‘Tomorrow night?”
“Tonight’s flight was booked. It’s probably just as well, since it would’ve been tough getting you back to Anchorage in time. I’m afraid you’ll have to hang around an extra day. We’ll leave first thing tomorrow.”
“We?”
“You and I.”
Laura raised her eyebrows. “You’re driving me back to Anchorage?”
“I don’t know how else you’d get there. There are no taxis on the Kenai Peninsula. Taxidermists, yes . . .”
She didn’t laugh. “Why would you go to all that trouble?”
Dr. Woodward shrugged. “As I said, there’s no other way to get you to the airport. Besides, as the director of this project, it’s my responsibility to get you back.”
“I’m sorry you’ll have to lose all that time.”
His face was expressionless. “Me, too.
“Well, guess I’d better get out there. I promised Elsie we’d all help feed the baby moose this morning before we head out to the lake. Payback for letting us use the cabin.” Heading toward the door, he glanced over his shoulder. “Want to come?”
‘Thanks. I’ll pass.”
The solitude of the cabin was oddly disconcerting. Laura reminded herself that she hadn’t been alone since Claire had picked her up to take her to the airport, more than forty-eight hours earlier. Sipping her coffee and appreciating the feeling of a stomach full of readily recognizable foods, she leaned back in her chair to listen. What she heard was something remarkable: silence. There were no cars, no lawn mowers, no barking dogs. Complete quiet surrounded her, broken only by the occasional rustling of leaves or the call of a loon. She’d never experienced this kind of peacefulness before.
Coffee cup in hand, she wandered outside. The sun was a pale circle hanging low in the blue-gray summer sky. The dense growth of leaves on the trees that enveloped the cabin, a vibrant shade of green, gave off a rich, fresh smell. She could also smell the dark soil of the forest floor beneath her feet. Laura lowered herself onto the edge of the porch, breathing deeply. Never before had air this clean, this crisp, entered her lungs. She inhaled greedily.
When she heard voices, she was annoyed at the intrusion. Still, she couldn’t help being curious. She crossed the rocky path, noticing the scattering of wildflowers on both sides, violet and yellow and tiny clusters of white.
As she came to a clearing she found Dr. Woodward, the caretaker Elsie, Sandy, and the other two World Watch volunteers. They stood beneath a makeshift canopy, sheets of blue plastic propped up with wooden sticks like a tent in an Arabian bazaar. They were bottle-feeding a half dozen baby moose, acting as if they were having the time of their lives. The animals, gangly and wide-eyed, sucked eagerly, stepping all over each other and the feet of their meal tickets in their desperation to eat.
Dr. Woodward glanced up, immediately breaking into a wide grin. “Cute little guys, aren’t they?”
Something about him reminded Laura of Evan. His boyish glee, no doubt, the unabashed pleasure he took in this simple yet wonderful task.
“Yes,” she admitted, “they are.”
“Want to help?”
“No, I don’t think—”
“Come on, pick up a bottle. Shakespeare here is almost done with this one. Knowing him, he’ll be more than ready for another round.”
“Well, I—” Laura hesitated, suddenly self-conscious. Yet she could see that the moose Dr. Woodward was feeding was nearly devouring the bottle itself in an effort to get more food. Awkwardly she reached for one of the bottles standing in a cardboard box on the ground and handed it to Dr. Woodward.
“You do it,” he insisted gently.
She didn’t have much choice. Shakespeare had already spotted his second helping of Purina Moose Chow or whatever the
soupe du jour
was here at the preserve. He stepped over to Laura and clasped his mouth around the nipple.
“Wow! He’s strong!”
Dr. Woodward laughed. “I’d hold on to that bottle, if I were you. Shakespeare isn’t the type to take kindly to interruptions.”
The baby moose grunted and slurped as he drank. Still shy around the animal, Laura reached over and cautiously stroked his head. “He’s so bony. I expected him to be soft.” Moving her fingers over his long ears, comically jutting out at two different angles, she found that parts of Shakespeare were reminiscent of a big stuffed animal, after all. “How old is he?”
“Four weeks.”
“Was he born here?”
“Up on the Yukon. A team from the preserve went out in planes and picked up one moose in each set of twins it spotted. They were brought here so the people at the preserve could try out an experimental diet.”
“Shakespeare seems to like their cooking.” Feeling braver, she ran her hand along the soft fur of his neck. “Isn’t it mean to separate a baby moose from its mother?”
Dr. Woodward shook his head. “When a mother moose gives birth to twins, one of her babies will die. She can only feed one. All the moose you see here have a twin somewhere. That short airplane ride, terrifying as it was, was their only chance for survival.”
“They seem to be doing more than surviving. They look like they’re thriving.”
“Yup, they’re a pretty hardy lot,” Dr. Woodward agreed. “I guess this secret formula’s doing the trick.”
“It must be really fascinating to be involved in something like—” Laura stopped herself. She could feel her cheeks reddening.
“Looks like Shakespeare’s all done,” Dr. Woodward said, ignoring her comment. “Sure, he’d be willing to go for three, but that’s not what’s on the menu today. Here, I’ll take that empty bottle.”
“So we’re finished?” Laura was surprised by the disappointment in her own voice.
“That’s it. Too bad you won’t be here tomorrow. Shakespeare’s taken a real shine to you.”
Dr. Woodward had already moved away, joining the rest of the party gathering up the empty baby bottles and tossing them back into the cardboard cartons. Laura paused, watching from the sidelines for another minute or two before she finally stepped away and retreated to the cabin, alone.
* * * *
Night fell gently, lazily creeping across the sky, gradually dimming the indefatigable daylight. Lying in her loft bed that night, gazing out the window as sleep eluded her, Laura watched the darkness come. It was after midnight, she knew; it had to be for the sun to take a break. That meant she’d been lying there for more than two hours.
At first, she’d been hiding, avoiding the others. They came in from a long day’s work on the lake, setting traps and hauling in fish, then bottling up the day’s catch to be shipped back to Dr. Woodward’s lab.
Grueling, thankless work, Laura thought. She could hear them chatting in stage whispers as they passed below her, getting ready for bed. I’m glad I opted out.
Even so, once the cabin was quiet, with all the World Watchers snuggled up in their beds—or at least their sleeping bags—she still couldn’t fall asleep. She’d thought she was exhausted, tuckered out from a long day trying to keep herself occupied. But something was nagging at her. It was the feeling she’d had earlier that day when a moose named Shakespeare had sucked greedily at the bottle she held in her hand. For me first time in her life she saw herself as simply one more element of the natural world. As corny as she felt for even thinking it, she was related to that silly moose with the crooked ears and the knobby knees.
Suddenly her own problems seemed very far away— and very trivial. For the first time in nine months the fact that she was in the middle of a divorce wasn’t what mattered most. There really was life beyond, she realized. Not everything revolved around the fact that her situation in life was shifting—or, more accurately, undergoing an earthquake. The turmoil
would
die down. A new equilibrium would be reached. Sooner or later the roller-coaster ride really would come to an end. And as difficult as it was for her to admit it, she had Alaska to thank for this newfound ability to put things into a more reasonable perspective.
Climbing down the ladder, out of the loft, Laura was careful not to wake the others. Solitude had already become comfortable. Having acknowledged her restlessness, accepting the fact that sleep wasn’t going to come, she was anxious to head outdoors. Here in Alaska, she had yet to experience the night.
She started when she opened the cabin door and saw the shadowy outline of a large form. Bear, was her first thought. But bears didn’t perch on the edge of a porch, staring out at the night.
“Dr. Woodward?” she called softly.
“Hello, Laura.” He didn’t sound at all surprised.
“I didn’t know anyone else was awake.”
“Can’t sleep?”
Laura shook her head.
“You sure it’s not Sandy’s snoring that’s keeping you awake?”
“I don’t know what it is. I thought I was exhausted.”
“The beauty of this place is starting to get to you.” Dr. Woodward lapsed into silence. His eyes were raised toward the horizon. Laura sat down a few feet away from him, gazing in the same direction. She was already growing accustomed to the darkness. Off in the distance, she could see jagged mountain peaks topped with snow, cutting across a dark sky that seemed to go on forever.
Her companion glanced over in her direction. “It’s magical, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I guess it is,” Laura agreed. “You know, Dr. Woodward—”
“Cam. I think it’s about time, don’t you?”
“Okay, then. Cam.” Her sudden wave of self-consciousness passed quickly. “I was going to say that it’s funny how being in a place like this, where everything exists on such a grand scale, is helping me put things in perspective.” Shaking her head slowly, she added, “It’s all happening exactly the way my friends said it would.”
“Your friends?”
Laura nodded. “They were hoping that coming up here for a couple of weeks would help me put some of the emotional chaos of my divorce behind me.”
“You’re getting divorced?”
“Smack in the middle of one.”
“I wish you the best. I went through all that myself recently.”
“You?”
He cast her an odd look. “World Watch leaders do have a persona] life, you know.”
“Oh, I didn’t... I wasn’t ... It’s just that you seem so
solid.”
“What does that have to do with getting a divorce?”
“Nothing, I suppose. But up until now, I’ve been imagining you as someone who had his life entirely under control. I mean, you are a scientist, after all. Someone who deals in facts, not emotions. Your life should be orderly.”
“It is. At least, as much as is possible with three kids.”
“Three?”
“Last time I counted. How about you?”
“One. A boy, eight.”
“How’s he handling it?”
“Okay, I think. Most of the time, anyway.”
“Guess you’ll be glad to get back to him.”
“He’s at sleep-away camp for another few weeks.”
“Well, then, I guess you’ll be glad to get back to whatever’s waiting for you. Which reminds me. We’ll be leaving in just a few hours. Probably be a good idea to get a few hours sleep.”
A long silence followed. Laura’s heart was pounding as inside her there raged a debate as heated as any she’d ever had with herself. “Cam?” she finally said.
“Ummm?”
“I think I want to stay.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. And I think I owe you an apology. We got off to a bad start. It’s important to me that you know I’m not usually like that.”
She held her breath, expecting a barrage of recriminations. Instead, Cam Woodward nodded. “Divorce can do funny things to people.”
“Yes,” she agreed, raising her eyes to the lake once again, its smooth surface reflecting the moon as clearly as a mirror. “But I’m hoping some of it’s finally behind me.”
* * * *
Over the next few days Alaska underwent a dramatic transformation in Laura’s eyes. Slowly, cautiously, she allowed herself to look at her surroundings differently. Before, it had been a forbidding place where danger and discomfort lurked behind every tree, bush, and outhouse. But once she let down her guard, she began to see it was a glorious wonderland.
Trees were no longer simply trees, but proof that the world had been around for a very long time—while she was merely a short-term visitor here, one who’d do best to take advantage of a limited-time-only stay. The wildflowers vainly sunning themselves, standing tall and proud as if saying, “Look at me!” reminded her that good things could be found anywhere, if only she was willing to look. And the sheer size of everything that surrounded her, mountains and glaciers and valleys bigger than anything she’d ever imagined, assured her that in the grand scheme of things, her own problems, her ruminations about lost wedding rings and fine china and even moving on from one chapter of her life to the next, loomed large only in her own mind. She never left the cabin without her camera, determined to capture on film whatever small piece of the place’s power she could.
In this environment she discovered a brand-new skill: the ability to let go. Laura found herself able to enjoy even the simplest things in a way she never had before. Bacon-and-egg breakfasts were just the beginning. The sensual side of her had been awakened. She luxuriated in the feeling of a cool breeze on her skin as she labored in the sun, freeing fish from their traps and packing them up to be shipped home. She took the time to sniff the air, never ceasing to appreciate the fragrance of the forest. She paused to pay attention to the subtlest sounds: the call of a bird, the chirping of an insect, the lapping of the lake against the shore.
She’d also come to value the people around her. The other members of World Watch, she discovered, were actually quite fascinating. Marion Slesinger, a retired librarian from Tacoma, could do things with Spam that would have impressed the Cordon Bleu. She’d traveled all over the world, doing offbeat things like climbing the Himalayas and boating up the Amazon. Hal Bottoms, an accountant, was so good at organizing information that Cam bestowed upon him the honor of keeping the daily log. Sandy North, the woman with the overly enthusiastic nasal passages, had yet to decide what she wanted to be when she grew up, even though she was pushing fifty. But her tales of the variety of jobs she’d held, related with the finesse of a stand-up comic, kept everyone in stitches. For the first time in her life Laura was a member of a cohesive group of energetic souls, committed to doing something that mattered.