But many of his interests had been passed on to his only child; Seana had grown up learning about forestry and associated fields, and found it natural as breathing to take zoology when she finally entered university.
'Except that I'm only a very smart girl on paper, Mrs Jorgensen,' she confessed. 'I've got a degree in zoology and most of my credits in forestry, but I haven't a whit of practical experience to back them up. I may get up on that tower and find that I hate it.' Seana's mother had never been overly robust, and after her father's death had deteriorated to the point that she required considerable care. Seana had provided it willingly, but it had meant she must miss the usual summer jobs in forestry that most students used to balance their academic studies. Only after her mother's death six months before had she been able to plan a similar booster to her own studies.
'Oh, I don't imagine you'll hate it,' Mrs Jorgensen replied. 'You might be lonely, at first, but you'll have an entire little community on the radio network, and at White Mountain Tower you can be assured of your share of visitors. Me, for one.'
'And Ryan Stranger for another? Not much doubt of that, is there?' Seana replied.
'Not a whisker,' said Mrs Jorgensen. 'But don't look so concerned about it, child. Whatever else he is, Ryan's a gentleman. You wouldn't have to fear for your virtue with him unless…'
'Well then, I've nothing at all to fear,' Seana interjected. And when she was snuggled in her bed, eyes closed and awaiting sleep, she found herself wondering just how her virtue would fare on a constant diet of Ryan Stranger. What would it be like, she wondered, to be kissed by him? To feel his arms around her, his lean, powerful body against hers?
It was fine to say she hadn't come north looking for any kind of relationship, but would she really have a choice?
She drifted into sleep without finding the answer, and when morning came—only minutes later, it seemed—Seana was too busy to worry about Ryan Stranger or any other man. Right from the instant she leapt from her borrowed bed, life became a barely-controllable whirlwind of activity.
First she had to wash and dress, then sit down and eat the most enormous breakfast she had ever seen in her life—bacon, eggs, waffles with maple syrup, toast, orange juice and coffee. 'And see that you eat every bite,' said her hostess. 'It may be the last decent meal you'll get until you're properly organised up there.'
Then she had to shop for a month's supply of groceries, pick up the various Forestry Department equipment and tools she would need, then do the final bits of personal shopping that were required. It wasn't until eleven o'clock that she bade farewell to Mrs Jorgensen in the office and started the hour's drive to Spirit River for her meeting with Dick Fisher, the local Forestry man.
Dick was a small, lean man with a slightly balding head, washed-out blue eyes and a broad grin that made her like him immediately. He was also a fountain of local knowledge, and one titbit he let slip was enough to force Seana into one last-minute shopping expedition before leaving for the tower itself.
'The joker we had up there last year was some kind of a nature freak,' Dick told her over coffee. 'He and his wife and baby ran around stark naked all summer, regardless of who was there—except for the Super, of course. Anyway, it created something of a problem because once the word got out, the old tower road just swarmed with visitors. Every weekend, right into hunting season, there'd be dozens of vehicles heading up to try and get a look at this screwball. It's one of the reasons he's not on the staff this season, and probably one of the reasons Hutton was chary about sending you up here. No telling what kind of weirdos will turn up, so be warned! Keep your door locked at night and be careful who you talk to if they show up alone or act even the least bit suspicious.'
He paused then, obviously concerned at the look of apprehension he saw on her face.
'Now don't start worrying without reason. Word gets around pretty fast up here, and it won't be long before everybody knows there's a different towerman this year.'
Again the thoughtful pause, this time followed by a brief grin and the humorous lifting of one sandy eyebrow.
'Mind you, if they find out how pretty you are, the traffic might be even worse than last year! I'd almost guarantee you'll be seeing Ralph Beatty; he's the local fish and wildlife type. And Ryan Stranger—I'll bring him up for an introduction when he turns up next— might be interesting company too. A damned good man to have around if you've any problems.'
Seana, for reasons she didn't even understand herself, didn't bother to mention that she needed no introduction to Ryan Stranger. Instead she returned to the possible problem Dick had conjured up.
'I guess I'd best stop and buy some cheap curtain material,' she replied. 'And keep a great big stick beside the bed as well, although honestly I don't anticipate any problems.'
But by the time she reached the base of the tower road, with eight miles of dirty track behind her and the worst still ahead, she wasn't quite so certain. She halted her car at the bottom of the narrow track that led up through barren poplars to the crest of White Mountain, half wishing she'd had the sense to accept Dick's offer of his four-wheel-drive forestry truck as escort.
'The road wasn't real bad when I was up there last,' he'd said. 'But I went in early and out early in the morning with the frost still in the ground. The road'll be softer now, but with the Volkswagen you shouldn't have a lot of trouble. Anyway, I'll keep my ears peeled during this evening's radio sked, so if you have any problems I can still get to you before dark.'
Seana was grateful for his concern, but her own natural stubbornness now took a hand. 'Oh, I'll be okay,' she assured him. 'I mean, even if the car can't make it, I can surely walk the last mile or so if I absolutely have to.'
Then she smiled, reneging a bit as she saw the genuine look of concern on his face. 'But please, do keep your ears open tonight, because I'm absolutely certain there'll be something vitally important that I'll find I've forgotten.'
Looking back now at the jam-packed rear seat of her car, she thought there couldn't possibly be anything she'd forgotten. The car was packed so thoroughly she couldn't even see the rear window for piles of groceries and clothing and cleaning supplies and tools. She even had a gallon jerry can of fresh drinking water, just in case.
So why did she now feel so uncertain? When Dick had mentioned the contrariness of the gasoline generator at the tower, she had jauntily described her success at a motor mechanics course in school, and when he'd cautioned her against the rare but possible problem of a marauding black bear, she had cited with equal assurance her ability to scream loud enough so he would hear her without the radio.
But sitting alone in her car, looking at the deep ruts in the muddy road ahead of her, she wished momentarily for the assurance she had so casually expressed back in Spirit River.
'Ah well, too late now,' she muttered aloud, and slipped the car into first gear to ease it to a steady, non-skid start up the narrow track. And for the next fifteen minutes her attention was fully devoted to the problems of simply keeping the car moving, on the road, and steadily climbing despite the mud which sprayed out from the churning rear wheels.
The first mile was fairly easy, although she never got the small, overloaded car past second gear. But from that point on the road—if such was a proper description—became increasingly steeper and more twisted. Several times Seana recovered from an unexpected skid, but only when the tyres contracted some long-forgotten gravel at the edge of the track.
Finally she rounded a sharpish bend to see the first spreading tops of the huge jackpines that a childhood memory told her surrounded the cabin at White Mountain Tower, and she breathed an inner sigh of relief. Too soon! There remained one truly steep grade to be climbed, and it was a grade with a vicious curve smack in the middle of it.
The car was slewing wickedly across the ruts when Seana rounded the curve, and she reached for the shift lever to jam it into first gear if necessary. Then she looked up and immediately stood on the brake pedal as an enormo
us shape stepped out into the road squarely in front of her.
A moose! But more astonishing—a white moose!
Seana gasped in surprise as the car skidded to a stop, the engine dying convulsively as her foot slipped from the clutch pedal. Then there was only silence as she and the incredible apparition stared at each other.
Seana was fascinated. And as she stared, knowing that true albinism is rare among members of the deer family, she noticed that the animal's eyes were dark, not pink.
Although there appeared no hair on the animal's body that wasn't white, the inside edges of his flickering, mule-like ears had a sooty tinge, and there was a blue-black aura to the velvet on his budding antlers. The antlers, still in the early stages of their development, had nearly a one-metre spread already, suggestive of a monstrous rack when they had grown to full size later in the year.
Seana was entranced. She just sat and stared, the arduous drive forgotten in her enthusiasm at having the opportunity to study such a rare specimen at such close range. Her eyes took in every detail, the massive withers, the pendulous, drooping muzzle and the unexpectedly slender legs that seemed almost stilt-like compared to the massiveness of the animal's body.
She felt no fear; it was far too early for the inborn rages of the rutting season that would come with the changing patterns of autumn. Instead, she felt a sense of wondrous contentment at just being able to see such a magnificent animal, wild in its natural habitat and yet so obviously unafraid.
They stared at each other for what seemed like hours, Seana almost breathless with admiration and the moose with his eyes and sensitive ears flickering constantly with the breeze as he inspected this curious invader of his domain. Finally, apparently satisfied, he turned and strode up the road, his broad, cloven hooves kicking up clots of mud as he stalked with a curious, dignified majesty up over the rise and out of sight.
It left Seana sitting alone, lost in her own thoughts even after the majestic animal had disappeared. It wasn't until nearly ten minutes had passed that she finally started up the car again and slithered precariously along the tracks of the ghostly bull moose. Five minutes later she crested the final gentle rise and slewed to a halt before the tiny clapboard cabin that snuggled beneath huge jackpines.
Home! And indeed, it seemed homely… just as her childhood memories recalled. A small cabin, painted in the traditional white with green trim and completely dwarfed by the height of the spreading pines and the tall steel skeleton of White Mountain Tower itself.
Home! For at least five months, perhaps as long as seven, this tiny cabin would be hers, a place in which she could recall her childhood past and look ahead to the misty outlines of the future.
Her first reaction, once she had unlocked the massive ancient padlock on the cabin door and forced it open, was one of amazement. From the outside, the small structure had promised, if not luxury, at least a degree of comfort in the isolated but picturesque location.
Inside, the promise was only that of backbreaking labour—days of it—before she would even feel comfortable sleeping there. There were mouse droppings everywhere; a packrat had constructed his unique and haphazard nest on one corner of the solid timber bunks, and the scattered remnants of the previous occupant's supplies were strewn everywhere.
Seana debated momentarily whether or not to just give it up. Right here and right now, she thought. But her stubbornness quickly took over, and almost without being consciously aware of it, she began planning the cleaning programme that she would have to begin immediately if she wanted to sleep with any degree of security that night.
'First, hot water,' she mused, stepping delicately through a jumble of mouse-gnawed packages and litter to reach the propane stove which listed unhappily against one wall. She looked it over carefully, testing each knob and connection, then strode out of the cabin and around behind, where huge propane bottles stood like metallic soldiers. Each of them was almost as large as she, and considerably heavier, but of course not one was hooked up to the regulator on the cabin wall. Worse yet, she quickly discovered by shaking them, not one had any propane anyway.
'Damn!' she muttered, then conquered her immediate twinge of alarm by looking around the rest of the site for the woodpile, reasoning that the Department could arrange to bring her fresh propane supplies in good time, and in the meantime she could manage well enough with the wood-burning airtight heater that obviously pre-dated the stove by many years.
The remains of the woodpile showed little promise, but there was enough at least to make a start, so she dragged in what wood there was and carefully laid a fire in the aged heater.
She got the tinder and kindling alight, then closed the heater's fire-door and started off in search of the spring, a metal bucket swinging from each hand.
Almost immediately, to her great delight, childhood memories seemed to spring to life full-grown. She felt almost as carefree as when she had walked this same trail, with her father, as a toddling child. The spring, however, wasn't quite as she remembered!
Sheltered in a tiny gully, it was still partially choked with rotten ice, and the water was the colour of weak coffee. Muskeg water, stained from the peat-like ground through which it flowed. It would be barely drinkable at the best of times, she realised lamely, and worse than usual this early in the year. Still, it would do for the washing-up, she thought, and was thankful she'd been smart enough to bring a small supply of drinking water.
As she knelt to fill the buckets, a saucy whisky-jack, or Canada Jay, screamed at her from a nearby tree, and Seana's mood immediately brightened. She knew how easily these mischievous birds could be tamed, dropping with their raucous, strident cries to take food right from a person's hand, once they had learned to trust.
Once back at the cabin, she set down the buckets so as to force open the door, then immediately knocked one bucket flying in her involuntary recoil from the billowing clouds of smoke that greeted her.
With fear of a fire her most immediate thought, Seana hesitated only an instant before charging recklessly into the blinding, choking smoke to see what had happened. There was no fire, only the billowing evidence of her own stupidity.
'I've forgotten to open the damper,' she cried aloud. 'Oh, Seana—how stupid can you get?' And she grabbed up an old dishrag from the mouse-splattered table and coughed her way over to where the damper handle protruded from the blackened stovepipe.
She had to use both hands to turn it, feeling it grate within the pipe, but at first her action only forced more smoke into the room. Frantic now, she flung open the door of the heater to provide a draught, and was relieved to see the wood suddenly flash into fiery life as the oxygen rushed in.
'Fantastic!' she muttered, and threw in several larger sticks to help the fire along. Then she moved around, waving the rag of a tea-towel to help move the smoke and clear the interior of the cabin.
It didn't take long, but when she turned back to the stove she recoiled in alarm. The first section of stovepipe was glowing a dull cherry red that climbed higher and higher along the pipe even as she watched.
This time her thought was first for the remaining water, and she stumbled frantically through the open doorway, her eyes streaming from the smoke and her mind barely moving. Once in the fresh air, she began to cough uncontrollably.
It took ages, it seemed, until she regained sufficient wind to follow through with her intent. And even then it took all her remaining strength to grab up the bucket, rush back inside and fling the contents into the open door of the heater.
There was a sizzling rush of steam and a booming sound that seemed to shake the cabin to its very foundations. The room filled with the scalding, blinding steam, and Seana floundered her way back to the door, terror-stricken now.
Once again a fit of coughing seized her, and she sat on the stoop with her head between her knees, oblivious to everything but the wracking pain in her throat and lungs, the queasiness of her stomach and uncontrollable lightheadedness.
The ste
am seemed to have taken on a life of its own, billowing inside the cabin and out of the door like a ghoulish wraith. She couldn't go in again, but she could check on her success from outside.
She ran around to the back of the cabin and stared up in even greater alarm. The pipe was still glowing, and now it became clear that the fire wasn't extinguished by her efforts at all; it was climbing steadily upward, and as the stovepipe grew hotter, the entire cabin was a risk.
'Oh, My God!' she cried, stumbling back to the front porch and blindly fumbling for the second bucket She had just picked it up when something like great pincers clamped on her shoulders, and she looked up to find Ryan Stranger, eyes cold with anger, staring down at her.
CHAPTER THREE
'What are you up to this time, ladybug? Still trying to live up to the nursery rhyme?' But there was no humour in either eyes or voice. Ryan was coldly, bitterly angry.
'I… er… the stovepipe,' Seana stammered. 'It's on fire… I don't know how…'
But he was no longer listening. Instead he forcibly sat her down on the stoop and turned quickly away, but not before shouting, 'Stay there!' in tones that defied argument. Then he was plunging into the cabin, stripping off his bush vest as he ran.
'Hell!' Seana jumped to her feet like a startled animal at his cry of rage, but he was already returning at full pace, sucking at two obviously burned fingers as he sprang down from the stoop and rushed to his truck.
Flinging open the vehicle, he grabbed out a tattered rug from the floor of the camper area and trotted quickly back to stand looking fixedly for an instant at the steep-pitched roof.
'Right,' he snapped, turning to fling the blanket into a small mud puddle at the edge of the cabin clearing, then treading on it until it was thoroughly soaked.
'Okay, ladybug, your turn now,' he said, 'I'm going to hoist you up on the roof and I want you to stuff this around the rain cap so you choke off all the air. All of it! Do you think you can manage that without creating another disaster?'
Battle of Wills Page 4