Cotton Grass Lodge (7 page)

“Nail clippers? I—I don’t have any.” Confused, Duncan looked from Carl back to Charlie.

“Good,” Charlie said. “We might get off the ground. There’s no doubt we’re over gross weight.”

Carl laughed. “He’s a fast learner, Charlie. Give him a break.”

“I don’t give anybody a break. You’re both fools.” Charlie squinted up into the gray sky. “Let’s get outta here. Soon as I get back, I got a date.”

Carl shook hands with both men, and his embrace for Duncan was warm. “Stick to the plan. It’ll be fine.” He then got in his truck and splashed through the pocked parking lot.

After Duncan and Charlie got into the Cessna 185, Charlie revved the engine up, watching the instruments, and then taxied out onto the gravel strip and took off for Cotton Grass Lake.

Charlie cleared the hive of air traffic around Lake Hood’s airport, his gruff voice filling the headset with information, and Duncan gratefully soaked it up.

“Ain’t much you can do about some stuff.” Charlie concluded, “If ya have trouble just call. We’ll see what we can do. Depends ’course, I just work here.” Duncan appreciated his offer above all else.

“Who owns the business?” Duncan asked.

“Damn Dog owns it. Don’t let her fool ya; she runs a tight ship.”

Duncan decided not to pursue how that worked. Charlie continued to talk about Alaska and a jumble of unrelated topics.

Duncan had now flown into Cotton Grass Lake four times. His curiosity intensified, and he asked Charlie the next obvious question. “Is it hard to learn to fly?”

“Nope. You can drive a stick shift. You can fly a plane. Just one added dimension.”

Duncan figured there was more to it, but still. “Hanna said you taught her to fly, does she have a regular schedule?”

Charlie cocked an eyebrow and tipped his head in Duncan’s direction. “Nope, she’s busier than a one armed paper hanger, too damn many irons in the fire, if ya ask me. Just helps Dog out when she wants to go up to her cabin.” Charlie thumbed the mic on the yoke and made an announcement. “Cotton Grass Lake area traffic, this is Cessna one seven one four Alpha, landing south three six.”

Duncan twisted his neck to look around. “Charlie, we haven’t seen another plane for fifteen minutes. Why did you tell an empty sky where you were?”

Charlie scratched his five o’clock shadowed chin. “When was the last time you ran a red light ’cause you couldn’t see a car coming?” He paused, “You get my point? Fool.”

“Yes.” Duncan craned his neck to look down at the lake. The ice had large patches of opaque color since he’d left and several irregular shaped holes. When the plane touched down he happily realized he has become accustomed to landing on a rough gravel strip. This time seemed not so loud or bumpy or fast.

Charlie coasted the plane to the end of the strip and whipped the plane around in a tight circle. The two men unloaded freight into a pile on the ground. Charlie shook hands with Duncan. “I invoice every two weeks, so pay the dog on time, and we’ll get along fine. Good luck.” He got into the plane and closed the door with a firm tug. He opened a small sliding window and shouted, “Clear!”

Duncan backed away as the engine coughed and the prop started and stopped and coughed again. The engine throttled up, and Duncan plugged his ears and closed his eyes as the prop wound up and threw sandy gravel into the air. He watched the plane bump along the strip as it motored to the other end of the runway and then turned into the wind. The engine howled over his head as it skipped off the end of the runway, tipped over the lake and turned into the hazy morning.

Quiet descended. He was alone for the first time in years. Really alone. His insides trembled from the strain of the last several weeks. There was much to do before the season began, but right now a cup of coffee on his front porch sounded like a better idea. There weren’t any groceries to spoil, and no one to steal them. He hoped. The notion of not worrying about theft or vandalism was a concept new to his big city mindset.

He turned and instead of the long stride toward the four wheeler he expected to take, he found his feet tangled in four fuzzy gray legs.

Duncan landed hard on the dog. “Yii-yiik-yiik!” the puppy cried as he scrambled away.

Duncan couldn’t remember the last time he’d fallen down. Rocks bit into the palms of both hands, and red stars swirled for a second in his eyes.

Anger flared and burned with incandescent embarrassment. He pushed himself over and sat still to catch his breath. Chunks of gravel fell off his hands as he gingerly brushed them together. At his shoulder a warm, wet tongue lanced twice across his ear and his cheek before he could fend off the apology. “You don’t dance worth a damn.” He grumbled indignantly. “Dogs.”

The dog backed away, its head drooped in abject misery. As they both limped toward the lodge, Duncan was amused to discover a dog could be embarrassed, too. The groceries could wait.

Duncan fixed his cup of coffee, and when he went out onto the porch, he noticed the puppy, motionless and alert. Its attention focused on a small disheveled man standing at the edge of the yard. Duncan considered for a moment and raised his cup. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” The man came closer and stopped at the bottom of the steps. “I like sweet, hot tea.” He didn’t appear to have many teeth. The dog with him lay down at the bottom of the steps and tolerated the brief, exuberant greeting Nameless gave, and then both dogs quieted.

“I’ll be right back.” Duncan turned and went through the door of the lodge to the kitchen and dropped a teabag into a cup. The kettle still had plenty of hot water. When Duncan returned to the porch, the man was seated in the porch swing, his toes just reached the deck, pushing a controlled back and forth motion of the swing. A smile spread across the visitor’s face.

Duncan handed the cup to the little man. He fit the description Nell had given of the Shaman. “I’m Duncan,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

The Shaman rocked gently and sipped his tea. Duncan settled into his own seat at a willow-twig table. He preferred no conversation to mindless babble, and the Shaman seemed content to oblige.

Duncan drifted into silent contemplation of the lake. The color seemed dull compared to the white sparkle of a few days ago. He stood to follow a softly rhythmic pulsation of sound coming from the lake. A raven’s wings rustled the still air as the bird flew a lazy path through the yard. Wonder tinged his voice, “I’ve never heard a bird fly before.”

The Shaman stood and put his cup on the small table. “You will stay here a long time.” The words clicked and popped with the formality of a second language.

Duncan found the innocuous smile as unnerving as the statement. “What’s your name?” There came no answer.

The Shaman descended the steps and gently put his hands on the puppy, as if reacquainting himself with the shape of its head. He released the dog and continued on his way. The pup looked back over his shoulder at Duncan, and they both watched the Shaman and his dog disappear into a brushy path.

Chapter 7

Hanna slouched in the office chair behind Charlie’s desk with her feet propped up on an upside down five-gallon hydraulic oil bucket. She’d come to work early, prepared the plane, and now waited impatiently on the weather and the clock to get her day under way.

Something bumped the front door. Dog heard it too and lumbered toward the door. If it were Charlie, he would have simply opened it and come in. Hanna stood and tossed the magazine she’d been reading onto a stack of others on top of the two foot tall safe. She caught the cascade of slick magazines and steadied them on the heavy-duty side table next to her chair.

She pulled the door open just as Charlie’s three-toned pick-up splashed into the muddy parking lot.

“It’s open.” He called through his window to the person standing on the step, “Go on in.” He flicked his cigarette into a puddle. The smoke, trapped inside his truck, focused on trying to escape the narrowing window as he cranked it shut.

“Can I help you?” Hanna asked. Sudden recognition registered. “Oh—Alice?” The woman’s hair had grown, but she was still as small and fragile looking as she’d been last fall. Her feet were surrounded by three brightly colored bags and a car seat. Hanna instinctively reached to hug the woman and a quick response came from inside Alice’s jacket. The wailing baby fought its way toward the zippered opening. “Oh, my God, you’ve got a baby.” Hanna bent toward the feather haired child. “Hey there, little one, I’m sorry. Alice, when did you get here?” Hanna drew back and noticed the woman’s drawn face and dark circled eyes.

“Hanna, I’m so glad to see you,” Alice said.

“Would you take this convention inside?” Charlie said, picking up two bags. He waited for Alice to move into the building.

“Don’t be so grumpy.” Hanna took up the rear and picked up another load of bags.

“It’s my job to be grumpy.” At the door Charlie flipped a switch for the harsh fluorescents and continued, dropping Alice’s bags at the door into the hanger. Once inside the office, he scowled at the large black-board dominating the wall. “I don’t have anything but pizza on the schedule for today.” He turned on Alice. “Don’t I know you?” Before she could answer he puckered his lips and squinted in thought. “Last year, Cotton Grass, you was the little wife of that prick biologist.”

Alice blushed. “Yes, I guess I was or am or—yes.” She swallowed hard and stepped back a foot to get down-range of his smoke-laden breath. “I want to go back to the lake, I need to see Naomi. Is the Shaman still out there? Can you take me?” Her questions came is short frantic bursts vibrating with anxiety.

“You never know where the crazy man is,” Hanna said. “Are they expecting you?”

“No.” Alice stifled a cry. Tears flowed freely down her face. “Can you take me?”

“Aw jeez.” Charlie wrinkled his face as if a bad smell had assaulted him. He poked a finger in Hanna’s general direction, “Good thing you’re on time for a change. You deal with this.”

“I was early.” Hanna shot back. “Give the girl a break.”

“I don’t give anybody a break. Go let Dog in.” He shuffled into the hangar as Hanna swallowed any sharp, fruitless comments she might make to correct his nasty behavior.

“You look beat,” Hanna said. She liked Alice. She’d been sorry to see her leave last fall. She pointed at the broken-down brown sofa. “Go sit down. Sweetie, what’s going on?” This obvious desperation didn’t fit the eager innocent she remembered.

Alice began unwrapping the baby. “This is Emily,” she said introducing the tiny child. Still not making eye contact with Hanna, Alice concentrated on settling Emily into her arm and feeding her from a small bottle. “I’ve had her to several doctors; they all say there isn’t anything wrong, but she isn’t thriving. She’s so small. I—I don’t know what else to do, except Naomi is such a good mother, and she knows so much about babies. I just thought I’d visit and…” Tears started again. “Derrick and his family are sure there isn’t anything wrong, but…” Her fervent face turned toward Hanna. “Wouldn’t you do something? Anything to make your child healthy?”

Having children might not have been on Hanna’s radar, but she understood maternal passion. “I think I would.”

“Derrick is going to be so angry,” Alice whispered. Her lips compressed into a crumpled line, and she covered her mouth. Explosions of restricted sobs shook her body.

“Hey, hey, it’s going to work out.” Hanna said with all the encouragement she could muster, the problem was she knew Derrick. Like Charlie said, he was a prick.

She went to the door and let Dog in. She rinsed the coffee pot in the restroom sink, turned the pot on, and brought a glass of water back to Alice. “You’re going to dehydrate if you don’t stop crying.” The joke worked; Alice smiled weakly.

Half an hour later, Alice lay on one end of the sofa curled around the baby, both were sleeping soundly.

Hanna wanted to leave. Instead, she watched her weekend trickle away in ten minute increments. She called flight service for an update on the weather, but fog clung to the ground forcing her to wait.

Charlie pushed through the door from the hangar. “What’d they say?”

“Not yet, damn it.” Hanna shook her head, annoyed.

Charlie bent over to peer at the sky outside the condensation-streaked window. He scrubbed a hand over his deeply lined face as if he were removing spider webs. “You talk to the lake today?”

“Yes. Nell said it was clear as a bell. What’s she doing back? I thought she was going to Arizona?”

Charlie shrugged. “I dunno. She showed up after a week or so, said she forgot something and went back. Duncan wasn’t expecting her, but he said he’d pay her ticket.”

“Wow, weird.”
And very nice
. She wondered how he was handling Nell’s unexpected return. “I hate this waiting; I think I’ll go load the freight that doesn’t need to be left in the cooler.”

“You could clean something.” Charlie didn’t smile, but his bushy gray eyebrows winked as he continued toward the coffee pot.

“Yeah and you could…” Her curse stilled when the door opened abruptly. A blonde woman in light blue denim stumbled into the room. She had to hop around Dog to stay upright.

“Ooh, the door is stuck.”

“Yup, been meanin’ to work on that.” Charlie, standing in the doorway to the restroom, poured coffee into his cup and lifted the pot. “Want a cup?”

“No.” The woman frowned at Charlie. “The dog is lying right in the doorway. Someone could get hurt. Do you realize how dangerous it is?”

“Yup, but the damn dog owns the place. She sleeps where ever the hell she wants. I’m Charlie, what can I do for ya?”

From her seat behind the desk, Hanna took in the woman’s idea of Alaskan travel attire. Perfect hair, perfect make-up, blue faux-fur trimmed jean jacket and the little blue sparkles on her barrette matched the ones on the straps of her low heeled sandals. Adorable.