Joy Takes Flight (11 page)

“I trust you. It's the plane and other people I don't trust. You're an unbelievable woman and a fantastic pilot. I'm so proud of you, Kate. But I love you . . . so much.” Paul didn't want to say the words. He knew they weren't what she wanted to hear and he'd promised not to say them. But how could they solve their differences if he wasn't honest. He took her hands in his. “Kate, I'm afraid for you. I don't want you to die somewhere out in the wilderness—alone or at the hands of some crazed passenger.” He studied her steady gaze but couldn't see what she was feeling. “I know I agreed when we got married that you could fly. And I told you I wouldn't interfere, but . . . isn't it reasonable for you to take safer runs?”

Kate looked at the table and their clasped hands. “I want to listen to you and to be an obedient wife—”

“I don't want an obedient wife.” He grinned. “If I did, I wouldn't have married you.”

Kate looked up at him and smiled.

“I want you to make wise decisions of your own choosing, but I want to be able to tell you how I feel. We're supposed to help each other, right?”

“Yes.” Kate compressed her lips. “But I've never been a wife before. I want to do it right, but sometimes I don't know what that is. All I know for sure is that I love you.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “There's something inside of me that fights back when anyone tries to tell me what to do—even when it's just a suggestion.” She smiled softly. “Even my father had a hard time with me.”

Paul squeezed her hands. “I understand that. You're strong and you know what you want. Being married isn't easy for anyone, and for us, it may be especially difficult. We're not exactly a run-of-the mill couple.”

Kate took in a quaking breath. “I was just thinking that.” Her expression resolute, she continued. “I can't take safe flights only. It's not fair to the other fellas, and it would ruin my credibility as a pilot.” She wet her lips. “It's kind of like asking you, as a doctor, to take only patients you know won't die.”

The truth of her statement cut straight to Paul's heart. He understood what it meant to lose a patient—he'd lost two of the most precious people in his life and it had been his fault. Kate still didn't know. He'd never found a way to tell her.

“What is it, Paul? I know there's something you're holding back from me. Please let me help.”

This was his chance. Paul tried to form the words, but he couldn't open his mouth. He cleared his throat. It felt tight, as if someone were strangling him. “I . . . I can't talk about it. Not yet.”

“Okay.” Kate's tone sounded hurt. “Can we pray? About us and about whatever it is that is hurting you so much?”

“Pray?” Paul didn't do much praying these days. “Sure. But maybe you should do it. Me and God, well, we've kind of been out of touch lately.”

“I can do it.”

Still clasping hands, Kate and Paul bowed their heads. The room turned quiet, then Kate said, “Dear Father in heaven, thank you for Paul. He's a good man, better than I deserve. I know it was you who brought us together, but we need your help. We've got a lot to learn about being married and loving each other. Please show us the way. Help us to be patient and kind with one another. Show us how to resolve our differences. And Lord, please give Paul peace about my flying and heal the hurt he carries in his heart.” Kate took a slow breath. “And Lord, if I'm not supposed to fly, please tell me. Help me to hear your voice and help me obey you.”

Paul was startled at Kate's request. She was willing to give up what she loved most in life for him. He squeezed her hands and with a bit of hesitancy, said, “Thank you, God, for Kate. She's a wonderful wife. And she loves to fly. I need to learn to trust you. Help me.”

K
ate flipped a flapjack, and then checked the eggs to see if they were done. The two-way radio crackled to life. “Kate. This is Anchorage. Over.”

Kate moved to the radio and sat down. “Hi, Jack. What you got for me? Over.”

“There's been some trouble up at Poorman's Creek, outside of Talkeetna. Guess a fella's been shot. Likely a conflict between miners. They need a doc up there pronto.”

“Do you have the exact location?”

“Yeah, but you'll have to come in to the airfield to pick up the chart on this one. The landing site's dicey and hard to spot from the air. Plus a trooper will be riding out with you. Over.”

Kate's stomach dropped. “A trooper? What's going on up there?”

“Don't know for sure, but figured better safe than sorry. Over.”

“We're on our way. Over and out.”

More trouble.
Kate's stomach churned as her mind threw her back to the last time she'd been on a flight with a trooper. She glanced at the griddle. Smoke rolled out from under the flapjack. She leaped to her feet, lifted the burned breakfast onto a plate, then hurried to the door. Stepping onto the porch, she called, “Hey Paul, we've got a run.”

“Okay. I'll feed the dogs and then be in.” He whistled for the dogs.

Kate returned to the kitchen, set the burned flapjacks aside for the dogs, and finished making breakfast. She heard his steps on the porch.

The door opened and Paul stepped inside. “What's up?”

“I got a call from Jack. There's trouble up by Talkeetna at Poorman's Creek.” Kate held out a plate of unburned flapjacks that she'd buttered and drizzled with syrup. “You better get something in your stomach.” She sat down and smeared apple butter on a flapjack, folded it in half, then picked it up and took a bite. “Jack said that someone was shot. It could be an accidental shooting, but he seemed to think it was some kind of clash between miners.”

“Better eat fast.” Paul took a large bite of his flapjacks. “Don't know why anyone would get into that business. It's dangerous and generally not profitable.” He cut off another piece and swirled it through syrup on his plate. “Did he say how serious the injury is?”

“No.”

Paul folded the last of one of the flapjacks into a stack and shoved it into his mouth. Leaving the rest on his plate, he said, “We better get moving.”

“We have to stop at the airfield to pick up a map and a trooper. I hope he doesn't need to bring back a prisoner.” Kate grimaced.

Paul set his plate in the sink. “I swear, things are getting more risky all the time. It's only been a few weeks since you had to testify about the incident in Unalakleet.”

Kate set off on a defensive litany. “There's always been conflict in the territory. This may be the twentieth century, but Alaska's still a wild place. And the trouble in Unalakleet was a couple of months ago. We haven't had any problems since then.” She shrugged, trying to look unruffled. “Things like this happen. We'll be fine. I just hope the man who was shot is okay.”

“Yeah, me too.” Paul strode into the bedroom to get his medical bag. “Glad I restocked this. Gunshot wounds can get messy.” He ushered Kate out the door and they headed for the creek with Angel trotting alongside them.

Once they were in the air, Kate followed the Susitna toward Cook Inlet. Heavy, dark clouds reminded her of the cretonne tapestry drapes that used to hang in her aunt's gloomy sitting room.

The conversation between the creek and Anchorage remained light, even though Kate was certain Paul was worried about what waited for them, just as she was. When they landed at the airfield, Kate noticed the trooper's car right off and the seriousness of the situation hit her. This could be bad. She kept the Bellanca's engine running and left Angel and Paul in the plane while she ran for the shop.

When she stepped inside, Jack looked at her from behind his desk. “It's about time.”

“I can't get from the creek to here in ten minutes. You know that.”

“You bet I do. And if I'd had another pilot around, I'd—”

“Yeah, I know . . . I'd still be sitting out on the creek.” The last thing Kate needed was verbal warfare with Jack, so she asked, “Where's the map?”

Shoving a cigar between his teeth and biting down, Jack bent over a map on his desk. He plucked a pencil from over his ear.

Kate moved to the other side of the desk and the trooper stood beside her. “I'm Matt Lawson,” he said with a quiet smile. He had eyes the color of forget-me-nots.

“Kate Anderson.” She shook the man's hand, remembering the last trooper she'd flown with. “Thank you for accompanying us.”

“All in the line of duty, ma'am.”

“Okay,” Jack said, with the pencil pointed at the map. “Take the usual route, like you're headed for Talkeetna, but Poorman's Creek is west, so you'll shoot over right here.” He put an X on the map. “And follow Peters Creek past Petersville. When the creek makes a wide turn toward the west, you go straight north.” He drew a sharp line on the map. “You'll start seeing miners' cabins and sluice boxes along the creeks up there. Poorman's Creek is due north of the turn. It gets kind of tight in there with the hills and mountains, but there's a place to put down—you'll see it.” He straightened and looked at Matt Lawson. “Understand you've been up that way a time or two.”

“More times than I'd like. Miners get nervous, and pretty soon you've got trouble. They usually simmer down before things get out of hand, but once in a while we have to haul a man into the pokey. Sounds like this is one of those times. I figure someone's out there with a gun and a foul temper.”

Oh brother
, Kate thought.
Another crazed prisoner
. “Let's get moving.” She grabbed the map and chart, tucked them under one arm and strode toward the door.

“Call in and let me know when you've got things under control,” Jack said, unable to conceal his concern.

“Sure,” Kate said, and walked out.

Kate had made a lot of runs to Talkeetna and was familiar with the route. But when she veered off at Peters Creek, it was new territory. The land was ribboned with streams and potted with lakes and ponds. “There's a lot of marshland out here.”

“Yeah,” Matt called from the seat behind her. “It's a rough hike in if you don't have a plane. Still, the miners keep coming—determined to strike it rich.”

“What kind of luck do they have?” Paul asked.

“Some of them do okay. But once a fella sees that gold glittering in a pan, he gets the fever and he'll work until he's broken down. In the end, most go back to wherever they came from, poorer than when they arrived.”

The small hamlet of Petersville slid by below and Kate continued to follow Peters Creek northward. Hills and mountains created erratic wind currents and the plane jumped and bounced its way along. Mount McKinley stood amidst the peaks, like a monarch overseeing his royal court.

“That's quite a mountain, ain't it,” Matt said. “Never get tired of looking at it. If I was younger, I'd have a hand at climbing it.”

“Why?” Paul asked. “I've treated more than one mountain climber. You'd just be looking for trouble.”

“Don't know—it's a challenge—something that sets a man apart from the rest.”

“Yeah, if they live,” Kate said, looking back at him.

“A lot more bush pilots die every year than mountain climbers.” Matt lifted a challenging eyebrow.

“There are a lot more pilots.”

“Okay. You got me on that one.” Matt chuckled.

Paul kept quiet, but he gave Kate a knowing glance. She didn't say anything. There were more important things to do, like find the landing field and the man who had been shot. She turned her focus to the wetlands below. They were hedged in by scrub spruce and birch. She spotted a moose standing along the edge of a pond. “Look down there,” she hollered.

“This is good moose-hunting country,” said Matt. “I brought out a big bull last season.”

Kate saw a sluice box standing alongside a tiny creek that tumbled into Peters Creek. Then she saw another one and another. And there were small cabins tucked into the trees beyond the creek banks. A few of the sluice boxes had men working them. “Maybe one of these days I'll get myself a claim,” Kate said with a teasing smile for Paul.

“Backbreaking work,” Matt said. “We're coming up on Poorman's Creek. The landing site is just to the west of it. You'll see it any minute now.”

Kate scanned the landscape. There didn't seem to be any place to set down. All she could see were forests and waterways interspersed by bogs. And then, all of a sudden, it was there. If she hadn't been looking, she would have mistaken it for a grassy bog. “That it?”

“Yep. There's not a lot of room so you gotta get down right away. Good thing there's not a lot of trees. Still had a couple of close shaves on this one.”

Kate could see the landing strip was just long enough. And that trees didn't crowd the end of the runway. She didn't need a trooper telling her how to fly. “It's long enough. I've set down in tighter spots than this.”

“No one's got time to put in a proper landing field. All they have on their minds is gold.”

“Do you know where we're supposed to find the injured miner?” Paul asked, scanning the smattering of cabins below.

“Whoever made the call said they'd try to get to the landing strip.” Matt gazed out the window. “Don't see anyone.”

Kate noticed he had his hand resting on the gun at his side. Angel paced, as if she could feel the tension.

“Ma'am, it'd be good if you kept the dog in the plane along with yourself. Let me handle this. 'Course I'll need the doc.”

Kate clenched her teeth. She didn't want Paul going out there without her. He needed someone to watch his back while he worked. “I know how to use a weapon. And you might need another hand.”

The trooper peered at her. He squinted as if he were weighing the options. “Suit yourself, but don't get in the way.”

Until that moment, Kate had liked Matt Lawson. Now, he was just like any other man who underestimated the abilities of a woman simply because she was female. “Don't worry. I won't be in the way,” she said, disdain dripping from her voice.

Matt looked at her as if he had no clue why she'd be annoyed. Men.

“Okay, guys. I need you all in the back.”

“Why in the back?” Paul asked.

“With all the mud and ruts, it'll help stabilize the landing.” She looked at Paul. “Can you take Angel with you?”

“Sure.” Paul climbed out of his seat, resting a hand on Kate's shoulder for a moment. “Okay, Angel. Come on, girl.”

He led the dog to the back and sat down. Matt made his way toward the rear of the plane and squatted beside Paul.

Kate made another fly over, getting a better feel for the landing site. “This could get rough, grab hold of something,” she called.

“Slow and easy,” she told herself. Kate dropped down over the trees and leveled out. She needed to keep the tail low and get all three wheels down at once. The brush at the other end of the runway rushed toward her, but she didn't dare slow down too quickly or the plane could get bogged in the mud and the prop would end up in the muck. With only yards to spare, the plane slowed and Kate managed to get it turned back the way she'd come in.

Matt hurried forward and popped open the door. “Let's go. We can't give the thug, whoever he is, one extra minute.”

Paul grabbed his bag. “You take care of the hooligan and I'll take care of the injured.”

Matt stopped and stared at him. “If we want to get whoever's been shot, we'll have to work together.” He jumped out before Paul could respond.

Angel leaped from the plane before Kate could stop her. She set off, nose to the ground. Paul climbed down and waited for Kate, then the two of them followed close behind Matt. Paul had his medical bag in one hand and a gun in the other. Kate had never seen him use a revolver before. It felt strange to see him with one. She'd tucked her revolver into her belt, but as she ran for the cover of the trees, she pulled it out.

The three of them stopped beneath a spruce. Paul gazed down at her. “Kate, I'd feel better if you stayed with the plane. You'll be safer there and we might need to get out in a hurry. I have no idea how badly injured my patient is.”

“The engine's warm. I can get us off the ground in no time. And I'm not leaving you. Especially while you're working on someone who's been shot—you'll need me to watch for whoever did the shooting.”

He let out a breath of frustration. “All right.” He gave her a quick kiss.

Matt moved toward a brushy area and squatted. His pistol ready, he studied the terrain. Paul and Kate hunkered down beside him.