Brides of Alaska (41 page)

“I know you're right, August. But it hurts so much. Why does she hate me the way she does?” Beth questioned in a trembling voice.

“I don't believe she hates you, sweetie. I think she's just so miserable in herself and you are the closest reminder of what she could be if she turned her life over to God. I think that causes her more grief than she can own up to,” August stated, giving Beth a squeeze. “You just keep praying, Mrs. Eriksson. Even the prodigal son in the Bible came home.”

Beth tried to smile, but her heart was much too heavy. “Will you talk to her?” she questioned.

“For what it's worth,” August said, dropping his hold on Beth. Beth nodded and watched for several minutes as August made his way past the pile of harnesses and ropes that Rita had left in disarray. She whispered a prayer for her husband and then another one for her daughter. Surely God could work a miracle in the heart of her hurting child.

“I thought I might find you here.” August came upon Rita where she stood beside the icy creek. “I understand you and your mother had a fight.”

“What else do we ever have? Certainly not a relationship.” Rita's sarcasm hung thickly in the air.

August kicked at the dirt thoughtfully. “Your mother cares a great deal about you, Rita.”

“Oh, I can certainly see that,” Rita said sardonically and turned her back to her father. No sense in letting him see the tears that had formed in her eyes.

“I felt just like you did when I was younger,” August remembered. “When I met your mom, I was a hard man with a grudge against God. I felt like God had disappointed me one time too many and therefore I didn't want anything more to do with Him.”

“I've heard this story before,” Rita muttered.

“I know,” the aging August answered. “But, it seemed important to share it with you one more time. Your mom confronted me with my hard heart and, even though she loved me, she watched me walk away because she had the guts to stand up to me.”

Rita said nothing. She stuffed her hands deep into her jeans pockets to ward off the chill. If only there was someplace to warm her frozen heart.

“Well, anyway,” August said, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, “I kept thinking about the things she'd shared with me and the way she assured me God was still there for me. I ran as far and as fast as I could and finally God pinned me down in a place I couldn't fight Him anymore.”

“I know,” Rita replied. “He buried you under a construction tractor after you fell over the embankment.” Rita remembered the story from its many tellings. Her father's tractor had plummeted over a soft shoulder as he graded the roadway. He had been pinned beneath the equipment, broken and bleeding, and God had spoken to his spirit.

“I know it sounds silly,” August admitted with a grin. “But sometimes God has to get your attention. He'd done everything else He could, but my stubbornness required drastic measures.”

“Look, Dad,” Rita began, turning to face her father. “Couldn't we just drop the subject? Isn't it enough that I know how you feel and you know how I feel?”

“You mean agree to disagree?” August questioned.

“Yes.” Rita came to her father and put both hands on his shoulders. “I love you, Dad, and I need for you not to harp at me. Mother has preaching down to a fine art form, and I'd just as soon not have you hassling me as well.”

“All right, Rita.” August embraced his daughter. “I'll leave it be. At least for now.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Rita whispered. She couldn't help but wonder how she'd deal with her mother, but maybe if she put it off long enough, she wouldn't have to do anything about it. Maybe Beth would just leave well enough alone and realize that Rita was a grown woman with a mind of her own.

T
he first snows fell and autumn quickly became winter. Rita was in better physical shape than she'd ever been, and her heart was eager for the challenge of the Iditarod.

After spending six months working with her dogs, Rita had chosen a team of fourteen, twice as many as the minimum requirement for the race. They were a hearty, well-bred group of dogs, and Rita felt a genuine pride whenever she worked with them.

Week after week, Rita found herself engulfed in conversations that dealt with the business of dogsled racing, conversations that made her eager to feel the icy winds upon her face and the solitude of the long trail.

“You have to remember,” Mark told Rita as she worked to attach the brush bow to the front of her handmade sled, “it's not always best to be out in front. If you head out early in the race and find the trail blown over, you may break trail through hip-high snow … maybe even higher. That's tedious, exhausting work, and the dogs pay a toll for it as well as the musher.”

“So it's better to pace yourself behind?” Rita questioned. She sat up and adjusted the hood of her insulated sweatshirt.

“Sometimes, but not always. It's a matter of attitude and decision. You have to keep your mind cleared of other clutter and totally devoted to the trail. Then the choices are easier to make. You have to have a feel for the course. When you're out there all alone and faced with decisions like where to make your camp and whether your dogs are up to another twenty miles without a rest, you realize that this is where experience, training, and attitude all make the difference between life and death.”

“But how do you decide when it's right to take the risks when you've never run the Iditarod before?” Rita asked.

“Every Iditarod is different. No matter how many times you run it, you can't predict what the elements will be or how the terrain will have changed. Then, too, the route changes from year to year. From Anchorage to Ophir, it's the same trail for all years. After that, however, the northern route, during the even years, goes up to Ruby from Ophir and down the Yukon River to Nulato and Kaltag, to name a few. The odd year, the southern route leaves Ophir and goes down to Iditarod and across to Anvk. From there you follow the Yukon up to Kaltag, and then the race resumes identical trails again. And while I'm the first one to say that repeated experience on the trail is an important issue, it isn't everything.”

Rita listened intently while Mark shared his secrets. She was still uncomfortable in his company, but she didn't feel the anger she once had. With so much else to concentrate on, Rita had less and less time to consider her lifelong struggle to find her niche.

“How's it going?” August asked as he joined Rita and Mark.

Rita gave her father a smile. “It's going slow,” she replied honestly. “I told you this sled building thing wasn't my forte.”

“But you've done very well,” August encouraged. “Your first sled turned out great, and this lightweight racer will be even better. I think you're going to be pleased with the results.”

“I think so, too,” Mark agreed.

“I hope so,” Rita said, thoughtfully checking her work for any errors.

“Are you two still planning on going out tomorrow?” August questioned, referring to the week-long sledding and camping trip that Rita and Mark had arranged.

“Yep,” Mark answered before Rita could comment. “We're all set and the dogs are more than anxious. I figure we'll set out around dawn and be back in a week, maybe ten days.”

“Just like we used to do when we were younger, eh, Rita?” August teased.

“Something like that,” Rita replied. She was still uncertain about spending time away from her father and out on the desolate trail with Mark.

“Look, I'm going to finish up here and go home. I still have some gear to take care of and dog food to pack. I'll come over in the morning, and you be ready to leave by sunrise,” Mark said, getting to his feet. “I hate being kept waiting,” he added in a joking voice.

“Don't worry about me,” Rita glanced upward. Her heart did a jump as she noticed Mark's warm brown eyes. She tried to steady her nerves and sound more severe than she felt. “I told you I could take care of myself,” she added.

Mark laughed and gave a little bow. “Then I shall await the pleasure of your company on the trail tomorrow, ma'am.” With that he was gone, and Rita stared after him, shaking her head.

“He's a good man, Rita,” August said as if reading the question on his daughter's mind. “I trust him, and I know he'll take good care of you on the trail. Trust him, Rita. He might very well teach you something you don't know.”

Rita nodded slowly and gave her father a brief smile. Trust him? She didn't even know him outside the realm of the Eriksson dog kennel. Why should she believe him to be so trustworthy?

“Dad?” Rita questioned with a sudden thought. “I'd like to have a pistol. May I borrow one of yours?”

August nodded. “That's a good idea. I'll make sure you have one for the Iditarod, too. Sometimes it's necessary to put down an animal. You can never tell when a moose is going to jump in the middle of your dog team. It's happened before, and they almost always have to be shot.”

“I remember a moose wreaking havoc with one of the teams several years back,” Rita agreed.

“I do, too,” August replied. “I'll make sure you have what you need.”

“I have you, Daddy.” Rita jumped up to hug her father. “And you are all I'll ever need.”

August embraced his daughter but said nothing. He certainly couldn't tell her what was in his heart. He couldn't explain that she needed the Savior and that without Him she would be hopelessly lost. Breathing a silent prayer, August gave his youngest daughter over to God, knowing that there was really little else he could do.

The wind had picked up and the sky threatened snow, but nevertheless, Rita and Mark, with lamps secured on their heads, mushed out into the darkness with their dog teams. They had decided to explore the area to the south and maybe even check out the trail for the Copper Basin 300.

The snow wasn't all that deep, but it had glazed over with ice from a recent warming and refreezing. It made a good trail, and Rita was surprised to learn that Mark had already spent many hours in the area, choosing the path they would take.

When they stopped for lunch, several hours later, Mark explained.

“I wanted this first day to be rather simple. You know, that way you could get used to the trail and being out away from civilization. And, it wouldn't be all that taxing for the dogs. We'll make camp about twelve miles down the way. There's a nice place by the river where we can set up camp under the trees. We'll have all the water we need and plenty of shelter,” Mark told Rita.

“I didn't realize you had this all mapped out,” Rita replied. She enjoyed some warmed-up tuna casserole her mother had sent along.

Mark stirred up the fire, enjoying himself and the freedom of the vast wilderness before him. “I am the teacher, remember?” His words were spoken in a gentle reminder, and for once Rita knew, in order to object, she'd have to work hard to conjure up her anger.

“I just meant that I didn't realize you'd spent so much time and preparation on this trip. I figured we were just kind of heading out into the great unknown,” Rita answered.

“After today,” Mark replied, “we will be. I haven't planned every detail out. Rest assured there will be many elements of surprise on our adventure.” He lost himself for a moment looking into Rita's eyes. She quickly captured his heart. Turning away before Rita could perceive his thoughts, Mark called over his shoulder, “You ready to press on?”

“More than ready,” Rita responded, unaware of Mark's emotions.

They broke camp and pressed to the south. The valley floor soon gave way to foothills and dense forests of black and white spruce, as well as aspen and birch. From time to time, stunted black spruce and the absence of hardwood trees betrayed the sure signs of permafrost ground. This was ground that never thawed, and nothing rooted well in its frozen subsoil.