An Island Between Two Shores (2 page)

Hearing the men again in frantic conversation, Liana stepped back from the gully so as not to be seen and scanned the vast plain. She shouldered her gear and followed the trail through the meadow. She knew that as soon as the men reached the top of the gully she would be exposed and they would have a clear shot at her. Hopefully they would fear her shots and stay hidden long enough for her to get down the trail. There was nowhere to hide and her telltale tracks through the snow would lead them wherever she went.

Resolve imbued her with strength, and she ran across the frozen meadow on fresh legs. The day had advanced to mid afternoon and the pale sunlight left no shadows on the crisp snow. Liana knew that she would be vulnerable on the plain and ran an aggressive pace through the light snow. Her rifle bounced on her shoulder and her mouth felt gummy with saliva.

She was halfway across the enormous meadow when the two men crested the gully. They had slowed their progress in fear of an ambush from above. In the distance they could see Liana running across the open plain. She was almost a third of the way across the meadow and the two men had just reached the edge of the stretch. She was out of range of their rifles, but they knew they had her trapped. The river on the other side of the plain was impassable. If they could keep her in the open, they could track her to the river, where she would be trapped.

The plain was tabletop flat. During the summers, Larkspur, Jacob’s ladder, and Monkshood were everywhere. Sometimes Henry and Liana would picnic there. They would spread a blanket and eat biscuits smothered with blueberry jam, made with berries she collected each August on the plain. They would kindle a small fire and brew a pot of black coffee. Then they would lie on their backs and watch the clouds cross above them, usually cresting the mountains to the east and tracking to the northwest. For sweet, lazy hours, Henry would tell her Indian stories that had been passed down by his people. These afternoons were the happiest times of Liana’s life.

Liana stopped momentarily at the stone hunting blind and saw the footprints left by the caribou. She scampered on top of the boulder she had hid behind earlier in the day and could see the men following doggedly. Liana looked in the distance but couldn’t see the caribou. She glanced at the alpine ridges that flanked the plain and considered climbing higher but knew the men could easily follow her tracks and close in on her. Then she remembered the canoe Henry had stashed on the pebble beach near the river for the winter. She could follow the blazes on the other side of the river and escape. With renewed vigor, Liana picked up her pace.

As she ran, Liana considered that if the men knew she was running for the canoe, they could position themselves on the bluff over the river and simply pick her off. She couldn’t cross in daylight and night was still a few hours away. She would have to hide, but they could track her wherever she went. Beyond the tree line, she stood as exposed as the caribou.

Liana thought about all the hunting stories Henry had told her during the long winter nights. As she ran, her mind raced for a way to hide. “Henry!” she muttered in frustration. “What do I do now? Help me!” She knew she was exposed in the wide open plain and kept her pace strong, but she feared she was running into a trap.

As she sprinted over the frozen meadow she remembered Henry and the near-perfect life she was now being forced to abandon. Henry was dead. Everything was finished. Liana felt a pain in her chest but didn’t allow herself to slow down; she knew that she had to get as much distance from the men as possible before reaching the other side of the plain.

Henry always cautioned Liana not to rush things. “Take your time. Be sure of everything.” was his counsel. Liana remembered these astute words and was comforted by them. She pushed her hair from her forehead and thought about Cody. Not in her darkest dreams could she ever have imagined Cody would have Henry shot. “Cody grubstaked Papa on his claim,” she thought. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

Liana paused momentarily to turn and look back. The men were walking fast and had already covered almost half a mile of the plain, seemingly without breaking into so much as a jog. They were moving single file along Liana’s trail and would be closing in more quickly than she anticipated. She knew these men would kill her without hesitation. But Liana had more than a mile on them now and if she kept up her pace she might be able to extend the lead by more than two miles before reaching the river valley. Liana turned and started running again, slightly faster than before. Her feet were wet from the snow and her boots weighed enough that her calf muscles cried out in exhaustion.

When Liana finally reached the valley, the forest was a welcome relief. She could see the blaze marking the way to the canoe but she knew the men could as well. “It’s a well-known crossing,” she thought. “Besides, they’re too close for me to paddle across the river without being shot.” Liana felt trapped. The only way out was to go downhill to the river. She looked at the men one last time and could see one of them walking away from the other toward a bluff above the river. “They must know about the canoe,” she whispered over her panting breath. “The snare is set.”

Liana took a chunk of brown sugar from her pocket, popped it into her mouth, and started to run. She dropped into the valley with its tall spruce and pine trees. Every fifty feet was Henry’s blaze, a tidy bright axe cut oozing bright sap. Liana jumped from rock to rock. To steady herself, she grabbed saplings and bushes as best she could and carefully followed the trail. Her descent was haphazard and she sensed the hopelessness of her task. The trail seemed too brief and soon she could hear the gentle hush of the river. A little farther down the trail, she got her first glimpse of steely grey water through the snow-covered branches. This sight gave her pause. Cody’s men would close in soon.

As Liana climbed over a small ridge, an opening in the side of the hill caught her eye. “It must be a bear den,” she thought. She had travelled this trail with Henry a month earlier while fishing for salmon and had not noticed the den. “That’s something Henry wouldn’t have missed. It must be fresh,” Liana considered.

She walked down the trail about a hundred yards then stopped and followed her tracks, walking backwards in her steps. She carefully stepped backward into her footprints until she reached the entrance to the den. It appeared as though her tracks ended, a ruse she knew would fool the men only momentarily. Liana peered into the dim opening but could see nothing. She turned her head and listened for the breathing of a slumbering bear but did not hear anything. Looking up the trail and fearing the men were going to appear at anytime, she lifted her leg into the bear den and then carefully crawled into its narrow mouth.

Poised to flee, she paused momentarily and listened to make sure the den was empty. Still hearing nothing, Liana slid inside and scrambled her legs back from the entrance into the darkness. Lying on her side in the dim, earthy interior, she slowly cocked her rifle and waited for her enemy. She lay motionless for what seemed like an eternity. She wondered if the men had already discovered her game and were positioning themselves to easily kill her by shooting into the den. Then she heard it: a gentle sigh. With her left hand she carefully felt the ground behind her. There was a small rise to a higher platform. To her horror, she could smell its dense musk and feel the damp warmth of its massive presence. Now she could hear its deep, rhythmic breathing. Within a few feet of her was a grizzly bear, deep in the sleep of winter. Liana’s head swam with the complexities of this new and dangerous situation. Momentarily she forgot about the men who hunted her.

She remembered Henry telling her that unlike black bears, grizzlies don’t hibernate but merely sleep. Periodically they wake in the winter and occasionally attack people. Those that did were called Winter Bears and scared everybody with their bloodthirstiness. Henry never hunted bears, but he told Liana stories about how his people woke dening bears and when the beasts charged, ran them through with long spears anchored into the crook of a tree root. Liana hoped this one was in a very deep sleep. She stayed frozen still and held her breath, her heart pounding in her ears.

The entrance of the den seemed bright and Liana waited for the men to pass in front. It took several minutes before she heard a stick break and could see a man’s dark jacket pass a few feet in front of the den. Dark, curly hair dangled from under a black leather hat. She watched him walk to the end of her trail where her tracks vanished. In confusion he turned to face back up the trail. The man shouted into the forest “Come out, come out, wherever you are” and then raised the muzzle of his rifle into the air and fired a single shot. A deafening ring and flash of light filled the den. Musky air enveloped Liana as the enormous bear pushed past her as if she didn’t exist and escaped, half-dozing, from the den. Liana was thrown to the ridge outside the cave by the charging bear. Liana rolled forward several times down the steep hill and inadvertently dropped her rifle in the snow. She tumbled down the hill trying to get away from the rampaging bear as quickly as possible.

The confused bear raced at the man. Startled, he froze at the sight of the enormous bruin bearing down on him. Before he could get off a shot, the grizzly was on him. The man shrieked in horror as the bear knocked him onto his back and with a single swipe of its enormous paw swept the man’s jaw from his face. Now wide awake, the bear roared as it ripped into the man’s neck. Blood pulsing from his throat.

When Liana stopped rolling, she was thirty feet away from the den and only ten feet from the bear. The grizzly was studying her. Its broad face dripped with blood, and its tiny eyes looked as confused and shocked as Liana’s. Shaking its head, it snarled and again tore into the man. Liana backed downhill toward the canoe. The bear, distracted by the warm body in its jaws, ignored Liana’s escape. She tumbled the final distance down the slippery hill to the river.

At the bottom of the hill she could see the red canoe resting in the crux of an aspen tree. It would be dark soon. She could launch the canoe under the cover of night and escape the man on the bluff. In preparation, Liana flipped the canoe to conceal its red hull from above and slid it close to the river. She laid the paddle in the canoe and examined the distant shore. It was a large river and the current would wash her downstream. She thought about her options. She didn’t know anything about the river and assumed it didn’t have any rapids. Maybe she could race the man back to Dawson City by paddling down the river. She could easily beat a man on horseback by a day or so. “Cody won’t know what hit him if I got to town first,” she thought.

Liana trudged upstream along the snow-covered gravel beach, her feet wet, heavy, and cold. She kept close to a low-cut bank to stay out of sight of the high bluff. Aside from the spot where they fished for salmon, there wasn’t anything on that side of the river that seemed familiar. She couldn’t see very far but knew the man could draw a bead on her from anywhere. She imagined he waited for his opportunity somewhere out of sight. Liana scanned the far side of the river looking for a miracle but found nothing. Shivering with exhaustion and grief, Liana felt as helpless as a rabbit dangling in a snare.

She climbed onto the ice on a bend of the river and walked along the river partially concealed by the vegetation that bordered the beach. Since the ice wasn’t covered in snow, Liana felt comforted that she wasn’t leaving tracks.

A short distance upstream, she noticed a cavern created by the river undercutting the bank. The tree that had been felled by the erosion of the river was long gone and she knew she had found her sanctuary. Liana climbed into the tiny grotto and pulled her legs to her chest to hide in the shadows. She tried to catch her breath and sucked air through her clenched teeth. Liana wondered if the man would be able to follow her tracks over the ice. At that moment, the silence was shattered by a rifle blast and a shriek from the bear. Another blast roared through the valley before the forest went silent.

Liana considered running again but knew her motion would be noticeable and the man would be able to snipe her from the hillside above. A few moments later she saw the darkened silhouette of the man following her trail up the river. Her pursuer stepped onto the ice sheet bordering the river. Liana pulled her legs tightly against her chest and drew herself as far into the undercut as she could. She heard—but did not see—the jagged fracture rip through the ice under the man’s weight; he slid helplessly into the water with a large splash. Peaking her head around, Liana watched as the man reached an arm out of the river in a desperate attempt to climb onto the ice sheet. His face spluttered to the surface and he tried to bounce off the bottom and onto the ice. The current resisted these efforts and the man was dragged downstream. His struggles for breath were muffled as he drifted away.

The forest was silent once again. Liana stared at the darkening forest in disbelief as daylight slowly faded.

O
nce night fell, Liana warily pushed Henry’s canoe over the ice and into the river with barely a sound. Since the moon hadn’t risen, the river was pitch black and Liana felt the current turn the canoe to face downstream as soon as she stepped on board. She wasn’t sure if another man waited on the bluff, so she only took a couple of strokes to get into the current and away from the ice along the shore. She gently placed the paddle into the canoe and cowered on the floor of the boat. Liana held her breath and watched for any sign of motion as she let the river whisk her downstream past the bluff. She expected the flash of gunpowder at any moment. After she passed the bluff, she sighed in relief and sat up in the canoe. She picked up the paddle and took several hesitant strokes.

To be safe, Liana kept the canoe in the middle of the river and away from an easy shot from shore. When the moon rose she would be able to see the great forest on either side of the river and could position the canoe closer to the far shore. The twilight path of rushing water swept her through the maze of the shadowy forest. Her thoughts frequently returned to Henry and their burning home. Hatred for Cody seethed inside her. Her ears felt hot whenever she thought about him. It was a long night and only these thoughts occupied her mind.

She had a vague idea where she was and hoped the river wouldn’t meander too much and would take her to town as quickly as possible. Eventually the moon set behind the mountains and the corduroy texture of the alpine ridges filled with the luster of morning. Her rhythmic paddling kept her warm and the daylight made Liana feel renewed. So far she had seen no sign of pursuit and knew she was far enough away from her pursuers that she wouldn’t be ambushed now.

Liana climbed over a thwart to the middle of the canoe and sat on the floor. She lowered herself backward and laid on the bottom of the boat. The morning sky was pale and only a few wispy clouds floated overhead. Liana closed her eyes for a few minutes and basked in the muted warmth of the sun. Her deep exhaustion and hunger washed over her like a wave, but the gentle tug of the current kept her from resting.

Liana sat up after a few minutes and looked around to ensure she wasn’t too close to shore. She was surprised by how far she had drifted with the current. The brusque, wintry breeze and the moist air over the river sandpapered her face and hands; she felt raw.

Liana always thought of Henry as an old man, but now she remembered him moving through the forest as spryly as a teen. His face was lined, but his crooked smile was ever accessible and warm. His blood in the snow and the acrid smoke from their burning cabin crowded her thoughts. Liana felt sorry for herself, if only for a moment.

Her hands were blue-white from gripping the paddle and from time to time she placed them under her armpits to try to warm them enough to grip the paddle again. Her hands tingled as they slowly thawed. Her stomach groaned and she felt weak in the stark, looming landscape. Drifting in the current made her feel depressed and she tried not to dwell on sad thoughts. She picked up her paddle and felt her stomach stretch as she dug into the stroke.

Liana looked at the shore and tried to figure out how quickly she was traveling. She knew she always walked a pace of at least three miles per hour, and it appeared she was easily traveling twice that speed. She felt impatient with canoeing and wanted to get to town as quickly as possible. Without provisions, a tent, or bedroll, she felt exposed. Henry was dead and it was her fault. He had been her father’s friend and was trying to help her. For several hours, Liana pushed herself to dig her paddle into the coppery river again and again. Her arms and back were exhausted and tight. Her determination gave her a break from thinking about Henry, but her energy was starting to wane.

“At higher water this river must really move,” she thought as she finally took another break and drifted in the current. The canoe slowly turned and Liana faced upstream. The distant mountains near where the cabin once stood slowly faded into the distance. She drifted past trees and bluffs that all seemed to look the same, and she was losing the mountainous reference she had come to know so well. Liana closed her eyes briefly and tucked her chin to her chest. She felt the gentle wobble of the canoe in the current. Stopping for a nap on shore wasn’t an option, as she needed to get to town before the man—where is he? she wondered. The current dragged her through the forest and mountains while her back throbbed with fatigue.

After several minutes, Liana opened her eyes and studied the dappled ripples of the river. Its motion made her feel dizzy, and she closed her eyes and thought about Henry. She felt comforted by the kindness he had shown her, despite the burden of pain he carried. He had told her once that his wife and two daughters had died, like many others, during an influenza outbreak. He was away from the village, cutting wood for a paddlewheeler company, and only learned of their passing a few weeks after their burial. What surprised Liana was the fact that Henry only told her this story once and didn’t seem to dwell on his sadness. He smiled a toothy grin when he spoke of them and Liana knew not to ask questions. She understood what it meant to lose a family.

Henry’s canoe was red cedar and its rich grain sparkled under a shiny coat of shellac. In places the coating had blistered, but most of it was in good shape. Its bright ash gunwales gleamed in the afternoon light and the boat felt sturdy but agile. A thin layer of canvas, waterproofed with vibrant red paint, protected the hull. This sort of craft was used everywhere in the North. At sixteen feet, the boat was designed to carry a lone trapper and his bale of furs to distant trading posts. This canoe could take rapids and large lakes equally well. It could be portaged relatively easily when flipped and placed over one’s shoulders. At night it could be propped against a tree or rock to make a shelter.

Liana rested her paddle across the gunwale and tucked her hands into her armpits. She stretched her legs straight in front of her. She felt alone. Tears welled in her eyes and a deep moan resonated from her belly. For several minutes, she sobbed resignedly. “Alone again,” she thought.

When Liana’s hands had warmed, she picked up the maple paddle and took several short deliberate strokes to turn the canoe downstream and toward the town. The paddle belonged to Henry and was too long for her. It felt awkward in her small hands. Liana grew tired of watching the forest and turned her attention to the river bottom. She watched the pink, grey, and brown rocks covering the bottom. As the rocks sped by they made Liana feel slightly faint, and this feeling was strangely comforting to her. Liana was moving more quickly through the great forest and she watched the trees speed by. It would only be a matter of time before she saw another cabin or reached town.

The forest that lined the river was immense. Gnarled trees covered the mountains nearly to their tops. The treeless crests of the mountains were now dense with snow. This late in the season, the snow already covered the mountain to its base at the river. It would not be long before ice spread across the river and the current stopped.

Liana paddled with her collar pulled high and her hat pulled low on her brow. Her feet were numb and wet and her entire being ached with fatigue. Liana’s stomach grumbled with profound emptiness and she licked her dry, cracked lips. She had only one chunk of sugar remaining, and she carefully took it out of her pocket and placed the amber ball on her tongue. The sugar quickly dissolved and Liana felt the sweetness fill her mouth. It wasn’t enough but it was a welcome treat, and for a moment she felt everything was going to be fine.

Liana remembered a neighbour of theirs in Dawson whom her father thought was very strange. This man lived in a small log home near the downtown. In his home he kept a wide variety of tropical plants. There were more plants than you could imagine, their drippy branches and leaves draping over everything, threatening to break out the windows to escape. The man had built an elaborate wood heating system whereby a wood furnace would heat water that would circulate throughout his home. He sent away for seeds and cuttings from all over the world. When they arrived he would carefully add compost to a clay pot of soil and try to create a home for the transplant. His prize was an orange tree from seeds from Florida. The strange thing was the way the plants grew despite the months of darkness. With effort, the man kept the house warm by feeding the furnace with cord upon cord of wood. Seemingly no amount of effort could replace the nourishing rays of sunlight, yet his plants seemed to do all right and some even thrived in these rarified conditions. He always remarked that the jungle floor is dark as well, and Liana wondered if that was true or not as she had never seen a jungle. Her father often said that the man should just move somewhere in the south where his life would be easier and better. “If you want tropical plants, move to the tropics,” he said with exasperation. Liana had never been inside the house but had glimpsed the veritable rainforest through the frosted windows. She craved life inside this warm, moist house overgrown with foliage and heating pipes.

Autumn days are brief in the North. As the sun dropped behind the mountains, Liana braced herself for another night of cold and moonlight. The pitch black of a new moon was disorienting with its absoluteness. She had paddled many times with Henry under the full moon when they went moose hunting in the fall. They paddled in the dark to get to Henry’s favourite hunting swamp. Liana always liked paddling in the dark with Henry; they would talk softly and drink strong coffee before setting out. Those were very different nights from this, Liana thought.

Liana pulled hard with each stroke to get to town as quickly as possible. She thought about eating but decided it was best to keep moving rather than stop to forage. She didn’t try to fish, even though she had a hook and line in her bag, and she didn’t go to shore to find any berries, rose hips, or roots. She had left her rifle at the bear den and seeing any wildlife wouldn’t help her now. Instead, she mustered her strength to rhythmically paddle as far as possible each hour. Liana wanted to leave the forest and the North and the pain. She waited patiently all night for the brightness of morning.

Liana expertly used the J-stroke to keep the canoe tracking in a straight line. As she pulled the paddle toward herself she gave it a light flick to correct the canoe’s tendency to turn to the outside. She pulled in tight, powerful strokes and the hardwood paddle flexed expertly with each pass in the river. This slight flex absorbed much of the shock of the stroke, but Liana still felt exhausted. Imperceptibly, the low ridges next to the river were becoming more congested. At the same time the river was gaining speed. Liana was unaware of these subtle changes as she paddled deep in her grim thoughts. Gradually the dark was replaced by the pale of an overcast morning.

As Liana paddled she sang “Au Clair de la Lune” in a breathless little voice. It was a song her mother had taught her. The words of the song were lost in the repetitions of her paddle strokes and the meaning of the words a stark reminder of everything she had lost. It comforted her to remember her parents and the three of them enjoying pain au chocolate and hot cocoa on the balcony of their Paris apartment.

In the light of the moon, Pierrot, my friend

Loan me your pen to write something down

My candle’s dead, I’ve got no flame to light it

Open your door, for the love of God!

In the light of the moon, Pierrot replied

I don’t have a pen, I’m in bed

Go to the neighbor’s, I think she’s there

Because someone just lit a match in the kitchen

In the light of the moon, likable Harlequin

Knocked on the brunette’s door, and she responded immediately

Who’s knocking like that? And he replied

Open your door, for the God of Love!

In the light of the moon, you can barely see anything

Someone looked for a pen, someone looked for a flame

In all of that looking, I don’t know what was found

But I do know that those two shut the door behind them.

The ridges and snow-covered mountains formed a jagged boundary to the pale, cloudless sky. The looming forest bordering the river was covered in a dusting of snow. The water level of the river was low, and snow-covered gravel bars and beaches appeared around each bend. The leafless willow trees strained under the weight of the snow. The sun no longer gave much warmth and Liana pulled her collar up farther to protect her cheeks from the crisp, dry air. The fragile autumn landscape had lost most of its energy and everything seemed to slow. Alone and full of grief, Liana couldn’t leave fast enough.

Liana continued to paddle, unaware that the river was changing. A low bank next to the right hand shore gradually became a ten-foot cliff. Spring floods and seasons of ice had polished its pink face smooth. The shift was too faint for Liana to notice, especially as she punctuated her rhythmic paddling with nearly obsessive recitations of “Au Clair de la Lune.” Inattentiveness can exact a bitter price.

About half a mile farther downstream, a low bank on the left side of the river also rose into a low pink overhang. This change was imperceptible and gradual; Liana paid it no notice. However, the river—and Liana—were now trapped between these two rocky crags. These small cliffs would have continued as far as Liana could see if she had been paying attention. The river coursed through the canyon for several violent miles. There was no escape.

Liana paddled downstream unaware of her fate. The river gradually quickened with the occasional small crashing wave. The rocky cliff’s fractured face slowly gained height until it towered twenty-five feet above the river. It was at this point that it dawned on Liana that she might be in a new kind of trap. Liana snapped out of her dreamy recollections and felt the gravity of her plight.