Touching the Clouds

by Bonnie Leon

  “What about your family?” Kate asked.

  “My dad’s gone now. He died several years ago. My mother lives in San Francisco. She’s getting frail, but my brothers and sisters live nearby so they help out.”

  “Do you ever visit them?”

  “It’s been a while.” Searching for a way to turn the conversation in another direction, Paul poked a carrot to see if it was done.

  “How long?”

  “Actually, I haven’t been back since I settled here, four years ago. It’s a long way to California.” He replaced the lid on the soup and moved to his chair in the front room and sat down.

  “Do they come to see you?”

  “No.” Paul threw one leg over the other. Wind howled under the eaves. “Boy, that storm’s really kicking up. Hope our repair holds.”

  Kate looked out the window. “Even the dogs have gone into hiding, they’re all inside their houses.” She glanced at Angel lying on the floor in the front room. “I’m afraid I’ve spoiled her.”

  “That’s okay.” Paul reached over and scratched Angel behind the ears. She got up and moved closer, resting her head on his lap. “She’s a beauty.”

  “She looks like Buck.”

  Paul stood and returned to the stove to look at the biscuits. “These are done.” He carried the Dutch oven to the table, stirred the soup one more time, and then placed it next to the biscuits.

  “Smells wonderful. My stomach’s roaring now.” Kate grinned.

  “We’ll see how it tastes.” Paul spooned soup into the bowls. “Help yourself to a biscuit.”

  Kate scooped a biscuit out of the pan. She broke it in half and steam escaped.

  “They’re best with jam. I’ve got some elderberry.” He walked to the cupboard, took down a jar of preserves, and set it on the table.

  Kate dipped her spoon into the jar. “Where did you get the jam?”

  “Picked the berries and made it.”

  Kate glanced at the sewing machine in the corner. “Oh, that’s right. You sew, cook, can—you do just about everything.”

  “Out here a person’s got to.”

  Kate smeared jam on her biscuit and took a bite of the flaky roll. “Delicious.”

  A gust of wind rattled the house. Paul and Kate both looked at the ceiling.

  “Hope I got those shingles down good and tight.”

  Dusk settled over the cabin as Paul and Kate finished their meal. “Sidney’s probably worrying about me,” Kate said.

  “I’ll have Patrick get a message to him on his radio.” Paul pulled on his coat and stepped to the door. “I’ll be back in two shakes.”

  Huddled against the storm, Paul headed for Patrick’s, but his mind remained with Kate. Having her in the house made the place feel like a home. It would be nice to have a woman around. He remembered the way Mike had held Kate and how she’d clung to him after Frank’s death. Envy squeezed his heart, but he knew it was better that she wasn’t available— entanglements only made life more complicated.

  By the time Paul returned, Kate had the kitchen tidy. “You didn’t have to clean up. You’re a guest.”

  “I wanted to. I might not be a good cook, but I’m a whiz at cleaning.” Kate grinned.

  “Do you play cards?”

  “Now and again.”

  “You want to play? I’ve got a deck.”

  “Sure.”

  Paul and Kate settled across the table from each other. At first they talked little and focused on the game. Kate won the first two hands. Gradually stories about hunting and fishing trips bounced between them.

  “I swear hunting and fishing is all Alaskans talk about,” Kate said.

  “Suppose that’s because we do a lot of it. Would you rather talk politics?” he teased.

  “No thanks.”

  Silence pervaded the room. Kate stared at her cards. Paul could feel tension between them and knew Kate had something to say. He doubted he wanted to hear it.

  Finally she looked up. “Paul . . . why are you here? Is it because your wife died?”

  Paul put down his cards. He stared at them for a long moment, then said, “There are some things in life better left alone.” He stood and moved to the kitchen and refilled his cup with coffee. “You want more?”

  “No thanks. I’m sorry for prying.”

  “It’s all right. I understand. I’m just not ready to talk about it.” He returned to his seat and took a drink of coffee. “You want to play out your hand?”

  “Sure.”

  She picked up her cards and studied them. Paul studied her. The copper in her hair glistened in the lantern light. He longed to reach out and touch it, to make Kate feel safe and loved. The thought sent a shock through him. You can’t love her. You can’t love anyone.

  26

  Kate rolled onto her side, rested her back against the divan, and stretched her arms over her head. The outside world sounded hushed. She sat up and looked out the window. Sunlight winked from behind clouds left from the storm.

  She’d fallen asleep to the shrill cry of the wind, feeling awkward in Paul’s cabin. It hadn’t felt that way when he was sick. But last night they’d talked and laughed, said good night, and gone to their respective beds. She’d lain awake a long while thinking about him and wondering if he was thinking about her.

  “I’ve got to get up and back to work,” she said, throwing off her covers and placing her feet on the chilled floor. She shuffled to the kitchen sink, took a glass from the cupboard, and filled it with water from the hand pump. Paul must still be sleeping, she thought, until she heard footfalls on the porch.

  The door opened and he stepped inside. “Wondered if you were going to sleep the morning away.” He grinned.

  “What time is it?”

  “After eight.”

  “I didn’t know you were up.”

  “Long enough to feed the dogs—”

  “Oh, Angel. Where is she?” Kate glanced around the house.

  “She’s having the time of her life.” He held up four eggs, two in each hand. “Thought you might like some breakfast.”

  “Sure.” Kate suddenly remembered how she must look and tried to tame her hair. “Just need to make a trip outside and clean up, and I’ll give you a hand.”

  While Paul cooked eggs and slabs of bacon, Kate sliced bread and toasted it in the oven. When they were done, she spread fresh butter on them. Paul managed to have the coffee, eggs, and bacon ready by the time Kate had finished the toast.

  She scooted a chair up to the table. “You seem to be good at everything.”

  “Not everything. But I can cook. When I was a kid, we all had to help with the household chores, including cooking. And out here if I don’t cook I don’t eat.”

  “So, what’s my excuse?” Kate asked, a curious sense of contentment coursing through her.

  “I bet you’re better in the kitchen than you think. Probably just need a little more practice.”

  “Never did like domestic work. Growing up, I kept busy climbing trees, building forts, fishing, or flying with my dad.” She took a bite of egg. “Mom and I were always at loggerheads. She tried to tame me, and I was always fighting to not be what I was expected to be.”

  Paul chuckled. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  Kate set her fork on her plate. “I love my mom and dad. I had a great childhood, but so much of my life I’ve felt out of step . . . with the rest of the world.”

  Paul picked up his coffee and rested his elbows on the table. “I think we’re supposed to welcome who we are.”

  Kate warmed inside. “I like that. But most of the time it feels like no one else understands or agrees with it.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s all right. No need to worry about what other people think.”

  Kate knew she was overly concerned with what others thought about her. But how did she change it? She scooped eggs onto her toast and took a bite. Talking around the food in her mouth, she said, “I’ve got to get back to Anchorage. Sid
ney’s expecting me.”

  “I’ll have Patrick let him know.”

  “I’m trying to save up for a radio in my plane. But they’re expensive.” Angel whined at the door and Kate let her in. “Did those dogs wear you out?” She gave her a quick rubdown, then returned to the table.

  Angel sat beside Kate, watching and waiting for a taste of breakfast.

  “Don’t think she was tired, just hungry.” Paul gave her a piece of bacon.

  “It’s my fault. I spoil her.” Kate slipped her a bite of toast.

  Conversation waned. Kate wasn’t sure what to talk about. The previous night everything had been so congenial between them. Now the comfortable friendliness seemed to have evaporated. When she finished eating, she put her plate and cup in the sink. “I gotta go. Thanks for breakfast.”

  “Oh sure.” Paul sounded disappointed.

  Kate wondered if he was. Paul was a mystery she couldn’t figure out. There were moments when she thought he might be keen on her and other times when he acted as if she was the last person he wanted to see.

  She pulled on her jacket and grabbed her pack. “Hope my plane’s all right. Don’t know what I’d do if something happened to it.”

  “I’ll walk down with you. It was a doozy of a storm—the trail’s liable to be a mess. Good thing you weren’t in the air.”

  Kate felt the heat of embarrassment at the thought of how she’d stormed out of the cabin the previous day. She’d acted like a child.

  A cool breeze greeted her when she stepped onto the porch. It stirred the treetops, filling the air with the sound of rustling boughs. Everything was soaked and smelled of rain and damp vegetation. Kate took the steps two at a time and headed for the trail, littered with leaves and branches. Paul walked ahead, clearing away limbs.

  As Kate approached the creek, the trail turned steep. She slipped in the mud, but Paul grabbed her arm, keeping her from ending up flat out and muddy.

  “Thanks,” Kate said, getting her feet under her.

  “Gotta watch your footing along here. It’s always slippery after a rain.”

  Anxious to check out her plane, Kate couldn’t keep from hurrying. As soon as the Bellanca came into sight, she could see the storm had bombarded it with branches and other debris. She ran the last several yards, praying it was only superficial damage.

  “I hope she’s all right.” Kate pulled a branch off a wing, and with Paul’s help they cleared the rest of the plane. It was in good shape—no broken windows or tears in the fuselage or wings.

  Kate stepped back. “Thank the Lord it’s all right.”

  “She looks good.”

  Kate made one last inspection of the flaps, then hurried around to the door. Her feet hit a slick spot on the wet boards and she lost her footing. Knowing she couldn’t stop her fall, she stuck out one arm to catch herself. When her hand hit the dock, she felt her shoulder wrench, and pain shot across her chest.

  With a moan, she rolled onto her side and grabbed hold of the injured arm. The shoulder throbbed so intensely she thought she might be sick.

  “Kate. You all right?”

  She shook her head no. “My shoulder. I did something to it.” She could barely talk. She tried to move the arm, but it wouldn’t budge. “I think I broke it.” With Paul’s help, she managed to sit up. “How am I going to fly like this?”

  “I better have a look at it.” Paul helped her stand.

  He kept a hold on her good arm and guided her up the slick trail to the house where he sat her down at the table. “We’ll have to get your jacket off.”

  Kate nodded, and blew out a breath, knowing that any movement would be excruciating.

  “Hang on, I’ll do it.” He slid off the sleeve on the uninjured shoulder and helped Kate extend the bad arm just enough to slide off the left sleeve.

  Sweat beaded up on Kate’s face. She wanted to holler but managed to hold it in. “It’s like my shoulder’s on fire.”

  “Almost got it.”

  Kate clenched her teeth and sucked in air.

  Finally the jacket was off. “Got it.” He draped it over the back of a chair, then examined both arms, comparing the two. “Your left arm is sitting at an abnormal angle and it’s longer than your other one.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Could be a broken collarbone or shoulder . . .” He scrutinized the injury. “I think it’s a dislocation.”

  Kate looked at him, wondering how he would know. He moved the arm and pain burst through her shoulder and arm.

  “Do you have to do that?” she snapped.

  Ignoring her, Paul probed, feeling the joint through her blouse. “I’m pretty sure it’s dislocated.” He straightened. “I’ll need to get a better look at it.”

  “And how will you do that?”

  “You’ll have to remove your shirt.”

  “I . . . I can’t do that.”

  “There’s no other way . . . if you want me to help you.”

  She studied him. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

  “Yeah, I do. On those hunting trips I used to take, inevitably somebody got hurt. I had a brother who dislocated his shoulder more than once. And I was the least squeamish of the bunch, so I’d always help.”

  “But—”

  “Kate, I’m not interested in looking at your body, I just want to help you.”

  Embarrassed, Kate started to explain, “I didn’t think that, but . . .” Realizing further explanation would only cause more awkwardness, she gave in. “All right. I’ll get it off.”

  “Let me get a towel and we’ll keep you covered as best we can. Okay?”

  While Paul held the towel, Kate undid her buttons. After removing her blouse from her good arm, Paul draped the towel over her. Still partially bare, Kate felt more embarrassed than she could remember—this was Paul.

  He slipped off the shirt. Feeling utterly exposed, Kate decided not to look at him, but for just a moment their eyes met, and she could see embarrassment in his too.

  He turned his attention to her shoulder. Hanging on to her arm with one hand, he placed the other on her shoulder and gently manipulated the arm.

  Kate trapped her groans inside, but couldn’t stop the tears.

  “You’re lucky,” he said.

  “Lucky?”

  “You’ve got a dislocation. It could be a lot worse.” His expression serious, he said, “I’m going to have to put it back in place. It’s going to hurt.”

  Kate thought he seemed too much an expert at all this, but decided to just be grateful for now. She took a breath and gave a nod. “Okay.”

  “I’ll do this as fast as I can. Hold still.” Paul held the lower part of the arm and kept one hand on the shoulder. “If we’re lucky, it’ll go in the first time.”

  He pulled her arm toward him. Pain flared through Kate’s shoulder and across her chest. She yelled when he manipulated it, and then blessedly, she felt it slide back into place.

  The room spun and turned dark. Kate thought she might faint. Gradually the pain retreated. “Thank you. It’s better.”

  Wanting to cover up, she reached for her shirt, and Paul helped her put it on.

  He made a sling from a piece of cloth. “That ought to help.”

  Studying him, she asked, “Tell me again how you knew what was wrong? And why do you know how to fix a dislocated shoulder?”

  Paul didn’t answer right away. “Like I said there were accidents— my dad was a doctor and—”

  “Don’t give me another story about your father or your grandfather. Tell me the truth. Regular people don’t know what you know.” She stared at him.

  Paul held her gaze. “The truth?”

  The door opened and Patrick stepped in. “Kate, thank God you haven’t left yet. I got a call from Sidney. He needs you right away in Homer. A girl fell from a tree. She’s hurt real bad. They need to get her to a hospital.”

  “There isn’t anyone at the airfield?”

  “Sidney said
the two planes left on the field were damaged by the storm and the other fellas are too far away.”

  Patrick seemed to actually see her for the first time, and he asked, “You all right?”

  “Yeah. I took a fall and hurt my shoulder. Paul helped me, though.” She stood and reached for her coat. “Okay. I’ve got to go.” Her injured shoulder throbbed.

  “You probably shouldn’t use that arm,” Paul said. “Can you fly without it?”

  “No. But I’ll manage.” She headed for the door. “Can someone crank the plane for me?”

  “Sure, I’ll do it,” Patrick said.

  Kate stopped Paul at the door and looked at him squarely. “Are you a doctor?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Tell me. Right now. There’s a little girl who needs one.” Her mouth set, Kate held Paul’s eyes.

  “Yes. Yes, I’m a doctor.”

  Patrick’s eyes widened. “It’s about time the truth was told.”

  “I used to be. I’m not anymore.”

  “Well, you are today,” Kate said.

  “Just today.” Paul grabbed his coat and followed her out.

  Neither of them spoke until they were well on their way.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” Kate asked. “All this time . . . I told you we need doctors up here and you said nothing.” “I used to be a doctor.” Paul kept his eyes on the sky in front of them. “But no more.”

  “Why not?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Fine. Don’t tell me.”

  Frustrated and in pain, Kate did her best to manage the plane.

  “Is there something I can do to help?” Paul asked.

  “Do you know how to use the stick?”

  “Not enough.”

  Kate shook her head. “Then I’ll manage,” she said, trying to ignore the throbbing in her shoulder and doing only what was necessary to maneuver the plane.

  They flew in silence. When they touched down at Homer, a small group of people were huddled at the side of the landing strip. A little girl lay silent and pale on a makeshift gurney.

  Taking long strides, Paul crossed the field and knelt beside the child. He quickly examined her. “Has she been conscious at all?” he asked a woman who lingered close to the child.