The Great Alone (104 page)

As Steve started to look up, Inga moved briskly forward. “Here is the coffee, fresh and hot.” She stopped by his chair and filled the cup before him. “It is so good to have a man around the house. With both Rudy and Jan away all week working at that construction site, the house seems empty.” She smiled warmly at him. “I am glad you could join us for dinner tonight.”

“There isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be, Mrs. Blomquist.” He glanced at Lisa. “Or anyone else I’d rather be with.”

Slightly flustered by his comment, Lisa picked up her cup. “I’ll have some coffee, too, Mama. And if I were you, I’d be careful what I said in front of Erik. He likes to think he’s the man of the house when Papa and Rudy are gone. You’ll hurt his feelings.”

“He is hardly ever here since he met that girl.” She poured coffee into Lisa’s cup, then filled her own and sat down.

“I was just telling Lisa that I’m planning to fly up to Big Delta and check on the progress of the road construction. Considering all the paperwork she’s been handling for our contract on the Al-Can Highway, I thought it would be a good idea if she came along and saw this road that’s creating so much work for her. But she’s a little reluctant to come with me. I think she’s afraid of how it might look.” His smile teased her. “Or maybe she doesn’t trust me.”

“I trust you.” But Lisa’s tone was still hesitant.

“I still think you shouldn’t turn down a chance to see history in the making,” Steve persisted, then appealed to Inga. “What do you say, Mrs. Blomquist?”

“I think it is an opportunity Lisa shouldn’t pass up.” She stirred a spoonful of sugar into her coffee.

“There. I rest my case.” He leaned back in his chair, lifting his hands in a gesture that indicated there was nothing more to be said. “Even your mother approves.”

“I don’t know,” she murmured.

“You will need to wear trousers and a blouse with long sleeves, and something to protect your face.” Inga Blomquist had no intention of allowing her daughter to pass up this heaven-sent opportunity to spend time alone with Steve Bogardus, away from the office. “You remember how bad the mosquitoes and flies can be in the interior during August.”

“Better wear some boots, too,” Steve advised.

“I haven’t even said I was going,” Lisa protested, but the soft laugh that followed it signaled her agreement.

From Big Delta, they traveled in an open jeep. An old-style Army hat, with a wide brim suitable for suspending mosquito nets, shaded Lisa’s face from the glare of the sun. She had pulled it down tightly over her head to keep the wind from blowing it off, but the hat didn’t stop the wind from whipping the ends of her shoulder-length hair or stinging her eyes with the dust from the graveled road.

Dressed in Levi’s, a blue plaid shirt, and a denim jacket, Steve had picked her up at the house that morning before it was light. Their chartered plane had taken off at the crack of dawn and winged its way north under clear skies. Lisa had been entranced by the view from the air of the railroad tracks and the new road connecting Anchorage and Fairbanks. Even Mount McKinley had obligingly chased the clouds away and revealed its hoary crown.

While they were still south of Big Delta, Steve had instructed the pilot to make a swing to the east so Lisa could see the new highway from the air. Now they were traveling down the smooth, graded road she’d seen that stretched along the valley of the Tanana River. Mountains rose on either side of the flat alluvial plain. Occasionally they met another vehicle or a convoy of trucks, and the jeep was engulfed in the trailing cloud of their dust.

She could feel dirt caking her skin and her clothes, but strangely she didn’t mind. Being out here in all this open country surrounded by magnificent scenery reminded her of when they’d first arrived in Alaska and everything had been so new and exciting. That’s the way she felt now—eager to embrace a new experience.

As Steve slowed the jeep, the rush of the wind was replaced by a roar of a different kind. Lisa peered through the haze of the dust-covered windshield, trying to see what was ahead of them. She could make out the vague shape of some big piece of machinery.

“Why are we slowing down?”

“We’ve reached the end of the finished road.” He shifted gears. “From here on, it’s under construction.”

They swung off the main road and followed a tote road that paralleled the graveled highway, bypassing the heavy equipment that chugged and roared over a long section widening the road, bringing it to grade and finishing the shoulders. Men and machinery alike were half hidden in a cloud of dust.

The tote road was little more than a rutted track, wide enough for one vehicle. Lisa clutched the side of her seat and braced an arm against the dashboard as they bounced over the narrow trail. More than once they were forced off it by an oncoming truck and caromed through the heavy grass, already flattened in places by previous traffic. Ahead she could see the temporary construction shacks of the workers’ camp. Some men in hard hats were standing in front of one of them conferring over some plans. Steve parked the jeep a few yards away. Lisa was slow to take her hand away from the dashboard, as if her body was not quite sure the wild ride was over.

“Sorry,” Steve said. “That last stretch was a little rough.”

“I didn’t mind.”

He hopped out of the jeep and walked around to offer her a steadying hand while she crawled out. She brushed at the dust clinging to her trouser legs, then realized it was useless and abandoned the effort. Two of the men walked over to greet them, and Steve introduced her to his project engineer and the foreman of his road crew.

After the usual exchange of pleasantries and inquiries about their journey from Anchorage, the talk centered on the road—the progress, the problems, the projections. Lisa listened attentively, surprised at how much she understood from reading all the reports that crossed her desk, even though she didn’t understand some of their technical jargon. But being here made all the reports come alive. They weren’t just words on paper or dots on a map or lines on a graph. And the people who had written them had faces, feelings, and frustrations.

“Those colored boys from the Ninety-seventh are really stepping out on these flats. They’re making about eight miles a day,” the engineer said.

“According to last night’s radio report, the Army’s got less than three hundred miles to go and the road will be cut all the way through.” The engineer shook his head. “I gotta give those soldier boys credit. What they knew about road building you could have written on the palm of my hand. When they started in March, I figured we’d be lucky if the road was cut through by next year. At this rate, there’ll be trucks traveling on it before Christmas.”

It was a staggering thought that a fifteen-hundred-mile-long road could be built through a virgin wilderness by some ten thousand inexperienced soldiers and six thousand civilians in less than nine months.

“The Ninety-seventh made it to the river crossing. They’ll be ferrying their equipment across today. If you got time, you might want to drive on ahead and take a look.” The engineer glanced at Lisa as he made the suggestion.

“We’ll do that,” Steve said. “I think Lisa will find it interesting.”

An hour later, after Steve had gone over everything with his engineer and foreman, they climbed back into the jeep and headed down the unfinished road. The traffic was heavier as trucks loaded with supplies, machinery, and equipment churned up the soft, dry surface. The strangling and blinding clouds of dust from the trucks, traveling much of the time in low gear, forced Steve to reduce the jeep’s speed.

As they neared the site where the road was to bridge the Tanana River, the way became blocked with a jam of machinery, supplies, and men. Steve pulled off the road and skirted the congestion, then stopped the jeep on a small rise that gave them a vantage point.

Lisa stepped out of the dust-coated jeep to watch the activity at the river. Steve came around to stand beside her. A giant twenty-ton caterpillar was being loaded on a makeshift ferry built up from five log pontoon boats. Not far from the loading area of the ferry crossing, the first pilings for a bridge were being driven. Away from the congestion sat a huge stack of fifty-five-gallon oil drums. Lisa had noticed them scattered by the hundreds all along the route. Their presence made it obvious how the road had obtained the nickname, the “Oil Can Highway.”

“The work never stops,” Steve said. “As soon as those Negroes get those lead ‘cats’ ferried across to the far side of the river, they’ll fire them up and start in. Meanwhile, that Iowa bridge-building crew are sinking their pilings for the bridge, so that when my road crew get this far, it will be a clear shot to the other side.”

The road. That’s all they talked about the whole day. It was as if the war didn’t exist. Everything seemed to revolve around the road. Having seen it herself, Lisa felt the same way. Nothing else seemed quite as important.

It even changed her perception of Steve. All day she had listened to him discuss the road, speaking with authority about various facets of the work in progress. She had seen him in action, physically directing the work instead of perusing reports or talking on the telephone. The work he did was vital to the whole territory. She was impressed by him, more impressed than she had ever been by him when he had merely been her boss.

At dusk, their plane landed at Merrill Field in Anchorage. Although it had been a long day, Lisa felt strangely rested. She would have said it was the result of all that fresh air if she wasn’t so conscious of the film of fine dust that coated her entire body, clothes and all.

As they walked to his car, Steve casually draped his arm around her shoulders. “Are you glad you went?”

“Oh, yes,” she answered with a rush of enthusiasm. “I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.”

“I was sure you’d feel that way.” When they reached the car, he stopped and started to open the passenger door for Lisa, then paused with one hand on the door grip and the other on her shoulder. “Why don’t we go out and have a late dinner together?”

“I don’t think so—not the way I look.”

He drew his head back to study her. “I don’t know. I kinda like the way you look with that smudge of dirt on your nose.” He ran his finger down it. “Besides, I’m not any cleaner than you are. So, what do you say?”

She hesitated, almost tempted, then shook her head again. “No. I’d better get home. Mama will be worrying about me.”

“No, she won’t. Do you know why? Because you’re with me.” He Slid his hand under her hair and cupped the back of her neck. “And if you don’t believe that, we’ll call and let her know we’re back. But I’m not going to accept your mother as an excuse for turning me down.”

His quick kiss took her by surprise. Flustered and self-conscious, she looked away from him. It had never been easy for her to ignore his attentions. Now she didn’t think she wanted to.

“Is it that soldier boy of yours again?” But Steve didn’t give her a chance to answer. “Lisa, one of the things I found attractive about you from the beginning was the loyalty you displayed. But I don’t think it’s justified. I have to be honest and say that I don’t feel one bit guilty about trying to lure you away from him, because I don’t see that he has any claim on you. He’s had plenty of chances to tie you up. But I don’t see any ring on your finger, and I doubt if there’s been any promise of one.”

“It isn’t that.” She hadn’t even been thinking about Wylie.

“Look at me, Lisa.” He forced her head up. “I’ve done just about everything but stand on my head to persuade you to go out with me.”

“I know you have, Steve.”

“If that’s what it’s going to take for you to be convinced that I love you, I’ll do it.” He released her and started to get down on his hands and knees.

It was a full second before Lisa realized that he really intended to stand on his head. “Steve, no!”

When she grabbed for his arm to pull him up, her foot slipped on the gravel and she started to fall. Steve tried to catch her. In the next second, they were tangled together on the ground, laughing at the suddenness of it. He rolled onto his side, levering himself up on an elbow to look at her.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” She gazed at him, her smile softening. “And you don’t have to stand on your head to convince me, Steve.”

For an instant he stared at her lips. Then slowly he kissed her.

CHAPTER LVII

A Mile Off Adak Island

August 28, 1942

The sea was running heavy. The strong underwater currents constantly buffeted the submarine
Triton
as it ran submerged a mile off the coast of Adak Island, nearing its destination off Kuluk Bay. Wylie glanced at the artificially blackened faces of the other eighteen Scouts crowded together in the narrow confines of the crew’s quarters. Nineteen more Scouts were aboard the submarine
Tuna.
The commando group was scheduled to rendezvous outside the reefs of Kuluk Bay.

As the heaving seas tossed the submarine about, the deck pitched violently. Wylie automatically braced himself at the first motion. A few Scouts weren’t quick enough. He heard their muffled curses of pain as they were slammed against something. Nearly everyone had bruised some part of his body during this voyage. Wylie had noticed a couple of the crewmen with bandaged ribs, and several sported bruised cheeks or cuts above the eye.