. He was a miner just in from the Alaskan gold fields. She was one of a handful of dance-hall girls brought in to entertain the men. “I don’t have all night, mister,” she observed. “I’m expected in the cancan line in an hour. You’re not the only sourdough to walk through the door, you know.”
Dean straightened up. “Whatever are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about there being other miners with more gold in their pokes than you’ve shown me. If I’m going to have time to get into my strapless red dress, we’re going to have to get this show on the road.”
“You’re crazy.” Dean turned from his task, his eyes slowly running from Calley’s face to her toes. “This is the 1980s.”
Calley crossed her legs, swinging them in an imitation of frontier dance-hall queens. “This is 1887, and we’re on the Klondike.”
“Hmm. That’s quite an imagination you have there, lady.”
Suddenly Calley no longer needed a fantasy. She was supremely content with the flesh-and-blood man standing before her. She hopped down from the bed and crossed the barnwood floor to where he stood. Behind him a single oil lamp had thrown the room into red shadows. Calley reached for his shirt, feeling both shy and bold. “Mrs. Dean Ramsey. It has a nice sound,” she whispered.
“What do you have in mind, Mrs. Ramsey?” Dean whispered back. He was watching her trembling hands as they pulled his shirt out of his waistband.
“I want to feel like your wife.”
“That I can do.” Dean took her cool hands in his, brought them to his face to warm them with his breath and then gently kissed her fingertips. “Don’t be afraid, Calley. What we’re doing is right.”
“I know it is,” she whispered. “I don’t know why I’m nervous.”
“I think I know what to do about that.” Dean placed her arms around his waist before starting on the buttons of her blouse. He undressed her slowly, reverently, making Calley believe that she was the most desirable woman in the world. Even before he unfastened her bra, her nipples had come to life. “You’re beautiful, Calley. You’ll always be beautiful to me.”
“Always?” Calley repeated. “I’m going to get old.”
“We’ll grow old together.” Dean’s hands slid from her breasts to her waist, pulling her toward him. “We’ll have a lifetime to experience together.”
“You mean that?” Calley wanted to believe him without question, but she still wanted to hear the reassuring words.
“You’re right for me, Calley. And I’m right for you. Not many people can say that.”
“I know.” Calley buried her head against Dean’s chest. His hands on her back were both comforting and exciting. “Our getting married was right. I feel it in my bones.”
“In your bones?” Dean’s fingers were pinpricks of flame on her back.
“All right.” Calley sighed, the sound a far cry from being weary. “In my heart. In—everywhere.”
Dean chuckled deep in his throat. “Admit it, Calley. You like having me make love to you.”
“Of course I admit it. You happen to be a very sexy man, Mr. Ramsey.”
“And you
’re a sexy woman, Mrs. Ramsey.” Dean had started to remove her jeans but he stopped halfway through the task. “No regrets?” he asked.
“No regrets,” she answered without having to think. “I want to grow old with you, Dean.”
He helped her out of her jeans and underpants. Dean stood with his hands at his sides, taking in the sight of his naked bride. “Let’s take that one step at a time. One day at a time.”
“One night at a time,” Calley amended. She held her breath as Dean helped her up onto the bed and immediately reached for him. He was right. They had a lifetime together ahead of them. Every step of the journey was to be cherished. Calley lay back on the bed, no longer trembling as he began to make love to her. Only one thought reached her. She’d been born so that she could be touched by this man.
Outside, Alaska clung to the last month of summer. Soon fog and driving rain would isolate the state’s residents from the rest of the world, but for Calley and Dean, the isolation had come already. They needed, wanted, nothing more than each other.
Even when the sound of the predawn alarm tore them from each other’s arms, they remained emotionally bonded together. They squabbled good-naturedly over rights to the bathroom mirror and debated at length over what constituted the perfect breakfast. When they boarded the small plane provided by the lumber company, they were holding hands. Once they were airborne, the pilot pointed out a ferry making its way down the channel that separated Juneau from thousands of acres of national parkland, but Calley gave the large modern conveyance little more than a glance. She was aware of glacier-capped mountains, a carpet of trees and hundreds of tiny nameless creeks braiding their way through the island, but Dean was the only reality she needed.
Even a day chock-full of exploration and discussion failed to change Calley’s mood. If she’d been an arrogant woman, she might have believed that the awesome wilderness they were exploring had been placed here for her alone. As it was, she felt blessed to be able to share the day with the man she loved.
After meeting the two businessmen responsible for regulating logging on the island, the foursome transferred to a large kayak manned by a Tlingit Indian. The Indian served as their guide through a paradise of coastal rain forest that was inhabited by beaver, river otter, Canada geese, bald eagles, black-tailed deer and, of course, bears. Calley was sure she spotted a sea lion in the rookeries. From their guide they learned that the Tlingit way of life was still closely tied to the land. Their culture was shaped by shores, forests and streams.
“I think we should have done this earlier,” one of the businessmen told Dean. “This is the first time I’ve seen the island through the eyes of someone whose roots are here.”
“It’s so easy to disturb the relationship between wildlife and the ecology,” Dean pointed out. “That’s my primary concern.”
The group continued their discussion that evening at one of the forest-service cabins. Although the discussion occasionally became heated, by the time Calley dragged Dean off to their cabin, she felt confident that the company men were sensitive to the need to retain the island’s primitive quality. “I’m just glad the tour is going to last two days. It takes one day to get used to the raw beauty here and another one to get a sense of how rare that beauty is.”
“Well put, Mrs. Ramsey,” Dean agreed as he joined her on the thin mattress that was going to see them through their second night as husband and wife. “When we’re through, there’s one more place I want to take you.”
“Oh?” Calley reached for him. “Will we be alone?”
“I’m afraid not. But I think you’ll find out it’s worth it. However, since we won’t be alone tomorrow night, I suggest we make the most of tonight.” Within minutes he was showing her what he had in mind.
Calley prepared breakfast for the men the next morning. Over coffee the men congratulated Dean and Calley on their marriage. “I wouldn’t be able to get my wife up here in a million years,” the older of the two logging executives explained. “Anyplace without running hot water might as well be on another planet as far as she’s concerned.”
Calley had to laugh. “I consider running hot water a luxury.”
Dean gave her a mysterious glance. “A luxury you may soon experience, Mrs. Ramsey” was all he would say.
Ten long hours later Dean was directing their guide to a remote corner of the island. They’d returned the businessmen to the spot where their plane would pick them up, and now Dean and the Tlingit guide were swapping tales about a man named Stan Price. Calley gathered that Price had lived near a remote creek off the Seymour Canal on the Admiralty Islands for more years than anyone knew.
It was dark by the time they climbed out of the kayak in the middle of the island wilderness and headed toward a small cabin barely visible through the trees. Only the sounds of night creatures disturbed the vast silence. Calley turned to wave at their guide, but he was already making his way down the creek that served as the only roadway through that part of the island. “Are you sure he knows we’re coming?” Calley asked. She sensed that Price’s cabin was the only man-made structure for miles around.
“I sent word to Stan when I knew we would be on the island,” Dean explained. “Unless the mail was late, he’ll have coffee on.”
The aroma of strong coffee reached Calley’s nostrils as soon as the cabin door opened. Shyly she stepped inside and faced her host. Stan Price was at least eighty years old, his body bent with age. When he spoke, his voice was rusty from disuse. “It’s about time,” he told Dean. “I just about gave up on you.” Stan stuck out a weathered hand toward Calley. “You’re a pretty one. Don’t let this wild man get away with anything.”
Calley laughed, liking the old man already. Anyone who actually lived in this remote wilderness commanded her utmost respect. “Dean wouldn’t tell me anything about you. I hope you’ll fill me in.”
It was obvious that Stan was delighted to have company. Over coffee so strong that Calley had trouble swallowing it, Stan explained that he’d come here as a prospector over fifty years ago and never got around to leaving. His wife was buried here, and he saw no reason not to join her when the time came.
Calley fell silent so Dean and Stan could talk. Although Stan asked several questions about world affairs, he didn’t seem particularly interested in Dean’s answers. Calley guessed that living like this had made the rest of the world too far removed to be of much concern. He came to life when the conversation turned to a couple of bear cubs named Suzie and Bolinda. Calley’s legs ached from being cramped all day in a kayak. She stretched them in front of Stan’s wood stove and started rubbing them. Before she knew it, Dean was pulling her to her feet.
“You’re snoring,” Dean explained. “I think we better put you to bed.”
Calley let Dean steer her toward a thick blanket-covered mattress in a corner of the room. The last thing she remembered was the distant yapping of puppies. Sometime later Dean crawled in next to her. Calley molded her body to his, taking his warmth as her own.
She awoke before dawn to the insistent cries of hungry young dogs. Beside her Dean stirred but didn’t awake. Calley opened her eyes, watching as Stan pulled jeans over his weathered frame and stepped outside to tend to the dogs. She rose on her elbow and gazed down at Dean. The world of telephones and electricity seemed light years away. No one except a gentle old man willing to share his cabin with them knew where they were.
“I love you, Dean Ramsey,” Calley whispered. “I wonder if you’ll ever know how happy you’ve made me.”
Dean smiled in his sleep but didn’t stir when Calley moved from his side. She dressed and stepped outside to use the ancient outhouse. She was starting back to the cabin when Stan called her. “I think you’ll like to see this. I hope my babies didn’t keep you awake last night.”
A moment later Calley was too enchanted for words. Tumbling around a sturdy doghouse were a half-dozen blue-eyed Siberian husky puppies. Their mother sat half inside the doghouse as if seeking refu
ge from so much energy. Calley dropped to her knees and allowed the silky bundles of fur to engulf her. She picked up one charmer and held him up to her face. A pink tongue flicked out, wetting her nose. Calley needed only one look at the predominantly white face with a ring of black around the expressive eyes to come up with a name. “Bandit,” she tried. “How do you like that?”
“I think he likes it fine.” Stan grinned. “I get worn out trying to come up with names for all the creatures around here. What say we wake up that husband of yours and go see my other kids before you leave?”
Calley was reluctant to leave the squealing, nipping puppies. Even when she returned to the cabin, her arms felt empty. “I’d take Bandit home in a minute,” she admitted. “He’s gentle and resourceful and strong, all at the same time.”
“That precious puppy is going to weigh over sixty pounds in a few months,” Dean observed. “Besides, if I know Stan, he isn’t going to give up any of his kids.”
Calley allowed herself to be distracted by the suggestion that they take a short walk to watch Stan’s other “kids” feed in the creek. She had the feeling both Stan and Dean were watching her for her reaction, but she didn’t think about the ramifications of what Stan had said until they were standing in a grove of evergreens less than a hundred feet from a trio of wild Alaskan brown bears.
“Oh, my—” Calley said, gripping Dean’s arm for strength. A moment ago they’d had the forest to themselves. Now they were face-to-face with the creatures responsible for bringing them together.
Before Calley could think of anything else to say, Stan identified the bears, which barely gave the humans any notice. The one with the nick in its right ear was Brownie. The large female was named Edna Mae after Stan’s late wife. The young male, who seemed most aware of the humans, was called Salmon after his favorite food.
“They don’t give you any trouble?” Calley was incredulous. As though their surroundings were no protection if the bears decided to attack, Stan was leaning easily on his walking stick. “They let you come this close?”