Battle of Wills

by Victoria Gordon

  She could feel the tears puddling behind her eyes, but she no longer cared whether or not her feelings were hidden. 'Look at me,' she cried. 'I'm nothing but a bundle of nerves. I'm either high as a kite or down in the dumps so far it's frightening. And all because of Ryan Stranger? Oh, I need my head examined, that's what I need!'

  'What you need is the end of the fire season and a chance to sort yourself out under circumstances that are a little closer to normal,' Mrs Jorgensen replied. 'I think you've coped marvellously up here, Seana, and so does Ryan, no matter what he tells you. But it's not a normal existence, there's no stability, no… no roots. If I were you I'd just let the whole matter drop until you're back in Grande Prairie, or Edmonton if you absolutely must. There's only a few weeks to go up here anyway.'

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The snow came even sooner than Ryan had predicted. It was an inch deep on the ground around the cabin exactly two weeks after the date on his brief letter.

  For Seana, those two weeks were a time of intense debate between her emotions and her intellect, with no real clear-cut winner. The entire debate was hampered by her growing involvement with Ryan's first-draft manuscript, which she was slowly but surely getting into some vague form of organisation.

  He was, she had to agree, no typist. And there was definitely far more to organising a textbook than she'd ever imagined. But it was fascinating work, and she fairly itched to have a typewriter there in the tower with her so that she could really begin.

  She had already sorted out the masses of notes and diagrams and photographs into what she was fairly certain would be the proper order. And she had made considerable notes to herself to cover the required footnotes and captions. All that remained now was the final assembly and the typing itself.

  Looking from her tower across a landscape no longer familiar because of its faint shroud of snow, she slammed down the papers she had been sorting and shook her head angrily. It was no longer possible to deny that the end of her season was almost at hand, and for some reason it bothered her.

  Too, she was lonely. The press of work had kept Mrs Jorgensen from a planned visit; Ralph was busy chasing poachers far to the south, and Ryan Stranger was… wherever Ryan was. Nobody Seana had been in radio contact with had run across him, or at least his name hadn't come up during either the regular schedules or the increasingly irregular gossip sessions that heralded the closing of the fire season.

  Increasing snows had already closed several of the higher mountain towers in the southern parts of the district where the Rocky Mountains angled eastward to form the Alberta-British Columbia boundary. And each tower closed meant one less familiar voice on the radio network, one less voice that belonged to someone Seana felt she knew despite never having actually seen them.

  She had come awake that morning as if her body had already known about the overnight snowfall; she had begun the day with a joyous shout of welcome to the snow. But the morning schedule announced that there had been no snow at either Saddle Hills or Codesa tower, and her own white blanket of happiness disappeared well before noon. Even old Mike's prediction of more snow to come couldn't brighten a day that had suddenly gone ragged round the edges.

  'There'll be more tonight,' he said. 'And probably a heavy fall the next night. I bake bread tomorrow, and I think it's the last I'll bake in this tower this year.'

  But he was wrong. There wasn't even a good, solid frost that night, and Seana spent the next day, too, in a fit of blues and uncertainty. She tried hard to fight it off, using an arduous spell of woodchopping and a long session of sewing by lamplight, but when she tucked into her bunk that night it was to toss and turn through hours of nightmares and tormented dreams.

  And still no snow the next day, though the skies were leaden with ominous clouds. Seana climbed the tower as if she was a hundred years old, hating every single step and cursing the chill from the iron rungs of the ladder. Once at the top, she almost turned round and climbed back down with hardly a look. There was nothing to see anyway; all around her, the cloud hung like a soggy blanket. And it was cold… far colder than at ground level.

  Shivering, she waited for the morning sked, squealing with delight when the towerman from Codesa reported snow. Then Mike came on to report that it was also starting to snow at Saddle Hills tower, and as Seana's turn came she saw the first, flickering white flakes drifting down outside her windows.

  The radios fairly crackled with excitement as all three shouted their news, then a new voice came on the air to put a damper on their enthusiasm.

  It was Frank Hutton, ominous only because he hadn't been expected and more than welcome once he had announced his news.

  He wasted few words, simply informed each in their turn that the season was officially over. Only for Seana did he have any special message, and this, too, was short and to the point.

  'Please see me in my office first thing Monday morning, Miss Muldoon.' And that was it! For Seana it meant the end of her exile, the start of a whole new life. And yet, during the three days she spent packing, stacking up the remaining firewood, putting away the instruments and closing down the tower and cabin for the winter, it was also a time of melancholy.

  Would she ever come back to this place, she wondered, and indeed would she even want to? It had been her home, but unless it was she who took White Mountain Tower again next year, it would be somebody else's home then. And, somehow, she knew that she wouldn't be back, not permanently.

  But that wasn't the issue when she faced Frank Hutton in his office, as ordered, on the Monday morning. He had much more immediate issues to discuss, and lost no time doing so.

  'When was it you planned to leave, Mrs Jorgensen?' he barked into the intercom before Seana had even sat down.

  'Two weeks yesterday,' came the reply from the outer office. 'That's November the fifth.'

  Frank Hutton raised his eyes to meat Seana's. 'And would that suit you, Miss Muldoon?'

  'Oh, yes, that would be just fine,' she replied, a trifle nervous because of his gruffness. There hadn't been so much as a word of welcome, much less any comment on her summer's work, and Seana was beginning to wonder.

  'Good. You did a fine job at White Mountain Tower; if you can handle Mrs Jorgensen's job nearly as well there'll be no problems at all.' The compliment was couched in his usual gruff tones and clearly indicated that the conversation was over. Seana rose and walked towards the door, wondering if she should say thank you or just be grateful for small mercies and get out while she could.

  She was turning the doorknob when he spoke again, unexpectedly and into the intercom rather than to Seana herself. 'Mrs Jorgensen! Please have the records show that Miss Muldoon ended her tower season officially on November… third.'

  Seana turned in surprise, astounded at the generosity, but she was halted immediately by a careless wave of dismissal and a slow, deliberate wink. She could only smile her thanks and then, in a spirit of elation at the fortnight's paid holiday, follow it with a brisk, snappy salute. And as she passed through the door she could almost have sworn that she actually saw Frank Hutton smile.

  'It must have been a trick of the light,' Mrs Jorgensen insisted when they met later that morning for coffee. 'He wouldn't dare risk his reputation so blatantly.' Then she laughed. 'Don't worry about a thing,' she said. 'You'll have no problems with Frank Hutton. He comes across like a bear with a sore tooth, but underneath it all he's soft as butter, although he doesn't yet realise that anybody's noticed. Just don't let him get your goat, that's all.'

  Seana fancied she saw one white eyebrow twitch slightly at the mention of her infamous goat, and she was reminded of her friend's comments during Mrs Jorgensen's last visit to the tower.

  'Oh, I'm sure there won't be any problems,' she replied, deciding to ignore the jibe if that was what it had been. 'And it's only for a few months, after all. I'm sure we can keep from each other's throats for that long.'

  'A few months? It'll be six months, if I have anything to say about it�
�� so long as there's snow on the ground here and providing of course that the money holds out. And I'm not trading one winter for another, either. I'll stay in Scandinavia only long enough to see if I've any relatives who either remember me or care… then it's sunny Spain or the Greek islands. Who knows, maybe I'll find myself a rich continental boy-friend and stay even longer.'

  Seana laughed aloud at the suggestion. Since her return to Grande Prairie, she found it increasingly difficult to imagine why she'd ever worried about falling in with her friend's plans. Everything was coming together just as if it had been planned long in advance.

  Up to, and including, she found, Ryan's conviction that she would be doing his typing for him. She had arrived at Mrs Jorgensen's to find a rented electric typewriter and several reams of quality bond already waiting for her, along with the usual brief, to-the-point Ryan Stranger note.

  'Three carbons; footnotes in script; captions all in CAPITAL LETTERS, please. See you for Halloween, maybe. Don't turn into a pumpkin… or a witch! p.s. The goat is thriving.'

  Which should have made her furious, but didn't. Instead of her usual fiery temper at Ryan's baiting, she felt only a soft, warming glow. Then she chided herself sternly with a warning not to start trying to read things into the note that mightn't be there at all.

  One major bonus, depending on the viewpoint, of her summer in the tower had been a trimming of every excess inch from an already tidy figure, and Seana soon discovered that she would need most of her holiday pay just to renew her wardrobe. She had had to spend an hour with needle and thread just to provide herself with a walking-around dress to do her shopping in, she had lost so much weight on her rigorous summer job.

  And with two weeks to do it in, she was almost disappointed to find that she really needed only a single day to find the clothes she wanted. One evening after dinner she treated Mrs Jorgensen to an impromptu fashion parade of all her purchases.

  First, the work clothes. A selection of jersey dresses, mostly in simple styles and with a minimum of frills. Also, three smartly-tailored pant suits, one in a rich caramel colour, one in dusky rose and the third in a deep hunting green. And two pairs of boots to complement the various outfits.

  But the highlight of the day's shopping was a long, clinging evening gown in a shade of violet that perfectly matched the colour of Seana's eyes. On sale. Half price. And too expensive even at that, but she just hadn't been able to resist.

  'And I don't blame you; it's perfect,' raved Mrs Jorgensen. 'And who cares about the price if you can get that effect? What's more, I've got a shawl that will be perfect with it; I'll just go and get it.'

  She was away somewhere at the back of the house, therefore, when the doorbell rang, leaving Seana to answer it. She felt a bit silly in the sleeveless, backless and—she feared—too low-cut dress as she shyly opened the door to receive a piercing wolf-whistle from the tall young man who stood there with snow frosting the fur on his hat and the ruff of his blue service parka.

  'If I'd known this was on, I'd have come earlier,' Ralph said admiringly. 'Very, very nice… and just for me?'

  'Of course not, silly. Come in before I freeze to death,' she replied, stepping back from the biting wind in the doorway.

  They arrived in the living room just as Mrs Jorgensen returned with the shawl she had been seeking, and Seana was immediately cajoled into finishing her modelling role despite the additional observer. Then, fortunately, she fled to her room to change back into jeans and a sweatshirt before joining Ralph and Mrs Jorgensen for coffee.

  Ralph wasted little time before announcing what he had come for; he wanted Seana to accompany him to the city's most prestigious Halloween party. 'All I'm sorry about is that it's a masquerade affair, which might make it a bit tricky to wear that dress,' he said.

  But even the compliment didn't make the decision any easier. She had Ryan's note, but even taking it at its best, he only said maybe he would see her at Halloween. Only four days to go, and there had been no word at all, so should she reject the offer of a dear friend and find herself at home, waiting for a man who might not even show up?

  No, she decided. That would be playing into Ryan's hands just a bit too easily, not to mention dangerously. Maybe it was time he learned that modern girls didn't sit waiting until the last minute for the sake of gratifying the male ego.

  'I'd love to go,' she said, blatantly ignoring the look from Mrs Jorgensen that told her she wasn't fooling her friend one bit.

  'You're playing a dangerous game,' Mrs J. told her after Ralph had left. 'Be careful you don't get burned, playing with fire like that.'

  'I am not playing with fire,' Seana replied stoutly. 'I just have the feeling that I'm being taken far too much for granted, and I mean to put a stop to it.'

  She smiled then, as much to herself as to placate Mrs Jorgensen. 'It's too bad that dress isn't black; it would make a splendid witch's outfit, don't you think?'

  'I think it would be bewitching, to say the least,' her friend replied, 'but I'd watch it if I were you. Your spells might start to backfire on you. I don't need any crystal ball to see what witchery you're planning, Seana Muldoon, and I think you'd be wiser to start planning a wedding gown.'

  With that, she stalked away to bed, leaving Seana to sit pensively alone, plotting and scheming her plans for the Halloween party and wondering whether Ryan would even be there. In her own room, later, Seana admired the mauve dress again before retiring, and when she finally slept it was to dream of it, only in the dream it was white. Then the dream slid into a nightmare as she realised that the man beside her was faceless, and the eyes that gleamed from the void were a wicked, piercing, devilish green.

  She woke up in tears, her body drenched with perspiration, and had great difficulty getting back to sleep. But in the morning she was more convinced than ever about what she would wear to the masquerade ball.

  It took her right until the last minute to prepare for the party, but the result, she thought, was well worth it. Provided, of course, the elusive Ryan bothered to show.

  She had still heard nothing from him by the afternoon of Halloween, a circumstance which more than justified, in her own mind, the decision to go to the party with Ralph. And as darkness fell on the eve of ghouls and goblins, bringing with it a growing number of diminutive spooks clamouring for tribute under the threats of 'trick or treat', Seana couldn't help but wonder if all her scheming hadn't been in vain.

  Both she and Mrs Jorgensen were busy from suppertime on, dishing out what seemed to be tons of assorted goodies to tiny witches and demons and cowboys and Indians and a host of other costumed children. Most popular of all costumes seemed to be that of a ghost, and Mrs Jorgensen claimed it was easily explained.

  'It's because they can be dressed in all their warm clothing underneath the bedsheets,' she laughed, pointing to a tiny ghostie whose whiter-than-white costume was adorned with delicate pink flowers at the edges. The older woman was taking an almost childish delight in the preparations for both the children and the party to come. She, too, had been invited, and by Frank Hutton, of all people. The invitation had resulted in considerable teasing from both Seana and Ralph, but unlike Seana, Mrs Jorgensen was able to shrug off the teasing without getting one whit upset.

  The invitation had forced the older woman into a massive improvisation programme that had resulted in a costume ideally suited to her matronly figure and colouring, and once the first rush of hand-outs was over, she left Seana to mind the door while she went off to change, re-emerging not long afterwards as a traditional Viking queen.

  It was a handsome effort, and both Seana and her hostess were pleased by it, but it was Seana's own costume which had created the most discussion in the house. She had been forced to enlist Mrs Jorgensen's aid, but only after swearing her to absolute secrecy.

  The gown was, without question, a masterpiece. Patterned after the violet one she had bought, it was in a shimmering black jersey that clung to her figure like a second skin—in those few
places it got anywhere near her figure. Seana had pushed the concept to its maximum, and the result was backless, sleeveless, slit almost to the waist in front and with both sides also split to a point almost indecently high on her shapely thighs.

  'It's shocking… too shocking, if you ask me,' had been Mrs Jorgensen's first reaction.

  And now, with Ralph due within minutes, Seana, too, began having second thoughts. The dress revealed far more than it could hope to conceal, and was far, far too bold for her normal taste. In fact, she suddenly realised, it was far too bold for anyone's taste.

  She walked into the hallway and stared at herself in the full-length mirror, happy with every part of her costume except the dress itself. Her long hair was brushed to a gleaming lustre, almost more so than the velvet choker at her slender throat. A tiny beauty spot on one cheek completed the outward appearance of the outfit, except for a pointed witch's cap. But Seana had added a personal touch that was all her own.

  It showed only when she smiled, revealing teeth blacked out to appear as pointed and fierce-looking as those of any fictional cannibal. They were, she decided, the only saving grace, the only thing that would detract from the boldness of the dress.

  She heard Ralph's truck rumble to a halt outside, and suddenly turned to Mrs Jorgensen in a blind panic. 'My God!' she cried. 'I can't go through with this I wouldn't have the nerve to carry it off, I'm sure. Oh, what am I going to do?'

  'Listen to me, which is what you should have done in the first place,' was the reply as Mrs Jorgensen reached into a drawer and came up with a long, woven black shawl. 'One for every occasion,' she laughed, pinning the shawl across Seana's shoulders so that it diminished the exotic cleavage and turned the dress from over-sexed provocative to merely sexy in the time it took Ralph to ring the doorbell.