Across a Thousand Miles (13 page)

“I understand,” he said. “My ex-wife was the same way.”

Rebecca glanced up at him indignantly. “I beg your pardon?”

“Monthly moods,” he explained weakly. “You know…”

“Of course,” Rebecca said acidly. “The woman thing.”

“This is real good coffee!” he said, changing the subject.

“I'll fix you something to eat.”

“No need to bother.”

“It's no bother. It's the woman thing. Besides, I'm starving.” She busied herself in the kitchen, which was one small corner of the cabin sectioned off by an L-shaped counter. There was a trap door in the kitchen floor that opened into a tiny root cellar. Rebecca opened it and descended the ladder with an oil lamp in one hand, contemplating the food stores that were neatly arranged on the deep shelves. There were two sand-filled wooden boxes on the floor itself, one filled with potatoes, the other with carrots, turnips and beets. She selected four large baking potatoes, pulled a canned ham from the shelf and passed these up the ladder to Mac. “What's your pleasure for a vegetable?” she asked. “I have carrots, canned corn, string beans, beets…”

“I'm not particular,” Mac said. “I eat most everything and like it.”

She chose corn and climbed the ladder with two cans of it. A big man like Mac, she figured, probably ate like a horse. She put the ham and potatoes into the oven,
opened the cans of corn into a saucepan and set it atop the stove.

“I still owe you a beer for fixing my truck, but I have wine, too,” she offered.

“I'll have whatever you have.”

She retrieved a bottle of cabernet from the cellar. “Look, Mac,” she said as she uncorked the bottle. “About today…”

“It was a good run, except for your dunking,” Mac said.

“I mean, about what you did out there.”

Mac accepted the glass of wine and eyed her warily. “Did I do something wrong?”

“You saved my life! If you hadn't been right there, I'd have frozen to death. I'm trying to thank you!”

“You already did,” he said. “And anyway, you underestimate yourself. You would've been fine even if I hadn't been there. You'd have done all the right things.”

Rebecca shook her head. “I'd have frozen to death,” she repeated simply. “I was in the water too long. I couldn't have gotten out of my wet clothes. I screwed up. I should have known about that creek, but I didn't.”

“So you made a mistake.” Mac shrugged, then set his glass on the table and threw two more sticks of firewood into the stove. “Still, if I truly did save your life, time-honored tradition dictates that it now belongs to me.” He grinned wickedly. “Think about that one too long, Rebecca, and you'll probably jump back into the creek. Meanwhile, I guess I'll fill your wood box.” He reached for his parka. “That is, if you don't mind.”

Rebecca drew a deep breath. “It's because of Bruce,” she said, and Mac froze with his hand on the doorknob. “It's because he used to do those things. He use to split
and haul the wood and lug the water up from the spring to fill the water barrel.”

Mac nodded slowly, watching her.

“Those were his chores,” Rebecca continued. “Of course, he wasn't always here to do them. Sometimes he'd be gone for days at a time, when he was out running his traplines.”

Mac nodded again.

“I missed him when he was away. He said he never worried about me because he always knew I'd be okay.”

Mac let his hand fall from the doorknob, amazed that she was talking to him about her husband. “And you always were,” he said.

Rebecca smiled faintly. “Not really, but I faked it pretty good.”

“What did you do before you came here to live?”

“I was still in school. Bruce had a job as a substitute teacher and he worked part-time for an accounting firm. Hated where his life was heading. One day he showed up at my apartment and told me he had quit everything and was heading north, and if I wanted to come along I'd better be packed and ready to leave in an hour.”

“So you quit school?”

Rebecca nodded. “I packed my bag, went to the registrar's office, phoned my mom in Boston and that afternoon was on my way north with Bruce.”

“Any regrets?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Sometimes I wish I'd finished my degree, but otherwise, no. None. Our first winter was hellacious. We lived in an old school bus camper and damn near froze to death. Bruce bought someone's trapline, dog team and all, and we very nearly starved to death, too, trying to feed those dogs. The next summer we built this cabin and netted enough chum salmon to
feed the team through the winter. He did better with the trapline, and he really liked running the dogs. I stayed home and took care of the animals he'd bring back. I'd skin them and stretch the pelts. It was awful work and I hated the whole idea of trapping, but those furs bought food and supplies for us.”

Mac crossed to the table and dropped into a chair across from her. In the lamplight Rebecca's face was very nearly angelic. He picked up his glass of wine and took a sip, but said nothing to interrupt the flow of her thoughts. Her gaze was fixed on the far wall, but he knew she wasn't seeing the tightly fitted, hand-hewn spruce logs.

“The next spring we were married. My mom flew into Dawson to stand with us before the justice of the peace, then came out here and went into an immediate state of shock. I don't think she'd ever been in the woods before, and for sure she'd never used an outhouse. She departed two days later and hasn't returned since.” Wry smile. “We built the dog barn in our second summer and started selling dog food. Bruce advertised dog tours in the Whitehorse paper, and we were surprised by the response. And that's how we spent the next four years, trapping, guiding and running races. Things were good and getting better.” She gave a bitter laugh. “That's the thing about life, Mac. When things are good and getting better, watch out!” She met his eyes and smiled again, but it was a bitter smile, full of pain.

Mac leaned back in his chair and twisted the stem of his wineglass between his fingers. Her cabin was still full of Bruce. In addition to his coat on a peg by the door and his boots behind the stove, his pictures cluttered the top of the plain pine bureau and his impressive race trophies glittered on every shelf. This cabin stood
like a shrine to his memory. The only thing of Rebecca's was her old Royal typewriter, circa 1860, sitting on the little desk beside the east window.

“That's why I got mad at you,” Rebecca explained. “When you took over Bruce's chores, I thought you were trying to take his place.”

I was,
Mac thought darkly, but he said, “It must have been quite a struggle after he died. You could have left here and gone back to school.”

Rebecca was quiet for a while. “I thought about doing that, but the more I thought about leaving, the less I liked the idea. I love the dogs and I've grown to love this country. The wild beauty of it. I don't think I could ever leave here now. It's in my blood.”

“But trying to make ends meet…” Mac shook his head. “I don't know how you do it. Why don't you sell some of the dogs?”

“They were Bruce's. It would be like selling a part of him. And I need them, too. The dogsled tours pay very well. Selling food brings in a little bit extra, and the weekly column for the
Whitehorse Star
generates a small but steady income. Every little bit helps.”

“I've read every word you ever wrote,” Mac said, and at her surprised glance, he added, “Sam and Ellin keep them in a special notebook and they let me borrow it. You're a very good writer. I don't know what they pay you at the
Star,
but whatever it is, it isn't enough. You should consider writing a book.”

Rebecca smiled faintly at his compliment. She toyed with the stem of her glass. “It's a matter of finding the time,” she said. “There aren't enough hours in the day as it is.”

Mac stood and crossed to where her little typewriter sat. He studied the sheet of paper rolled into it. “A Walk
in the Woods,” he read aloud. He glanced at her. “Well, you've gotten the title written. When is it due?”

Rebecca pulled a face. “Yesterday,” she said.

Mac nodded and returned to his chair.

“Maybe it's a matter of having some help around here,” Mac said, leaning forward with his elbows braced on the table and the wineglass cradled between his hands. “I'm more than willing and I'm a good worker. I could relieve you of all the mundane chores so you'd have the time to write. Quit shaking your head, you stubborn woman! When I came here and filled your wood box and hauled your water, I was trying to help you, that's all. You helped me when I needed it. Why won't you let me return the favor?”

“Because I'm doing just fine on my own, thanks.”

Mac slumped back on his chair and sighed wearily. “I know that. I'm talking about making your life a little easier. I'm talking about making it a little better.”

Rebecca lowered her eyes. “We've had this conversation before.” She drew a deep breath and released it slowly. She raised her eyes and her gaze was steady. “I appreciate your concern, but you're not Bruce,” she said. “You can't just walk in here and sign up to take his place. I'm not looking for another man in my life, Mac, but I could use a good friend.”

Mac pushed out of his chair and reached for his parka. He paused by the door and zipped it up. His eyes revealed nothing, but his voice was quiet and this time there was no brash grin. “Okay.” He nodded. “If it's friends you want to be, then friends it is. But like it or not, as your good friend, I'm still going to fill your water barrel and your wood box.”

 

R
ACE DATE APPROACHED
with the speed of a forty-five-caliber bullet. Kanemoto had arrived from Japan one
week prior, as promised, and was proving himself a great help in organizing Rebecca's gear and preparing her food drops. The start of the race occurred in Whitehorse on even years and in Fairbanks on odd years. This year the thousand-mile race would begin in Whitehorse, which meant they'd be running right onto Lake Leberge, and that could mean losing the trail in the lake's notorious windstorms. Once past Leberge, the teams would run up Chain of Lakes, where there might be nasty overflow. It was 160 miles to the first checkpoint at Carmacks, a long haul with a lot of weight in the sled. But not the longest haul by far, and not the hardest.

Rebecca flew out of Ellin's bathroom and into the kitchen, wrapping her damp hair in a towel and tucking her flannel shirt into her jeans. “Ellin, I can't run the race!” she announced. “There's no way I can run the race!”

Ellin was elbow-deep in a batch of bread dough, and she glanced up and gave Rebecca a quizzical look. “A few short months ago you couldn't wait to run it,” she reminded her.

“That was months ago. Somehow it seemed much safer then.” Rebecca paced between woodstove and kitchen counter. “There's still so much to do! I make long, important lists in the middle of the night when I can't sleep and then I misplace them. Kanemoto told me this morning that I was driving him crazy. Ellin, what am I going to do!”

“You're going to finish putting all your food drops together, pack up all your gear and all your dogs, and drive down to Whitehorse in time for the drivers' meeting tomorrow night. And then you're going to get on your sled and run the race.”

“But I'll never finish it!”

“Nonsense. Of course you will! Once you get out on the trail, everything will be fine. It will be you and your dogs, just the way you like it. Take your time and enjoy yourself. Concentrate on keeping your dogs happy. And Rebecca, when you get so tired and discouraged that you feel like quitting, stop your team, feed your dogs, feed yourself and take a good long nap. When you wake up, things will look much brighter.”

Rebecca stopped pacing and stared. “Ellin, how did you learn all that?”

Ellin smiled. “By listening to you.”

“I haven't been able to sleep for the past week! By the time we start the race, I'll be falling off the sled runners with exhaustion.”

“I don't know why you're so nervous,” Ellin said, kneading away. “This won't be your first race.”

“I'd be a lot less nervous if it were,” Rebecca said. “I know firsthand how awful things can get out there.”

“Oh, stop dwelling on the dark side, for heaven's sake! You'll be just fine. I wish we could make it to the race start, but Sam's got a bad cold and it's really dragging him down. We'll see you in Dawson, though. We'll be there with bells on!”

Rebecca sank slowly onto a chair and dropped her head into her hands. She sat for several long moments and then lifted her eyes to Ellin's. “I guess I've just lost my nerve,” she said. “You probably heard about what happened last week.”

Ellin paused and looked Rebecca in the eye. “Of course, I did, but I would have preferred to hear it from you. All Mac told me was that you got a little wet.”

“I was on a training run up in the hills. Mac was running the same trail and I caught up and passed him.
We were crossing a river I didn't even know was there. My sled broke through the ice. I went in clear up to my neck and it took me forever to get out again. If Mac hadn't been right behind me…”

“He rescued you?” Rebecca saw a smile cross the older woman's face as she divided the dough into equal halves and patted each into a greased bread pan.

“I've been so awful to him,” Rebecca moaned. “So awful! Oh, Ellin, stop grinning! I'm a nervous wreck about this race. All those river crossings, all those lakes! My biggest fear is falling through the ice and drowning. Mac isn't always going to be right behind me to pull me out!”

“Well, my dear, you never know. As I recall, Mac was out most of the night on that particular training run,” she commented, setting a cup of tea in front of Rebecca. “Did the two of you spend it together out on the trail?”