Touching the Clouds Page 3

  Kate wasn’t sure what to think of that, but it didn’t sound good.

  “I need a clerk. The gal who used to work for me took off with her boyfriend, without a word to me or my wife.” He rested a hand on the ledger and looked straight at Kate. “Can you be here at eight o’clock tomorrow morning?”

  “I sure can. Earlier, if you need me to.”

  “No. Eight is early enough.” He smiled. “Guess I better get your name. The missus will want to know.”

  “Kate Evans.”

  He wrote down the name, then looked at her. “I’m Albert Towns.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “You have a place to stay?”

  “I’m at the Anchorage Hotel.”

  “That’s a pretty classy place. Can’t pay you wages to cover that.”

  “I’m hoping to find something less expensive.”

  Albert scrubbed his clean-shaven cheek. “We have a room in the back of the store. It’s not much, but it’ll keep you warm and dry. There’s a little kitchen with a sink and a small bathroom. Sofa’s not bad for sleeping. And my wife just painted it.”

  “That sounds just right.”

  “You want to have a look?”

  “I’m sure it’s fine.” And right now I don’t have any other options. She extended a hand. “See you tomorrow?”

  He shook her hand. “Tomorrow.”

  Kate strode toward the door. A job and a place to stay! I’ve got to call Mom and Dad.

  She hurried her steps, hoping the hotel had a phone and wondering how much it would cost to call home.

  3

  Paul Anderson walked along an Anchorage street, taking in the sights and sounds of the community. He lived a mostly solitary life on Bear Creek and rarely came to town, so even something as ordinary as an automobile seemed noteworthy.

  He slowed his pace and decided to browse the storefront windows. He stopped at one with a display of jewelry, which included fine watches. Taking out his pocket watch, he studied the gold timepiece, then flipped open the front. It was just after nine o’clock. He closed the watch and then turned it over, running his thumb across the letters G. A. engraved on the back. Gerald Anderson had been a good man. Paul could still see his father’s large hands as they snapped open the watch. He’d always been a stickler about being on time.

  A breeze kicked up, swirling dirt into the air. Paul slid the watch back into his pocket and continued down the street. A pair of boots in a store window caught his eye. It would be nice to replace his old ones. He glanced down at the toes of his Harvesters and decided they’d do for another year. Summer was nearly over, and he’d soon be switching to fur-lined winter boots anyway.

  He noticed a man and young boy standing in front of the next window display. The boy was looking at something, his nose nearly pressed against the glass. The man leaned over and rested an arm across the child’s back. Paul figured they were father and son and felt an ache in his throat. His son would have been about the same age.

  Heaviness of spirit settled over Paul as his mind carried him to the what-ifs of his life—if Susan had lived . . . if his son had survived . . . if his home were still in San Francisco. He caught sight of his reflection in the store window. His usual serious expression had deepened into one of misery. Straightening, he lifted his hat to brush thick brown hair off his forehead and looked up the street.

  Two children barreled past him. One of the youngsters bumped into Paul, knocking off his cap. He stopped. “Sorry, mister.”

  “Not a problem.” Paul reached down and picked up the cap and handed it to the boy.

  He planted it on his head, nodded at Paul, and then took off after his friend. Taking in a long, regretful breath, Paul watched them go and wished life had turned out differently.

  He headed toward the general store. Might as well complete his shopping and get on home.

  The bell announced his arrival as he stepped through the door. He liked the mercantile; it felt homey and always smelled of grains and spices. He removed his hat and scanned the room, searching for Albert or Helen. He looked forward to seeing them. Aside from Patrick, who lived on the property next to his, they were the closest thing to friends he had in Alaska.

  Albert Towns set a bag of grain against a wall and straightened. “Howdy.” He moved to Paul and grasped his hand, shaking it vigorously. “Good to see you. Where’ve you been keeping yourself?”

  “Out at the creek.” Paul clapped Albert on the back. “Time to stock up for winter.”

  “Summer came and went so fast I barely even got a look at it. Wish winter would hold off for a while.”

  “It’s only the third week of August. We’ve still got some summer left.”

  “Hope you’re right.” Albert moved to a counter and, taking a pencil from behind his ear, wrote in a ledger. He glanced up. “So, you going to be in town long?”

  “Have to leave today.”

  Albert straightened. “Too bad. I know Helen would like to see you.”

  “Wish I had the time. Tell her hello for me.”

  “Sure will.” Albert pushed the pencil back over his ear. “So, what can I get for you?”

  “I need flour, sugar, rolled oats, beans, and rice.”

  “How much you figure?”

  “A hundred pounds of flour ought to see me through.”

  “I’ve got plenty.” Albert headed toward the back of the store.

  Paul followed. “I need fifty pounds of beans and rice, and twenty-five pounds of sugar.”

  Albert stopped and peered at Paul. “Fifty pounds of rice?”

  “Something wrong with that?”

  “No. Just never eat much of it.”

  “It’s great in fish pie. And the fishing was good this summer so I’ll be making a lot of it.”

  “I’ll have to give it a try.”

  “Come out to my place sometime and I’ll make it for you.”

  “Just might take you up on that. That is, if I can get away. Helen keeps me tethered pretty close to home these days.” His eyes sparkled with humor. He stopped at a row of barrels. “We’ll get you set up.”

  After Paul and Albert hauled sacks of staples to the register, Albert set a bag of sugar on the counter and asked, “You need traps?”

  “I figured I’d get them at Susitna. Not enough room this trip.” Paul pulled a list out of his front pocket. “I do need a few other things. Some shells for my shotgun.”

  “How many?”

  “Four boxes ought to do it.”

  Albert picked up a wooden crate from the floor and set it on the counter. He placed the sugar inside, then grabbed the shotgun shells from a shelf behind the register, and added them to the box. “How are things out there on the crick?”

  “Not bad. Had a good growing season. Haven’t seen much of Patrick recently. He’s putting a new roof on his place. I offered to give him a hand, but he said his boys and Lily are all the help he needs.”

  “Lily’s always been up to most any kind of chore. And his sons are getting pretty grown up, I expect.”

  “I doubt the two younger ones are of much help, but Douglas is a hard worker.”

  “Tell Patrick hello for me.” Albert rested his hand on the bag of sugar. “You need bullets?”

  “Cast my own.”

  “You’re becoming more of a sourdough every year.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t live so far from town. Too lonely out there.”

  “It’s peaceful.” And private, he thought. Paul didn’t much like the world.

  Albert glanced at the clock on the wall near the front door.

  “Hope you don’t mind, but I’ll have Kate finish up your order. Helen’s under the weather and I promised to make her some lunch. It’s nearly one o’clock—she’s probably grousing about my being late.” He chuckled.

  “Nothing serious I hope.”

  “No. Just one of her headaches. Doesn’t get them often, but when she does, they lay her low.”

  “Have
her steep ginger root in water and drink it. And she should stay in a darkened room.”

  “You know about doctoring?”

  “My grandmother used to suffer from headaches and she swore by ginger tea.”

  “I’ll take some with me. Can’t hurt to try it.” Albert glanced about. “Now, where’d Kate get to?”

  Paul spotted a tall, slender woman standing on a stepladder near the end of a row of kitchenware. “That her?” He nodded toward the woman.

  With a glance down the aisle, Albert said, “Yep. Hey, Kate. Can you come up front for a minute?”

  Taking long, easy strides, she walked to the register. Paul liked the way she moved, as if she were comfortable with herself. When she looked at him, vibrant amber eyes took him by surprise. He offered what he hoped was a casual smile.

  She nodded and turned to Albert. “Do you need something?”

  “I promised Helen I’d make her lunch. Can you take care of the rest of Mr. Anderson’s order?”

  “Sure.” She flashed Paul a friendly smile and her warm eyes locked with his.

  “Paul, this is Kate Evans. She moved up from Yakima, Washington, several weeks ago and has been working with me in the store. ”

  “Nice to meet you.” Paul thought he smelled perfume— Evening in Paris. His heart constricted. That had been Susan’s favorite fragrance.

  “Good to meet you,” Kate said.

  Albert moved to a vegetable bin. “Do we have ginger?”

  “I don’t think so. Would you like me to order some?”

  “Yeah. See how soon we can get it in.” He grabbed his hat and coat from a peg on the wall behind the register. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.” He looked at Paul. “She does a better job of running this store than I do.” Pressing the hat onto his head, he said, “Too bad she doesn’t plan to stay.”

  “I’ll probably be here a good long while,” she said.

  “Good.” He winked. “Make sure Paul gets everything he needs. He lives way out on Bear Creek, wouldn’t want him forgetting anything.”

  “I’ll make sure.” Kate turned to Paul. “Bear Creek . . . hmm, I think I’ve heard that name more than once since I started working here.”

  Paul grinned. “There are a few of them around. The Bear Creek I live on is a tributary off the Susitna River.”

  Kate nodded as if she knew all about the Susitna. Paul doubted she did.

  Albert shrugged into his coat. “I’ll be back in about an hour.” He headed for the door.

  “Say hello for me,” Kate said. “I wish there was something I could do to help.”

  “Not to worry. She’ll be right as rain in a day or so.” He stepped out and closed the door behind him, the bell jangling.

  Kate placed her hands on the counter and settled her gaze on Paul. “So, what can I do for you?”

  Paul tried to ignore Kate’s long-limbed good looks. He stared at his list. “Just have a few things left. I was hoping you had some heavy cotton, something I could use for a work shirt.”

  “We’ve got a lot of different fabrics.” She moved toward a shelf with bolts of cloth. “Do you have a color preference?”

  “Brown. Probably two and a quarter yards will do.” He reached for a bolt of dark brown fabric and rubbed it between his fingers. “This seems about right.”

  Kate lifted it off the shelf.

  “And maybe some blue too. And plaid wool.”

  Handing the material to Paul, Kate lifted the other bolts from the shelf. “Does your wife have buttons and thread?”

  Paul hesitated and then glanced at her as he answered, “I’m not married.” He thought he might have glimpsed a glimmer of interest in her eyes before he looked away. “I do need buttons and thread, though.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You do your own sewing?”

  “Is there something amusing about that?”

  “No. Of course not. It’s just that I never knew a man who could sew.”

  Paul liked her forthrightness. He allowed himself to smile. “Living in the bush means doing for yourself.”

  She moved down the aisle. “The buttons and thread are here.”

  “Thanks. I think I remember where everything is.” He was drawn to Kate . . . and he didn’t want to be drawn to any woman. He held the bolt of cloth against his chest, using it as a barrier between himself and her.

  “I’ll take care of this, then,” she said, lifting the fabric out of his hands and adding it to her stack.

  She walked to the register and set the cloth on the counter while Paul made his choices. He glanced up and found her watching him. She quickly returned to measuring and cutting the cloth, while he wrestled with ambivalent thoughts—in spite of himself, he wanted to know more about her.

  When he set the thread and buttons on the counter, she asked, “Anything else?”

  “One . . . more thing.” He headed down another aisle and returned a few moments later with two pairs of long underwear. As nonchalantly as possible, he added them to the rest of the supplies. He could feel heat in his cheeks and hoped Kate didn’t notice.

  “So, you live on Bear Creek, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “Does the Susitna River flow into Cook Inlet?”

  “It does. It’s on the north side of the inlet. Once you reach the mouth of the Susitna, you go up a ways and Bear Creek empties into the river. I live near the mouth of the creek.”

  “That’s a long way from nowhere.”

  “I like it that way.” Paul manipulated the conversation around to Kate. “How about you? You have family in town?”

  “No. They live in Washington.”

  “Albert said you’re looking for a different job?”

  “Looking, but not finding. I’m a pilot.” She set the underwear in with the other supplies.

  “Never met a woman pilot.”

  Kate studied him. “Does that bother you, me being a pilot?”

  Her tone held a challenge, and Paul figured she had a chip on her shoulder, probably for good reason. “No. It’s just fine. A woman ought to be able to fly as well as a man.” He offered a lopsided grin. “But it is kind of ironic that you were surprised that I sew . . . since you live what most would consider to be unconventionally.”

  Kate folded the fabric. “I was just surprised, is all.” She laid the cloth in the box.

  “You been flying long?”

  “Since I was little. My dad had a plane.” She blew her bangs off her forehead.

  The gesture was appealing. Paul turned his attention to his supplies.

  “Before I left home, I heard there were lots of jobs for pilots up here. There were stories about the adventures waiting here in Alaska. I’ve been looking, but there doesn’t seem to be any need at all, at least not for a woman.”

  “I met a fella last night who just started up an airfield. Maybe he could use someone.”

  “Where? At Merrill Field?”

  “No. It’s a new outfit—small—down by Lake Spenard.”

  Kate’s eyes lit with interest. “Who do I talk to?”

  “Sidney Schaefer. Young fella, but he’s got big dreams and seems to have a lot of drive.” Paul doubted Kate had a chance at a job and wondered if he should have kept his mouth shut. No use getting her hopes up.

  “I’ll check with him. Thanks.” Kate placed the thread and buttons in the box.

  Paul couldn’t hold back a caution. “Dangerous line of work, flying.”

  “Yes, but so are a lot of other jobs. And I never feel happier than when I’m in the air. I love it up there.” Her expression turned blissful. “The world looks different, more beautiful.”

  “Been a passenger a few times. It’s been a while, but I remember enjoying it. So I guess I know what you mean.”

  “Maybe I’ll take you up some day.” Color flushed Kate’s cheeks and she glanced down one of the aisles. “Do you need anything else? Fruits or vegetables, spices?”

  Paul placed his hat on his head. “I’ve got pl
enty of vegetables. The garden outdid itself this year. And I’m set for spices. Could use some coffee, though.”

  Kate moved to a nearby shelf. “How much do you need?”

  “Four cans should be enough.”

  She took two cans down and handed them to Paul, then grabbed two more and headed back to the register. “Anything else?”

  “This ought to see me through the winter.”

  Kate tallied his order. “That’ll be thirty-two dollars and twenty-one cents. Would you like it on your tab or will you be paying cash?”

  “Cash.” He pulled a wallet from his back pocket, fished out several bills, then reached into his front pocket for the change and counted it out.

  Kate studied the pile of goods. “Do you need help?”

  “No. I usually haul it all down to the docks in a wheelbarrow.”

  “Mr. Towns keeps one out back.”

  “Yeah. I’ve used it before.” Paul moved toward the back of the store. He hesitated, figuring he ought to say something else. “Thanks. It was nice meeting you.”

  “You’re welcome. And it was nice meeting you too.” Kate smiled.

  Feeling ill at ease, Paul mumbled, “Guess I’ll see you in the spring.”

  By the time Paul had the supplies packed in the boat, his shirt was wet with sweat. He was thirsty. After returning the wheelbarrow to its place, he grabbed a soda off the store shelf.

  Kate was busy reorganizing canned goods and Albert had taken up his place behind the counter. Paul found himself wishing Albert hadn’t returned.

  “This is a nickel, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  He handed Albert a coin. “How’s Helen feeling?”

  “Still kind of rough.” He pulled open a drawer, fished out a bottle opener, and handed it to Paul. “Wish I had some ginger for her.”

  “My mother used to swear by it.”

  Albert’s brow creased. “I thought you said it was your grandmother.”

  “Oh . . . right.” Paul searched for a proper response. “She did, but my mother suffered from time to time too. It was a family thing.” He removed the cap from his soda and took a quick drink, then handed the bottle opener back. “Well, that does it for this year.”

  “Take care of yourself. Maybe we’ll have another mild winter like the last one.”