Cotton Grass Lodge

by Woodbury, DeNise

  When she got to the lodge, a husky puppy bounded out from under the porch. She slowed the four-wheeler to allow him space to get out of the way before she dismounted. “Hey, you. Stay down.” Her stern warning curbed his enthusiasm. Briefly.

  Nell’s old dog, Kobuk, had died in February, and Hanna had come up for a long weekend so she could help bury him. She’d kept a bonfire going for most of two days to thaw the ground enough to dig a hole. Nell had said Hanna didn’t have to, but she’d known how much Nell loved Kobuk.

  Hanna had seen Nell cry for the first time, ever, when they gently lowered the aged dog into the grave Hanna had labored over. Even when Nell’s beloved Harry died two years ago, Nell had controlled her tears.

  Last year, Nell’s kids wanted her to close the lodge down. They said she could retire and just do guests for the salmon season in the summer, but Nell always said she planned to die at the lodge. Now, this surprise.

  Hanna squatted. The puppy launched from his self-imposed sit-stay into Hanna’s arms. “Ohh, what a good boy.” She scrubbed him behind the ears and then signaled for him to calm down. His tail drooped only momentarily, and he went back toward the hole under the porch.

  Hanna took an arm full of bags and went up the steps into the lodge. Its cozy dimness couldn’t hide scattered stacks of newspapers and the smell of sour garbage. She put the groceries on a counter in the pantry and then set the kettle on the stove. She quickly replaced the over flowing garbage bag with a new one, and when she took it to the back porch, she was sad to see three others in a pile. Not a good habit to get into in bear country. Nell was getting tired, but now spring had come, surely Nell would get more observant.

  When she came back out onto the porch Duncan and Nell were talking at the foot of the steps. “When did you decide to get another dog?” Hanna called to Nell.

  “I didn’t. The Shaman brought him a couple of weeks ago. He said I needed this dog.” Nell shrugged.

  “The Shaman?” Duncan asked.

  Hanna skipped down the steps. “Uh—just a local.” She hoped to avoid talking about the weird little man. She gathered two bags, one plastic and one canvas with C.G. stenciled on it. “What did you name the puppy?”

  “I haven’t yet.” Nell turned to Duncan, “He’s your dog now; you name him. He’s young. He’ll get easier to handle as he grows up. Him and the cat go with the place, too. I’m gonna do some traveling, so they can’t come with me. Maybe I’ll get ’em when I get back.”

  Duncan closed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t want any animals left here. I don’t much like cats, and I’ve never had a dog.”

  “They stay.” Nell moved purposefully toward the cart and picked up a bag of groceries.

  A tiny current rippled across Duncan’s jaw, and he picked up a box from the trailer. “Let’s get these inside.”

  Hanna watched the man carry packages up the steps of the lodge and wondered about the slight limp. It hadn’t been apparent until now, but there was something about how he walked suggesting a deeper pain. It wasn’t just cold feet. He covered it with a well-rehearsed swagger, but it was there just the same. It didn’t affect his broad shoulders, she was pleased to notice. She looked across the lake and took in the dreary, gray afternoon.

  When he got to where she stood on the porch, she looked up into his green eyes. A quick shock of some unnamed emotion tingled her lips and worse, the fullness of her breasts. “Are you going back this afternoon? I’ll need to start back no later than an hour from now.”

  Nell answered for him, “No, he’s stayin’ the night.”

  “I am?” Duncan faced Nell as she came up the last step and joined them on the porch.

  “You have to know what you’re getting yourself into.” Nell gestured grandly around her, “This lodge ain’t just a pretty face.” She turned to Hanna. “If you need to get back, go. If not, stay the night. You know you’re welcome.”

  “It would save me gas and a return trip if Mr. Mahoney decides to leave tomorrow.” Hanna looked at Duncan. “Of course, if this isn’t what you thought it would be, you can get out of the deal. I could take you back right now. There’s plenty of daylight. It wouldn’t be the first time someone got off the plane and didn’t wait for the luggage to be unloaded to decide to leave.” He wasn’t the kind to ever fit in. And he was handsome, too handsome. Which meant cocky and arrogant.

  “I’m going to stay.”

  Hanna stared for just a moment too long at the place where muscles flicked over his square, clean-shaven jaw. His resolve surprised her.

  The screaming teakettle echoed from deep in the house. Hanna held the door for Duncan and then led the way into the dingy kitchen.

  Ten minutes later Hanna had stowed away the last of the groceries. After living at the lake for so many years, she worked as easily in the lodge kitchen as she did in her own. She sat at the table and watched Duncan’s hands.

  He carefully folded a paper napkin to contain a drip sliding down the side of his cup. Oblivious to the debris of coffee smudges and crumbs marring the eight-foot trestle table. He was clean and slick; she would even venture to say, manicured. His face seemed too thin for the structure of his head, as if he needed a good meal to fill out the angles. Dark hair accentuated his pasty skin. He was attentive to Nell as they talked business, so Hanna kept her mind on the prospect of a new neighbor. Damn it, she had to admit, after six years on the lake, she wanted to keep things the same. Over-confident Outsiders brought conflict no one needed.

  Hanna finished her coffee. “I hate to interrupt, but I’m going to my cabin. Can I use a four-wheeler? I’ve got a few groceries and gas for my generator.”

  “Anytime.” Nell shifted in her chair toward Duncan. “There’s another thing ya gotta learn. Up here at the lake most of the neighbors look out for each other, so if Hanna needs to use a four-wheeler to get home, she don’t have to ask. She’s just polite.” Nell turned to Hanna. “Aren’t you gonna stay for supper?”

  “No, thanks,” Hanna said. “I think you two have a lot to talk about. I’ll see you tomorrow. I haven’t been here in a couple of weeks, and I have to tie the plane down, too.” She stood and stuck her hand out to Duncan. “Well, Mr. GQ Cover boy, you bought the lodge, so I’ll have to start being nice to the new neighbor.”

  His eyes narrowed sharply. “GQ what?”

  “Cover Boy.” She hoped her smile mitigated her name calling. “Get some boots.” His handshake was professional-standard firm, but Hanna was unprepared for the determination she felt flow from his soft hand. His green eyes connected with hers again, and even after he released her hand, the warmth lingered against her palm. Oh, get a grip. You don’t need a man complication. She’d let one round of infatuation get out of hand. The pain of her first folly wasn’t going to happen again. Her ex-husband had been almost as good looking as Duncan Mahoney.

  “By the way,” Nell said, “I’ve been watching for bear tracks. It’s early, but you can take the rifle if you want to.” She pointed to a 30.06 hanging from a peg in the corner by the front door.

  “I’m good. Thanks.” Hanna patted her brown Carhartt jacket under her arm where the .357 was holstered.

  “Damn noise maker.” Nell cocked an eyebrow at Duncan. “You shoot a gun, don’t you?”

  “Uhh, yeah, I guess so.”

  Hanna smiled self-righteously. She didn’t think skeet counted as shooting. She left Nell to her lecture. Welcome to Cotton Grass Lake, Mr. GQ Cover Boy. She’d heard the lecture before, a multitude of times. She made a detour out the back porch and put the garbage in the shed. Then she walked around to the front where the eager puppy assaulted her again. “Come on, Nameless, earn your keep by protecting me from the bears.” Hanna unhooked the trailer, scooped up the squirming puppy, and balanced him on the back of the four-wheeler. She cooed and petted for a minute, enjoying the pup. It was nice.

  This guy’s gonna try to make lots of changes. She maneuvered the four-wheeler down the rutted trail back to the gravel s
trip. He wouldn’t be the first one to come to Alaska with the idea his changes would be good for the backward and uninformed locals. She wondered who would be transformed first.

  Hanna kept one hand on the blue bandana collar tied around the puppy’s neck to steady him. He was a little unsure of this experience, and when she stopped the four-wheeler, he was happy to leap off the machine, landing in a scruffy heap.

  The lodge had four tie downs on one end of the strip. The holes had been dug by hand and filled with concrete. Bent rebar stuck out of each to hold the tie-down ropes of the various planes stopping or spending the night. Frayed remnants of poly cord fluttered like multi-colored confetti from each metal loop.

  Close by on the shore lay a jumble of fifty-five gallon steel drums and gray weather-washed two by sixes. The make-shift dock had been hauled out of the lake in September just before freeze-up. The beached dock was still covered in odd places by what was left of the winter’s snow. In May the lake ice would thin and disappear almost overnight. Hanna could hardly wait.

  Joyful anticipation warmed her. This year she’d get her floatplane rating. She grinned. In the perfect world, she’d have worked enough overtime to buy her own plane, too. She’d been saving every penny forever, and her savings account looked great. Then she could start setting her own rates. Excitement and fortitude boiled up in her chest. Now this Duncan character actually owned Cotton Grass, she’d better start being nice to him. It could be a lucrative partnership. My God, I hope he isn’t a complete idiot. I wonder how long he’ll last?

  Hanna moved with methodical concentration tying down Charlie’s plane. A slight movement out of the corner of her eye clamped fear around her lungs.

  Bear shrieked through her mind, and she twisted to face the movement at the back of the plane; at the same time her hand slipped inside her jacket to find the grip of her gun. It was with relief and irritation she saw the man everyone around the lake called the Shaman.

  “Aw, cripes, you scared the shit out of me.” Hanna jerked her hand away from the pistol grip and stomped her foot.

  The Shaman seldom said anything. The slightest proximity to him prickled the hair on the back of Hanna’s neck, but this time felt different. She blamed the fear twittering across her shoulders and down her arms to her first thought, an early spring bear.

  He continued staring at her from dark eyes. The thing she found most unnerving about him. She was used to eccentric people, but she couldn’t read his eyes. His ragged, cast-off clothing hung at odd angles from his small skeletal frame. The dog at his feet, a Husky mix, concentrated with adoration on the man, waiting only to fulfill his next desire.

  The Shaman walked toward her, rooting her to the spot where she stood. She’d seen this happen to other people before, at gatherings around the lake, a house-raising or party. The Shaman’s chosen individual would laugh later and say it hadn’t happened, or it didn’t mean anything. Now, it was Hanna’s turn, and she refused to accept any suggestion she couldn’t turn away. But she didn’t. The stench of unwashed man preceded his approach.

  “He’s the one,” the Shaman said and nodded. He turned his guileless face up into the leaden sky and watched an occasional flake fall straight from the heavens toward the lake.

  Panic shortened her breath. No. No. No, you’re a crazy old fool. Logically she could ignore what he said, logic said she didn’t have to pay for prophesy she didn’t believe in and didn’t ask for regardless of the currency. Hanna clamped her lips into a line of disapproval. If she snubbed him, perhaps he would go away and not ask for payment, but he didn’t go away.

  “Peaches,” the Shaman said.

  The dogs circled the Shaman happily when he turned away to walk down the shore of the lake. Nameless trotted along for a few feet in pleasant camaraderie with the Shaman and his dog then stopped. He watched for a moment longer and trotted back up the trail toward the lodge.

  Hanna watched as well, annoyed. He’d intruded on her safe place just like Duncan had. What kind of prediction was that anyhow?

  She finished loading her groceries onto the four-wheeler and used a bungee cord to secure the gas can to the back of the machine. Then she rode the other direction along the shore toward her cabin, her pleasure at being home diluted by changes at the lodge and another unsettling encounter with the Shaman.

  Chapter 3

  Duncan followed Nell’s instructions for the rest of the afternoon. He hauled wood from the shed into a box on the back porch of the lodge. She directed him to a shed designated for garbage. Three freezers shared the space, one seemed operative, and the other two were empty with the lids held open by sticks. “We’re gonna replace one of those,” Nell said. “It don’t work.”

  “Which one?” Duncan asked. He didn’t like the idea of garbage in the same place as the freezers.

  “I don’t remember,” she said.

  With each new chore, he was all the more astounded at how much needed to be done in addition to the work of simply keeping the place running. “There’s a lot to do around here,” he said.

  “I usually hire summer help,” Nell said.

  “Is Hanna one of your employees?” Duncan hated to admit how the feisty woman might change his attitude toward the lodge.

  “Naw, she’s just a pilot.”

  “Just a pilot?” Duncan chuckled. “I only know two or three.”

  “Well, they’re a dime a dozen up here.”

  Drawing on all his experience in hotel management didn’t keep Duncan from being intimidated. He could see how a whole crew could be busy for the summer. Duncan chewed the inside of his cheek. He was a manager. Where would he get a crew of workmen out here in the middle of Bum-Fuck-Alaska? There was no one except the people at the end of the lake. When they’d met the plane for freight, they didn’t look much like punch-a-time-clock people. In addition, how the hell did anyone get here to spend the night much less work for the summer? Duncan let exasperation overwhelm him for a moment.

  The special expectation of having no one to answer to was being tempered now by the reality of Cotton Grass Lodge. Anxiety and apprehension replaced yesterday’s eager anticipation.

  As they left the freezer-shed, his wet shoes slipped out from under him in a patch of ice, he flailed his arms, and his bad leg twisted awkwardly.

  “Ya gotta watch where ya put your feet,” Nell said, never slowing. Duncan caught his breath and clamped his teeth together.

  Nell led him to a boardwalk leading toward the back porch of the lodge. From there she pushed into another poorly lighted shed. The hinges on this door were loose, but they were both attached. “This is the sauna. Light a fire in the stove.” Duncan began to set several split rounds of birch into the big barrel stove.

  “No, no. You’ll never get it started.” While Nell told him all the things he had done incorrectly, she took the wood out and put it back into the stove according to her particular technique. She struck a match and held it to a flake of birch bark. The fire caught, smoked, and quickly came to life. “You’ll be glad of this in a little while.”

  Duncan doubted her. He wanted a shower, hot, fast, and finished as rapidly as possible.

  The last multi-million dollar hotel Duncan opened for Regent Corporation had taken eighteen months. Regent had always been very happy with his achievements. No one there had ever harassed him because he couldn’t start a fire in a rusty barrel stove.

  “Pay attention.” Nell closed the door to the sauna and backtracked to another shed. Her voice grated against his daydream. “This is the generator shed. The heart of the lodge you might say.” She shouldered the one-hinged door open, raised her voice over the noise of the generator, and pointed into the shadows at gauges he would have to check every day. One forty watt bulb hung from the middle of the foul smelling room. He stumbled around empty buckets and stepped over a screw driver and two crescent wrenches. He vowed to make the generator shed his first priority.

  “Got to be careful.” Nell’s lecture voice never changed
from her usual conversation voice. “Up here at the lake, there’s nobody but you and a neighbor that lives fifteen minutes away to put out a fire.” Nell hefted a five-gallon bucket of oil. As she poured she seemed unaware of it overflowing the edge of the funnel to puddle on the plywood floor by her feet.

  Nell dropped the bucket back to the floor and twisted the cap back on the long neck of the reservoir she’d poured oil into. She wiped her fingers on the forearm of her jacket. “The generator system is attached to the battery system, which regulates the inverters and converters and water systems. There’s a gravity system for some of the water and a 12-volt for when we don’t have the generators running.”

  Duncan needed a long soak in a hot spa tub and a glass of fine, aged, amber bourbon.

  “Your eyes just glazed over.” Nell twisted slowly and kneaded her back.

  Duncan scraped his fingers through his hair and ended with a hard squeeze to the back of his neck. “No, really, I drifted for a minute, but I want to know this.”

  “You have to know it all if you’re gonna take it over. But I know how you feel. Let’s take a break.” She directed him toward the back door of the lodge, and he favored his leg as he followed her up the steps.

  The mud room had shelves from floor to ceiling loaded and over-flowing with the flotsam of Cotton Grass Lodge. A cordless drill with no battery, a partial roll of clear, half-inch tubing, a box with canning jars tossed haphazardly in it waiting for any opportunity to crash to the floor. Stacks and stacks of newspapers and magazines and several boxes of paperback books. Two smudged windows, bisected by shelves, let shadowed light into the room. The closet door was held open by shoes tumbling from a pile, spilling from its black recesses.

  “Reach back in there on the floor and get a pair of outhouse slippers,” Nell said. “You’ll find something to fit.” Nell kicked off her lace-less boots, and the mud from them joined the litter on the rest of the floor. Her slip-on shoes had been left in the middle of the door into the kitchen.

  Duncan found a pair of sheepskin lined slippers rather less disgusting than several others he pulled out of the pile. His grateful feet didn’t mind, they were warm and dry.