Authors: Kim Baldwin
*
Karla huddled near the boat’s tiny heater as they sped toward the Rasmussen cabin. Lars’s boat was a well-equipped skiff more than twenty feet long. Fishing rod mounts ringed the open rear half of the vessel. The front half, containing two padded chairs and twin side benches, was protected by a hard top—a rigid metal-and-glass enclosure that shielded its occupants from inclement weather on all sides.
“How’re the nerves?” Lars had to speak up to be heard over the sound of his outboard motor.
“I’m about to jump out of my skin. It seems like months, not days, that I’ve been thinking about meeting Maggie.”
“Well, the time’s come. Just around the next bend. You going to tell her right off the bat you’re her sister?”
“I kind of want to get it over with. What do you think?”
“Play it by ear. See how she is. One thing to think about, it’s getting kind of late, and she’ll have a lot of questions. Don’t want her up all night, she needs her sleep.”
“Good point.” They rounded a curve, and Karla saw a vast black stretch of open water ahead.
“Wild Lake,” Lars announced. “We’re almost there.”
Karla spotted the welcoming beacon of lights from a cabin in the distance now, on the left bank of the massive lake, nestled among the trees a short hike from the shore. The valley was wider here than at Bryson’s place, the tall mountains on either side more than a mile apart. The pitch-black of the forest that surrounded the lake seemed absolute and impenetrable.
“Home, sweet home.” Lars cut the outboard and the skiff came to rest against a pair of log posts that had been set a few feet from the shoreline. Tires had been fixed to the posts to protect the boat, and large metal rings were set on top to secure rope lines fore and aft.
Lars got the skiff squared away, then helped Karla down onto a ramp of rough boards that led to shore. The sleet had turned to snow, fat heavy flakes that clung to her face, but she barely noticed. They stood staring up at the cabin, perched on higher ground a few hundred feet in the distance. Was Lars as nervous and apprehensive as she was? Karla’s heart had become such a runaway jackhammer in her chest she found it difficult to breathe.
She reached into her pocket and palmed the tigereye necklace. It gave her courage. “Let’s do it.”
Her first glimpse of her sister as she came through the door behind Lars was of Maggie in profile. She was sitting in an overstuffed chair, feet propped up on a padded stool and head slightly to the side because she’d obviously fallen asleep while waiting for them. Lars had said he’d left Maggie propped up in bed in a bathrobe, but she must have been determined to greet her new houseguest properly, for she’d dressed in green sweatpants and a sweatshirt, the latter embroidered with Michigan State Spartans. Both garments clearly belonged to Lars, because Maggie had rolled up the cuffs and sleeves, and they were still baggy on her except for the material stretched tight around her extended belly. On her feet, beneath badly swollen ankles, was a pair of thick, fuzzy, pink socks.
Karla registered several facts at once. Maggie’s hair, which cascaded below her shoulders, matched the curly red locks she’d found among her mother’s things. Her forehead was higher than her mother’s, but the nose was the same—long and straight, with a slight upturn at the end.
And she and their mother shared another trait—both were sound sleepers. The door squeaked loudly when Lars shut it, and he spoke in a normal tone of voice when he asked to take her coat and hat and told her to make herself at home. But Maggie didn’t stir until Lars knelt beside her and caressed her arm. “Honey? Mags?”
Karla crossed the room slowly toward them, her gaze fixed on Maggie’s face. She tried to will her hands to stop trembling, and when they refused, she thrust them into the pockets of her jeans. Her palms were slick with sweat but her mouth was dirt dry, and she was having trouble thinking clearly. The whole experience seemed surreal, like she’d stepped onto a movie set. Time seemed to freeze in those few seconds while Maggie came awake.
And then she was looking directly into a pair of eyes with that same unusual color—hazel with tiny gold flecks—that all the women in her family had been born with.
Grandmother, Mother, Maggie, and me. Sounds like a child’s nursery rhyme.
Maggie had the oval face, too. Karla’s breath caught in her throat when Maggie smiled and she saw her mother’s dimpled left cheek. They were definitely sisters.
“Mags, this is Karla Edwards.” Lars was still on his knees beside her. “Karla, I’d like you to meet Margaret June Rasmussen. My Maggie.”
Maggie flashed him a look of annoyed bewilderment, which told Karla he rarely, if ever, introduced her by her full name. Then she turned her full attention back to Karla. “Hi, Karla. Welcome.” She leaned forward and stuck out her hand, and Karla wiped the sweat off her palm as she withdrew hers from her pocket to shake hello. She wanted so much to prolong the contact, but forced herself to keep it brief and casual.
“It’s great to meet you, Maggie.” Her voice sounded several notes higher than normal. Not surprising, she thought, since her throat, like the rest of her, was as tense as a bowstring. “I really appreciate your letting me stay with you.”
“We should be thanking you.” Maggie smiled, showing that dimple again, and rubbed her swollen belly. “I’m getting so close now, it’ll be nice to have someone around who can answer our questions. Oh, we’ve talked to the doctor and the midwife. But we’re always thinking of something we forgot to ask.”
“I’m glad to help in any way I can.” Karla had to force herself not to stare at Maggie for more evidence of their family linkage. She didn’t want her to suspect she was anything but a random visitor, yet. The fact that Maggie had been asleep when they’d arrived convinced her they should keep her news until morning. So she glanced around the cabin instead, taking it in, comparing it to Bryson’s.
It was larger by several feet and similarly constructed, one large room with a kitchen in the corner, a woodstove, and a loft. And like Bryson’s, a large portion of the space was dedicated to the “living room,” with a couch, two chairs, and accompanying tables. But their bed was on the ground floor, tucked into a corner, and they had more modern amenities than Bryson: a stereo, small refrigerator, and stove. Far more electric lights—their pair of kerosene lamps was on a high shelf, as though rarely used. And there was a second door, at the rear of the cabin. It looked far less formidable than the front door and had louvers along the length of it, which indicated it didn’t lead outside.
A bathroom?
The warm, homey touches everywhere gave her some insights into the Rasmussens and their interests. Native Alaskan handcrafts dominated: the rugs, pottery, and masks hanging on two walls fine examples of unique totem art. Several carved ivory figurines stared up at her through a glass dome in the middle of the coffee table, all of them denizens of the north: otters, walrus, polar bear, snowy owl, moose, caribou. Several small framed photographs, mostly of the couple with various nature backgrounds, sat here and there on available surfaces.
Like Bryson, the Rasmussens were evidently avid readers, though they’d devoted about half as much shelf space in their cabin to books, the rest occupied by an extensive CD collection. “You have a lovely home. I didn’t know it was possible to have so many modern conveniences, living so far away from everything.”
“We have to burn a lot of fuel to keep the generator going all the time,” Lars said. “But unlike Bryson, we want to make life up here as easy as we can. Especially now.”
“Speaking of, Lars, can you brew me some chamomile tea?” Maggie asked. “Make yourself comfortable, Karla. What would you like? Tea? Coffee?”
“Chamomile tea sounds wonderful.” Karla settled onto the end of the couch by Maggie’s chair as Lars went to the kitchen.
“Is this your first visit to Alaska?”
Maggie’s voice didn’t betray that anything was amiss, but Karla was watching her so intently, she noticed her small wince of discomfort when she shifted her weight to turn in her direction.
“What’s wrong, Maggie?”
“I’ve started getting cramps in my legs, especially at night.” Maggie grimaced. “They wake me up sometimes.”
“How bad are they? How often do you get them?” While such muscle spasms were not uncommon in the latter stages of pregnancy, they could indicate a blood clot somewhere deep in the body.
“Now and then, maybe one or two a week. They’re not that bad, they go away pretty fast. But it always takes me a while to get back to sleep.”
“I don’t think they’re anything to be concerned about unless they get worse or more frequent.” Karla knelt down beside her. “Where is this one?”
“Left calf.”
“Flex your toes toward your head,” she instructed, as she began to massage the area. “Sometimes an ice pack will help, or heat. And you should make sure you’re drinking plenty of fluids. I can show you some stretching exercises tomorrow you can do before bedtime that might help you sleep through the night.”
“That’s better already.” Maggie leaned back in the chair and sighed. “I think I’ll be really happy you’re staying with us.”
Karla hoped to hell Maggie felt the same when she found out who she really was
.
“Glad I could help.” She returned to the couch as Lars came over with two mugs of tea.
“Told you, Mags.” He leaned down to kiss her forehead as he handed Maggie her mug. “And it gives Karla a nice chance to see some of the real Alaska. I bet Bryson will take her out. Show her around.” He returned to the kitchen for his own mug and sat beside Karla.
The words
Bryson will take her out
conjured up a host of pictures in Karla’s mind, none of which involved hiking in Alaska. Instead, she envisioned them on a real date, laughing together over a nice meal, going to a movie, and ending up naked somewhere. She rubbed her eyes, trying to shake off the images and return her attention to the conversation at hand. She was just exhausted and confused, she told herself, that was all, and seeking some balm for the ego Abby had shattered.
“Oh, that’d be nice,” Maggie was saying. “No one knows the area better. So it
is
your first time here, then?”
“Yes, and it’s certainly been an eye-opening experience so far. So different from home—I live in Atlanta.”
“What made you decide to visit Bettles? And at this time of year. Most folks tend to come during the summer.”
Good question. How could she answer without giving away her real reason? She fumbled for an answer, realizing she was taking longer than she probably should have. “I needed to get away for a while and sort out some recent changes in my life.” She shrugged. “Choosing to come here was kind of an impulse.”
“A lot of people find the wilderness a good place to think things out.” Maggie fought back a yawn. “Lucky for us you picked where you did.”
“Honey, you look exhausted,” Lars said. “Why don’t you let me help you to bed, and I’ll get Karla settled upstairs.”
“I’m not being a very good hostess, I’m afraid.” Maggie frowned apologetically.
“Nonsense.” Karla smiled at her, once again struck by the similarity in their unique eye color. Maggie hadn’t seemed to have noticed. “You’ve been splendid. I’m very grateful for your hospitality. And Lars is right, you should get your rest. We’ll chat some more tomorrow.”
“I look forward to it.” Maggie allowed Lars to support her as she rose and walked unsteadily to their bed.
Karla slept fitfully. The twin bed Lars showed her to in the loft was comfortable enough, but her mind churned for hours, mulling over what she was going to tell Maggie. She had been so warm and welcoming, but would she remain so when she found out her parents had lied to her all her life? Karla certainly knew firsthand how upsetting that could be.
And she couldn’t get over the physical similarities between Maggie and her mom. Finding so many had been bittersweet. Though it was wonderful to see traces of her mother in Maggie’s face, the grief she felt was still so fresh they made her miss her all the more.
What disturbed her sleep the most, however, were the visions of Bryson that invaded her dreams. However briefly, they were able to dispel all the worry and sadness that crowded her waking hours, but they stirred up other feelings that were equally disquieting. How could she feel such longing for a woman she barely knew?
The howling of wolves near the cabin awakened her shortly before dawn, a cacophony of yowls and yipping sounds, like they were on a chase. Karla buried herself beneath the thick comforter. They sounded very close. As anxious as she was to see some of the local scenery, how safe could it be with grizzly bears and wolves and who knew what else lurking about? Perhaps Lars was right. Maybe it was best to have a guide like Bryson along. And maybe spending more time with Bryson would help her sort out why she couldn’t get her out of her mind.
The cabin was still dark when Karla heard the first sounds of movement from below. A light came on in the kitchen, and she was able to see the top of Lars’s head from where she lay. She dressed in the clothes she’d worn the night before and climbed down the ladder to find him brewing a pot of coffee.
“Good morning.” She kept her voice low, because Maggie’s soft snores indicated she was still asleep. “What time is it?”
“Morning to you, too.” Lars yawned and scratched his stubble of blond beard. “Almost nine, and you don’t have to whisper. Maggie can sleep through a tornado. Coffee?”