by Henry, Sue
On the braided rug on the floor before the sofa lay Rosie, a young first-time mother, with four pups of her almost month-new litter. Three of these were attentively enjoying a liquid breakfast provided by their patiently reclining mom. The other, darkest and most active of the gang, had climbed to her shoulder and was licking one of her ears. Jessie had named her Daisy for the single white spot that surrounded one eye like a flower. A fifth, a miniature edition of his father, Tank, wriggled in Jessie’s lap as she scratched his round, milk-taut belly and smiled at his baby growls and repeated attempts to gnaw her fingers.
“What a clown you are,” she told him. “If you’ve inherited any of your daddy’s dignity, it doesn’t show yet. Maybe you’ve got his smarts—make another good leader someday.”
When the phone rang she put him back on the floor with a pat and a push in Rosie’s direction and went to the desk.
“Arnold Kennels.”
“Jess? It’s me.”
“Hi, you! How’s everything down there? How’s your dad doing? I just got back from two days out with the guys. Made it almost to Skwentna before—”
“I tried to call last night.”
“You didn’t leave a message so I could call you back.”
“I wanted to talk to you, not that blasted machine.”
There was something in his voice that warned her, a tension she recognized—stiff upper lip sound.
“What’s wrong, Alex?”
But she already knew what he would say.
“My dad…died…night before last.”
For a minute she couldn’t answer. “When?”
Dumb, she thought…stupid, unfeeling question, then realized the word was an attempt to keep him talking while she regained her balance.
“About two in the morning. He just went…while he was asleep. Breathing…everything…got slower and slower…and he was gone. It took a minute before I knew he wasn’t there anymore.”
A deep breath. Then, “Oh, Alex. I’m so sorry.”
“Me, too.”
“Your mom?”
“Not so good. She was expecting to have to spend a long time nursing him, but not…She’s in shock, Jess. Needs time. This really turns her safe world upside down.”
“Was she there with you when…?”
“No. We—my brother, Ned, Mom, and I—have been…had been…taking turns staying with him, so he…wasn’t alone. I had to call the motel and wake them up. She’ll be okay in a while, but this makes everything different…hard for her.”
The thick sound of his voice, the pauses in what he was saying, told her more than his words.
“And you?”
Focused on the voice in her ear, she tried to ignore Tank’s small double as he dauntlessly followed her across the room to attack the tempting dangle of her boot laces.
Jeep. I think I’ll call him Jeep, Jessie thought. That works.
“I’m…okay for now. You know. There’s a lot to do. We’ll take him home…to Salmon…tomorrow. Back on the ranch it’ll be better, I think…for mom…for all of us. The funeral’s Tuesday.”
“Alex…I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
The race? A year of planning? Were they really so important? She knew they shouldn’t be, but…Was she actually holding her breath?
“Ah…Jess. You’re good to offer, but no…I don’t think so. There’s all the…arrangements…Mom…Ned. The whole community in Salmon to…I just can’t divide myself right now…”
Divide himself? What the hell did that mean? How—and when—had she become a division to him?
Disconcerted, she moved her foot abruptly and the pup scampered back to his mother, where he flopped down with his littermates.
“…If you’d ever been here—knew people…ah…” He sputtered into an embarrassed pause. “I’m sorry, Jessie. I didn’t mean that the way it came out. Can you understand? You know that feeling of going home that makes everything else seem unreal…?”
Unreal?
For a moment she hesitated, awash in and trying to rid herself of a combination of exasperation and guilty relief—a small silence to which he immediately applied his own interpretation.
“Oh, shit…Jess. I’ve said it all wrong. It’s just that—”
She interrupted, speaking too fast, heard the tense falseness in her voice, and couldn’t explain guilt born of feeling hurt and…guilty.
“It’s all right, Alex. I understand. You’ve got a lot to take care of now. You should do what is best for yourself…and your…family. It’s okay.”
There was an awkward, uncomfortable stillness filled with misplaced feelings of fault and contrition on both sides.
“I think maybe we—at least I—should go back and start over,” Alex said, finally.
“No, really. You don’t need this kind of hassle at the moment. Believe me when I tell you that it is okay—it’ll be fine. I understand and you’re right. We’ll talk about it later…or not.”
Grateful that her voice sounded somewhat close to normal, sincere and sympathetic, she heard him sigh.
“Thanks, Jess. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too. Take great good care. Okay?”
“Yes. I’ll talk to you very soon.”
“I’m here—whenever—well, part of the time. You know my kind of schedule. Don’t worry. Oh, Alex—I almost forgot. I’m taking the dogs to Whitehorse two weeks before the race. We’ll get settled and rested from the trip, stay with Fred, and do some Yukon runs, get them a little more used to the colder temperatures. Gotta get their prerace vet check there, too.”
“Okay. I’ll get a number from you before you leave.”
“Sure….”
“Later, love.”
“Bye.”
She stood staring at the receiver in her hand for a long moment before replacing it in its cradle with exaggerated gentleness and returning to the sofa, where she sat down and leaned back into a pile of pillows. There was a lump of tension under her breastbone, a clenched fist that ached and forced her to take shallow breaths. Feeling as if someone had wrung out her thoughts and emotions like a wet washcloth, she tried to sort her scrambled mind into some kind of order, but something howled painfully in bruised reaction.
I should go.
You don’t really want to go.
He didn’t want me…need me!
Oh, stop it. You’re overreacting. His dad just died.
But I’d want him!
You don’t know what you’d want in similar circumstances. You’re the one who doesn’t want to get married, remember?
I never said…never.
Same thing.
Not at all. I wanted more time…to think.
Nonsense! You kept putting it off. Maybe too long.
I was considering…
Yeah?
You’re right. I’ve been satisfied with what we had—had?—and ignored it.
Avoided it.
Yeah. Oh, hell…okay…avoided.
Uneasy, depressed, confused, she stood up and went to the kitchen, where she splashed coffee into her mug, spilling half on the counter. Angrily, she mopped at it with a sponge, as if she could smear away the unsettling hurt and regret as well.
How many times did we talk of going to Idaho to visit his folks, but never went?
Not all my fault. We were both busy.
Yes, but going seemed like a commitment you didn’t want to make.
True. I knew they’d make assumptions…and so would Alex.
You think he didn’t? Well, now he won’t. Mollified?
“No! Dammit…I’m not!”
Rosie raised her head at the sound of her human’s voice, stood up, and shook herself. Greedy pups, including small newly named Jeep and Daisy, dropped to the braided rug in an indignant heap of yips and whines, which their mother ignored.
Jessie had to smile at their protests as she went to give the bitch a few appeasing pats.
“It’s okay, girl, but time for you guys to go back to th
e nursery shed. I’ve got a full day ahead that doesn’t include your family—just the team I’m taking to Whitehorse and some ID chips at the vet’s. I’ve also got to find where Bliss has gone.”
Putting on her boots, parka, and gathering the squirming gang of five into an armful, Jessie held the door open for Rosie, who was attentively watching her brood, and led the way to the shed that she kept warm for new mothers and pups born during the winter months. Securing them in the comfortable shelter, she turned to implement her plans for the day, and her conscience gave her a parting shot.
What’re you going to do about all this?
I don’t know. And right now there’s not much I can do. I’ll think about it, okay…later?
Okay, Scarlett O’Hara, but…
Swearing mentally, Jessie went to work.
Purposely considering her reasons for choosing each one, she began to move the dogs that would make up her Yukon Quest team into the compartments of the dog box on the back of her pickup. The Darryls, her best wheel dogs; Mitts, a beautiful female with a longer than usual white ruff and the determined self-confidence of a Vegas showgirl; dependable Pete, who sometimes alternated lead with Tank, though the latter hated to run anywhere but at the head of the string. Goofy was an energetic, perpetual pup who would always rather lope than trot.
By this time the whole yard of more than forty were yelping, barking, and straining at their tethers, eager to be selected to go wherever Jessie was going, hoping for a run. Tank, tethered nearest to the truck, sat watching like a supervisor, too dignified to make such a fuss, knowing he wouldn’t be left. She ignored them and loaded another thirteen dogs, the team she had selected and four alternates, in case any of her first-choice racers had to be replaced at the last minute. The four not put into harness for the start of the race would be brought back from Canada by her handlers along with any she dropped before the halfway point.
The compartments in the dog box, two high and six wide, faced outward on each side of the truck, with holes in the doors to allow the dogs to look out and fresh air to get in. Large enough to let the dog stand up, lie down, turn, and move around in safety, each compartment was lined with straw for individual comfort and warmth. An entire box would hold twenty-four dogs at once in their compartments, a traveling doggie motel of sorts. Boxes of this type, designed by and for mushers, were arranged to carry not only the team, but a sled or two secured to the top and, in a space accessed from the rear between the two outer lines of dog compartments, harness, gang lines, dog food, and other equipment the musher or animals may need.
“Come on, Tank. You last, buddy,” Jessie said, lifting her leader to the lower compartment just behind the driver’s seat. “You’ve already been chipped, but it won’t hurt to make sure it’s still okay since the last race.”
The drive to the veterinarian in Palmer took half an hour from her Knik cabin and she arrived to find three more trucks with dog boxes ahead of her in the parking lot. Vets all over Alaska were putting computer chips into sled dogs for next month’s Yukon Quest and the Iditarod, which was annually held in March. The chips, introduced with a large needle under the skin between the shoulder blades, were the size of a grain of rice and held recorded identification information that could be read with a scanner at race time, ensuring that no dog had been substituted and all were approved to run. It also ensured the identification of any dog that wandered or was lost on the thousand-mile race, aiding in a quick reunion with its owner. Though this did not happen often, periodically a dog would vanish and be found miles from where it disappeared, sometimes even far away from the race route. Since a racer could not continue until the dog was found and returned to the team, it could be an important factor to a frustrated musher.
Jessie had never lost a dog during a race and had no intention of doing so now: She was careful to teach hers not to take off if they found themselves loose from the line. Still, there could always be a moose or a snowshoe hare they couldn’t resist chasing, so it was comforting to know that each member of her team could be so easily identified.
As she waited for her turn with the vet, Jessie was surprised when he came out to the truck. She had already unloaded Tank and Pete, who greeted him with wagging tails. Her dogs were not afraid of Bob Spenser, who always treated them with gentle friendship and even remembered the names of those he had seen most often.
He knelt in the snow to greet the two affectionately.
“Hey there, Tank. You’re looking fit, as usual. Good boy, Pete. Going to win Jessie another race, are you?”
The older dog cocked his head attentively, recognizing the word race, and seemed to smile, making Jessie smile as well.
Spenser looked up.
“Hey, Jessie. You missing a dog?”
“Yes, I sure am. A couple of them played hookey from the yard last night. Pete’s back, but I’m going looking for Bliss as soon as we’re through here. Why? You hear about someone seeing her?” she asked eagerly.
“Better. She was tied with a rope to the handle of the front door when I came in this morning. Someone must have found her and thought I’d be able to give you a call. I tried, but you didn’t answer; then the line was busy. It’s Bliss, all right—her name and yours are on the collar. She’s out back in the kennel.”
Warm relief spread through Jessie. “Is she okay?”
“Fine—happy and rested. Ate a good breakfast and seemed pleased to see me.” He grinned. “She one of those you want chipped?”
“Yeah. I’ll get her when it’s our turn.”
“I’m ready now. Might as well start with these two.”
How had Bliss made it all the way to Palmer? Jessie wondered. Maybe whoever found her had brought her in from somewhere along Knik Road. Pete had looked as if he’d been running a long time. So how could Bliss be rested? Perhaps he had escaped capture and run home instead of riding in style to the vet’s. She’d love to know where they had been, but probably never would.
Truants, she thought, amused. They’re just like a couple of kids skipping school. Now that they were both safe and found, she hoped they’d had a good time. If they had been chasing the moose, it wouldn’t be back anytime soon.
I’ve got to be more conscientious about tethering them, she told herself. It must have been my sloppy mistake that let them get away in the first place.
Late that afternoon, with her team all chipped and a few errands done in town, she was home again, had returned her dogs, including Bliss, to their individual spaces in the yard, fed and watered them all. She was in the process of packaging frozen trail meat in the storage shed, which made a good winter refrigerator, when a truck turned off the highway into her drive. Wiping grubby hands on the thighs of her jeans, she went to greet Linda and Ben Caswell, whom everyone called Cas, as they got out carrying grocery sacks and a large baking pan.
“Hi. We brought dinner,” Linda called.
“I love you!” Jessie returned with a grin, remembering last night’s soup-and-sandwich dinner. “I’m so sick of my own food I’d eat dog food if someone else cooked it.”
“We can do better than that. Lasagna okay?”
“Better than okay. Superb! Garlic bread? Salad? I’m dying for greens.”
“Oh, yeah. We’ve got all the trimmings,” Cas chimed in. “Even an apple pie and ice cream. But don’t let us interrupt. Finish what you’re doing. We’ll just go on in and get it ready.”
“Oh, no,” Jessie cautioned, laughing as she headed up the front steps to open the door and usher them in. “Whatever I’m doing can wait. I’m not letting you out of my sight with the goodies.”
“Golly, dern. And I thought it was our sterling company you’d appreciate.”
“Well, that, too, but first things first. I’ll appreciate your company much more after we’ve eaten.”
Over the course of several years, Cas and Linda had grown to be good friends with Alex and Jessie, and the two couples often spent time together playing bridge, going to movies, or out to
dinner. Alex and Cas, who both worked for the troopers, often on cases together, were fishing addicts, so camping trips to the Kenai Peninsula were always part of the summer activities for all. Though the women seldom joined the hook-and-line activity, they both liked to garden and had numerous gardening and sewing projects they shared, as well as shopping trips to Anchorage, fifty miles away.
Cas and Linda had already heard about the death of Alex’s father from a quick phone call Jessie had made before going to the vet’s office. Now she knew that part of Cas’s clowning was intended to cheer her, and was grateful for the extension of his sympathy for Alex.
Inside, Jessie went to clean herself up while Linda headed immediately for the kitchen to put the lasagna and bread in the oven to warm while she finished making a salad. As Jessie washed off the evidence of her day’s work with the dogs and changed her clothes, it seemed strange that Alex was missing from his usual place in the quartet. An unsettling memory of their morning’s phone conversation rose in her mind, but she dismissed it for the moment and returned to the front of the house, where she added wood to the stove and gratefully accepted the beer Cas handed her.
“Thanks. You’re a lifesaver. I’ll set the table.”
“Already done, but you can let Don in before he does some structural damage.”
A thundering tattoo on Jessie’s handmade door was immediately followed by a long-haired Paul Bunyan of a man with huge shoulders. Don Graham, sure of his welcome, had opened it himself and stood grinning benevolently at them through his beard.
“Something smells awfully good in here,” he boomed in a voice that all but rattled glassware. “Linda’s been spending time in the kitchen again. The Julia Child of the north, God bless her.”