“Every generation thinks it has the answers, and every generation is humbled by nature.”
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
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.