by Lexi Post
She ran out the door after them. “I want to go to the doctors! I want to go—”
“Shhhh. You will get well. I promise.”
The deep, scratchy voice pulled her away. She blinked her eyelids open but it was still dark. As the dream faded, her memory returned. She had snow blindness and the comforting voice and arms around her were the mountain man.
Somewhere in her foggy brain, she questioned her position, her head on what she believed to be his biceps and his body against her side, but since he was on top of the quilt, she relaxed into the solace he offered instead.
She hadn’t dreamed of the day her mother went into hospice since she’d become an adult. It was weird that it would suddenly reoccur. Maybe it was fear over her own condition that had it resurfacing. Being held certainly helped the dream dissipate. It would have been pleasant if her hands hadn’t started to throb.
“Do you believe me?” There was a vulnerability in his need to have her trust him that tugged at her heart.
“I do believe I’ll heal under your care. It was just a dream from when I was a child. Probably because my hands hurt so much.”
Was it her imagination, or did his biceps relax beneath her head?
“I’m relieved to know you were dreaming. Worrying about your condition will slow the healing process.”
With statements like that one, he sounded so old, as if he’d had too much experience with people being sick or in pain. It was a sad thought, and she brushed it away.
“I will let you return to your sleep.”
“No.” She said the word too loud and too quick, betraying her residual fear. “I mean, could you stay a few more minutes. In the middle of this cold wilderness with no sight, it makes me feel better to know there’s someone else out here.”
“Of course.” He seemed pleased by her request. “I have lived alone for so long that I sometimes forget man is by nature a social being.”
He spoke of man as if he was something else. How odd. “Why have you lived alone?”
She could picture his shoulders slumping as he sighed, though she didn’t actually feel any movement on his part.
“I have found it better that I do so.”
“What about brothers and sisters? Do you have any?” Before he even spoke, she sensed sorrow, maybe in the way he shifted. Were her other senses really honing in on such subtleties?
“I have no family.” The words were said carefully, as if he wished to hide his own emotional pain.
For the first time since she’d regained consciousness, she was thankful she couldn’t see. She was learning so much more about her caretaker than she would have if she was distracted by her sight. She was absolutely sure of that. “Have they all passed?”
“You should rest now.” Before she could react, he slipped his large arm out from beneath her head and lowered her back to the pillow.
“Why? Is it night time?” She hoped the answer was no because she wanted to learn more about him. It was better than focusing on her own predicament.
“The more rest you have, the faster you’ll heal, and yes, it’s night. It will be four more hours before daylight.”
Shoot. There was no way she could keep him talking. The poor man had been taking care of her twenty-four seven and he was sleeping on what must be a short, uncomfortable couch instead of in his own bed. Still, she had one more request. “Could I have some water before you go back to sleep?”
“Yes.” He moved away from the bed.
She listened to the noise made by the water pouring into the tin cup and then his footsteps returning to her. Within seconds, he had lifted her head and helped her drink. “Thank you.”
He moved away again. “Good night.”
She listened as he cleaned the cup before he walked to the couch. The frame of the furniture creaked as he settled on it. She readjusted her image of him now that she’d felt his large arm and hard chest against her shoulder. Despite his age, he had to be very strong, probably from cutting down trees and lugging his kill back for food.
That brought to mind a much younger man, but his voice, experience and the many places he’d lived still placed him in her mind at about sixty years of age. The idea of finally seeing him, maybe as early as tomorrow, made it hard to fall back to sleep. But somewhere between imagining what he looked like and wondering about his past, she did.
He waited until Angel’s breathing turned regular then he quietly donned his boots and slipped outside. The moon was almost full and the snow on the surrounding mountains glistened in the bright light. How many times had he escaped into the wilderness to bury his pain?
The urge to run through the forests, over the mountains and across vast tundra rose within him, almost choking out all reason.
Not this time. He couldn’t leave the woman inside or she’d die. He’d sworn over three hundred years ago that no one else would ever die because of his actions. The lives he saved could never atone for the ones he’d taken, but he was determined never to add to that number, no matter the circumstance.
It was her need to talk. Without awareness, she dug at age old wounds, something the men of the arctic didn’t do. Everyone was here for a reason. Here, being alone, was accepted and respected. Angel, though, didn’t live here, and as therefore, sought conversation.
He understood her need to escape the pain, but he needed to redirect her and keep her from learning too much. He didn’t want to arouse her curiosity because he didn’t wish to lie to her. She stirred feelings in him he’d never had.
At first, he thought she cried for a doctor because he’d hurt her when he changed the padding beneath her. That she had urinated in her sleep had pleased him greatly, and the plastic and towels he’d set under her the first time she fell asleep after drinking tea had worked well. He hadn’t thought he moved her too much, but when she cried out, he’d grown anxious. It was a relief she’d only been dreaming.
Looking back at the cabin then up at the sky, he calculated the time until dawn. He could take a short run to assuage his restlessness and still have time to work on the chair he planned to make her.
Turning south, he took off at a quick jog, jumping over logs and scaling rocky hills before he came upon Two Beaver stream. Jumping across in three lunges, he continued his run. Night was the only time he dared make a naked run, the bracing cold the only thing that made him feel alive, almost human.
After Victor had died on the ship of the explorer, he thought his life over. He had no purpose and expected to die. The revenge he’d sought had rebounded back upon himself, first when Victor died and left him with no focus and completely alone, then when he’d discovered he could not die himself.
He scaled a black spruce tree, hoisting himself up between the branches until he reached the thinner top. The trunk swayed under his weight, but he ignored his precarious position to enjoy the view. The moon’s white light made deep shadows among the under growth, but the snow reflected it, making the entire landscape appear black and white.
Looking back the way he’d come, he found his mountain. A quarter way up was his cabin, which was cast in shadow by the moon’s location behind the towering peaks. From here, there was no way for man or beast to know an angel slept there.
He’d learned so much in his extended existence. He’d finally discovered how to hide his scars and yellowed gaze, both having faded with the passing years. After numerous attempts to end his life, to no avail, he’d come to know how to live with minimal discomforts.
Most of all, thanks to an Inuit elder, he’d finally understood right from wrong as it applied to man and beast. Unfortunately, that had shed a clearer light on his own depraved soul…if he had one. Akiakook was convinced he had one because of his feelings of guilt, but sometimes he wasn’t so sure.
A wolf crossed a small clearing not far away, its coat appearing black against the moonlit snow. It was joined by two more. He couldn’t tell if it was the same pack that occasionally visited him when he had marten skins drying. Night
was the wolves’ prime hunting time.
He didn’t mind sharing his space with the wolves or bears or eagles. He preferred their company to man’s. Still, there were a few men he’d met that had shown him not all were as self-involved as Victor.
A dull ache lodged in his gut, so old now it was like an old friend. He’d asked only one thing of his creator. Though he’d wanted a father and all that relationship entailed, he’d only asked for one thing. The denial, though over a century old, still hurt—more penance for his wrongdoings.
The alpha wolf sniffed the air before trotting off to the west. The other two followed. He lifted his own nose to the air and inhaled the crisp spruce scent deep into his lungs and dared to dream. What if Angel was his salvation and reward? Would she be willing to stay or would she want to return to civilization? She was a tourist who’d lost her way, but he believed he was meant to find her.
Despite his habit of suffocating any hope, the tiny flame Angel ignited refused to be extinguished. But a memory of that feeling came sharp and angry to blur his vision. He’d felt the same when Victor promised to create a mate for him only to destroy her.
He was a fool if he thought Angel would do anything but leave once she’d healed. There could be no salvation for the cursed creature he was.
Angrily, he climbed down the tree, ignoring the scrapes and stabs of the branches and needles. The stings were fleeting since any evidence of damage disappeared almost immediately from his skin. Jumping the last twelve feet to the ground, he headed for home. Despite the hopelessness of his life, Angel had the rest of hers before her, and it was his responsibility to insure she lived to enjoy it.
Once again, he crossed Two Beavers stream and loped across the snow laden boulders and through the not-yet coated forest until he reached his mountain. He paused and looked opposite to the place he’d found Angel. Even in the setting moonlight, he could see his tracks up to the spot. He wouldn’t rest easy until the next snowfall.
Winter was fast approaching, so his wait shouldn’t be long. He had prepared well for his solitary existence, but if Angel remained throughout the winter, they would need more food.
A strange peace settled in his chest at the thought of caring for her over a long period of time, and his confidence grew. He may not be worthy of her, but he could take care of her until she was able to return to her family. That he could do well.
Striding up the slope toward the large shelf where his cabin sat, a new purpose formed. He hadn’t had a purpose beyond existing in decades, and it felt good. So good, it brought with it an equal measure of guilt, but for once, he ignored that.
Arriving at the front of the cabin, he unlaced his boots and left them on the steps. He walked barefoot across the snow around to the south side of his home where a set of pipes directed the mountain run-off toward his sink inside, to a barrel high above him, and to a spout that dropped the water down the mountainside to resume its regular course to a small stream that ran along the base. He pulled a rope to open a door in the barrel and freezing water rushed over him.
Letting the door close, he pulled the soap he’d made from the outside shelf and quickly washed. The cold always invigorated him, lightening his mood. After rinsing off in the frigid shower from his barrel, he shook himself of excess water and walked back to the front porch where he grabbed up his boots and quietly entered the cabin.
The warmth hit him and he ignored the towel he kept by the door to stand next to the wood stove to dry, adding more wood to insure Angel didn’t grow cold. He stilled. She’d also ask to urinate soon. She’d had enough to drink that she would need to. He usually went outside, but she couldn’t. He needed to prepare the chair he had in mind.
Anxious to fulfill her needs, he lit his main lantern, pushed open the door that covered his storage area, and entered the cave.
He stood staring at the piles of supplies and odds and ends he’d accumulated since arriving in northern Alaska. He’d studied much on female anatomy and understood how everything worked, but creating something Angel could use could be a challenge.
His gaze fell on the refrigerator he used to bathe in during the coldest part of the winter. That would work for Angel. He picked it up and set it next to the pantry door, but didn’t open it. It would make too much noise, and he wanted Angel to stay asleep until he solved the issue of a toilet.
As quietly as he could, he moved aside extra boards, baskets of potatoes, a crate of onions and a barrel of smoked salmon. Buried behind those items was an old chair with a woven seat. He’d taken it in trade from Timber when the mountain man had run out of fish last winter and had a “powerful craving” as he put it.
Pulling the chair out, he examined it. Three-quarters of the weave had come away from the seat frame, which he’d planned to take off anyway. Gripping the decaying material, he ripped it from the chair. It would need some modification, but he could get it done before sunrise and hopefully before Angel woke.
CHAPTER THREE
The scent of some kind of fish with unusual spices woke her from her dreams. She opened her eyes before remembering that wouldn’t help her identify the mouth-watering smell. Was it dinner time? Her stomach certainly thought so.
It was so hard to determine the time of day when she couldn’t see. She had a whole new appreciation for those who were blind. At least she would have her sight back soon, or so her caretaker said. Was it today or tomorrow she could find out?
She didn’t hear any sounds beyond the occasional pop from the fire in the wood stove. Had he eaten and left? She swallowed the panic that rose at the thought of being helpless and alone. She wasn’t helpless exactly. She could probably sit up and find her way across the cabin if she had to.
She should test her theory. She pushed on her hands to leverage herself up, but a burning pain traveled straight up her arms and to her heart, causing her to catch her breath and let out a startled yell. Tears filled her eyes as she took shallow breaths to avoid intensifying the throbbing running through her.
Her helplessness coupled with her total dependence on a stranger threatened to overwhelm her.
The door opened, bringing with it a wave of fresh cold air and the distinctive scent of spruce she associated with her mountain man. It calmed her panic.
“You’re awake.” His distinctive voice further assured her.
Though she’d like to smile in gratefulness that he had returned, her pain made it impossible. “I am.”
He strode directly to her. “You’ve been crying. Why?” His voice sounded so concerned, she needed to reassure him.
She opened her mouth to answer, but his finger gently wiped the tear track from one cheek. It amazed her how such a big man could be so gentle. He was an odd mix of cultured and roughness. “I tried to use my hands. I know, stupid, but I woke up and forgot about them.”
“What did you need to use them for? I can help you.”
Again, her heart softened at his kindness. “I was going to try to sit up, just to see if I could.” It had been nothing more than panic, but she didn’t want him to know that. She prided herself on her adventuresome spirit and she’d completely lost it. It was embarrassing. “What smells so good?”
He was silent for a moment as if he read her mind and knew why she’d changed the subject. “It’s yugyak or arctic char, as you may have heard of it. I made it for breakfast. Would you like to try it?”
At his offer, her stomach tightened with hunger. “I’ve never had it, but I would love some.”
Instead of responding, he moved off to the opposite side of the room. As she listened, she could picture everything he did. She’d always heard that when one sense was closed off, the others were heightened. Still, she was anxious to see again. “How many days has it been? I’ve lost track. I thought it was dinner time since I can’t tell if it’s light or dark.”
“You have been conscious for two days.” He came closer and sat on the chair next to her.
The fish smelled even better up close. “Do yo
u think I could sit up to eat?”
He set the plate down somewhere nearby. An end table maybe? He stood and from the sound of his footsteps, he’d walked past the foot of the bed toward where he said the couch was located.
She could picture him picking up extra pillows or folding a blanket so she could sit. Who was this man who cared so much to see her well, yet was so alone in the world? She definitely wanted to know more. “You said you’ve lived in many countries. What did you do for work? I know in the arctic surviving is your day job, but what about when you were in Geneva?”
If she had had her sight, she was sure she would have missed the hesitation in his step as he approached.
“I think you should focus on sustenance right now and talking later.” His voice held a sterner tone than usual. Maybe there was something in his past he wasn’t proud of.
Before her vacation began, she’d read that while some people liked the challenge of being self-sufficient and getting down to the basics of life, others came to Alaska to escape their past and still others fled the restrictions of civilization. Was he escaping? And if she pried, would he ever let her leave?
For the second time since she woke, she felt uneasy, but it wasn’t something he’d said, just her own thoughts going around in circles. If he wasn’t so closed-mouthed, she would have a lot fewer guesses. Then again, how many mountain men were talkative?
He carefully lifted her shoulders before he arranged something soft yet sturdy behind her. When he let her lean back, she was sitting up.
That small change in position had her excited to be alive all over again. “This is perfect. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” At his lack of movement, she imagined him blushing beneath a scraggly salt and pepper beard.
She lifted her hand as if she could take the plate of food and immediately moaned as the burning started all over again. “Shoot, that hurts.”