Copyright Sharon K. West 2007. All Rights Reserved. You may not reprint this short story without permission.
I stood watching the burning timbers of what once was a fine log cabin, a warm and cozy refuge in one corner of Alaska's white wilderness. The structure now looked like a dark skeleton in the midst of a red, waving inferno. The hiss and pop of burning meat hanging in the attached storage shed signaled its imminent complete consumption by the fire children of that one rogue spark which must have escaped the fireplace in the night.
I looked around taking inventory. At least one side of me was warm and for now, I was safe. The raging fire at least accomplished that much. But what happens when the fire is spent? My radio is in there. My food and clothes are in there. My rifle is in there. All that escaped with me were my dog, my parka and boots, and the flannel, smoke-smelly pajamas on my back. Thank God Joel will be back in five days with the supplies. Won't he be shocked to see the state of the research cabin! But will I have the strength to keep this fire going until he returns? Drat! The ax is even in there. A growing realization of being intensely alone gripped me as I looked past the cabin to the wilderness. Jen huddled close and nuzzled her snow encrusted nose in my glove. She knows. I need help. I need warmth. I need food.
My thoughts turned to my mother. "Oh, Ma," I said aloud. "I've certainly fallen into it this time." Why would I ever think of her favorite scenes from Laurel and Hardy at a time like this? I wonder if frostbite causes weird thoughts, too! But I could not help it. I smiled in spite of my predicament. Oh, how Ma loved the antics of Laurel and Hardy, that comedy duo of the 30s and 40s. She transformed their oft used gag of falling in water and coming up with fish in their pants into her motto for life. "Don't worry about falling in," she used to say. "Just be sure to catch a fish in your pants." Every time something bad happened, she would look for a fish, some sort of windfall no matter how small, that she unwittingly obtained in the midst of her problem.
"But I don't think there are any fish here," I said to Jen. Her brown eyes met mine and softened into pure dog love.
I settled against a nearby tree as comfortably as one can settle against a tree. I waited, for what I didn't know–help was not on the way– but I refused to think I was going to die there. I thought about the paperwork inside the cabin that Joel and I kept these last six months, recording the ways of wolves in the research project. At least some of that remained in the files of the main office where I had emailed them. Yes, we can piece things together when we get back to civilization. Everything is going to be all right. I'll be OK when Joel gets back. My stomach growled. I could smell the meat cooking but getting it was impossible. The fire burned too hot to move any closer.
"Don't go to sleep," said a little voice in my head. But I had not slept overnight, and the fruitless effort to save something, anything, had left me exhausted. In spite of the discomfort of the rough, knobby tree trunk I leaned against, my eyelids kept drooping. Their opening time grew less and their closing time grew longer. I shook myself awake several times, resolving not to doze again. But the snow kept falling silently around me. Quiet. Soft. Inviting. Like a featherbed. Jen huddled near. I could feel her warmth. I could smell her breath when the wind shifted.
Somehow, I kept smelling coffee, too. Oh, for a hot cup! My eyes stayed shut even though I willed them to open. Then I moved my hand and the snow felt harder. I felt the tree had reclined behind me like my old green chair. I couldn't feel my parka and pajamas now, but warmth spread through my limbs. I opened my eyes. It was dark now, but a soft light drew me and I could see a fireplace in an adjoining room through a door beside me.
"I don't know where I am," I whispered. The sound of dog claws on the floor answered me. Jen's head popped up and she leaned with her forepaws on the side of the bed. I touched her and she was dry. "Where are we, Jen?"
I raised up with one elbow on the bed and peered into the next room. A rocking chair still rocked, but its occupant no doubt had just disembarked. I heard footsteps as I waited. Then a man appeared in the doorway, holding a cup of coffee. In the darkness, I could not see his face. He walked to the bed and said, "Here. Drink this."
I took the cup from the saucer and sipped twice, its taste and warmth welcomed in that special spot within that craved it. He held out the saucer again and I set the cup back on it. Then he left it on the table beside the bed, turned and walked back to the doorway. I was grateful, extremely grateful, but fear ruled at this moment. He could be "Jack, the Ripper" for all I knew. I eased back down on the bed, clutching the blanket close around my chin, and watched his shadowy form standing there. I should say something, but no words came. Naked in a strange man's cabin in the wilderness of Alaska, not another living soul on the planet knew where I was. Naked? Now wait a minute! I could feel a blush rising on my cheeks as I strained to see the features of his face. Nobody that I ever heard of lived near our cabin. Yet here was the man who saved me. He must have brought me here.
"Daylight'll be here soon," said the man, and he returned to the rocking chair.
Daylight. No word is more of a relief when one is in darkness. I held onto that thought and dozed. The light of day brought me to my senses. My pajamas, now clean and dry, lay draped across the foot of the bed. I slipped them on awkwardly under the covers and put my feet on the cold floor. Jen accompanied me into the great room of the cabin where the man sat reading a book by the fire.
I stopped, grasped the back of one of the chairs, and put one foot over the other to warm them. "I-I want to thank you," I said. "Well . . . 'thank you' seems so inadequate really. I don't know how I got here, but you saved my life. How did you find me?"
The middle-aged man peered over the top of a pair of half glasses perched unleveled on the bridge of his nose. Somehow now was not the moment to ask his name.
"I've been watching you."
I backed up a step. "Oh?"
The man smiled. "Don't worry. I'm not a pervert. Sort of a concerned neighbor. Why would a woman choose to be in this wilderness alone?"
I sat in the chair nearest the fire. "Research. I study wolves. But I was not alone. I have Joel, my associate, who studies them, too. He was getting supplies when the cabin burned."
"Uh-huh," said the man. "And I suppose you believe that. Your cabin went up in smoke mighty fast, don't you think?"
I could not answer. I knew what he was inferring but the wheels in my head spun so fast I could only sit there with my mouth open. Joel? What?
"He won't get very far. I suspect he's in custody at this moment."
I watched the fire. Pictures of what could have been flashed through my mind like a PowerPoint presentation. I rubbed the knee of my pajama bottoms with my thumb. Something is wiggling, Ma . . .A fish was about to jump out of them at any moment.
~~~~~~~
Copyright 2008 Sharon K. West. All rights reserved.