Touching the Clouds

by Bonnie Leon

  Although wolves were not known for their aggression toward humans, Paul’s mind raged with stories of attacks. He’d never been overly concerned about the predators, but now had to fight to quiet his racing imagination.

  Before he could see the cabin, he heard the fierce barking of his dogs. They knew the wolves were here.

  The first one who’d shown himself moved closer. He’s most likely the alpha. Paul counted them again—one, two, three, four, five . . . six. Were there more? They kept pacing and darting in and out of the underbrush, tongues lolling, yellow eyes staring.

  He raised his rifle and fired one shot into the air. They backed off, but only momentarily. Paul kept moving. They were all around him. He took longer steps and fought panic that told him to run.

  The cabin was close now. He could see his dogs lunging on their leads. A large wolf sprang at Paul. He lowered the rifle and shot. A blast and a yelp splintered the air. The animal fell. Another charged from the opposite direction. Paul fired again. This time he missed and the wolf seized his upper arm, tearing cloth and flesh. Pain flashed through Paul’s bicep.

  He pushed his rifle against the animal’s gut and pulled the trigger. The wolf dropped to the ground, lifeless. The others kept their distance. Paul finally made the porch steps where he stood with his back to the cabin. His dogs strained against their leads, snarling and barking viciously. If the pack came at them, they’d have no chance while tethered, but Paul dared not release them. I should have closed them in the shed, he thought, angry with himself for taking the sighting of the wolves too lightly.

  For several minutes the wolves remained at the edge of the clearing around the cabin, remaining mostly hidden in the foliage. One moved forward, and Paul dropped him. The rest of the pack dissolved into the forest. He calculated how many shots he’d taken—five. He had only one shell left in the chamber.

  Keeping his eyes on the woods, he backed up the cabin steps, opened the door, and grabbed extra bullets from a shelf just inside. Hands shaking, he plugged them into the magazine, then returned to his post on the porch where he remained, waiting and watching. His dogs quieted. The wolves did not reappear.

  A sound came from the side of the house. Paul turned, training his gun at the noise. It was Patrick.

  His friend raised his hands, a rifle in one of them. “Whoa, neighbor. It’s just me.”

  Taking a deep breath, Paul lowered his weapon. “Sorry.” All of a sudden his legs felt weak as the adrenaline wore off. He sat on the porch step.

  Patrick’s eyes went to the wolf lying in the yard and to Paul’s bleeding arm. “Looks like you had some trouble here. You all right?”

  “Yeah. They came at me.” Paul wiped sweat from his brow. “One got ahold of me, but it’s nothing I can’t take care of.” He shook his head, thinking about what could have happened.

  “I heard the shots. That’s why I came running.” The long-limbed man cautiously moved to the dead animal. With his rifle aimed at it, he nudged him with the end of the barrel. “He’s pretty lean.” His eyes moved to the forest. “How many of them were there?”

  “I saw six and killed three. There’s two, dead, on the trail.”

  Patrick turned his eyes to the forest. “They’ll likely be back. We better set out traps.”

  “Good idea.”

  Patrick moved to Paul. “You want Sassa to take a look at that bite?”

  “No. I’m fine.” He ripped the already torn shirtsleeve and tied it off to staunch the bleeding.

  “Might as well make use of the pelts.” Patrick headed toward the trail.

  Paul followed, ignoring the burning in his arm. It would need cleaning and stitching, but that would have to wait while he and Patrick skinned the animals.

  After stretching the last hide, Patrick said, “Sassa’s got supper waiting for me. You want to join us?”

  “Not tonight.” Using his good arm, he gave Patrick a friendly clap on the back. “Thanks for your help.”

  “You’d do the same for me.” He headed toward the trail, his rifle resting on his shoulder. “Take care of that arm.”

  “I will.”

  Paul set his rifle against the porch steps and moved to the dogs. One by one he released them and led them into the cabin. Tonight, they’d sleep indoors.

  5

  Kate glanced at the clock. It was nearly noon—time to leave. She’d been wanting to get to the airport ever since Paul Anderson had mentioned it. But with Helen out sick for three days, there’d been no time. Today was the day.

  She handed Mrs. Sullivan her change and a bag containing thread and buttons. “Have a nice day.”

  The kindhearted woman tucked the money into a coin purse. “You too, dear.” She snapped the purse shut, and instead of leaving, she smiled at Kate. “Did I tell you my son is coming to visit?”

  “Next week, right?” Kate managed to conceal her impatience.

  “Yes. I can scarcely wait. It’s been nearly two years since he was home.” She hobbled toward the door, then stopped and turned to look at Kate. “It’s a terrible time for my rheumatism to act up.”

  “Maybe it’ll be better by the time he arrives,” Kate said, wishing she’d hurry on her way. Guilt flashed through her mind. Mrs. Sullivan was a caring woman who deserved her full attention.

  “I dare to hope.” Mrs. Sullivan shuffled out of the store.

  “Have a good day,” Kate called after her. She looked at the clock again and wondered if Helen Towns could spare her.

  Dusting rag in hand, Helen walked toward the register. “Poor Mrs. Sullivan, she suffers so.”

  “She’s very nice.” Kate glanced out the front window. “I talked to Mr. Towns about taking time off today. I won’t be gone long.”

  “Oh yes, that’s right. He told me.” She looked around the store. “I’m certain we can manage with all the business we have at the moment.” She smiled, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners.

  “Thank you.” Butterflies took flight in Kate’s stomach. Today might be the day.

  Albert joined the women. He circled an arm around his wife’s small waist and tugged her in next to him. Turning his attention to Kate, he said, “We’ll be praying for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Helen rested a hand on Kate’s arm. “You’ll do fine. Mr. Schaefer can’t help but like you.”

  “Not everyone is as nice as you two.” Kate clasped her hands in front of her, trying to wring out some of her tension. “I just hope he needs a pilot. And if he does, that he’ll hire a woman.”

  Figuring it would be better to face Mr. Schaefer in flight attire, Kate hurried to her room and changed into slacks and a tuck-in shirt. She sat down, pulled on boots, and laced them. After running a brush through her hair, she picked up her perfume and was about to dab some on, when she thought better of it. She skipped the lipstick as well, thinking natural was best.

  Pulling on her leather jacket, she headed toward the front of the store, trying to maintain an air of calm. She smiled at Helen, who was working at the front register.

  “Good luck,” Albert called, then returned to stocking a shelf with canned goods.

  Kate stepped outside. She’d decided to fly to the airstrip, so she headed toward Merrill Field. Nerves made her muscles tight, and every few steps she’d shake her arms, trying to loosen the tension. It didn’t help. She stopped and took a deep breath, closing her eyes. Lord, I need your help. Convince Mr. Schaefer to give me a chance.

  When Kate reached the airfield, she found George, the manager of Merrill Field, with his head inside an engine compartment.

  He looked up. “Hi. Haven’t seen you for a few days.”

  “I’ve been putting in a lot of hours at the store.” Leaning against the fuselage, she said, “I heard the airfield at Lake Spenard might need a pilot.”

  “Yeah? I’m not surprised. Understand Sidney’s doing pretty well over there.” He pulled a rag out of his back pocket and wiped his hands. “He seems like a good man. Hope
he has something for you.”

  “I figured I’d take my plane.”

  “Good idea. It’s a fine aircraft. Wish I had a spot for you.”

  “Me too.” Kate didn’t know what else to say. She’d have preferred working for George. Momentary silence swelled until it became uncomfortable. “Well, I better get going.”

  “I’ll crank your plane for you.”

  “Nah. You’re busy. I can do it.”

  “Okay.” He picked up a wrench. “Let me know how it goes.”

  “I will.” Kate walked to her plane. For a moment, her desire to hurry nearly convinced her to skip the inspection, but she forced herself to take the time—better safe than sorry. Everything seemed fine, so she climbed in, pulled on her helmet, and then checked the gauges and oil. All was in good order.

  After priming the engine, she climbed out and moved to the side of the plane. Using the hand crank, she turned the flywheel until the sound became shrill. “That ought to do it,” she said, hurrying inside and pulling the starter. When the engine lit off, it sounded rough. Kate made an adjustment to the mixture and it evened out.

  She turned the plane toward the runway and rolled over bumpy ground until she was lined up on the field. Her nerves still spiking, she studied the windsock—it fluttered west to east. Skies were clear. If only today was the day . . .

  The Bellanca ran smoothly as Kate taxied to the end of the runway and took to the air. As always, exhilaration lifted her right along with the plane. For a few moments her body relaxed, then she tightened her hold on the stick. A lot was at stake. She’d been in Anchorage more than a month and this was the first solid lead she’d had. This might be her chance.

  Kate was in the air only a few minutes when she spotted the airfield. Smart of him to set up alongside a lake. He can use pontoon planes during the summer. Memories of the dark waters of Rimrock Lake hurtled through Kate’s mind. She’d managed to get back into the air, but had never attempted a pontoon landing since the accident. I’ll do it when the time comes, she told herself, only half believing her own resolve.

  She made her approach and settled easily on the dirt runway. What looked like a shed sat at one end of the field. She taxied toward it. A small slender man, wearing a broad-brimmed cowboy hat, stood at the doorway.

  By the time Kate turned off the engine, he’d walked to the plane. He wasn’t the type to stand out in a crowd, except for the way he was dressed. Along with his hat, he wore blue jeans and western-style boots. Kate figured he couldn’t be more than thirty and wondered if he was the owner or one of the pilots.

  She removed her helmet and climbed out of the plane.

  “Afternoon,” the man said. “That’s a fine bird you’ve got.”

  “Thank you. She’s been good to me.”

  He walked around the craft, studying it. “Interesting name you’ve got for her—Fearless Kate.” He grinned. “Let me guess—you’re Kate.”

  “I am.” Feeling the heat of embarrassment, Kate glanced at the side of the plane where she’d painted Fearless Kate in black letters. “I was a bit exuberant when I first got her.”

  “No harm in that.” He folded his arms over his chest and looked at her squarely. “I’m Sidney Schaefer. What can I do for you?”

  “I was told you might need a pilot.”

  “Maybe. You know one?” Mischief lit his eyes.

  Kate swallowed hard and got hold of her nerve. “I’m a good pilot.”

  His expression turned serious. “I’m sure you are. But I need experience and someone who’s strong—strong enough to load gear for hunters and stow bagged trophies, someone who doesn’t mind a bit of blood or puke, who can handle an aircraft in any kind of weather.”

  “I can do all that.” Kate spotted a feed sack leaning against the shed. She walked straight to it and picked it up. It smelled and felt like potatoes. She carried the sack back to Sidney and set it at his feet.

  He grinned and rubbed his clean-shaven chin. “Not bad. That’s nearly seventy-five pounds.”

  “I’ve been working all my life. I’m strong and I know how to work hard.”

  “That’s well and good, but it doesn’t make you an ace pilot. What kind of experience do you have?”

  “Been flying since I was a kid. My father taught me.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Bill Evans.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  Feeling as if Sidney had made a dig at her father, Kate said, “He flies in Washington, and there’s no better pilot.”

  “So, you’re new to Anchorage?”

  “I’ve been here about a month.” Doubt assailed Kate. Would he even consider a woman pilot?

  “What makes you think you can fly in this country?”

  She searched for a satisfactory answer. “I have more hours in a cockpit than most. I’ve flown in good and bad weather— rain, snow, wind. And I’ve crossed the Cascades several times. Those mountains will give any pilot a run for their money.” His expression told her he wasn’t satisfied. “I flew here, on my own, from Washington.”

  “Alaska can throw more trouble at a pilot than they can think up. You know how to land in snow and ice?”

  “We had plenty of that in Yakima.”

  “Do you have experience with pontoon landings?”

  The dark waters of Rimrock Lake flashed through Kate’s mind. She met Sidney’s eyes. “Not a problem.”

  He studied her, then with a shake of his head, he said, “I don’t think so. I’m sure you’re a fine pilot, but . . .” His look was pained. “You’re a woman. And this is rough country.”

  “Let me prove myself.” Kate tried to sound like she wasn’t desperate.

  “If something goes wrong, I become the bad guy, the one who let a lady pilot join my crew. I’d like to help you out, but—”

  “Fly with me,” Kate blurted. “Test me. I’ll take you anywhere you want. I’ll show you what I can do.”

  Using the underside of his thumb, Sidney lifted the brim of his hat, then squared his jaw as he studied her plane. “Fearless Kate, huh . . . All right—you show me.”

  Nerves knotted the muscles up and down Kate’s back, then moved down her arms and into her hands. She fought for calm, and hoped Sidney didn’t notice. She increased power and rolled toward the end of the runway. Do your stuff, Katie, she could hear her father say, and felt bolstered.

  The ground rolled by faster and faster. The end of the strip came at her, and she pulled back on the stick and felt the plane lift. Free of earth, the ground fell away below and she soared over Lake Spenard.

  “How many hours you log in a plane?” Sidney hollered over the sound of the engine.

  Kate didn’t know how to answer. She’d flown nearly every day of her life. “What do you mean exactly?”

  “How many hours you spend flying this bird?”

  “I bought it in 1933, but like I said, I’ve been flying since I was a child.”

  “What kind of plane you have before this one?”

  “I . . . I had another Bellanca.” She waited for the question that would end her chances at this job.

  “What happened to it?”

  She compressed her lips and tried to think of a lie, but couldn’t. “It crashed into a lake.”

  “All by itself?” Sidney’s tone teased.

  “No. I was flying it.” Kate hurried to explain, “I was young and a friend and I—”

  “Don’t get in a sweat. You’re not a real pilot if you’ve never had a crack up. And you must have done something right—you’re still here.”

  Kate wet her lips and didn’t say anything more. She was alive—Alison wasn’t.

  “You ever use your plane for work?”

  “I used to haul equipment and fruit and vegetables.”

  “What about passengers?”

  “Friends.”

  “Any strangers? You get along with people?”

  “Most of them.” Kate relaxed, figuring she’d survived the issue
about the accident.

  “How do you think you’ll do when you have a snarly hunter who figures you should have shown up a day earlier than you did, or a sick kid who needed medical help two days ago and it’s a full day’s flight to the hospital?”

  “I’ve never done anything like that, but I’m levelheaded. I’m sure I’d manage.”

  “You gotta do better than manage.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but charged ahead. “Ever have to keep a schedule?”

  Kate thought the question absurd. “Almost everything in life has a schedule.”

  He gave her a lopsided grin. “You’re a smart aleck, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe.” She smiled inwardly, feeling as if she’d connected with the man she hoped would be her new boss.

  Kate flew over Anchorage, then banked the plane as she circled the small town. She glanced at Sidney. “I won’t let you down, not ever.”

  “Yes, you will. Every pilot lets people down, and it’ll be more than once.”

  His words trounced Kate. She’d let Alison down, plus her father and Alison’s family. She’d let them all down. She blinked back tears. Now was not the time. “I mean, if I say I’m going to do something, I will, and if I’m supposed to be somewhere, I’ll be there—on time.”

  “You think so?” He smirked and leaned back in his chair. “Okay. I want you to head toward those mountains, the Chugach. Let’s see how you handle a little turbulence.”

  Kate turned toward the mountains. At the sight of the formidable peaks, her heart pumped hard with anticipation and fear. The Chugach were daunting.

  When the white peaks looked big in the window, Sidney pointed toward a gorge that ran between two jagged ridges. “Fly right through that canyon.” He folded his arms over his chest, as if daring her to handle the unpredictable.

  Kate kept her eyes on the mountains, but her mind puzzled over Sidney. Would he purposely put them in danger? Or did he trust her experience?

  Although Kate was careful to stay on the upwind side of the canyon, the plane shivered and rattled. It dropped into an air pocket and was then tossed upward. As Kate met the challenge, she gained confidence. She knew how to deal with turbulent conditions.