Cotton Grass Lodge (11 page)

Duncan smiled, happy there was no blood.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said. “I wasn’t prepared for meeting a moose all up close and personal.” She laughed again. “I stepped out of the outhouse, and it was just there.” She flung her arms out. “Right in front of me.”

Duncan gave up on his last half hour of sleep. He grabbed the screen door, banged it twice, and hollered, “Go away!” The moose startled and trotted between the buildings out of sight. “We give you the true Alaskan experience. The coffee will be ready in fifteen minutes.”

The chattering couple followed him as he headed back up the stairs to dress.

Today he planned to move into the room he still thought of as Nell’s room. She’d been gone three weeks, and the room he’d been using would soon be needed for guests. With Tom’s help he had emptied the bedroom, cleaned, and repainted. Everything was finished except making the bed and moving his suitcase.

The moose hadn’t returned when he came downstairs. Duncan added ‘remove dead potted plants’ to his morning list. The list was several weeks outdated, but he had a list.

He made coffee and set the table for a rudimentary breakfast. While he worked around the kitchen, he wondered if Tom knew someone else he could hire. Nell had mentioned others, but by the time she finally left the last time, he didn’t even want to ask her what time it was. The woman made him nuts.

Unlike this morning, Duncan usually had time before his guests started to mill around. For the last two weeks, he’d used the treasured early hour to greet the day from his front porch and go over the client book. Nell had scrawled names onto the pages with dates and times, and none of the information seemed attached to reality. The middle-aged couple upstairs right now had been listed for next week. When they’d flown in with Charlie two days ago for a second honeymoon, Duncan had met them with hydraulic oil dripping off an elbow and no idea what he was going to feed them. They’d been enchanted with his caribou stew. So had he. Chunks of caribou instead of beef. Follow the recipe. Presto.

The rumble of four-wheelers got Duncan’s attention. He dropped the client book back onto the desk and carried his cup toward the back of the lodge. His ear had become attuned to the sounds of the different machines his neighbors owned. Edna delivered eggs on a coughing, twenty year-old ATV. It simply wouldn’t quit. Tom’s was well tuned and quiet.

He stepped out the door onto the porch and greeted his neighbors from the north end of the lake. The two men, between them, had come with three half grown boys. Early morning quiet eddied around the three machines when they stopped and parked in front of the generator shed.

“Good morning, guys.” Duncan raised his voice to reach the group. “The coffee’s hot.” Duncan had quickly learned the busy day he planned at seven a.m. quite often didn’t happen the way he’d laid it out. By now, each day lengthened at the rate of more than five minutes per day. Planes came and went on his strip until late at night. The longer the days the more enthusiastic and industrious the lake dwellers got. It was full daylight at eleven at night, and he wondered if he needed to hire someone just to handle the radio traffic. He’d already met two new sets of neighbors this week.

“Morning Duncan.” One of them called as the group disembarked from their four-wheelers. “But if we don’t have the tables ready when the girls get here, we’ll have hell to pay.”

“Tables?” A premonition of doom blossom in the pit of his stomach. “When what girls get here?”

All five of them turned to stare at Duncan. “Don’t you know what day it is, man?”

“I think it’s the first of June.” Duncan’s mind scrambled to remember what else was written in the ledger for June. Cryptic notes filled most pages. ‘Provide drinks’ was at the top of the page this morning.
What the hell has she left for me now?
“What’s going on?”

Jacob set about giving directions to his own two sons. The boys hustled off toward the storage shed with the third, younger boy in tow. Nameless barked happily and joined them.

Jacob and the other man stepped up on the porch.

“She didn’t tell you about June first?” asked Jacob, his lanky frame clad in worn jeans and a clean long-sleeved shirt rolled to the elbows. He nodded to his companion. “This is my brother, Mathew, that littlest boy,” he nodded toward the children, “is his son Ezekiel.”

The two men were open and pleasant, like everyone else Duncan had met up here at the lake. Mathew shyly shook hands and leaned against a burled porch post, “We usually finalize the agreements for the season at the June first party. Did she tell you about anything?”

Duncan shook his head. “Gentlemen, I have no clue what you’re talking about.” His idea of a little lodge in the woods was spiraling out of his control.

“Okaaay.” Jacob pondered and shared a glance with Mathew. “June first is the date the season officially starts. Tourists and snowbirds show up in earnest. We’ve always worked for the lodge as guides. It just makes sense to have an agreement, and we use the party as the place to get together and iron out the details.”

“Yes, agreements are good. I just didn’t know about it,” Duncan said, “And—this party?” He looked up at the sound of a small plane. He wasn’t expecting any clients until tomorrow. “What about this party?”

“Like Mathew said, the people around the lake get together and work out who works for the lodge and how to contact each other. The summer folks who have cabins up here usually come to the June first party. To reconnect and all, you know?” Jacob nodded toward the sky. “That will be the first of them.”

“The first of them?” Duncan looked up again as the plane dipped toward the lake. In the distance the drone of another became apparent. Now, the few comments people had made over the last week made perfect sense. He’d just been too busy to pay attention and connect the dots.

Three hours later, Duncan ducked his sweat drenched face into the crook of his elbow and wiped with his shirtsleeve. He’d spent the morning helping put up tables made from sawhorses and four by eight sheets of plywood. He’d gathered all the chairs and benches he could find. One of the cherub-faced women working industriously and effortlessly in his yard handed him a cold drink, and he drained it without tasting. When he finished he looked down at her. “Thank you, Naomi.”

“You’re welcome.” She draped a hand casually over the baby brewing in her belly. Her calico dress stretched tight around her stout body. “If I understand correctly, Nell didn’t tell you about how the lodge runs during the season. She’s a dear, but she’s been slipping.” Naomi stepped aside to avoid a gaggle of squealing children. In one graceful turn, she snatched the oldest by his arm and with a whisper sent the entire troop off in a direction away from the cloth covered tables. “So, anyhow.” She patted her distended abdomen. “I won’t be able to help at the lodge this year. I guess we all assumed Nell told you how things worked, and you’d hired help from someplace else.”

“No, Nell didn’t tell me a lot of things it turns out.” He added this to the list he called
chew Carl out
. Because Carl would have known. Out of habit, Duncan glanced at his watch, eleven o’clock. “It’s a small lodge. I thought I’d start out slow the first year. Do most everything myself.”

Naomi burst out laughing. “Oh my, you really don’t understand, do you?” She patted his arm with neighborly affection. “We’ll all help. It’ll be fine.”

She went to join a cluster of women greeting new arrivals from the last plane. Little children dipped and swooped like shore birds avoiding the tide as they followed the women in chirping drifts of hugs and exclamations over the changes that had happened over the eight-month winter.

Another plane landed, and the beehive of activity down by the lake got Duncan’s attention. One of Jacobs’s older boys went racing past with a five-gallon bucket filled with tools Duncan had last seen in his generator shed. “Whoa, hey, wait a minute. Where are you going with those tools?”

The boy stopped, “They’re for the dock.”

“What dock?” Duncan asked.

“Your dock.” A perplexed look crossed the boy’s face. “You always put the dock out on June first.” Without waiting any longer, the boy sprinted toward the shore.

What the hell?
A woman he didn’t know was in the lodge monitoring the radio for airplane traffic. His kitchen was full to overflowing with people he had never seen before. He decided his management skills never prepared him for Cotton Grass Lodge.

Nothing could have prepared him for Cotton Grass Lodge.

Several men sat around the bonfire at the edge of the clearing in the front yard. Tom was with them, glassy eyed from the bottle he cradled. One of them handed Duncan a charred hotdog as he passed. He started down the path toward the lake, and two women followed close behind. The cool relief of the dappled shade slowed his pace giving the vicious little white-socks flies an opportunity to catch up. He waved his arms over his head, swatted at his ears, and picked up his pace.

“Duncan,” a woman said as she passed him, “The Beaver just radioed. He’s on his way in. You were real smart to have a delivery made while there are so many folks to help unload.”

“I’m a smart guy. Real smart.” He had no earthly idea who the woman was or what she was talking about, “Who is the Beaver?”

She and her two friends giggled explosively.

“What?” The helplessness of being irrelevant became more apparent when Duncan got to the bustle of activity at the edge of the lake. Jacob and Mathew and another six men worked on the dock taking shape in the water at the mid-way point of the gravel strip.

The four tie-downs were full and several other wheeled planes were tucked back into openings in the brush. Two 185s bobbed on their floats, anchored to the shore next to two skiffs. He joined a group standing at the edge of the lake. Blue-green water reflected a scattering of white clouds in the sky. Two more skiffs were being unloaded of people and coolers obviously headed for the potluck.

“Hi, I’m Duncan Mahoney.” He stuck his hand out, and the group erupted in the agreeable babble of introductions he knew he would never remember.

Hanna slipped away from another group and approached. “I just got here. How’s it going?”

“Good—good.” Duncan wiped a smear of catsup off his hand onto his overworked jeans. “Do you believe me? I’m getting better at that particular lie. Hanna, I really don’t know how it’s going. My days were a blur and this.” He gestured both arms. “Is astonishing. Somehow I didn’t connect June with—all this. I didn’t know about fish guide agreements, and I don’t have any idea who is or is not registered at my lodge.” He bobbed his head in bemused exasperation, “I’m…good.”

Hanna’s eyes twinkled. “Folks sort of take care of things, you included. You’ll get the hang of it.”

“Naomi said much the same thing,” Duncan said. “But, what happens when three people show up for the same bed?”

“I’ll give you directions to my little guest cabin. If you need to put people in it you’re welcome.” Hanna’s eyes concentrated on the smear of catsup. “Bye the way. You live in bear country now. Catsup on your pants isn’t a good idea.”

“Oh.” Duncan considered the bear tracks Tom had pointed out yesterday morning—in front of the generator shed.

Sympathy infused Hanna’s nod. “You’re getting there. It’s not as bad as you think.”

“Okay.” Duncan lowered his voice. “Who is the Beaver, and why should I be happy he’s coming?”

She scanned the sky and pointed at a large twin-engine airplane on floats, “There’s the Beaver. You must have ordered something big delivered. Right?”

“Nooo.”

“Oh.” A pucker marred her forehead, “Maybe it is—as bad as you think.”

The big floatplane made one lazy pass, and as Duncan watched it descend to the lake, he prayed this wasn’t another problem. Not today.

Chapter 10

The large plane glided onto the lake with hardly a splash and gracefully maneuvered up to the just finished dock. Two men tied the plane to cleats on the end of the floating walkway.

The pilot waved at familiar faces as he exited the aircraft. Then, he turned and held a hand out to help Nell. Several people called greetings and cheered, happy to see her.

“Oh, my God,” Duncan whispered.

Hanna, still standing beside him inhaled her surprise. “Oh dear.” Her eyes grew round, “Are you okay with this?”

“Oh, yeah.” He closed his eyes as his body sagged. “In some demented way, I’m fine.” He wasn’t fine, frustration boiled at the lining of his stomach with no remedy in sight.

Nell was slowed in her ascent of the beach by the clutches of people greeting her. The pilot worked his way through the crowd and found Duncan.

Hanna made the introductions. She knew all the pilots both commercial and private on the strip today. The Beaver pilot handed Duncan an invoice. “Nice to meet ya,” he said. “We haven’t done business before, but Nell said you were good for this, so I took her word for it. I can take a check now, or you can send it in with the next mail.”

Duncan opened the envelope. The invoice had receipts stapled to it from three different stores in Anchorage. The bottom line was ‘Freight and Groceries plus delivery to Cotton Grass Lodge’ $5,432.14.

“What?” the word squeaked past his lips.

Hanna gently took the invoice from his hand and scanned it. She whispered, “Did you know she was doing this?”

“No,” Duncan replied. “Good God, no. I need a drink.”

The Beaver pilot shot a concerned look at Hanna. “Is there a problem here?” His anxiety was apparent as he looked from Hanna to Duncan.

Duncan cleared his throat. “I’ll write you a check. I realize you’ve been doing business with the lodge for a long time, but please, from now on, clear anything like this with me. Nell is not authorized to do business for the lodge.”