My One Square Inch of Alaska (9781101602850) (33 page)

Soon after, we rolled slowly through the tiny settlement of Northway, but didn’t stop.

We had fifty-five miles to go.

About an hour and a half after we left Northway, a fierce wind began blowing snow across the roadway. I picked my way carefully, slowing to just ten miles an hour, the swirling snow blurring the edge of the road.

But as I came around one curve, I hit a patch of ice. Suddenly, our car was sliding off the road, over the edge of a sharp drop-off, plowing through brush. I slammed on the brakes, which did no good. I braced myself and held my right arm across Will’s chest, as our car and camper careened, finally slamming into a stand of pine trees partway down the steep incline.

My head jolted forward and I hit my lip on the steering wheel. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I gagged,
about to throw up, but swallowed back the bile. I looked over at Will, who wasn’t moving. My arm was still across his chest; Trusty was already half out of the foot well, his paws on Will’s lap, licking at his face.

“Will! Are you all right?”

“Fine.” His voice was soft, tiny. “You?”

The car slid a little. I wasn’t sure how long the small trees would hold the weight of our car and camper. The only reason we were all right was because I’d been driving so slowly to begin with, and we hadn’t slid that far. But with the snow blurring my view, I wasn’t sure how much farther down we might go. I thought quickly,
Get Will out of the car. Get his meds out of the glove compartment
.

“I’m fine,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “But we have to get out of the car. You and Trusty go first.”

“But you—”

“Don’t argue! Just get out! For once, just listen to me.”

He started to open the door. The car skidded a little.

“Open the door slowly,” I said. “Get out carefully. Then run up the hill!” I didn’t want the camper to whiplash around and hit Will.

He did as I asked, easing out of the car. Trusty followed him out. I reached over and popped open the glove compartment. I could hear Will screaming, “Hurry, Donna, hurry!” which made me think the car was barely hanging on to the side of the drop-off, but still, I moved carefully, mindfully, as I first got my purse from the backseat and then pulled the bag of Will’s medicine out of the glove compartment.

Then I struggled to open my door. I realized that the
angle of the car—my door must be facing up—was making it hard. The car slipped a little. I heard the trees creaking from the weight of the car and camper.

I shoved the door as hard as I could, scrambling out as it opened, barely getting my leg out of the way before it slammed shut again. Then I half-crawled, half-ran up the incline to Will and Trusty.

We stared at our car and camper, creaking against the thin stand of pines. Then there was a sharp crack as several of the trees gave way to their weight and our car and camper skittered out of sight, crashing through other brush and small trees. After that, the moan of the wind took over again as the only sound filling the air.

I looked at Will. His eyes were wide and dark, his face pale, his breathing jagged. I knew he was scared about what had just happened, about our situation, but I also knew that he was weak from his illness and the side effects of his medicine.

I clenched the bag of medicine in my hand. At least I’d saved that. I shoved it into my purse, which held the rest of our money in the letter from Mr. Cahill.

Will hugged his deed and atlas to his chest. Trusty stood staring at us.

I guess I had every right, in that moment, to be upset and angry.

But instead, in that cold, terrifying moment after we’d lost our car and camper, I felt a warm peace rise through me. We’d nearly lost our lives—but we hadn’t. We had each other and the few things that were necessary for our survival.

“Come on,” I said. I scrambled up the hillside, sometimes pulling Will to help him over the steepest parts. Trusty crawled up beside us.

Finally, we made it to the top, back to the snow-swept road.

There, a gift awaited us: the fold-down hatch from the back of the camper. It must have bounced open as we went over the side and cracked off in the cold.

Despite everything, I smiled, an idea forming. I knelt down and called to Trusty.

“Go on,” Will said, his teeth chattering. “Go to Donna.”

I pulled the scarf from around my neck, stared into Trusty’s pale blue eyes. Then, slowly, I reached for the dog. For just a second, my terror of the beast came back…but then I let it go, let it sweep away with the wind. Gently, I closed my arms around Trusty’s neck, buried my face in the fur of his scruff, breathed in his deep, musky scent.

“I know you can’t understand me,” I whispered. “But I need to say this. I don’t think Will can walk the rest of the way, and I’m not sure I can carry him. So I need you to help me. Help me help Will.”

Then I gently tied one end of the scarf around Trusty’s body. I tied the other end to a jagged piece of metal sticking out from the broken-off hatch. Will stared at me, then slowly nodded and lay down in the hatch, curling up for warmth against the wind.

I started walking down the road, along the edge against the rising hillside, as far away from the drop-off as possible. Trusty moved forward, beside me, and on the slick road, the lightweight hatch slowly began moving with Trusty’s effort.

Based on how fast we’d been going and how long we’d been driving since leaving Northway, I did a few calculations in my head.

We had four miles to go.

I don’t remember a lot of detail from those four miles. I remember just in snatches—cold, snow, at times helping Trusty pull the makeshift sled, other times pushing it, Trusty howling and howling and howling. I remember spotting a cabin in the distance, wondering if it was a mirage…a truck pulling up to us, Trusty howling some more, then calming…a steady, commanding male voice…coming to a cabin…a calm, soothing female voice…my own voice, trying to explain…getting out of cold clothes into warm ones and a warm bed….

I remember waking up in a haze of warmth, under a thick blanket in a dark room. I remember somehow knowing that we were safe, in the cabin of Ray Martin, a sergeant in the Alaska Territorial Police, just outside of Tok, Alaska—but not knowing how I knew that.

Tok, Alaska!

Somehow, we’d made it the last few miles.

Slowly, stiffly, I got out of the bed, and was struck by the chilliness of the room. I was wearing a thin, too-large nightgown and a pair of socks that weren’t my own. I was confused for just a second, before remembering that our car and everything we’d packed were gone. The nightgown was a loan from Josie, Ray’s wife. Draped over the end of the bed was a robe, which I put on. My and Will’s clothes were folded up neatly on a wooden chair near the door.

I stepped out of the bedroom and into the parlor and took in the scene before me. Will was curled up in a chair in front of the fireplace, napping, Trusty on the floor by his chair. Closer to the fire was another dog, also a husky.

Sergeant Martin and his wife sat at a small table, quietly sharing a meal. The aroma of the food—some kind of stew—was intoxicating. My stomach rumbled.

Mrs. Martin looked up and smiled. “Good evening, Donna!”

I realized I must have slept the night before, after Sergeant Martin found us, and through the whole day. A little flush of shame crept over my face. I’d never slept that long before, never left Will unattended that long. I looked at him, a lurch of worry replacing my hunger pangs.

“Will is fine,” she said. “He’s had dinner. And his medicine.”

I looked back at her. She smiled. “Last night, you told us about his condition and the dosage of medicines that he needs. It was one of the first things you told me when Ray brought you both here.”

Thin, filmy memory washed over me. What else had I told them? Or had Will told them? I wasn’t sure. But suddenly, I felt weary again, and in the next second, washed over by not only the physical warmth in the cabin but by a calm, steady knowledge that we were all right here, and that whatever came next would be all right, too.

Mrs. Martin stood up. “Come to the table. I’ll get you a bowl of stew. Venison. I hope that’s all right.”

Sergeant Martin looked up from his bowl and touched her hand. “Let me get it—”

But she gently, playfully swatted his hand away. “You
worry too much. I’m fine to walk two steps from the table to the stove!”

She turned toward the stove, and I studied the profile of her large belly. She was going to have their baby any day now.

“Venison stew sounds wonderful,” I said, and walked over to the table. By the time I sat down, Mrs. Martin had placed a steaming bowl of stew before me. I breathed in the heavenly scent, and then I started eating, lost in the wild, rich taste of the meat and savory broth, which I sopped up with a chunk of tender bread. Without asking, Sergeant Martin refilled my bowl, and I devoured that, too.

I finally looked up from my meal, feeling a little embarrassed at how much and how quickly I’d eaten, but I’d never been hungrier in my life, or felt so nourished in appeasing my hunger. “That was good,” I said.

Mrs. Martin smiled. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Last night you were too exhausted to eat.”

Sergeant Martin gave me a long, penetrating look. “When I found you, you were carrying your brother piggyback.”

I frowned. “What happened to our sled?”

“You were muttering something about that. But I didn’t see a sled.”

“It was from the back of our camper, the pull-down hatch in the back, which broke off when our car and camper went off the road. I made a sled out of the hatch and my scarf, and Trusty pulled Will for a while.”

Sergeant Martin lifted his eyebrows. “Clever. But I didn’t see a sled. Where did your car and camper go off the road?”

“A few miles outside of Northway.”

He studied me for a long moment. Finally he said, “Do you have any idea how lucky the two of you are?”

“Yes,” I said immediately. And then, “No.”

“I got a call from Molly Donovan in Whitehorse to watch out for you. And your father placed a call to the deed office in Tok, to watch for you. He’d learned from a friend of yours, who I guess was with you part of the way on this crazy journey of yours, that you were headed here.”

Sergeant Martin didn’t seem like Sergeant Striker from the show—all hearty and adventurous and ready to face a challenge in the Alaskan wild, no matter how dangerous. Sergeant Martin was a much more practical man. “Your father was beside himself with worry about you, as he should have been. You could have been attacked by wild animals. Probably the only thing that kept them at bay was your dog, who was howling more fiercely than our Skipper ever has, even when he’s seen bear or wolf. You could have wandered off the road, into wilderness. You could have—”

Mrs. Martin stood, put a hand on her husband’s shoulder. “Ray! But they didn’t. They made it here.”

“Lucky,” Sergeant Martin grumbled. “Foolish—and lucky.”

I looked at him. Lucky? Will was dying. We’d made this trek to fulfill his last wish. “I don’t remember everything I told you,” I said. “My brother—”

Mrs. Martin moved her hand from her husband to me, patting me gently on the back. “You told us, sweetheart.”

Sergeant Martin shook his head. “I understand why you two came here. But I’m sorry. Getting to that land is too hard, too dangerous. Even if I wanted to take you, I can’t leave my wife to go on such a trek. Your father has already
made arrangements for the two of you to fly by bush plane to Fairbanks, and from Fairbanks to Seattle, and take a bus back to Ohio—”

“What? Wait! Have you told Will this?”

Sergeant Martin finally looked away from me. Then he nodded.

I looked over at Will, curled up in the chair, and suddenly knew that he wasn’t resting peacefully and deeply, as I had been. He was curled up in defeat.

I looked back at Sergeant Martin. My voice grew thick and shaky. “We have to see that one square inch of his land before we go back. We have to. He’s dying and this is his last wish, his dream, and I’d rather die myself trying to get him there, than”—suddenly, tears streamed down my face—“than to come this far and disappoint him, and—”

Sergeant Martin shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

My mind raced. Surely there was someone, somewhere in or near Tok who could help us….

“Sol Capputo!” I exclaimed.

Sergeant Martin and his wife suddenly stared at me as if I’d gone mad.

“Back in Whitehorse, Molly Donovan said that once we got here, if we needed help, we should find Sol Capputo. Maybe he knows someone who could get us out to that land—”

“Why, he could get you there himself!” Mrs. Martin said, excitement growing in her voice. “He was a miner and still is a tracker…and didn’t he help that man who came here from the cereal company go see the land before he bought it?”

“Yes, Josie, but he’s also half-crazy! I’ve had to throw him in lockup—”

“Ray!” Mrs. Martin snapped.

I thought I saw just a bit of amusement around the corners of his mouth.

She smiled at him. “They’ve come this far,” she said softly. “Let Sol take them the rest of the way.”

T
he next morning, November 5, 1953, Will, Trusty, and I set out with Mr. Capputo in his old, jittery blue truck. The windows didn’t go up all the way, which helped with breathing in spite of eau de Capputo. I thought he might have last bathed to celebrate the end of World War II.

At the deed office, we learned that all the deeds to the square inches were numbered consecutively. Will’s was lot number 13,532,181, so we’d have to start in the northwest corner of the land, walk east about 7,993 inches, and then south 1,862 inches. The man at the deed office told us that there are 63,360 inches in a mile, so once we got to that northwest corner, we’d walk east about a tenth of a mile, and then a little ways south.

My heart fell. There was no way, I realized, that we could be sure of finding Will’s exact inch. And Will was smart. He had to know that, too, yet there he stood in the deed office, clutching his framed deed, grinning ear to ear.