Brides of Alaska (44 page)

Julie shifted uncomfortably in the wicker chair. Rita jumped up to retrieve a pillow while she waited for her aunt's insight.

“Thank you, dear,” Julie said as she eased against the cushioning bulk. “Now, what I was trying to help you see is the huge mistrust you have in yourself. I think you're the only one who can say why it's there, but its effects are clear. God stands with open arms, offering a free gift of love and salvation. Mark apparently offers at least friendship, possibly more. In both cases, I don't believe it's God or Mark who frightens you the most. It's Rita. For whatever reason you have contrived, you don't believe yourself trustworthy and deserving of love.”

Rita frowned and bit at her lower lip. Was her aunt Julie right? Was this the demon from which she had so long run? Sitting back down, Rita seemed to withdraw into her thoughts to find the answers.

Julie reached out and covered Rita's hand with her own. “I know this is hard for you, but may I suggest something?”

Rita nodded.

“Good. I want to outline some scripture for you. Maybe you can better understand what I'm saying and what God's plan is, if you read His Word. Now, don't get defensive with me, just trust me. I want you to read the verses I mark and just think about them. Then, if you want to talk to me about them, I'll be happy to share whatever I know. Deal?”

Rita hesitated for a moment. She looked into Julie's dark eyes. Eyes that held so much love and concern for Rita that she wanted to cry for the very need of it.

“All right, Aunt Julie,” she finally answered. “It's a deal.”

“And Rita,” Julie added with a smile, “try not to be so hard on that young man. I think your father is an excellent judge of character. After all, he led me to my Sam. Mark may very well be a special gift for you. Maybe he'll only be a friend, maybe more. But you'll never know if you aren't decent to him. Just open your heart a bit. You might be surprised at the results.”

Rita nodded slowly. “I'll try. But it's those results that I'm worried about.”

R
ita sat in the quiet solitude of her room. For the first time since she'd stopped going to church, she found a Bible spread out before her. Her aunt Julie had given her several scriptures to look up, and most of them were in the first book of Corinthians.

Rita knew the Bible forward and backward, and as she turned in her New International Version Bible to the thirteenth chapter of Corinthians, she already knew what the verses would say.

“If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal
,” the first verse began. Rita scanned the verses, remembering them well. She once had to quote the verses from memory in order to win a new Bible. It hadn't meant that much to her, but it seemed terribly important to her mother and father.

Then Rita quoted the fourth, fifth, and sixth verses aloud. “‘Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.'”

Rita stopped and thought immediately of her mother.
Love keeps no record of wrongs
, she thought. So much had passed between them. So many angry words, so much ugliness and hurt. If love truly kept no record of wrongs, then maybe Rita didn't love her mother.

It was as though she'd had the wind knocked out of her. Rita had realized the anger and distance she felt toward her mother, but never once had she considered that she might not love her.

Glancing down at the Bible, Rita read on about how love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth and that it always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. She didn't feel that way at all toward her mother. She didn't trust her mother or understand her. How could she love her?

The realization bothered Rita more than she could bear. Where had they gone wrong? From where had the pain come? Rita stretched out across her bed and closed her eyes. In her mind she saw herself as a child, long black pigtails trailing down her back. Her mother had always insisted that Rita wear her hair long and Rita, in turn, hated it. But why?

Rita saw herself playing alone in her room. There were no other siblings her own age and nobody seemed to notice that she was lonely
.

“Go play, Rita,” she could hear her mother saying. She was fitting one of Rita's older sisters for her wedding dress
.

“There's nobody to play with,” answered a five-year-old Rita
.

“Then just find something to do
, Rita. I'm busy!” her mother had exclaimed in complete frustration.

Rita had walked away from the room, head hanging down like one of the dogs after being told “no” to some forbidden activity. She had almost made it to her room before hearing her mother tell her sibling how hard it was to live with Rita. There were other words, too. It was more pain than Rita wanted to deal with. Opening her eyes she thought instead of Mark Williams.

She couldn't deny that she enjoyed his kiss. Nor could she ignore the way her heart had jumped at his touch. She saw his face in her mind and the soft gentleness of his eyes. Rita buried her face in her pillow. Why were these things happening just when she should be clearheaded and single-minded. The race was in such a short time, and Rita knew she needed to devote her thoughts to it.

“If I hadn't read the Bible,” Rita thought aloud, “this wouldn't be happening. This is why I don't like all this soul-searching. It brings up things I'd rather not think of.”

Rita thought of her aunt Julie's words about trust. Rita didn't trust people and she didn't trust herself. Trusting meant opening yourself up to more hurt. It meant being vulnerable, and Rita believed when a person was vulnerable, others took advantage of you.

Rita was just starting to doze off when a knock sounded at the door. Getting wearily to her feet, Rita opened the door to find her father.

“Am I interrupting anything?” August asked.

“No, come on in, Dad. I was just about to go to bed.” Rita stepped back.

August walked into the room and pulled Rita's desk chair up beside her bed. He noticed the Bible and although he wanted to ask about it, August decided to let Rita bring it up.

“It's kind of early for you to be going to bed, isn't it?” August questioned. “You aren't sick, are you?”

“No, Daddy,” Rita said with a smile. “I'm just tired. It's been an exhausting day with the dogs, and then, of course, I've been doing a great deal of thinking about the race and all the complications and problems we still have to overcome.”

“There is a lot to consider,” August agreed. “We need to finish buying your supplies for one thing. Then we have to arrange for transporting dog food and whatever else you'll need to the various checkpoints on the trail. I thought I'd send you and Mark over to Fairbanks tomorrow.”

“Fairbanks? But that'll take a whole day coming and going,” Rita protested. “Can't we get everything we need in Tok?” What she really wanted to say was that she couldn't imagine having to bear Mark's company for a whole day without revealing her feelings. Then again, what were her feelings?

“We'll get some of the stuff in Tok, but there are several things I want you to pick up in Fairbanks,” August replied.

“I could go alone,” Rita offered.

“No,” August answered. “Mark has things to pick up as well. You'll need his help, and I know he'll enjoy your company.”

“Why do you say that?” Rita asked, suddenly interested in what Mark might have said to her father.

August grinned. “It isn't hard to see that he cares for you.”

“Has he said that?”

“Well, I suppose it wouldn't be fair to share our conversations with you. But, suffice it to say, his opinion of you is quite high.” August reached out to take Rita's hand. “I get the feeling you're kind of fond of him as well.”

Rita couldn't contain her surprise. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Rita, this is me you're talking to,” August said softly. “I've seen the way you watch Mark, and I've seen the way he watches you. I know there's a chemistry there, but I also know there are a lot of problems to overcome. Please believe me, I'm not trying to push a romance between you two. I just realize that you share an interest. Mark's a good man, Rita. You could do a lot worse.”

“I know,” Rita said, finally giving in. “He is nice, and I do enjoy his company. I'm just not ready for any relationships. I hope you understand. I mean, I know you worry about me being alone, but don't. I'll be fine, Daddy.”

“I don't think you're as tough as you'd like any of us to believe, Rita. But nonetheless, I'll bide my time,” August stated. “Now, are you up to the trip tomorrow?”

“Sure, but I really need to be careful. I'm running out of money fast,” Rita answered.

“I've sold a couple of dogs,” August said. “We have to have enough set aside to ship the supplies to the checkpoints, as well as the one thousand two hundred forty-nine dollars that it takes to register in the Iditarod. Your mother is making your dog booties and some of your insulated gear.”

“She is?” Rita questioned in amazement.

“That's right. She's also freezing snacks for your dogs. She's making honeyballs right now,” August said, referring to a popular treat that many sledders used. The treats were made of lean beef, honey, powdered eggs, brewer's yeast, and vegetable oil. To this, vitamins and bonemeal were added and rolled into pieces the size of baseballs. It gave the dogs a tasty, high-protein snack that helped to meet the 10,000 calories a day that each dog needed to sustain energy on the trail.

Rita said nothing. She'd had no idea her mother was involved in making her Iditarod dream come true. It made Rita uncomfortable. Somehow it made her feel vulnerable.

“Now, have you kept track of the mandatory requirements?” August continued. “You know about the maximum ratings on the sleeping bag and the minimum weight requirements?”

“Sure, Daddy,” Rita said, and recited the requirements for both. “I also need an ax with a head weighing at least one and three-quarters pounds, and the handle has to be at least twenty-two inches long. Then I need a pair of snowshoes thirty-three inches by eight inches, eight booties for each dog, one cooker, one pot capable of holding three gallons of water, two pounds of food for each dog, and one day's rations for myself. Oh, and it all has to fit on the sled. Did I leave out anything?”

August laughed. “Not as far as the mandatories go. You've done your homework, and I'm very proud of you. When you and Mark get back from Fairbanks, we'll start going over the critical points of the route itself.” August got to his feet and studied his youngest daughter for a moment. She was willowy and graceful, but there was still a hardness to her that he didn't understand. “I love you, Rita,” he said, turning to leave.

“I love you, too, Daddy,” Rita called out. She noted the look of concern on her father's face and hoped silently that he wasn't feeling ill. She couldn't help but notice the way he seemed to slow down more and more each day.

Long after their conversation, Rita still lay awake in bed thinking of her father's interminable aging. She wished she could have known him as a young man, wished he could have parented her as a young man. With thoughts interwoven with images of Mark Williams, Rita finally fell into a restless sleep. Tomorrow she would spend a great deal of time alone with Mark, and the thought weighed as heavy on her mind as that of her father's strength and health.

For most of the trip into Fairbanks, Rita allowed Mark to set the conversation. She answered only when the situation required her to do so and refrained from offering her opinion when it did not. She stared out the window watching the endless spruce forest, now heavy with snow. The trees seemed to weave an impenetrable labyrinth across the landscape and Rita wished silently that she could lose herself out amongst them rather than travel in confinement with Mark.

Mark sensed Rita's reluctance to open up to him even before they'd climbed into his truck for the long trip. He wondered if her silence was due to her efforts to concentrate on the upcoming race or something more personal.

Their business in Fairbanks passed swiftly and satisfactorily, and Rita was grateful that Mark had to see to many of his own needs. Before Rita slipped away to take care of a personal matter for her father, they agreed to meet back at the truck by three o'clock.

The jeweler's shop for which August had written the address was only a block away from where Rita had parted company with Mark. She walked into the building, jingling the bells on the front door as she did. A gray-haired man in a dark blue business suit met her before she reached the counter.