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“Every
generation thinks it has the answers, and every generation is humbled by
nature.”
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Chapter 3: The Difference
“THE DIFFERENCE between
despair
And
fear, is like the one
Between
the instant of a wreck,
And when the wreck
has been.
The
mind is smooth,—no motion—.”
—Emily Dickinson
***************************************************************************************
Break-up day was sunny, filled with cooking, the energetic arranging of
chairs, tables, and housewares, and the excitement that only a crisp
spring day could provide. The path to the river was trodden over and over.
The children kept a frenzied pace, running back to the visitor center with
hourly reports.
Elu and Steph had decorated the center with ribbons and wreaths
they had made over the long winter nights. Balloons were now a thing of
the past. The card tables grew crowded as more families piled more food
haphazardly. The smell of roasting venison tickled the air, mingling with
the aromas of baking fish and bread.
Ray had decided to take the day off. He sat comfortably in the
center, watching the bustle with amusement. Ilene, worrying over the delay
in the baking, had dragooned the Nelsons into retrieving more wood for the
stoves. Her hair, piled in two neat braids, had slipped during the course
of a frustrated exchange with Elu. Small bits of curls stood edgily away
from her forehead. Ray tipped his chair back, balancing the legs in
midair, and listened. She sounded like a bird, feathers ruffled, chasing
two squirrels around and around her nest.
His contentment was marred only by the fact that he had awakened
alone. Fraser had been there; the warmth of his body had still been
noticeable, seeping into Ray's limbs when he rolled to the other side of
their bed.
Two years since they'd come home from a celebratory bust. Since
Fraser had turned in the middle of Ray's drunken recitation of their
success and pulled him into a hug. And Ray, swept away by the moment, had
responded to Fraser's touch, flowing into the deepening embrace, the
feathering caresses, culminating in the deeper kiss. Ray had allowed
himself to be led into that night, allowed the sensations and emotions to
wash over him and draw him into the velvet darkness. But when he'd
awakened, lying loosely in Fraser's arms, the moment, the sensations, the
emotions were gone. The man beside him was only a man. And because he was
a man, they could go no further.
Because in the world Ray inhabited—the world of Catholic guilt,
overbearing mothers, and family scrutiny, as well as professional
impossibilities—in his world, men loving other men had no place.
Whatever feelings he might have had for Fraser, in his world they had no
place, and with no place he could not give them form or shape or life. In
his world, Ray learned to live within the rules of others.
And so he muttered his apologies, feigned drunken confusion, and
stepped out the door as quickly as he could. And Fraser had let him go.
And that had been the end of the matter. Or so had Ray had thought.
He wasn't sure what Fraser thought. Sometimes he thought he caught
regret in Fraser's eyes. Sometimes when he felt Fraser's arm drape
companionably around his shoulders, or when their hips and elbows brushed
as they maneuvered in their tiny bed, he wondered if Fraser missed
something. If that was why he kept himself further from Ray, inside.
The chair wavered and Ray reached out to steady it. Now that he
thought about it, he realized that Fraser had managed to be somewhere else
for some time. And when they were together, one of them was either asleep
or exhausted. Or responding to another crisis or an urgent request for
something that someone just could not live without. The chair slipped
again and fell forward with a thud. Ray rested his hands on his thighs and
stretched. Well, he didn't have to just sit here. The chair skidded back
and he strode into the kitchen.
The heat washed past him, a blast of disagreement quickly on its
heels. “You don't start the pies now. The temperature has to be much
higher.” Ilene tilted her head back at Elu in frustration. Elu bore a
patient, well‑worn air that threatened to spill into mutiny. She
held an uncooked pie in one hand, a potholder clutched in the other like a
talisman to ward off evil humors. Ray decided his interruption was
perfectly timed. “Hey, Ilene, where's Fraser? He's been up since morning
and I haven't seen him.”
Both women turned, startlement, irritation, and relief flowing
between them almost interchangeably. Ilene finally settled on irritation.
“I haven't seen him. I've been in here since before dawn.” She snipped
out the last sentence and turned back to Elu, opening her mouth to resume
her directions. Elu studiously ignored her and smiled in Ray's direction.
“He and Istas went out early.”
“Doing what?” Ray felt the heat batter against him more
acutely. No wonder they were fighting.
Elu shrugged. Ilene reached out, plucked the pie from her hands,
and marched it back to the counter. Elu followed, her face pursing with
disapproval. “Ilene, we need to start the pies now. Fraser said
break‑up would start by ten.”
Sighing, Ray scuffled back into the main hall. Greg Nelson entered
at the same time, dragging his two sons. Protestations filled the air and
Ray quickly exited through the side door.
Outside, the sun had reached its mid‑mark. Ray scanned the
area, looking for someone who was not caught up in the mindless frenzy.
Was he the only one who thought the idea of designing a celebration around
Fraser's break-up prediction ridiculous? But the square was empty.
Apparently not. Giving in to the inevitable, he started down the path to
the river. The many feet had only deepened the mud, leaving Ray to hop
from side to side for secure footing. The path opened as it curved toward
the river. Near the bend, a crowd stood, gathered in small clumps. The
sloping riverbanks could barely hold the group; almost all of Stewart
Junction seemed to have turned out for the show. Ray noted with approval
that no one had spilled over onto the ice. Using his height, he scanned
for Fraser. Elu's family was there, but Istas was missing. So was Fraser.
He caught sight of Danny and Steph, who waved him over. Winding his
way through the press of bodies, he caught a whiff of alcohol. Even Larry
had managed to make it. Where the hell was Fraser?
He nodded hello to Steph and stood next to her. She held Ussak's
shoulders firmly, her face tight with anticipation. A scattering of flour
rested on her cheek. Danny stood next to her, holding Victor. Both boys
squirmed with embarrassment at being kept so far back. Ray looked
inquiringly at Danny.
“They wanted a closer look at the ice,” his friend answered.
Ussak rotated in Steph's grip in protest. “Did not,” the young boy
said. “We just wanted to stand next to Fraser when he gets here.”
Steph smiled and brushed the hair away from the boy's face. Ussak turned a
dusky shade in embarrassment and fell silent. Me
too, thought Ray, gazing down at the boy.
“Hey, there's Dief.” Victor pointed abruptly, dropping Danny's
hand. Ray caught the younger boy as he surged forward. “Hold on. Look,
he's coming over. No need to rush off.” Victor shrugged him off and
knelt to embrace Diefenbaker. Ussak followed and Ray took advantage of the
distraction to scan again for Fraser.
Danny's voice interrupted him. “He'll be here, Ray.” Ray
glanced over and smiled back reassuringly. “Sure he will. But don't you
think you all are taking this a bit too seriously? I mean, it's just
ice.” Danny shook his head and opened his mouth as if to contradict him.
A loud, explosive crack whipped across Ray's nerves. Instinctively,
he crouched slightly as if seeking cover. The noise repeated and he
shifted his attention to the river. A large crack split the width of the
channel, traveling in a straight line from side to side. Ray stared and
another crack shot a spray of ice particles explosively into the air. The
light passed through the miniscule pieces, turning the spray into a
sparkling curtain. More and more cracks appeared, swiftly creating a web
until the ice dissolved into sound and motion.
The river shimmered, trembling, and then the first chunk broke
free. Smaller pieces slipped under the ice plate, undermining the
stability of the whole. An eerie moaning rose into the air. Ray froze, and
then realized it was the ice groaning as it died. He suddenly realized he
was holding his breath and tried to shake himself free.
A cheer went up as a large mass of ice the size of a truck slipped
past. Piece after piece of ice cascaded into the next, further breaking
the solid surface and shifting the entire body of frozen water slowly
downriver. A chill slithered down Ray's spine. It had happened so quickly.
He could almost feel the ground beneath his feet pick up the rippling,
could sense the footing give way as he fell. He breathed deeply again and
shut his eyes. After a moment he forced them open but the sense of
disorientation remained. He looked to his right, but Danny was clapping,
his wife leaning into him as she excitedly pointed to a large chunk of
river ripping itself apart. The two boys stood on tiptoe, jostling for a
better view. Biting his lip, he wandered through the crowd, the
disconnectedness growing. There was something uncanny about the reverence,
the unity of the awe emanating from the onlookers. It had an almost
primitive air: the natives gathering to worship the ice gods.
Turning his head, he glimpsed Fraser near the treeline at the edge
of the crowd, the same look of veneration flickering on his face. Ray
blinked in confusion, but by then Fraser had noticed his gaze. He smiled
back, a calm and bland mask replacing the unfamiliar expression. The
sudden alteration set Ray's teeth on edge even as it unnerved him. He
didn't know what Fraser was up to, but now wasn't the time or place to
find out. He looked away quickly, finding the river filled with chaos and
destruction. No, this wasn't the time or place, he thought, listening to
the sounds of merriment around him. Besides, Istas was close by. Obviously
they'd just come from another tête‑à‑tête about caribou or
the best method for making stone tools from river rocks. Something shot up
high into the air, glittering in the sun, and the crowd murmured. Then the
chunk of ice came crashing down like a breaching whale. Ray looked again
for Fraser but he was gone, so he turned reluctantly back to the river.
The crowd wandered slowly back toward the settlement. Victor and
Ussak chattered excitedly ahead, repeating endlessly their descriptions of
the size of each ice floe. Echoes of other conversations floated back: the
Nelsons wondering how long it'd take the river to clear, Susan asking
Nodin when they could expect the river to be ready for net fishing. The
unity of opinion irritated Ray. These people were like sheep sometimes. It
was just ice breaking. A spectacular sideshow next to the real thing:
spring was here and he and Fraser could finally get the hell out of here.
He looked sourly around at the crowd as it bunched at the turn. Even Danny
and Steph were stepping blindly along the path with the rest, patiently
waiting hand in hand until Naomi cleared a boggy spot on the trail. Ray
trudged silently behind them all.
As he approached the center, the smell of cooking revived him a
little. By the time he pushed through the doors, the normalcy of the
surroundings lifted his sprits. The milling faces now beamed with
excitement, not blind wonder. The conversations drifted away from the ice:
Spring was here, warmer weather, easier living. Rescue would not be that
far behind.
Ray snagged a plate and joined Danny and his family. Each table
boasted a mismatch of chairs, assembled through donations from every
household. He finished his first helping and headed back to the buffet for
more. As he approached, Fraser suddenly stood up from Istas's table and
strode over to join him. Ray quietly handed the serving spoon to his
partner. He took a moment to observe Fraser more closely. No sign of the
weirdness he'd seen earlier at the river. Fraser just looked tired, tense,
and introspective. Ray picked up the soup ladle and spooned chowder into a
bowl. Some of the soup spilled over his fingers and he shook his hand.
“So where were you this morning?” he asked, licking the fingers
clean.
“I had some things I needed to talk to Istas about.” Fraser
reached out and handed him a napkin. Ray juggled the plate, soup bowl, and
cloth until finally settling into a precarious balance.
“So, like what?” asked Ray as Fraser reached out again,
rescuing a slice of bread that had started to creep over the edge of Ray's
plate.
“We're thinking of getting together a hunting party to shoot
caribou during their migration.” Fraser began loading his plate. Ray
turned his attention back to the buffet, annoyed. The same blankness had
crept over Fraser's face, the slight downward turn of the mouth, the
shielded eyes. Fraser was not being straight with him.
“Why?” he drawled, shrugging his shoulders with just enough
dismissiveness. “Is this another Canadian spring ritual, like watching
chunks of ice floating down a river?”
Fraser's eyes flashed, catching the point, but his blankness held.
“No. Care for some yams?” He held out the serving spoon. Ray looked
down, the soup bowl in one hand and the plate in the other, and then
looked up again. “No, I wouldn't. I hate yams.”
Fraser nodded and put the spoon down. “Ah, yes, I should have
remembered that.”
An awkward silence fell as each man stared at his plate, then back
at the buffet table. Ray smiled pointedly and nodded over to Danny's
table. “So, I hope you'll stick around today. Danny and I have a
surprise ready. Something really interesting.”
Fraser frowned and opened his mouth as if to speak but Ray
interrupted him. “Don't ask what, Fraser. It won't be a surprise if you
ask what it is.”
Fraser shook his head. “It won't be a surprise if you tell me,
Ray, not if I ask.”
Ray grinned sharply. “You're so right, Fraser. But it wouldn't be
fair to spoil it now, would it? Kinda like eating dessert before the main
meal.” He nodded to Fraser and strode back to Danny's table, observing
his partner's confusion with satisfaction.
As the meal wore on, the trips to the food tables slowed. Gauging
the right moment, Ray tapped Danny on the elbow. They rose and sauntered
slowly out of the center. It took only a few minutes to retrieve the radio
and carry it into the center. Jason saw it first and craned to see it
better. As he turned to tug on his mother's arm, Ray put a finger to his
lips and winked. Jason winked back and nodded in head in agreement. Ray
caught Danny's eye and they grinned. You had to know how to handle kids.
After depositing the radio, still covered, on the table, Danny
clambered on his chair and called for attention. The diners, sleepy with
food, ignored him at first, but they soon caught on that someone was
speaking and swiveled their heads. Danny waited until he thought his voice
could be heard clearly.
“Well, thank you. I think.” His face was slightly flushed as he
bounced gently on his chair. Ray steadied it with one hand and removed
Victor's fingers from beneath the blanket with the other.
“Anyway, Ray and I wanted to do something special for
break‑up day. You all remember what happened to the radios this
December?”
Several people sitting nearest to Ray grumbled. The rest waited
expectantly for Danny to make his point. Danny raised his hand, the chair
teetering even more. Ray pressed down harder, hoping he wouldn't fall.
“Well, anyway,” Danny continued, “it wasn't easy. Considering the
fact that neither one of us is an engineer.”
“Hey, Danny. This'd better not be some more moonshine. God knows
what a new batch'll do to us,” Nodin yelled with amusement. His table
laughed and Danny hesitated, turning a brighter red. Ray coughed into his
free hand in amusement.
“No, no. Nothing like that. No, we've managed to pull together
another shortwave radio.”
A loud cheer went up. Several tourist families sitting near the
Nelsons rose en masse and started to head toward them. Jason bounced up
from his seat, nearly tripping over Victor to reach the table first.
“Can I?” he asked, touching the cloth covering the radio.
“Sure, go ahead,” Ray answered, matching the blond boy's
eagerness with a grin. He rose, helping Danny slide back down to the
floor, and then stood on his own chair. By now the press of bodies around
their table was thick, but he wanted to make certain everyone in the
center could hear.
“Hold on, folks. To be fair, we just finished jury-rigging
the radio last night. It works, but we haven't been able to pick up any
signals yet. Please keep in mind that we can't transmit yet. That part we
couldn't fix. Oh, and the antenna—well, the antenna is not the best,”
he said wryly, looking down at the coat hanger they'd twisted for the
purpose. “We haven't even been able to get KOFY.”
“Thank God,” shouted Susan, and several other locals laughed.
KOFY was the only AM station that could reach the settlement. Its unique
blend of weather reports, a call-in show, and bad '70s music made it
universally unpopular. But it had been owned and funded by a retired
millionaire who couldn't be bothered to change.
Ray waited for the laughter to die down. “Well, Susan aside, any
objections to us turning it on and scanning during dessert?”
Several loud voices shouted no. Ray hopped down and nodded to
Danny. He felt a hand tug on his elbow and turned slightly. Fraser leaned
against him, his eyes dark and serious. “Ray, I don't think this is a
good idea.” Ray shrugged off Fraser's touch. “Come on. Just relax.
It'll work. Danny and I tested it last night.” Danny looked up nervously
and nodded in confirmation. Fraser shook his head unhappily, but before he
could add anything more, Greg Nelson shoved his way to the table.
“Come on, Ray. Don't leave us standing here. Turn the damn thing
on.” Murmurs of agreement rippled through the onlookers. Ray raised his
hand for quiet and they complied. Danny plugged his headphones into the
jack and began twisting the dial. Ray could feel Fraser hesitate behind
him, move slightly forward as if in protest, and then move away.
Danny scanned slowly, his mouth pursed in concentration. Steph kept
shushing the three boys and finally threatened to send them outside if
they were not quiet. The adults were more manageable. Although a few
turned away after the first few minutes of static, most kept their eyes on
Danny and Ray.
Danny's fingers nimbly traced each band. With each click, the crowd
grew even more silent. The air felt thick, the smell of food and people
pushing to the back of Ray's throat. He looked around, but the press of
bodies around the table made it hard to see. A few more people moved and
he caught a glimpse of Ilene sitting with her head tilted to the side,
straining to listen. Her disheveled hair fell about her face, framing her
concentration. The crowd shifted and he saw Susan sitting next to her,
eyes wide, mouth slightly open, staring across the room at an empty wall.
Listening. They were all listening. Each twist and only the faint hiss,
the periodic stutter as each band was tested and then discarded. Ray began
to sweat and swore inwardly. He hadn't thought the silence would have such
an effect on them. He looked involuntarily around for Fraser, who had
returned to his seat next to Istas. Ray was struck by the similarity in
the way they leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, eyes fixed on
their empty plates. He swore again and reached for the dial to stop the
scanning.
Danny's hand shot up and Ray's hand froze. Danny had closed his
eyes and was flicking the dial minutely back and forth. A faint hum and
the voice threaded through the air. Tinny, filled with static, it faded a
few times before settling into their ears:
“...the weather today. In more news, we're calling on all
citizens to donate any extra canned goods to the recovery efforts.
Portable tools and warm‑weather clothing are also desperately
needed.” The man's voice raised a quiet cheer, quickly hushed. His
American accent lifted Ray's spirit and he shut his eyes in thanks. “In
other news, another three deserters and their families have been executed
by the Fairbanks Regional Government. This brings the total number of
deserters to thirteen this spring. Citizens are reminded that due to
ongoing quarantine efforts, no entry into or exit from the
Regional
Territory
is permitted. All dissidents will be treated as contaminants and will be
dealt with appropriately. The survival of the Territory cannot be
compromised.” The speaker paused, clearing his throat.
Ray could hear the shock echoing throughout the center. Ilene
covered her mouth, Danny's eyes, dark, met his in confusion. Ray shook his
head fiercely, motioning him to hold the dial steady.
“The Fifth Expedition returned last week, confirming early
reports. No signs of survivors below the 60th parallel. The mortality rate
in areas that did not fall below –15 degrees this winter is estimated at
100%. Further analysis will be necessary to confirm these findings, but it
is expected that the mutation rate in northern climates has been
considerably reduced due to unfavorable climatic conditions. The Fifth
Expedition voluntarily underwent euthanasia last night to reduce the risk
of transmission of any new mutations.”
Debbie Nelson began weeping, a harsh, wet, and raw sound. Ray
stared blankly for a moment, before remembering she had family in
Fairbanks
.
Ray looked back at the radio, noting that Danny's hands had fallen into
his lap. He sat, hunched forward, his eyes brimming. Ray breathed once
deeply, leaned forward over the table, and spun the dial. The harsh squeal
of static filled the room, slicing through the stunned silence, but Danny
remained frozen in place, seemingly unaware of the noise. Ray glanced
around the room. Paralyzed pale faces looked up, away, down, anywhere but
at each other. Tears spilled over Susan's face, tracking their course
painfully into the silence. Naomi bowed her head, her gray hair dull in
the afternoon light. She reached blindly for Susan's hands and they held
each other tightly. Grimly, Ray punched the power button and the radio
stopped squealing. He swallowed, his throat dry and heavy. Dumb. He had
been so dumb. He heard the soft beating of wings in the rafters and forced
himself to turn to meet Fraser's eyes. His partner's face hung pale in the
room, surrounded by darkness, bordered by painful awareness. He
knew, Ray's mind whispered, before the silence broke into a wave of
voices.
Greg Nelson, his face red and square, had the loudest voice:
“See, I told you. We should have left months ago.” His wife clutched
their daughter tightly, the child's terror more a reaction to her mother's
weeping than from any understanding of what had just happened.
“And what?” Susan stood to be heard over Greg's anger, trying
to drown out the other voices. “Move to
Fairbanks
and be slaughtered? Head south and die?”
Greg paled and jumped up, knocking the chair to the floor with a
loud clatter. Susan took an involuntary step backward.
Fraser's broad shoulders blocked Greg, forcing the man to the side.
“People, please,” Fraser said and then bent to retrieve the chair,
placing it in the middle of the aisle. He gently escorted Susan to her
seat and stood behind her, hands resting firmly on her shoulders. Greg
swayed indecisively on the balls of his feet, looking around for support.
He got none. Naomi glared, Ilene shook his head, and Fraser stood quietly,
as if waiting for him to make the next move. He swallowed deeply and
backed up a few steps before turning to walk stiffly to his table. Fraser
dismissed him and turned to scan the crowd, keeping his hands on Susan's
shoulders. As he assessed each in turn, his composure was evident in the
levelness of his gaze, his unflinching expression, and his relaxed
bearing. Ray felt Fraser's gaze rest briefly on him and closed his eyes.
He took a few deep breaths in order to slow his rapid heartbeat. He could
not afford to give into the adrenaline that flooded him like a drug.
Breathing slowly, he heard the quiet ripple through the center, heard the
sounds drop away until he could hear his own breathing and the softer
rustle of Steph's skirts as she shifted in her seat. He opened his eyes
and saw she had raised her hand to speak.
“Fraser?” Her voice started hesitantly, cracked, and then
reformed. “What does it mean? I'm not sure what I heard.”
Fraser opened his mouth as if to answer but two hands shot up in
response to her question. He nodded to Istas first, then to Greg Nelson. He's
handling this like a damn
New
England
town meeting, Ray thought numbly. But since he couldn't think of a
better method to deal with the churning emotions, he kept his mouth
tightly shut.
Istas stood, flicking his braids over his shoulders. He had woven
feathers into his dark hair and his vest had been decorated with
embroidery. His face was marked with a network of sun lines and weathered
by the outdoors. He looked every inch the native spokesman. “Fraser and
I—in the weeks we've been traveling, we've seen no more sign of new
survivors. We even traveled all the way to
Dawson
and saw nothing. Just fire‑damaged houses, dead bodies, and packs of
wild dogs. Not even signs of looting. This makes it three months since the
last group of survivors came in.”
“Well, maybe they're just holed up somewhere. Waiting for better
weather like we are,” Greg boomed. He stood again, waving his hand at
Fraser. “No, wait, Fraser. You said it was my turn next, so let me
speak.” He turned to face the table next to him, and lowered his voice
slightly. “I say we leave now—this week—and head south. We can't
just sit here and wait until these nuts come to find us.”
Istas glanced at Fraser, asking to speak again. Fraser nodded back.
“There's more,” Istas continued. “Not only did we not see any tracks
or sign, but we saw and heard no aircraft. No lights. And when we tried
the radios and phones in
Dawson
,
we heard nothing. By now we should have heard or seen something.” He
nodded to Fraser and sat down again, his face set and unhappy.
Fraser lifted his left hand from Susan's shoulder and called on
himself. “Istas is right. We have to assume we are alone. It's
safest,” he glanced around for emphasis, “to assume we are alone.”
“Except for
Fairbanks
,”
Greg muttered. Fraser's eyes flashed and Greg palely sank back to his
seat. “Except for
Fairbanks
,”
he agreed solemnly.
Silence fell while Stewart Junction absorbed the impact of Fraser's
words. Immediate rescue seemed a distant possibility. A few sniffles
circled the room. Ray lifted his head. Danny was clenching the headset,
threatening to snap the plastic bands. He turned to meet Jason's eyes. The
boy sat trembling, confused and frightened by the adults' weeping.
Something flared inside Ray, a hard, icy sensation. He slid his hand into
the air and followed it until he stood stiffly. Fraser turned to face him,
then parted his lips, sighed, and acknowledged his partner.
“Excuse me.” Ray's voice broke the grim reflections. Danny
jerked his head up and dropped the headset. “Excuse me,” Ray repeated,
gathering a few more strands of attention from the crowd. “Have none of
us thought this is some nut? Sitting in his cabin, stoned out his mind,
drunk as a skunk, whatever? I only heard one voice.”
The tourists next to the Nelsons nodded in agreement. Susan still
looked skeptical. Ray pressed on. “So I suggest we shouldn't panic or
get depressed. We don't know anything for sure. Just one radio
broadcast.” A few more heads nodded. Ilene looked more hopeful. “It's
not like we have to decide anything right now. I suggest that Danny and I
spend some time—a few days—scanning the airwaves. Maybe we can boost
the receiver strength and pick up something further south. Maybe even
Ottawa
or
Calgary
.”
He shot a look over to Fraser, challenging. But Fraser only nodded
slowly back. Istas hesitated, then raised his hand in agreement.
“Ray's right,” Istas said, addressing the entire room. “We
should take the time to sit down and decide our options. But for now, we
still have something to celebrate. We're here. We're alive. And,” he
paused, gathering in the soft murmurs of agreement, “we still have
dessert. Right?” He spoke directly to Ilene, who started in her seat.
She looked up, alarmed, and then recollected herself. “Yes,” she said,
standing up and smoothing back her hair. “We do. Elu, Steph. Would you
join me in cutting the pies?”
Elu rose from her husband's table and circled around toward the
serving tables. Susan faltered and sank back into her chair. Fraser bent
over her shoulder and whispered something into her hair. A weak smile
appeared on her face and she rose, wiping away her tears. A few other
people followed and soon a line had formed for dessert.
Ray watched them go with confusion. A few minutes ago they had been
ready to storm out the door, and now they were peacefully handing out
slices of pie. Calming the crowd had been part of his goal. Nelson had
been on the edge of stampeding them all into a panic.
He blinked and turned to find Danny, but their table was empty. He
looked again and saw that Danny had joined his wife in line. He felt a
dreadful sinking sensation low in his stomach. He knew he had been
manipulated, but as usual, when dealing with Fraser, he could not see how.
Or why. Istas and Fraser were up to something. And if he was the only one
who could still think clearly, then he'd have to deal with it—as usual.
And with Fraser. The ice broke loose in his chest, battering into his
stomach like a lead weight. Grimacing thinly, he shoved his way past the
line and into the open air. When he reached the steps, he nearly tripped
over Larry, sitting slumped in a drunken stupor. He resisted the impulse
to kick at the slobbering face and headed back to their cabin to wait.
Sooner or later Fraser would have to talk to him.
The cabin grew incrementally darker, the evening light shading the
corners until only a dim glimmer fed the small room. Ray lit the lamp and
stove and returned to the cabin's single remaining chair. The second
chair, along with their table, had been donated to the celebration. Ray
picked up the book on radio repair he'd been reading and searched the
index. There had to be some way to boost the reception. Some way to
verify—or discredit—the
Fairbanks
broadcast. He shuffled the pages, his fingers sliding over their surfaces
aimlessly, before snapping the book shut and tossing it to the floor. He
folded his arms and settled into the chair. Fraser,
his mind whispered, and then he blanked all thought and watched the
darkness deepening around him.
He did not look up when the door clicked open. But he heard Fraser
enter, heard him knock off his boots then shuffle across the sill in
moccasined feet. Ray unfolded his arms and leaned forward, gripping the
sides of the chair. The floorboards had been stained several times and the
smooth contours swirled in the dim lamplight. He heard Fraser take a deep
breath and finally looked up.
Fraser met his eyes soberly, his broad shoulders squared, feet
firmly planted. Only the slight tilt of his head to the right, the small
tic underneath his left jaw betrayed him. Ray bared his teeth in a smile
and began.
“Was the pie good?”
Fraser blinked, the tic increasing. “The pie was fine, Ray. You
should have stayed.”
Ray tightened his grip on the chair, his fingers digging into the
wood. He thought he heard a trace of reprimand but refused to be baited.
“I had had enough.”
Silence fell, neither man wanting to give the other an opening. But
Fraser suddenly shifted, clearing his throat, and walked past Ray as if he
hadn't been sitting there all evening. “I see,” Fraser said and
casually knelt to add wood to the stove. It was such a familiar, domestic
act that said, `see, there's nothing wrong here.' But it was the wrong
thing to say.
“No, you don't see,” Ray barked, the rasping sound of his voice
startling them both. “You stand there acting like you know what the hell
you're doing, but you don't see.” He snapped his mouth shut, feeling his
teeth grind together in frustration. He never could talk to Fraser when he
was like this.
Fraser continued kneeling, his back to Ray. The wood seemed to
fascinate him as he carefully examined each chunk.
The pain in Ray's chest returned with full force. He felt cold, his
body shivering as if a chill breeze had swept through the cabin. “So, I
ask myself, why do I have to hear about your little `discovery'
second-hand? You've been back for two days. Even I could see
something was bothering you. But no, I have to learn the hard way.” He
paused, catching his breath.
Fraser angled his head to the left as if listening to some distant
sound, then resumed sorting the wood. “Ray,” he said calmly, “if I'd
known it was so important to you to learn it first, I would have told you
much earlier.” He sounded as though he were discussing the duty roster.
“Well, if you had told me, we could have avoided the whole radio
mess.”
Fraser swiveled away from the stove. “Ray, we had no idea about
Fairbanks
.
How could we? We heard nothing on the
Dawson
radios.” His faint puzzlement, the gentle reprimand in his voice bit
into Ray.
“Hell, you didn't even tell me about
Dawson
!”
Ray exploded. Gesturing with his hands, he knocked over a small vase
sitting on the nightstand and heard it shatter.
Fraser's eyes held his again, too clear for expression; blind, Ray
thought, in the space between the dark and the light. “What did you want
me to say?” Fraser asked, his voice cracking a little, allowing anger
and frustration to seep through. “`Oh, good morning, Ray, just got back
from scouting out the nearest city, and by the way there's nothing there,
there's no help, there's none of that future you've been talking about and
hoping for all winter'?”
“Well, yeah. Why not? Instead I get a lotta bullshit about
caribou migrations, like we're living in the middle of a goddamn nature
documentary!”
Fraser had stopped fiddling with the stove. His expression did not
change, but Ray felt the sudden shift of his thoughts. “Remember what
you said to me once about how the city changes people? The same thing
happens here too. People change, even when times are good. And hope is the
most dangerous thing to use to stay alive here. The wrong kind of hope can
kill you.”
“Fraser, I'm not some little kid. I stopped believing in Santa
Claus a long time ago.” There was something else he wanted to say, and
it hurt to force his voice to say it, but Fraser was so impassive, so
unreachable across the few feet of scuffed boards that separated them.
“You don't trust me.” Fraser winced and his eyes flicked away, though
whether that meant agreement or disappointment, Ray didn't know.
Fraser shook his head minutely and rose to his feet. Ray realized
he had been holding his breath and inhaled deeply. He opened his mouth to
continue, then stopped, his throat hoarse. Fraser stood immobile, his face
smooth and blank. His eyes glittered in the lamplight, taut with pain. Ray
blinked, swallowing the anger that threatened to spill into the space
between them. He heard the sharp intake of breath, a soft gentle sound,
then silence. Fraser stumbled forward only to quickly turn away. His hands
busied themselves with the quilt, folding and refolding the corners
neatly.
“Ray,” Fraser said finally, being very tender, “you know
they're probably dead.”
A helpless terrible despair rose in him. Ray's blood pulsed through
him, then slowed unbearably with the dull pounding of his heart. “I
don't accept that. I know you're probably right, but I don't accept it.
Don't ask me to.” He faced away from Fraser, who had blurred suddenly in
his gaze. He forced his scattered thoughts toward something safe. The feel
of the boards beneath his feet. The smell of wet wool. The sound of
Fraser's breathing.
Looking up, Ray studied his partner, seeing the unspoken tenseness,
the unshed words and emotions. Why did they have to argue? He knew Fraser
cared for him, knew he trusted him, had known it the first time he had
followed this stranger north to the
Yukon
to stand with him against his father's killers. Had known it every day in
the two years they had spent together in
Chicago
.
He'd held to that knowledge the year he'd spent undercover, losing himself
in self-hatred. He'd never questioned his faith in that knowledge.
He'd be damned if he'd start now.
Ray rose and, stepping over the broken vase, reached forward and
tugged at Fraser's right shoulder. “Here. Leave that.” Fraser angled
his head, their eyes meeting briefly before turning away. Ray's heart
contracted, the beating echoing through his chest into the silence. Ray
reached out and smoothed the quilt, his fingers brushing against Fraser's
in passing. “I'm sorry,” he said quietly. Fraser nodded once, then
fell still. His face still carried the careful blankness that he tried to
present to the world. Ray shut his eyes, pressed on. “I don't know why.
But I feel like I am being squeezed. Like everything I know or believe is
being gripped inside me until there's nothing left. And when you leave me
out—when you shut me out—I don't know. It—” He paused, struggling
for words.
Fraser faced him now, his dark eyes expressive and solemn. “It
hurts. I know.” He stood loosely in spite of the tenseness in his
shoulders and mouth. The sadness, the fierceness in his face refused to
fade.
“Ray, sometimes I make mistakes. Sometimes I have to make a
decision. And sometimes it's not the right one.” Ray thought he heard a
plea for understanding, and beneath it all, an undercurrent of fear.
Fraser's simple declaration brushed the last of his anger aside. Fraser
was no superman, no matter what the rest of the world pretended. Besides,
it was only a small thing. It wasn't as if Fraser had deliberately
withheld important information. Ray had. Or misdirected him. Ray had. So
Fraser hadn't told him he'd suspected that help might be a long time
coming. Not the end of the world.
He reached out and patted Fraser's shoulder, forcing a smile. “I
know. And ditto.”
Ray looked closely at Fraser. His face was still unhappy. Ray
hesitated, puzzled, troubled by what Fraser did not say, but then the
Mountie sighed, his face loosening, and Fraser knelt to pass his hands
over the shards of the vase. “I can repair the vase,” he announced
simply.
There was a question in the words, Ray realized; he tried to answer
it, but found only confusion.
“I wouldn't bother, Fraser. It's not like we have a lot of
opportunity for flowers out here.” Ray, ever practical, didn't point out
that they would be long gone before the brief flower season had even
started.
“Hhhm,” was all Fraser replied, holding a largish piece up
against two smaller shards. “It's like a puzzle. Each piece has to fit
against the right one or the vase will never be watertight again.” He
stood, carrying the bits over to the table and laying them out in a neat
row.
Ray nodded, still confused. “Look, Fraser, I really am sorry
about the radio thing.”
Fraser finished sorting the pieces. The mask of his smile frayed to
reveal a bitter weariness. “I know you and Danny had no idea, but it
will take time for people to recover.”
Ray winced at the criticism. “Yeah, I know.” He sat down
slowly, suddenly tired beyond words.
Later, as he lay next to Fraser in their bed, he listened to the
evening sounds filtering through the cabin walls. The hypnotic crackling
of the wood in the stove, the whine of the wind through the cracks, the
distant rustle of the spruces in the night should have lulled him past any
residual awkwardness into sleep. But Ray strained for those other sounds
he kept missing: the rattle of the El, the whine of the police sirens, all
counterpoints to the soft insomniac tread of his mother as she passed by
his door. And when he finally slept, Ray's dreams were filled with dark
figures and sharp teeth and an uneasy howling.
On
To Chapter Four
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