Touching the Clouds: A Novel (Alaskan Skies Book #1)

After washing the last of the morning’s dishes, Paul stood at the window and gazed out. The snow had stopped, leaving a hushed world of white. I’d better get to the wood.

Paul made a simple lunch of peanut butter and honey sandwiches and a slab of ginger bread. He put the lunch and a canteen of water in a pack, pulled on a coat, and with the pack over one shoulder stepped onto the porch. Cold air greeted him. He liked the frosty touch on his face and the sharp, clean feel of chilled oxygen in his lungs. The temperature gauge read twenty-eight degrees.

Fresh snow was piled on rooftops, hung heavily on evergreen boughs, and buried shrubs. The strident cry of a raven cut through the silent world. On mornings like this Paul felt confident he’d made the right decision to move to Alaska. He filled his lungs with the revitalizing air.

The dogs stared at him, alert and tails thumping. “Morning,” he called, pulling on his hood and tramping down the steps, the crystalline blanket of snow squeaking beneath his boots.

He trudged through knee-high snow to the dogs and gave each a pat and a kind word. They pressed against him. Nita whined and sniffed at his gloves.

Paul knelt in front of her and held her face in his hands. “Glad you’re back to your usual self, girl. Figure you’ll be having a family in a few months.” He buried his fingers in her ruff and wondered what the pups would look like. Her tongue washed his face and he chuckled, pushing her back.

Buck barked until Paul gave him equal time. When he went to leave, the dog nipped at his sleeve.

“None of that.” Paul scrubbed Buck’s thick coat and considered letting the dogs run, but decided against it. The days were short and he had too much work to do to allow time for searching out adventurous canines. “I’ll need you tomorrow when I haul in the wood.”

He grabbed a shovel and a buck saw from the shed and set off down a barely defined trail. He geared himself up for a long day. If he wanted the timber ready for hauling before dark, he’d have to work steadily.

Thanksgiving was only two weeks out, and soon real winter would set in. The long season stared back at him like an endless dark tunnel of days. From the very first he’d fought the devils of the holidays. He couldn’t stave off memories.

In the Anderson household, Thanksgiving and Christmas had always been big events. The house would fill with people, and the aroma of roasting meat and freshly baked breads and pies wafted through the home. There were games, boisterous conversations, and laughter. He could still hear the fun.

He remembered a time when he’d stood alone on the barren flatlands of the Mojave Desert with the hot wind sighing all around him. That’s how he felt now—utterly alone.

He tried to shake off the melancholy and focus on the snow-laden tree boughs, brilliantly white against a flat gray sky. This was a beautiful place, and he had the company of his dogs and good neighbors. I’m not alone.

He trudged on. The trees he’d felled weren’t far. They’d be buried now, so he’d have to dig them out before he could limb them. After that, he’d cut the timber into rounds and haul it back to the house to be split.

A set of tracks crossed the trail and disappeared into the forest. Paul stopped to study them. Marten. A good-sized one. He moved on and soon came across another set, only these were left by a fox.

Paul had planned to wait a few weeks before setting out traps, but now seemed a good time. Deciding the wood could wait one more day, he headed back to the cabin for the sled.

He cleared it of snow, set his pack on the cargo bed, then hurried to the shed. While his mind sifted through all that needed to be done, he set the shovel and saw in one corner, then hefted several leghold traps down from the wall. Adrenaline pumping with anticipation, he packed them to the sled.

After retrieving bait from the cache, he tromped back to the dogs. They whined and barked, begging to go along. Paul studied them. They could all use a good run, but he only needed one. Buck was the biggest and strongest.

“You’re it,” Paul said, scratching him behind the ears. The dog leaned against him, his tail beating the air. Paul unhooked his leash and Buck bounded free, leaping around and rubbing his broad side against his master’s legs. The other two dogs whined. “Next time,” he said. “I promise.”

He secured Buck in the harness, then grabbed hold of the traces and stepped onto the footboard. “Okay, boy, let’s go.”

Buck lunged forward and set off down the trail.

While in harness, Buck forgot play—he worked. Never straying or sniffing at bushes or trees, he kept moving. Paul jogged behind part of the time. The sound of the blades skimming over the snow and the cold air splashing his face energized him.

At the place where the marten tracks led into the woods, Paul called, “Gee,” and Buck veered to the right and cut a trail through the forest. Not far off the main track, Paul stopped at a patch of bushes. It would be a good place to set out a trap. Buck sat quietly and watched.

Paul lifted out his tool bag, grabbed a leghold, and then retrieved a chunk of salmon. He smoothed out an area hidden beneath the bushes and pounded a trap post into the ground. Using limbs and sticks, he constructed a box of sorts and set the bait at the narrowest point in the back. He pulled the jaws of the leghold apart, holding them with one hand while he flipped the tongue over the edge of one jaw and slipped it into a notch under the pan. Gently he released the pressure so as not to spring it, then placed the trap toward the back of the box. Last, he brushed snow over it to conceal it.

He stood, arched his back slightly, then stretched from side to side to relax tight muscles. “That’s it. Let’s go.” He climbed onto the sled and Buck moved forward.

After setting out several legholds, Paul’s growling stomach told him it was time to eat. He stopped, then grabbed a chunk of dried salmon for Buck and tossed it to him. The dog pounced on his meal. Paul sat on a partially exposed tree that had been downed. Taking out his canteen, he unscrewed the lid and took a long drink. Buck had already finished off his fish so Paul poured water into a pan for him.

The hush of piled snow enveloped the forest, making Paul feel like an intruder. He took another drink, found a sandwich, and settled down to eating. His eyes roamed the frozen forest. Mounds of white concealed brush and stumps. Large trees had deep swirling wells at their bases, and frost encased birch and alder limbs.

The world looked bright and unsoiled, but Paul knew it was a deception. The world wasn’t pure. Reality stripped away his pleasure. If only things were the way God had intended them to be. Paul tried to imagine the world Adam and Eve had known—life without sorrow or conflict. It was too unfamiliar a vision to capture, and Paul was left with the reality of his tainted existence.

He finished off his sandwich, but left the rest of his lunch. It was time to get the last of the traps set. He’d circle back to the place he’d started.

Heading toward the main trail, Paul glanced at the darkening sky. He’d have to hurry. Annoyed, he thought, There aren’t enough daylight hours for a man to get his work done.

It would only get worse—between now and December 21 the days would grow shorter. He liked Alaska but he wasn’t an “Alaskan.” Temperatures below zero aggravated him and the darkness sapped his spirit. After the winter solstice, he counted the additional minutes gained each day, anticipating the short summer nights.

Paul used ptarmigan wing sections for the last two leg-holds, hanging them from a branch above traps, hoping for larger prey such as fox. With any luck, the animal would jump for the bait and step on the trap. Even Buck was tantalized by the smell of bird. He sniffed the air and stared at the dangling wing.

Paul moved back to the sled and patted the dog’s broad head. “You don’t want any part of that.”

When he approached the first trap he’d set, Paul noticed a raven hopping up and down in the snow. He must have gone after the bait and gotten snagged.

Paul wasn’t especially fond of ravens, but he couldn’t let the bird suffer, especially one that had been injured because of a trap he’d set. He edged toward the panicked raven. It flapped its wings wildly and pulled against the line.

“Watch it. You’ll only make things worse,” Paul said, his voice calm. The bird fought harder.

Buck growled and woofed, lunging against his harness.

“No! Buck! Sit!”

Although trembling with excitement, the dog obeyed. His eyes remained on the raven.

Paul took hold of the line that held the trap, then gently lifted the raven toward him. The bird continued to beat the air with his wings until Paul got him close enough to put his gloved hand over his head. The frightened creature still fought, ruffling his wings against Paul’s hands. Finally, he quieted, giving in to the inevitable.

The bird’s chest rose and fell rapidly, but he didn’t fight. Paul figured he’d probably die. Holding the bird securely, he opened the trap and released its leg. “Sorry. But I guess that’s what you get for being a scavenger.” He held the raven against his chest. He was sure its leg was broken. If he let him go free, he’d certainly die. “I’ll see what I can do for you.” Keeping a firm grasp on the bird, he tucked him under his arm.

Once at the cabin, Paul kept the raven restrained in a sack while he devised a small cage from a wooden box. He affixed twigs across the top, creating a grill that let in fresh air and light and allowed Paul to observe and feed the bird without disturbing him.

When he’d finished, he took the raven out of the sack and wrapped a piece of cloth around its head, tying it so its eyes would remain covered while he attempted to repair the broken leg. Using a handkerchief, he secured the creature to a wooden plank, examined its leg, and decided he could splint it.

Paul immobilized the broken limb with a stick and bandages, then placed the bird in the cage and removed the cloth that covered its eyes. He put water and bread crumbs in and watched for a few minutes. So now I’m a veterinarian.

“If you live, you can keep me company,” he told the bird. The raven trembled, but its breathing was less rapid. Paul covered the cage with a towel and set it in the middle of the table. I read somewhere ravens can be taught to speak. Maybe I can teach this one.

The following afternoon, Paul had just put soup on when someone knocked at the door. He opened it, surprised to find Lily standing on the porch.

She smiled sweetly. “Mama told me to tell you the mail plane’s due. She wanted to know if you had anything that needed to go out. I can take it for you.”

“No. Nothing today.” Paul rarely had mail to send. Sassa knew that.

Lily remained on the porch, hands clasped behind her back. Paul wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t want to invite her in. The raven let out a squawk, putting an end to the question of whether or not Lily would stay.

“What’s that?” she asked, glancing inside.

“A raven. He got caught in one of my traps yesterday, broke his leg. I brought him home and fixed him up.”

“Can I see him?”

“Sure.”

Lily stepped inside and crossed to the table. Uncertain whether or not to leave the door open, Paul finally decided it was foolish to let in cold air and closed it. He lifted the towel off the cage.

She gazed at the bird. He stared back, his head cocked to one side. “He’s big,” Lily said.

“Yeah, looks like he’s been eating well. I thought he’d be dead by now, but he made it through the night.”

Lily pressed a finger against the slots of the cage. The bird pecked at it, but when he discovered it wasn’t something to eat, he went back to staring. “He’s beautiful.” She looked more closely at the bandaged leg. “How did you know what to do?”

“Uh . . . my grandpa splinted a bird once, when I was a boy. I helped him.”

“Really?” She looked at the raven a moment longer, then said, “Well, I better go. The plane’ll be in soon.” She headed for the door.

“I’ll go with you.” Paul grabbed his coat and hat. “Kate might have something for me.” He doubted it, but he wouldn’t mind seeing Kate.

He followed Lily out and down the trail that led to a dock.

Lily climbed into the dory and sat in the bow. Her brown eyes wandered over the scenery, then found Paul. She didn’t speak. He wondered if she agreed with her mother—that the two of them would be a good match. He hoped not. Even though he didn’t want to marry Lily, he cared about her and hated to see her hurt.

He untied the boat, then sat and grabbed hold of the oars. His reasonable voice told him, She’s good-hearted and pretty. And she knows all there is to know about living out here. She’d make a good wife. Even as he considered the idea, he couldn’t reconcile to it. Lily was too young, more girl than woman.

He dipped the oars into a stream of water wedged in by ice. “Won’t be long before the creek is frozen up solid.”

The sound of a plane carried from the Susitna River. In his mind, Paul could see Kate, tall and strong and determined. She was definitely not a girl.

He steered the boat through the narrow channel of unfrozen water and watched Kate’s plane set down on the sandbar in the midst of the Susitna. He was surprised at how eager he was to see her.

When Paul reached the landing site, Lily climbed out of the dory and held it while he leaped to the shore. Together they beached the boat and set off toward the plane.

“Afternoon,” he called as Kate stepped out of the Bellanca.

“Hi.” She smiled. “How are you?”

Before Paul could respond, Lily said, “Good. You?”

“Can’t complain. I’ve been busy.” She reached inside the plane. “There’s mail for you and your brothers.” Kate handed her three boxes.

“Mama didn’t say anything about a surprise. I wonder what it is.” Lily’s eyes shone as she stared at the packages.

“You know your mother,” said Paul. “She’s always thinking about you and your brothers.”

Lily held the parcels against her chest and walked back to the boat. She climbed inside and sat down, tearing into one of the packages.

Kate looked at Paul and shrugged, her arms lifted at her sides. “Nothing else today.”

“That’s all right. Didn’t expect anything.”

An awkward silence settled between the two.

Finally Kate asked, “So, do you have plans for Thanksgiving?”

“No. Well, maybe. The Warrens will probably invite me to dinner. Me and Klaus—you know, the old fella up the creek.”

Kate nodded.

“I was thinking I might take a berry pie,” Paul said.

“Pie is one of my favorite desserts. My mother makes the best apple pie you’ve ever tasted.” Kate rested her hands on her hips. “I didn’t take after her. I’m not handy around the kitchen.”

“That’s all right. Not everyone can fly a plane.” He smiled, feeling lighthearted.

“That’s true.” Kate glanced upriver. “Well . . . I better get going.” She didn’t move. Instead she asked, “Would you like to join the Towns’s and Mike and me for Thanksgiving?”

“You mean in Anchorage?”

“Uh-huh. That’s where we live.” Kate grinned.

“That’s a long way to go for dinner.”

“Not when you’re flying. I come out on Wednesdays. You can stay over in town, have dinner with us, and I’ll bring you back the day after.”

Paul didn’t know what to say. The idea was tempting, but he wrestled with conflicting emotions. Thanksgiving with Kate was appealing, maybe too much so. When he looked into her warm hazel eyes, he knew he didn’t dare. “I think the Warrens are expecting me. I don’t want to let them down.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Paul thought he detected a hint of disappointment.

Kate edged toward the plane. “There’s more mail to deliver. See you in a week.”

“See ya.”

Kate climbed into the Pacemaker and Paul closed the door behind her, then stepped back, watching while she taxied to the end of the landing strip. He’d been too eager to see her. He cared, more than he wanted to. Forcing himself not to watch her take off, he walked to the boat, pushed away from the shore, and clambered in.

“Kate’s awfully nice. I like her,” Lily said.

“Yeah.” Paul heard the Bellanca make its run and couldn’t stop himself from looking. Once she was in the air, he put the oars in the water and headed toward the cabin. Dragging his mind away from Kate, he asked, “So, what did you get in the mail?”

“Books.” She held up two. “Jane Eyre. And Little Women. Have you read them?”

“Can’t say that I have.” He glanced at the disappearing plane and wished he’d accepted Kate’s invitation. It was too late now. What would it have hurt? It was just dinner.