Brides of Alaska (52 page)

“You'd best get a move on it,” someone said, and Rita nodded.

“Yes, I'm going,” she said and backed away from Mark. He was still standing there, looking quite satisfied with himself, when Rita finished securing her team.

Moving out of Iditarod, Rita's mind moved in a hundred different directions. She'd become a Christian, but what did that really mean in the way that she'd now live her life? Could she somehow find a way to reach out to her mother and overcome the past?

She smiled to herself as she imagined her father's pleasure in her decision to accept Christ. He could rest easy now, and that gave Rita peace. Maybe it wasn't too late to make up for the past.

She tried to ignore the images of Mark in her mind, but when his voice called out behind her in the traditional “Trail!” requesting that she yield the right-of-way to his passing team, Rita couldn't help but think of him.

She glanced up behind dark glasses as Mark gave her a brief salute and was gone. Watching his team disappear in the distance, Rita found that she had no desire to pursue him. She needed distance between them. Distance to think and to understand why she'd so shamelessly reacted to Mark's kiss.

After eight days on the Iditarod, the Yukon River presented itself to Rita. She was tired of the ice, cold, and wind, but that was what this race was all about—that and inner strength, guts and sheer willpower.

Now over six hundred fifty miles from the starting line of the race with a little over five hundred yet to go, sleep was quickly becoming a thing of the past.

Rita found the breaks shorter in length and farther apart. She craved sleep like a starving man craved food. Pushing north on the frozen river, Rita found it necessary to strap herself to the sled to prevent falling off of it when she dozed. She struggled to stay awake, hearing voices that weren't there, seeing sights that had never known creation in the real world.

She made her checkpoints at Grayling, Eagle Island, and finally Kaltag before moving west toward the Bering Sea and Unalakleet. Following trails that were centuries old, Rita pressed her team along the Kaltag Portage for nearly one hundred miles. The routine of fighting fierce winds and death-defying cold with brief naps and feeding periods took an even greater toll. Rita was nearing exhaustion and wouldn't feel free to sleep for any long period of time until she reached White Mountain, where she'd have to take a mandatory six-hour stopover. Until then, she'd have to catch just bits and pieces of rest on the way.

Unalakleet, “place where the east wind blows,” was an Inupiat Eskimo village of nearly eight hundred people. Positioned on the Bering Sea, this small town represented the place where camaraderie gave way to competition. It was here that racers would dump off all but their most necessary equipment and often pick up sleek, lightweight racing sleds for the final push into Nome.

After a welcome of sirens and bells from the town's natives, Rita fed the dogs and left them to rest while she changed over her sled and made decisions about her supplies. Every time a new team came into sight, the revelry would sound again, reminding Rita of her competition. In all the time since she'd last seen Mark, Rita hadn't even thought to check on his progress. Now Rita's only competition was herself. It wasn't that she didn't want to win the race, it was just that everything had changed on the way to Iditarod. Now, it was enough to push herself to the limit and do her best without causing harm to the team or risking them in any way.

Each team was appointed to a Unalakleet family and cared for during their stopover. Rita was grateful for her host family and made her way to an offered meal and bed, after finishing with her sled. It was a tradition Rita totally approved of and found herself thanking God for as she set her alarm and fell instantly into deep sleep. Hours later, Rita awoke to a rosy dawn and steaming coffee. She ate and chatted with her hosts before seeing to her duties. With the final stretches of the race ahead of her, Rita would do as most of the other team drivers did and reduce the number of dogs on her team. She had mentally calculated each choice after watching her dogs on the trail.

She walked quickly among the dogs, surveying and deciding before finally reducing the team to ten. The other dogs were then taken to the holding pens to be flown back to Anchorage. It was hard to part with any of them, and Rita felt almost as though she were betraying them, even knowing that it was for their benefit.

Reluctantly, Rita departed Unalakleet following two other teams as the trail rose into the coastal Blueberry Hills. Their next checkpoint would be Shaktoolik.

Rita found herself surprisingly invigorated after her rest in Unalakleet. Maybe it was changing the sled and dropping the dogs, but whatever it was, Rita suddenly found herself revitalized and eager to race.

She pushed out against the twenty-mile-an-hour gusts that bore down from the northwest to pass two teams. With each gained position she felt the race spirit alive and well within her heart. She wanted to do well and make her father proud!

Shaktoolik was only forty miles from Unalakleet, and the time passed so quickly that Rita could scarcely believe her good fortune. She had gained a total of three positions and learned that another four teams ahead of her were still resting at the checkpoint. Deciding to push on, Rita's enthusiasm was picked up by the dogs, who yipped and strained to be down the trail at a run.

Land soon gave way to frozen Norton Bay. This was the part of the race that Rita had feared most. It unnerved her to realize, as her team moved out across the ice, that beneath her was nothing but water. Sure, there was a thick frozen surface, but an early warming or sudden storm could quickly create a life-and-death situation.

The skies were still clear, however, and in spite of the strong winds, Rita found the trail markers easily. She settled her nerves by reminding herself that all was in God's hands and pulled her parka hood tight against the wind.

She stopped once on the icy surface to change booties on her dogs and offer them a quick snack of honeyballs. Her fingers numbed as she whipped off her gloves and mittens to pull off worn, tattered booties and replace them with new ones.

Soon they were back on their way and Rita looked forward to the next checkpoint. For the first time she found herself wanting to know what Mark's ranking was and how he was doing. With a fondness that startled her, she remembered his embrace. She wanted to let go of her fears and reach out to Mark, but should she?

“What should I do, God?” Rita found herself praying. “For so many years I've put people away from me. I've fought to keep my distance and never let people get too close. I can't ignore how Mark made me feel, Lord, but what do I do?”

Conditions started to deteriorate as Rita's team approached the checkpoint at Kouk on the opposite shore of Norton Bay. The winds had picked up to a fierce forty miles per hour with a heavy blizzard to present near-whiteout conditions. Rita pulled into the checkpoint riding on sheer nerves and adrenaline.

“You're doing a fine job, Ms. Eriksson,” the official told her. “How are your dogs doing?”

“Great,” Rita gasped for air; she had run the last mile to lighten the load for her dogs.

“You've moved into nineteenth place,” the man added as he walked away.

“Wait a minute,” Rita called out. “What about Mark Williams?”

“Let me see,” the man replied and paused to check his list. “He was here eight hours ago.”

Rita smiled to herself. “Thanks. Has anyone crossed the finish line yet?”

“Not yet, but it's getting close. Several of the front runners will soon be within reach of it. My guess on a finish time will be thirteen days and some odd hours.”

“Fantastic!” Rita exclaimed. She couldn't imagine the speed that the others would have to maintain to pull off a thirteen-day race completion. Her own pace had been grueling enough.

“Let him do well, Lord,” Rita whispered as she went about heating food and water for the dogs. “I want Mark to do well,” she added, knowing that she meant it with all her heart.

R
ita crossed the finish line in Nome amidst the cheers of well-wishers and residents. Television cameras still worked to capture the race; the healthy finish of Rita in seventeenth place merited special attention. It would also earn her the sum of six thousand dollars. Rita found herself calculating expenses for the race; they might just break even.

Rita answered questions for the press, giving them her outlook and feel for the final miles of the trail. They also quizzed her about her lost days near Iditarod, and Rita was quick to give Mark credit for her rescue.

“I probably wouldn't be here now if it weren't for Mark Williams,” Rita told a newspaper reporter. “He risked not only disqualification from the race, but his life in order to go out and search for me.”

“Mark Williams is your father's partner in the Eriksson Dog Kennel, is he not?” the man questioned her.

“That's true,” Rita admitted. “He's also a good friend of the family.”

“Any chance that you and he are more than good friends?” the man asked with a grin.

Rita was surprised at the question and noticed that the other reporters awaited her answer with an almost anxious look.

“I'd say that's between Rita and me,” Mark's voice rang out from somewhere behind the crowd. “Now, if you don't mind, we need to care for the dogs.” Then in a whisper for only Rita's ears, Mark added, “Good to see you, Texas Rita.”

There was a bustle of activity and several other questions posed, but Mark waved them off and managed to pull Rita away from the press.

“Why did you bait them like that?” Rita asked, forgetting how happy she was to see him.

Mark laughed. “I thought it sounded good.” Mark thrust his gloved hands deep into his pockets and shrugged his shoulders. Rita thought he looked rather like a little boy who'd been caught redhanded with the cookie jar.

“But you saw the way they reacted to your reply. You might as well have told them something far-fetched, like we were planning our wedding,” retorted Rita.

Mark grinned and reached out to take hold of her arm. “And what would be so bad about that?”

Rita stared up in shocked surprise. She opened her mouth to answer but never got the chance, for just then her aunt Julie appeared in the path before them.

“Aunt Julie!” Rita cried and fell into the older woman's arms. “I'm so glad you're here. I wasn't sure I'd make it, but I knew you'd be waiting here for me and that helped me to push on.”

“I knew you could do it,” Julie remarked beneath layers of mufflers and fur. “You've got that tenacious Swedish blood from your grandfather Eriksson. You put your mind to complete the race and the rest just followed naturally.”

Rita laughed at her aunt's words. She turned to say something to Mark, only to realize he'd slipped away from her. She looked around her, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but to no avail. People filled in every inch of the street and the noise was incredible.

“Are you looking for that young man of yours?” Julie questioned loudly.

Rita put her hands on her hips and with a raised eyebrow asked, “Why do you call him ‘that young man of yours'?”

Julie smiled. “Never mind. We can talk about it at home. I've got a bed ready and waiting.”

“A real bed?” Rita teasingly questioned. She looked among the crowd for her uncle Sam before turning back to Julie. “Where's Uncle Sam? I can't imagine that he'd miss the race. He isn't sick, is he?”

Julie patted Rita's arm. “You worry too much. I said we'd catch everything up at home. Come on.” Julie motioned to Rita, but she held back.

“Really, it sounds great,” Rita sighed, “but first—”

“First come the dogs,” Julie interrupted and laughed. “They always come first,” she added, linking her arm with Rita's. “Oh, by the way,” Julie said with a wink, “Mark came in fifth.”