by D M Shepard
“Everything will be all right,” he reiterated. She nodded and gnawed her lower lip as she turned toward the kitchen. The hook on the wall squeaked as she retrieved the heavy cast iron Dutch oven.
“Loki, stay with Rose.” The dog immediately went to her side. He wagged his tail as she cut the hunk of frozen chili out of the bag. It fell in the pot with a loud clunk. She added some water and stoked the flames.
Ulrik carefully reloaded the .338 and checked his Berretta before venturing into the small bedroom on the first floor. His other dog, Thor, trotted at his side. He scanned the recesses with his headlamp while Thor dashed over to the stain on the wall. He held his rifle steady, taking note of the dog’s posture and cues. The warped boards creaked beneath the tread of his winter boots as he stepped further into the room. No movement or noise within indicated anything else lurked in the shadows. He stepped over to the wall and examined the splatter mark and trail left behind. With that caliber of bullet, if he had gotten a clean hit, he should have annihilated it. At the very least, it shouldn’t have been able to flee the cabin the way it did. He grimaced, clutching the rifle. He must have only grazed it.
A chill radiated through the rough plywood as he pressed his hands to the windows. The iron nails secured the boards to the frame with no signs of damage or entry. Not being able to see out ate at him almost as much as lying to her.
He wanted her to sleep easy tonight. That had been no wolverine. He had no idea what it was, but the way the shaggy beast screeched when the bullet tore through its dark fur still grated his nerves. It had been in the cabin, so close to her, with those claws...
The thought of her alone and injured the way he and Dick found Penny, terrified him. He wasn’t sure what possessed her to come all the way out here by herself this time of year. He’d ensure she was safe, then make her go home.
His desire to assist had nothing to do with that tall, curvy body, or the way her pretty face lit up when she sassed him earlier. At least, that’s what he told himself, over and over again. He ordered himself to concentrate as Thor sniffed the corners of the room. The animal’s posture as he investigated various scents assured him no other creatures lurked in the back room of the lodge.
He came back out, checking his grin as she leaned over the stove in her form-fitting leggings and sweater, stirring the pot with a wooden spoon. He gripped the warped, diamond willow railing and climbed the stairs to the loft. The two small rooms on the second floor were musty, but otherwise secure. Closing the last door, he went back down. Rose’s bright smile made his groin tighten. She held up a bottle of 25-year Macallan.
“I found Penny’s secret stash. Should we have some with our stew?”
Amber liquid sloshed as he took it from her and grinned. “Absolutely! Good thing Bryan didn’t find this when he was here.”
“No joke. He’d have drained it. Penny might have brought the whiskey with her this last trip. She didn’t even...open...” her voice faltered. She motioned to the trash bin. “I found his empty bottle of Wild Turkey. How could he drink so much of that gut-rot?” Her face fell, and she crossed her arms over her chest as she shivered.
“Cold?” he asked.
“Maybe,” she replied. “Dinner’s almost ready. Now that you’re done, I’m going to wash. The water is finally warm enough. I’ll feel better after I change out of these sweaty layers.”
“Sure.” He took off his own parka, snow pants and gloves and hung them next to hers. The pot bubbled as he stirred it and poured whiskey in the tumblers. He did his best not to stare as she vanished into the other room with fresh clothes, a can of spray disinfectant, and the basin of warm water. Loki followed faithfully on her heels, nails clicking against the floor as his tail wagged.
“Lucky dog,” he muttered under his breath at the thought of seeing her undress.
*****
Don’t even think about it. She told herself, washing quickly in the chilly spare room. She tugged on her thermal underlayers and a clean wool sweater and flannel pants to sleep in. She sighed to herself as she thought of the look in Ulrik’s eyes and the warmth of his touch as he stroked her face. Then she shook her head.
To him you’ll always be the scrawny, bruised, abused girl with a broken jaw Miss Penny brought home—a “Little Bird.”
She shivered once more, thinking of that horrible night long ago. When she lived with her parents there’d been lots of terrible nights, but that last one, when she was 9, she thought she was going to die.
Her guts knotted, and the left side of her head, a few inches above her ear, spasmed. She untangled her braid and massaged the spot before brushing her hair. She could barely feel the well-healed scar anymore, and her hair covered the ugly, purple mark. No one could tell she had once had her skull split open there by a crackhead in a hotel room as a girl. Time had mended many things, even the bad memories to some extent, though they constantly lurked in the background. Always ready to leap up and snatch at her confidence, she thought, rubbing the jagged line on her scalp harder.
Loki whined and butted her leg with his head. She reached down and patted his thick fur.
“You’re right friend. I shouldn’t think about that now. We have good food and whiskey, and I’m tired.” Her gaze darted more than once to the black, congealed stain on the wall and floor. Loki wandered over and examined it with his nose. She patted him on the head and wrinkled her own nose at the peculiar, faint smell of decay.
“That thing was what smelled so bad,” she said to herself as she examined the splatter mark. She stretched her aching shoulders as Loki rubbed against her legs once more. “This can wait until morning.” She held her nose and sprayed it liberally with the disinfectant. Loki yipped at the sound, wagging his tail.
“I know, but at least that will keep the smell down for tonight,” she told him.
She dumped the water in the orange honey-bucket in the room and went back out to the main living area.
Steam wafted from the stout, green ceramic bowl Ulrik had waiting for her. Her stomach growled at the heady aroma of spices as she balanced a piece of fry bread on the rim. She plunked down in one of the old carved birch chairs opposite him.
“Wow, this smells wonderful,” she said, inhaling the rising steam. “Edna makes the best food. I plan on staying the night at her lodge on my way back into town. My jeep’s parked there.”
“How is your job in Prudhoe Bay going?” Ulrik said in between bites.
“Going well. I’m working as a rotating equipment engineer now, taking care of the big turbines and engines. Still traveling two weeks on, two weeks off up on the slope.” She paused, poking at a chunk of ground bear meat.
“What?” he asked.
She shrugged, stirring the bowl. “I don’t know, the pay is good, and I like my job. The schedule just makes things difficult sometimes to, you know, have a social life.” Rose’s cheeks burned.
Why don’t I want to come out and say it? My job and schedule make it hard to find a boyfriend. Most guys don’t understand what I do, and if they do, they’re “intimidated.”
She glanced up to see his eyes on her, taking in every detail. She choked on her bite of chili. Ulrik patted her on the back as she washed down the food with a slug of whiskey.
“What about you? You still fly cargo across the rim?”
“Yeah, I have a good schedule. If I am not in the air, I am out here at our old place, or I stay with Mom and Dad in Anchorage for a day or so when I am passing through.”
“I saw Nina at Penny’s funeral. She looked like she was doing well. I visit her when I’m in town, take her out for coffee or lunch. She never comes out here much anymore, does she?”
“No, she might go out to the village to see family once in a while, but she stopped coming out here after—Karen.” Ulrik’s voice trailed off as he stared at the fire. She took another bite, chewing a piece of fry bread while her thoughts brewed.
Why am I doing this? Why am I out here searching for Bryan, a guy wh
o no one liked and had vanished two years ago?
Ulrik’s older sister, Karen, had been beloved by everyone who knew her. Kind, intelligent, beautiful, senior in college, and on the fast track medical school after graduation—an all-around amazing young woman. She disappeared while hiking between her parent’s place and Miss Penny’s homestead when Rose was fourteen. Volunteers came from as far away as Fairbanks and Anchorage to scour the back country to search for her. Not a trace was ever found. The troopers speculated that she must have gotten distracted by something, maybe collecting mushrooms or berries and fallen into the river. Still, they all searched for years hoping to find some clue as to what happened to her. Nothing ever turned up.
Heartbroken, Ulrik and Karen’s mother, Nina, insisted they move to Anchorage. She couldn’t bear the sight of the beautiful mountains and rivers knowing they had swallowed up her beloved daughter.
They finished their meal in silence, both staring at the glowing flames crackling in the wood stove. Loki and Thor had long since eaten and curled up on the mat next to the fire.
“Are you done?” she asked, motioning to his bowl, “I can take that.”
“Sure,” he said, leaning back in his chair as she wiped out their bowls and set them aside. She moved the leftover chili into the cold box for breakfast. He poured them both another round.
As she sat back down, he admired the way the firelight reflected off the waves of her hair, making it shine like old gold. Sometimes the flames caught the red and copper highlights. Her flawless skin glowed as she sipped the amber liquid. He smirked as her eyes grew heavy, lashes lingering long against rosy cheeks as she fought with every yawn to stay awake.
“I guess I was wrong,” she said stretching her arms above her head. “I’m more tired than I thought, but it was hard work to get here. My legs are going to be super sore tomorrow.” She glanced over at the platform, where Ulrik had spread out his sleeping bag next to hers on the wide, low bench on the old mattress.
“I’m going to sit up a while longer,” he said, motioning with his hand as he sipped his drink. “Go ahead, go to bed.”
She nodded and climbed up onto the bed. The mattress settled under her weight, crackling as she wrestled her way into the thick, blue down bag. She sighed, muscles relaxing as the bag enveloped her with warmth. She nestled against her pillow and closed her eyes.
“Ulrik?”
“Yes?”
“Um, thanks for coming. I—I’m sorry I was surly. If you, hadn’t—that thing might have…” she choked on her words, putting her hands over her face.
He rushed to her side. “Shhh—I’m glad to come and help you,” he said, stroking her head and brushing tears away from her cheeks. “Really. And you would have handled things fine without me. Don’t think about it anymore tonight, just sleep. You’re tired.”
She nodded and wiped her eyes. “Thanks, Ulrik.” He patted her head, much as he used to when they were kids, and he was trying to coax her back to sleep after a nightmare.
Assured by her steady slow breathing that she was finally asleep, he brushed a lock her hair away and pressed his lips to her the peachy skin of her forehead. The flames of the fire cast dancing shadows on her peaceful, relaxed face. He smiled as she murmured in her sleep.
“You’re safe Rose,” he whispered. “I won’t let anything bad happen, I promise. I think my world would end if I lost you.”
He got up from the bed platform and grabbed his rifle. The chair creaked beneath him as he settled onto the hardwood seat. He took apart the .338, unloading and cleaning the weapon. His eyes darted occasionally to where she curled up in her sleeping bag. Other times he glanced at the trail of black blood on the floor, or the dark stain left from the day he and Dick found Penny.
Yes, thank God I got here when I did. She was right. That wasn’t a wolverine, or a bear. She’s strong and smart, but it could have... He shuddered, hands aching from gripping the wooden stock of the gun.
She could have ended up like Penny.
His chest constricted as he stared at the spot on the ancient wooden boards. He remembered how they had found the older woman lying in a festering pool of blood and pus. Her delirious babbling haunted his dreams for days. And not to mention, the smell. A hideous stench of sweet rot clung to the woman, even after Edna had washed her in hot water while they waited for the medevac transport from Anchorage.
Had it been less than a month ago? The deep claw marks covering the woman’s body left no doubt she’d been mauled. It was still a mystery as to what animal would inflict those kinds of injuries. He’d never seen anything like the way the wounds had festered and oozed, her skin turning such a dull gray color.
Had the same creature killed Penny?
His eyes flickered over Rose, now fast asleep in her sleeping bag. Her tangled golden hair spread out over her pillow as she turned her head in the firelight.
Hasn’t she been through enough? He thought, clenching his teeth. His mind drifted back to the first time he saw her.
By the age of thirteen, working out at his dad’s flight service company and helping Miss Penny in the summers, he learned to be gentle with the battered, bruised waifs she rescued and brought back to her lodge to nurse back to life. This one, that stood on the porch and studied his every move as he worked in the summer light, reminded him of a baby boreal owl, newly cracked from its shell. Scrawny, timid, big-eyed, but watchful. He grinned and thought of the Dena’ina word for owl his Nana Nellie had taught him, the last time she came out from the village. Besiini, that was a fitting name for her, as the girl’s huge hazel eyes followed him as he repaired his father’s sled. He cringed at the sickly green-yellow bruises that covered her limbs and face. Her golden head was shorn to the skin on one side. He reminded himself not to stare at the jagged gash over an ugly purple knot stitched closed on the left side of her head. The rest of her hair was cropped short and uneven. If not for the barest buds of breasts under the baggy “Alaska Grown” T-shirt she wore, and the fact that Miss Penny introduced her as Rose Long, he would’ve guessed she was a boy.
He glanced her way and smiled, wondering if she would flinch back or even turn and run like some others often did.
Instead, she stood steady, feet squarely planted, cocking her head to the side. She returned his stare with rapt attention. Her mannerisms cemented his impression of a baby bird.
“Do you know what this is?” he asked, motioning with his hammer.
She shook her head in the negative, clutching the fabric of her green shirt in her small hands.
“It’s a dogsled.” He motioned to his favorite dog Freyja, lying at his feet panting in the shade on the hot summer day. “Would you like to help me work on it?” Her head bobbed up and down. Over-sized blue canvas tennis shoes flopped in the gravel as she took one tentative step, then another toward him. Once at his side, she focused her hazel eyes unblinking at the part he’d been fixing. Up close, they were the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen. A swirling mixture of sapphire, jade and silver streaked with gold, surrounded by darker emerald irises. The fading green and violet bruises under her eyes made them even more vivid. He stopped gaping at the skinny girl’s eyes and finished removing the old runners from the bottom, then he picked up one of the new ones and held the shiny metal for her examination. She reached out a finger and touched the long, thin aluminum strip.
“Do you know what that does?” he asked.
Her long golden lashes blinked in the sun, catching the light. Her bruised and lacerated lips moved, but didn’t make much of a sound. She shook her head.
I wonder why she doesn’t say anything, he thought to himself. He pondered what he should ask her next in an attempt to draw the battered girl out. His mother’s voice cut the afternoon air, making them both jump.
“Ulrik, come here,” his mother Nina ordered, ebony eyes flashing above her high, bronzed cheekbones. There was no arguing with her tone or the stern expression on her tan, round face.
“Be right back,�
�� he told her in a gentle voice. “Hold this little Besiini.” He held out the hammer. She nodded as she wrapped her slender fingers around the handle. He noted that several were splinted and taped. Her eyes sparkled as she clutched the orange mallet to her flat chest. Gravel and old, dry spruce needles crunched under his feet as he jogged to miss Penny’s front porch. His mother stood with her hands on her ample hips, forehead creased, lips drawn in a hard line.
“Ulrik,” his mother lowered her voice almost a whisper. “Be really nice to this one, okay?”
“I—I am mom,” he huffed, rolling his eyes as he threw his hands up.
She crossed her arms over her chest, sunshine gleaming off the twists of her long, dark braid. She bent closer and blinked slowly, expression almost sorrowful. “Just—she’s had something terrible happen. Don’t try make her talk much. Her jaw’s broken sweetie. The doctors had to wire it shut.”
“But,” he started to say, gut churning, as he thought again of the terrible bruises on her face. A million questions raced through his mind. Sure, Penny brought home lots of abused kids. But why would someone break a frail little girl’s jaw?
He glanced back over his shoulder. She was now crouched down, clutching the hammer in one hand, rubbing Freyja with the other while the furry malamute’s leg twitched back and forth.
“Ulrik, just don’t ask. Sometimes terrible things happen. Just—just be nice to her.”
“Sure mom,” he said, then he turned back and walked over to where Rose still clutched the mallet, petting Freyja’s belly.
He and his older sister Karen had taken the broken little Rose under their wing that day. The adults never said out loud what happened to her, but they whispered about it when they thought the kids weren’t listening. She often had horrific nightmares and would run and hide under a bed or in closets when new people would come to visit that she didn’t trust. Always quiet and shy, but with a mischievous streak, Ulrik seemed to be the only one who could make the stubborn young girl to cooperate when she got it into her head not to. He was the one who would coax her to come out of her hiding spots that first year while she healed from whatever her rotten parents had done to her.