by Kim Baldwin
Surprised by her disappointment, Emery headed to her room to shower and dress. She would soon embark on what would surely be another wonderful day in the wilderness, and she might see Pasha at dinner tonight, provided her workload didn’t keep her away again.
*
Pasha unlocked the front door and turned on the office lights promptly at eight, though her day had officially started twenty minutes earlier when the first client called. She could have let that one go to voice mail, but returning the call would only add one more task to the day’s potential madness, and Dita would get stuck with the long-distance bill.
At least she’d managed a few hours’ rest, but only after she’d snuck out of the Den at one a.m., while Grizz was in the kitchen, to go home to her own bed.
She’d planned all along to leave very early to give herself time to shower and change, and most importantly to avoid running into Emery coming out of Geneva’s room—or vice versa.
She left much sooner than expected because Emery’s proximity put the power at a medium boil, and the pressure kept her awake and alert better than a quadruple dose of espresso. Only after she put some distance between them and climbed under her own quilted comforter did the sensation subside enough for her to fall asleep.
Pasha awoke five hours later feeling more refreshed than she could have hoped for. She’d set the alarm a little early to make sure she had time to eat a good breakfast and pack a lunch. Her fainting spell had definitely been connected to her gift, not the result of not eating, but she wanted some insurance against a repeat episode.
No matter how she felt, or how damn busy the office got, she planned to find a way to spend some time with Emery later.
*
After Emery finished dressing, she killed time by chronicling her amazing flight and the unsettling episode with Pasha in her journal. When she got downstairs a little before ten, she found Bryson perched on a barstool, sipping coffee and chatting with Ellie. A large paper bag, presumably containing their lunch, rested on the bar.
“I can’t wait to see what you have in store for me,” she said.
“Hey! Right on time.” Bryson downed her remaining coffee and threw a couple of bills on the bar. “Off we go.”
As they exited the roadhouse, Bryson asked, “Have you seen Pasha? Karla filled me in.”
“No. She left before I came down for breakfast.”
“Well, the office is open, so she must be all right. Saw the light on when I got back from Coldfoot.”
“Coldfoot?”
“A small village, not too far. Karla’s spending most of the day there. She rotates to a lot of the settlements, once every month or so, to treat non-emergencies and check on patients with ongoing issues.”
“What did they do before she moved here?” Emery asked.
“Went untreated, mostly. Or had to fly out to get help. Aren’t a lot of clinics in the area, and a CHA usually staffs the ones that exist.”
“What’s that?”
“Community Health Aide. Basically, people with very basic medical training. They only have ’em in Alaska.”
They headed toward the red Super Cub parked at the edge of the runway. “No hints about today?” Emery asked as they neared.
“Well, maybe one,” Bryson answered. When she pulled the door open, Emery immediately understood the reference.
Geneva sat in an extra seat in the cargo area, behind Emery’s. A larger person would never have fit, because Bryson’s survival duffel filled the rest of the tail. “Surprise!” she said mischievously.
“That it is,” Emery said as she climbed in and fastened her seat and shoulder belt. Bryson stayed outside to conduct her exterior inspection of the plane. “A very pleasant one. Will you tell me what Bryson’s cooked up?”
“Nope. But I’ve done it before and found it a richly rewarding experience. I hope you do, too.”
Geneva’s enigmatic answer didn’t help. She pushed her for more, then tried to put the screws to Bryson again once they were aloft, but each one just smiled and shook her head.
After an hour or so of Bryson-style flying—hugging treetops and darting through canyons and circling anything of interest—they descended toward a semi-permanent encampment near a wide creek. Emery could make out a trio of canvas tents, two smoking campfire pits, a large pile of split logs, and stacks of wooden crates. Two bearded men emerged from a tent as they neared and waved at the plane.
They kept descending, and Bryson started fiddling with the throttle and other controls, but Emery saw no hint of a runway below. The lone gravel bar looked clean but impossibly short, even compared to some of the ones they’d set down on yesterday. She gripped the seat as the plane dropped the final few feet and watched, fascinated, as Bryson artfully worked around her limitations. She precisely skimmed the Cub’s tires along the water’s surface, slowing enough that when the plane hit the leading edge of the gravel bar thirty feet beyond, she could stop before she reached the end.
“That was impressive,” she remarked when Bryson cut the engine. “Where are we?”
“Can’t tell you. That’s part of the deal,” Bryson replied with a smile. “Still haven’t figured it out?”
“Not a clue. Are you selling me into white slavery? I mean, I like an adrenaline rush, but…”
Bryson and Geneva both laughed as they piled out of the plane. Before they headed to meet the men on the bank, Bryson dug out a bottle of Jack Daniels she’d stashed under her seat.
“Hi, guys. You remember Geneva.” Bryson handed the bottle to the shorter one, a lean wiry guy, as Geneva exchanged hellos with the men. “Emery Lawson,” she said. “Emery, meet Spike and Watts.”
“I’m Spike.” The shorter man, probably in his fifties, screwed off the top of the whiskey and took a healthy pull before handing it to his friend.
The second guy, thirtyish, also took a long drink. He might be darkly brooding handsome if he cleaned up and shaved the black beard. They both looked like derelicts—filthy clothes, long uncombed hair, and, from the smell, dirty bodies.
“Watts doesn’t talk much,” Spike said.
“Good to meet you.” Emery shook hands with them both.
“The guys are going to let us pan for gold here,” Bryson said. “You get to keep what you find, unless you get lucky and score a nugget more than an ounce. That’s worth a grand or more. Anything bigger, they get half.”
“That’s very generous,” Emery said. It sounded like fun, but she doubted they’d find much of value.
“Ever done it before?” Spike asked as his buddy went into a tent.
“Nope.”
“Easy. Just takes patience. I’ll show ya how.” Spike pointed. “Rubber boots and waders in the crate. Find a pair if you don’t want to get your boots wet.”
Once they had made their selections, Emery wearing rubber boots a bit too large, Spike led them to where they were working. Watts followed, juggling a trio of pans and a shovel. Bryson and Geneva had obviously panned before. When they got to the creek’s edge they immediately started scooping soil into their pans.
Spike explained how much soil to use, where to get it, and what to look for, before demonstrating the proper technique for extracting the gold, which involved swirling the soil with water and tapping it to separate the lighter sand, heavier black soil, and gold, the heaviest of all. Patiently swirling and tapping, he carefully washed the lighter material away, layer by layer, until they could see the gold.
Emery paid respectful attention throughout the long process, though she thought she’d gained the hang of it long before Spike reached the bottom.
She was stunned when, in the end, Spike showed her the myriad of gold flakes shining amidst the remaining few teaspoons of black soil. “Probably worth a hundred dollars or so, I’d guess.” He scooped the mixture into a small jar and extended the pan in her direction. “Go on, give her a try.”
“Thanks, Spike.” Emery headed toward Bryson and Geneva, while the men returned to their campsi
te. “How’s it going?” She scooped up a panful of dirt from an area they’d been working and bent to add some water.
“Bryson’s doing better than I am,” Geneva said. “But we’re both finding something.”
“I was excited to try but wasn’t expecting to find any gold,” Emery said. “Spike had quite a few flakes in his pan, though.”
“It’s a great spot,” Bryson said. “You’d never know from looking at them, but they’ve gotten a couple hundred thousand dollars from this claim. Some from panning, but most from those sluices.” She pointed to a number of metal box-like structures with riffles in them that lay in the shallow water. “They really help speed the process.”
“Can you still find a lot of gold in Alaska?” Emery patiently swirled and tapped, swirled and tapped. “I thought the gold rush was something in the history books.”
“Oh, it’s far from mined out. Big business with all the high-tech methods and equipment they have now. Earth movers, dredges, all that stuff.”
“I read somewhere that a billion dollars’ worth was mined here last year,” Geneva said. “The most in a century.”
“I had no idea.”
“Gotta be more places like this,” Bryson told Emery in a low voice. “No one knows there’s gold here. No written history of it. Spike inherited the claim from his great-grandfather, who discovered it. No one in the family believed in it, until Spike.”
“What a great story,” Emery said.
“Obviously, they want to keep anyone from finding out about it, for now. One reason they haven’t brought in heavy equipment and more help.” Bryson tipped her pan carefully to capture a bit more water. “So you understand why I couldn’t tell you exactly where we are and why I need to ask you not to tell anyone.”
“Hey, no problem,” Emery said. “I appreciate the trust. Mum’s the word. And thanks again for arranging this.”
“Glad you’re having fun. Just wait.”
Intent, they worked in silence for the next few minutes. Staying hunched over the stream hurt her legs and back, so Emery had to stand and stretch more often than the others. And fairly quickly she wished she’d brought her pain meds.
But her discomfort faded when she reached the bottom of her pan. “Yee haa! I got gold!”
Chapter Fourteen
Pasha barely tasted the tuna-salad sandwich, eating it between phone calls when she also tried to keep up with the paperwork. She’d paid the bills and placed the vendor orders. Now she sat transferring information that clients had mailed—registration forms, mostly—into the computer database. She wanted to leave earlier for dinner tonight.
Others might defer some tasks to the next day, but she couldn’t, though tempted. Obsessive, she had to complete every task, large and small, as efficiently as possible. She couldn’t leave something half-finished, because she’d think of little else until she wrapped up every loose end. Accomplishing any goal satisfied her.
Pasha’s bosses had always praised her meticulous nature, especially when she decided to move to another town and occupation. All her life, she had changed direction erratically but now wondered if she had intuitively followed a psychic master plan designed to help her find her soul mate.
When she’d listened, her sixth sense had always led her to great jobs, destinations, homes, pets, and people she felt preordained to meet, who quickly became her extended family. When she saw them the first time, she detected an aura around them, like with Dita, a thin band of indistinct kaleidoscopic color, as if they carried their own rainbow. The vision never lasted long but didn’t need to. Her involuntary feeling of joy and connection demanded she follow up and get to know the individual, and never steered her wrong. She’d seen the aura around Karla and Bryson, too.
The situation with Emery was different, though, and had been that way from the start. Her gift had never acted so haywire and powerful. Its unpredictability frustrated her at times, and she didn’t appreciate it completely incapacitating her last night in front of Emery. But it was hitting her over the head with a baseball bat with a message: Emery is the one. Don’t let her get away.
She knew nothing about Emery yet, except what little Bryson had told her. Though she’d relish some alone-time with her, Pasha also worried how she’d react, since she apparently had little control. So she’d be perfectly content just to finish in time for dinner. At least she could find out more about Emery without having to make brilliant conversation if she got tongue-tied again. And she could put a few feet between them in the big corner booth if her close proximity to Emery impaired her ability to function again.
Every time the bell over the door sounded, Pasha jumped, half-expecting to see Emery, though she never sensed an increase in the power. Not that she had many visitors, but a few locals came by to book charters with Bryson, and she’d had a few deliveries.
This time when the bell sounded, Geneva appeared, one of the last people she expected to see. “Hi, Pasha, how you feeling?”
“I’m great, Gen. What’re you up to?”
Geneva seemed in especially good spirits. Her cheeks pink, eyes shining, she couldn’t stop smiling. “Bryson asked me to tell you she’s headed over to pick up Karla in Coldfoot and will stop in when they get back.”
“Bryson?”
“We stayed out longer than we expected, so she had to refuel and go right back up again.” Geneva sank wearily into a big comfy chair.
“I didn’t know you went up with Bryson today.”
“She took Emery and me to a place to pan for gold. We had such a blast we didn’t want to leave.”
Pasha forced herself to smile. “Sounds like fun. How’d you do? Find anything?”
“We sure did. Enough to make the flight a freebie and more,” Geneva replied. “Bryson found probably eight hundred dollars’ worth, and Emery and I about half that, each. Bryson’s buying everyone dinner tonight.”
“I’m doing my best to get out of here. So far, it’s looking good.”
“Wish I could join you, but I’ve got the evening shift.” Geneva stood, stretched, and headed for the door. “Take care of Emery tonight for me, would you? Especially if the others decide to bag it early again. Keep her entertained?”
“I’ll do my best.”
What a mess. She had seen a different look in Emery’s eyes last night. Emery had finally noticed her, but did that notice mean interest?
Should she pursue Emery or be a good friend to Geneva and remain silent? Her gift battled for one thing and her strong standard of ethics wanted the other. Either option, she suspected, would hurt someone.
*
At the airstrip’s edge, Emery enviously watched the Super Cub ascend again, headed northeast. Riding in Bryson’s little red plane thrilled her like none of her countless flight experiences. They could see almost any feature of this massive landscape, whether a grizzly mom and her two cubs, the deep ice-blue crevasses of a glacier, or a tundra plain lushly painted with wildflowers. Bryson’s piloting skill and impressive knowledge of the region created an unparalleled experience.
She remained still until Geneva disappeared, headed toward the Eidson outfitter’s office. Emery wanted to see Pasha and for a second considered going along and lingering after Geneva had departed to start her shift. But as soon as she got out of the plane, she nixed that idea. Walking anywhere after sitting uncomfortably in the Cub, plus all the hours of stooping and shoveling, seemed murderous.
Finding gold and constantly moving had kept the pain tolerable. But sitting almost still during the long return flight had nearly crippled her. Her joints locked up and her muscles cramped. Very slowly, she started toward the Den, trying not to limp too much. Emery hated for others to gawk and pity her. She’d had her fill in the hospital and before she shed her cane. But anyone with half a clue could see how badly she was hurting.
Grizz, working the bar when she came in, was occupied, and hopefully, Geneva was upstairs changing. Emery managed to get through the restaurant unnoticed, grateful s
he didn’t run in to anyone during her painful, lengthy ascent to her room. By the time she got inside, she was sweating.
After she downed her pain meds and lingered under a hot shower she could move more comfortably. Dinner was still more than ninety minutes away, so she had time for either a nap or a visit to the Eidson office. A tough choice, but her physical needs won out.
Emery climbed into bed after setting the alarm. Pasha would probably be too busy to talk now, anyway.
The nap helped revitalize her, but her stiffness remained, particularly in the knees. After a few stretches, she took another hot shower, then pulled on dark jeans and a thin, crème-colored turtleneck under a heavy emerald hoodie. No bounding down the stairs this time, though she’d limbered up enough not to limp.
Emery paused before she reached the last steps, closed her eyes, and wished for Pasha to have made it, before continuing through the doorway.
There she sat, sandwiched in the middle of the booth, with Karla and Bryson to her left and Chaz and Megan to her right.
The two couples chatted, but Pasha looked right at her. They smiled at the same instant, and her mood buoyant, Emery headed toward her. The seat open on the end would place her directly across from Pasha.
“Hi, everyone,” she said.
Several replies came her way, including a “Good to see you again” from Pasha, which stood out from the rest.
“What’ll it be, Emery?” Geneva appeared at her elbow, carrying a drink tray, even before she’d taken a seat.
The women weren’t sharing a pitcher tonight. An assortment of beer, wine, and mixed drinks sat before them. “Got a good Alaskan stout on tap?” she asked.
“We’ve got three of ’em.”
“Surprise me, then. I trust your judgment.”
“As you should.” Geneva laughed as she headed off to get the beer.