Worthy of Riches (38 page)

A loud pop fractured the air.

“I just wish you would think about it, Luke. He's different.”

“And, of course, I'm the one who's wrong.”

Neither Mattie nor Alex said anything. They watched the ice.

“You two can think what you like.” Luke strode down the bank and leaped across the soft ice along the river's edge and onto more solid ice.

“What are you doing?” Mattie asked, her voice shrill. “Get off the ice! It could go at any time, and the water's deep here.”

Ignoring her warning, Luke said matter-of-factly, “It's a little soft, but I'd say it's got a way to go before it breaks loose.” He walked out farther.

Alex followed his friend, stepping carefully and feeling his way.

“Hey, you boys get off the ice!” a man called. “You loony?”

Suddenly Alex's foot broke through. He jerked it up and shook off water. “We better get out of here.” He turned and headed back.

The ice shifted. Alex stopped and stood completely still.

“Get out!” Mattie yelled.

Luke gingerly headed toward shore. “It's ready to go.”

Alex took another step. His foot broke through again. He stepped back and stood completely still, studying the ice. It creaked and groaned. A crack appeared with a splintering sound. “It's gonna go!”

A fissure widened, and the ice writhed and slanted upwards, tossing Alex into the frigid water. He disappeared, then his hooded head bobbed to the surface and he gasped, grabbing for a handhold. The ice was slick, and he couldn't get a grip to climb out.

The frozen river was moving beneath Luke. He lay on his stomach and crawled toward his friend. “Hang on, Alex, hang on!” He searched for something to hold out. Spotting a limb, he shouted, “Mattie! Throw that to me!”

She quickly climbed down the bank, grabbed the small branch,
and chucked it toward Luke. It landed several feet away, but he cautiously moved across shifting ice, grabbed it, and headed back for his friend.

Alex beat the water with his arms. “I can't get out! I can't make it!”

“Yes, you can! Grab this!” Luke called, sliding the limb toward Alex.

He grabbed for the branch, but his fingers wouldn't close around it. Ice and water swirled around him. He disappeared.

“Alex! Alex!” The native boy reappeared. “Grab hold!” Luke shrieked. “Do it! Now! Forget the cold. Look at me! You can do it!”

Alex's eyes locked with Luke's.

Luke knew he was saying good-bye. “No!” he shrieked. “Live!”

The young native man's arms slapped the water, and he tried to swim toward his friend. A chunk of ice rammed him and he disappeared again.

“Alex! Alex!” Luke searched the water. “Come on! Alex!” His friend was gone. Luke pressed his face to the ice and sobbed.

“Luke, get out of there,” a man called.

Luke looked up to see Tom Jenkins standing at the river's edge.

“Get out, or you'll be next.”

Luke tried to refocus, but all he could see was his friend—dying. It was his fault. He ought to be the one dead.

“Luke! Come on! Get out of there!”

Still on his stomach, he crawled across the moving ice. Tom threw a rope and pulled Luke toward shore and onto the bank. Shivering, Luke pulled his knees to his chest and sat staring at the place where he'd last seen his friend.

Mattie sat beside him crying.

Luke draped an arm around her shoulders and stared at the river. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

“I can't believe he's gone,” Mattie said between sobs. “How could this happen?”

“I shouldn't have gone out on the ice,” Luke said, remembering the day he'd met Alex, his first Alaskan friend.

Tom Jenkins clapped a hand on Luke's shoulder. “I'll take you on home, son. This isn't anyone's fault. Things just happen.”

Luke wished he could believe that. Tom lifted him, but his legs felt as if they didn't belong to his body as he stumbled up the bank. He climbed into Tom's truck and watched as Mattie joined the others searching the river for Alex's body.

As Tom drove away, Luke stared at the distant mountains and wished he'd never come to Alaska.

TAKING LONG STRIDES AND LETTING HER ARMS SWING FREELY AT HER SIDES, Jean headed for town. The June sunshine felt good. She took in fields dotted with yellow buttercups, purple cress, and white starflowers. She couldn't remember feeling this happy in a very long time. A flock of tiny birds skittered away as she approached the fence they rested on. A truck flew by, bouncing over the rough roadway, but Jean didn't slow her steps as she entered town.

Celeste stopped sweeping the mercantile porch and said, “Morning, Mrs. Hasper. How are you?”

“Good. Wonderful, in fact. You?”

“I'm well,” She leaned on the broom. “How's Luke?”

“Still not himself. It'll take him a long while to get over Alex's death, if he ever does.”

“Time will take care of it.”

“I'm sure you're right,” Jean said with a smile, wishing she were confident of that. “Alex's death has added to Luke's cavern of unhappiness.”

Jean stepped into the post office. “Good morning, Mrs. Wilkerson.”

“Hello, there,” the plump woman responded. “You look chipper this morning.”

“I feel chipper. It's a beautiful day.”

The door opened, and Ray Townsend walked in. “Hi, Ray,” she said, feeling slightly flustered. He looked good. His wide shoulders seemed broader than she remembered, and he wore his coat open and his shirt tucked in. His curls were cropped short, and his beard was neatly trimmed. He looked almost refined. If she were meeting him for the first time, she'd never guess he was a mountain man. She wondered if
Celeste had something to do with the change or if another woman had entered his life.

“Howdy,” Ray said. “What are you up to on such a beautiful day?”

“Oh, just mailing a letter to an old friend.” She set the letter on the counter. “You?”

“I'm going to do some fishing. They're running heavy right now.” He leaned on the counter.

“Where you going?”

“To Cook Inlet. I've got a spot I go to a couple times a year.”

“I wish you luck.” Jean glanced out the window. “You have perfect weather.”

“Have you fished in the inlet?”

“No.”

“Then I'd say it's time you did. I'll show you some real fishing.”

“Oh, I don't know. Laurel's waiting for me. She's watching Susie.”

“I'd sure enjoy the company,” Ray pressed.

“It sounds fun, but… well… I thought we were supposed to keep our distance.”

Mrs. Wilkerson dropped the envelope in her mailbag. “I'd go,” she said. “Not that it's any of my business, but…” She smiled and her cheeks rounded. With a shrug, she waddled toward the back of the building.

“It's just fishing. I won't be at the house.”

Jean wanted to go but knew it would only stir up trouble. “I don't know. Luke's still upset over Alex dying and—”

“It's been too long since we've had a good chat. Fishing is the perfect way to catch up.”

Jean wanted to go.
Luke can't run my life,
she decided. “All right. Sounds like fun. If Luke raises a stink, well, too bad.” She chuckled, then looked down at her clothes. “I'll have to change and get some fishing gear. I don't think Laurel will mind watching Susie. And Brian won't be home until this afternoon.” She headed for the door. “When will we be back?”

“Early evening. I've made a good-sized lunch. I've got plenty for both of us.”

With her gear tucked in the back of Ray's pickup, Jean sat beside the big man feeling ready for an adventure. They bounced over the rough
road and slid through muddy ruts as they headed south. She wondered about what she was doing but decided it was time she did something just for herself.

Groves of birch hurried past the window, and Jean remembered the times she and Will had picnicked under the birch at home. Would he care that she was with Ray?
No. He'd want me to have a good time,
she decided.

Jean rested her arm on the open window. Early summer rains had filled the ponds, and water lilies, pond grasses, and heavy bog orchids crowded the pools. Aspen and cottonwood bordered swampy lowlands, and distant mountains stood like broad-shouldered sentinels.

The road followed the inlet's finger called Knik Arm, and Jean breathed in the pungent odor of the mud flats. “I ought to get down here and do some clamming. Jessie's assured me that digging for razor clams is a real adventure.”

“It can be,” Ray said, keeping his eyes on the road. “They're fast, and as soon as they know you're after them, they fly, straight down. You've got to be fast to catch 'em.”

Ray turned off the main road and headed toward the beach. He stopped at a long wharf leading to a cannery. A cannery tender had moored in the bay. Ray's dory was tied to the dock.

He stopped the truck and climbed out, then hurried around to open the door for Jean. “You'll need that coat,” he said, nodding at the jacket she'd left on the seat.

“Oh. Of course,” Jean said, picking it up and draping it over her arm.

Ray closed the door, then grabbed the picnic basket and rain gear out of the back. He handed them to Jean then retrieved the fishing gear. He held out his pole straight in front of him and gazed down the length of it. “Yep. It's a good day for fishing,” he said and headed for the wharf.

Jean followed, no longer enjoying the ocean smells. The air was heavy with the odor of rotting fish. Seabirds swooped over the bay, then spreading their wings, landed on the gray mud where they picked at carcasses littering the cove. Dirty seawater washed around the moorings while a fishing boat unloaded its catch.

“Looks like the fishing's good,” Ray said. “Smells like it too.” He chuckled. “I'd hate to work in a cannery—spending every day in this stink, gutting fish.”

“Sounds awful,” Jean said, stepping onto the dock.

Ray stopped at his battered wooden dory. He stepped in, throwing his arms out as the boat floated away from the wharf. After stowing the gear, he hauled on the rope and pulled himself alongside the dock. Taking the rain gear from Jean, he said, “Never can tell what the weather's going to do.” He took the picnic basket and set it under the middle seat. Straightening, he looked at her. “You ready?” He held out his hand.

Jean took his hand but wondered if she should have stayed in Palmer. She stepped in and the dory wobbled. Climbing around the fishing poles, she sat on a wooden bench and laid her hands in her lap.
How did I go from taking a morning walk to being here?
she wondered as she gazed at the open water.

Ray released the small boat and pushed away from the dock. He started his engine, and it thrummed softly as they headed into the inlet. Keeping a hand on the motor's handle, Ray sat with a straight back and gazed out over the water. With the cannery disappearing into the shoreline haze, he said, “I know a good spot west of here, just beyond the Susitna River. Figured we'd start there.”

Her hands pressed between her knees, Jean studied the landscape. “That's Mt. Susitna, right?” She pointed at a low-lying mountain north of the inlet.

“Yep, and the big mountain beyond is McKinley.” Ray kept his eyes on the water in front of them.

Jean scanned the coastline with its mix of spruce, birch, and alder forests, swamps, and open meadows. Beyond, to the north and east, were mountain ranges. “Seems there are mountains just about everywhere you look.” She rested an arm on the edge of the boat.

“That's true,” Ray said, never taking his eyes off the waves.

Jean settled back. Among the trees along the shore, birds flitted through boughs, busily building nests and squabbling over space.

Finally Ray cut the engine and tossed out an anchor. “This is it.”

“How do you know?”

He smiled incredulously. “I've been coming here for years.” He pointed at the mouth of a river. “That's the Susitna.”

Jean nodded, picked up her pole, and threaded the line.

By the time she was ready for her hook, Ray had his line in the water. “You need a hand?” he asked.

Holding up her pole and line, she said, “It's been a while.”

Ray took the gear and quickly had it ready to go. He took a herring out of a bait bucket and secured it to a large hook. “All set.” He handed the pole to Jean. “Now, let's see what you haul in.”

Jean cast out her line and settled down to wait. Neither spoke as a companionable silence settled over the boat. Soon, with the warmth of the sun and the gentle rocking of the boat, Jean felt sleepy and wished for a comfortable place to nap. Instead she studied the shoreline, gazed at a curious sea lion, and watched hungry seabirds. It was a peaceful setting, and Jean was glad she'd joined Ray.

“So, you come here a lot?” Jean asked, breaking the silence.

“Oh, I'd say half a dozen times during the summer. Usually get enough salmon to last the year. 'Course, I fish the rivers too.” He grinned. “I can count on Celeste to cook what I catch. She takes good care of me.”

“You can be thankful you have a woman to look after you,” Jean said, then wished she could take back the words. An uncomfortable quiet fell over them.

Finally Ray said, “I used to come here with Ellie. She was a good fisherman.” He eased his pole up. “Those were good days.”

Jean nodded, hoping to leave memories alone for a day. She concentrated on her fishing.

Morning drifted into afternoon. The salmon were plentiful; Ray landed four, and Jean caught two. By the time they stopped to eat, clouds skittered across the sky, and a sharp wind cut across the waves, sending spray into the air. “Looks like we're in for some weather,” Jean said as she bit into a venison sandwich.

Ray shoved a peanut butter cookie into his mouth. “We need to head back.” He took a swig of water, then held out the container of cookies. “Try one. I made them.”

“You?” Jean took one. “I never figured you for a cook,” she said, taking a small bite. “Delicious.” She took another bite.

“Don't sound so surprised. When Ellie died, I took over the cooking. I'm pretty good at it, although nowadays Celeste does most of it.”

Jean finished the cookie. For reasons she couldn't explain, knowing Ray cooked made her like him more.