...Bone of My Bone     ...Bone of My Bone by Graina Wolchuk 
  

September 25, 1996 

The plane was sinking fast. Benton had no idea how long it would take
before the entire craft was completely submerged under the frozen Arctic
waters but he would not take any chances. A wide rift might mean that the
ice was stable enough to walk on yet a hairline crack could mean death.
Uncertainties in the wilderness. He pulled Elaine from her seat, lovingly
wiping the trickle of blood from her scalp, and ran to the cockpit. The
pilot was dead, his ribs protruding through his back. He grabbed his
hunting rifle and moved into the fuselage. Kicking the hatch open, he
hauled Elaine's unconscious body as far away from the plane he was sure
that was safe. The biting cold and blowing snow felt like little airborne
piranhas attacking his flesh. He wrapped a scarf around his head and ran
back to the plane quickly. He would need supplies until a
search-and-rescue plane came flying by. He grabbed the flare gun and the
box of flares, the first-aid kit, the pilot's bundle and his own pack. His
eyes fell on Elaine's backpack. He grabbed it and made way for Elaine. The
snow had become more severe, more vicious. He hauled Elaine on his back
and started walking. He heard the ice crack, like a battering ram on a
medieval castle door. He quickened his pace, trying to ignore his
tremendous load. 
About a kilometre and a half away, Benton stopped. The snow was more
choppy and packed. Probably solid ground. Knowing he could not go any
further, he stopped, placed Elaine gently down and began to dig a hole.
His fingers were numb and began to bleed. He did not feel his skin break.
He felt the weight of his heart whenever he lifted his head from the hole
to see Elaine laying there, the trickle of blood frozen by the bitter
cold. When the hole was deep enough, he pulled Elaine and his packs in. 
He blocked the hole's entrance with the packs, dragged out the first-aid
kit. Setting the iridescent flashlight to Elaine's head, he threaded a
needle, brushed a block of snow on the gash and began to patch it up. He
spoke to her softly, as though she could hear him. 
"This won't hurt a bit, Elaine. It won't show, either. I'll make small
stitches, and your hair will cover it up. When you wake up, you won't even
know you'd been cut." 
It was a lie but he felt comfortable telling it. He brushed away her hair
and stitched some more. 
"When you wake up, there will be a search-and-rescue plane on its way.
We'll be home before you know it." 
Another lie. Benton wanted to believe this one no matter what really lay
ahead of him. The stitching was done. Minute sutures were covered over by
Elaine's fine black strands. He drew a blanket from his pack and covered
themselves with it. Pulling Elaine's body closer to himself, he shut off
the flashlight and slept, his hand nestled in her tresses. 

Elaine stirred frantically. Benton could feel her body convulse beneath
his and awoke. He turned on the flashlight. 
"Where am I?! The plane! The plane...it's gone down..." 
Benton rocked her gently. 
"Sshh, it's alright. The plane crashed about a kilometre from here but
we'll be alright." 
Recollection haunted her. The engine sputtered and quit, the plane rolled
from side-to-side and nosedived into the snow. She didn't remember
anything after that. She put her hand on her head. Benton pulled it away. 
"You've cut yourself. It's not that bad. I've sewn it up." 
Elaine grimaced. That sounded painful. 
"Where are we?" 
"Right now, we're in a hole." 
"But what is our location?" 
"That is uncertain. You see, the malfunction that caused the plane's
engines to quit also caused the navigational systems to go way off line. I
saw it before we crashed." Benton stroked her hair as to reassure her.
"We're in the middle of nowhere, Elaine." 
She trembled. The fear in her eyes only strengthened Benton's resolve to
get her out of here alive. 
"We're going to die." 
Benton gripped her shoulders. 
"No, we're not. Someone will see that our plane did not arrive in Alert
and a rescue party will search for us. They won't quit until they find us.
All we have to worry about now is staying alive for a few days. The main
thing is body heat. The temperature here drops down to minus seventy
degrees Celsius. We will have to wear every article of clothing we have.
Cover your skin always or you'll get frostbite. We'll have to sleep
closely together when we are not moving." 
"I think I can manage that," Elaine smiled slightly. 
She felt his hands. 
"They're cut!" she gasped. 
"There are not as bad as you may think, Elaine. I don't feel them. We have
to rest for a while, especially you. I'll stay up." He covered her head
with the hood of her parka. "Sleep for me, my love." 

Elaine rested his hands on her bosom and fell asleep. 

September 26 
Winter had set in on the tundra. Daylight appeared as navy twilight in the
ebbing days of autumn. The worst had yet to come. Benton pushed the packs
from the entrance of the manmade cave and peered at the sky. No rescue. He
thought it might be that way. He felt the defeat jump onto his chest,
beating out the hope for him and his wife. They were off-course, thousands
of kilometres of where they should have been, crashed and without
supplies. Now without hope. 
Elaine pulled herself from the cave and joined his side. She touched the
lock of hair that fell on his brow. She let her gloved hand slide along
his despondent face. 
"The rescue? Has it not come yet?" 
Benton searched her naive face for some spark of reprisal. The truth would
be hard to accept. 
"There is no rescue," he told her. 
She shook her head. 
"No, that can't be. I know we don't have a radio but the people in Alert
will see that we haven't come in and begin to look for us. They'll even
start grid patterns..." 
"They won't know where to look for us, Elaine. That's what I have been
trying to say. The navigation system on the plane had been deliberately
sabotaged, there was no portable CB radio, standard equipment on any
Arctic-faring plane, and the box of flares was empty." 
He showed her the empty box. She pulled away from him and began to beat
her head with her fists. He pulled her fists away and tried to restrain
her. She lashed out against him, hot tears forming in the corner of her
eyes. 
"You son-of-a-bitch! Why did I come with you?! You promised we would be
rescued! You promised..." 
Her voice broke. She doubled over. Benton bit his lip trying to contain
his anger and impatience. 
"You agreed to come with me, Elaine." He pulled her up. "You agreed to
come with me in Chicago and to go further at Repulse Bay even when I told
you that you didn't have to come, that I'd be a few days away and I'd come
for you again. You said no, you wanted to come with me. I can think of one
reason for that." He cupped her face in his hands. "I'll need you, Elaine.
I have always needed you. Now will be no different. Will you come with me,
Elaine?" 
Tears fell slowly. She peered into his eyes. 
"I don't want to die," she confessed softly. 
Benton embraced her. 
"We won't die. I promise you that." 
She pulled from him. 
"Then why are we wasting time?" She pulled the packs from the hole and
chucked them before Benton's feet. "Which way south, Mountie?" 
Benton smiled. 
"This way," he pointed at the vast tundra. 
A path had produced itself from the cruel wind. They followed it. 

October 13 
They had walked for several days, barred from their arduous journey a
couple of times because of the raging winter storms. They were getting
leaner, tougher. They ate was left from Jim's pack, savoured the morsels
of Elaine's cranberry-nut bars and saved the calcium-rich powdered milk.
Everything was in scant quantities but they had learned to go without
fast. Benton had told Elaine that on the tundra you ate very little, once
a day, but the food was very rich, full of fat. It might not have been
exotic cuisine but it kept you alive. Soon, nature would substitute what
man had not provided for himself. Ptarmigan, snow owl, fox. Elaine did not
relish that food but she could see Benton did. She swore to herself that
when they got back she would never make that for him for dinner ever. 
She fared well. Frostbite attacked her extremities but traces of dying
skin made no impression on her. Her head had healed up. Benton would soon
take the stitches out. She looked at him. He was thinning out but kept his
Adonis-like features. His hair grew a centimetre longer everyday and his
face was covered with a fine fuzz. She chuckled to herself. This savage
look was almost sexy. 
Benton strained his muscles for an uphill climb. It was unusual for the
usually flat tundra. 
"Where the hell are we?" Elaine cried over the howling wind. 
"We're going over a snow ridge," he cried back, "a pretty big one." 
Elaine turned around. She observed the sloping curve of hardened snow. It
was gentle, gradual, not choppy or storied like an iceberg. Beyond the
curve of ice were layers of pent-up snow as hard as rock. She exhaled.
Nature had carved it like a marble statue, magnificent and forbidding.
Elaine followed Benton. 
"The utmost caution, Elaine," he warned, "walk carefully." 
She almost tiptoed, if one could do such a thing. Her feet were already
bound up with heavy socks and her boots were hardly delicate. Benton
stepped cautiously ahead marking the path for her. They came up on the
peak of the slope. The wall below the snow ridge was dull, the ice it was
composed of hidden by the driven snow. Elaine tried not to look down. She
walked faster. Benton held his hand out to her. 
"Not so fast," he cautioned, "we have to do this slowly. I have no idea
how sturdy this ridge is. You never can tell really." 

He stepped forward again. A quiet groan gradually increased to a deafening
roar. A hairline crack appeared below their feet and spread. 
"The ridge is breaking in half!" he screamed. 
Elaine pounced ahead. She ran from the crack that was gaining on her. She
lunged forward and grabbed hold of the jutting ice on the other half of
the ridge. She hauled herself up and reached for Benton. He lost his
footing and fell into the fissure. 
"Benton!" Elaine screamed helplessly, reaching for him in vain. 
Benton dug his fingers into the ice. He slipped further and further into
the fissure. Yanking out his hunting knife, he made the attempt to defy
death. He plunged the knife into the ice wall. It ripped into the wall and
slowed him down by seconds. He flailed his free arm for something to hold
but it was useless. The bottom fell out of the wall and collapsed taking
him with it. With a dull thud, he fell onto the hard snow. Blood flowed
from the back of his head. His blue eyes were bloodshot. He did not move
but blinked, incredulous of what had just happened. He shut his eyes. 
Elaine slid down the fissure, placing her foot in small crevices, jumping
down the last few metres. She rushed over to Benton. He was unconscious
and she had no idea how badly he had been injured. His head had been
gashed, that was certain. His hands needed to be bound up again. She tried
to ascertain if there had been any back injuries or even internal
injuries. Snow blew into her face. Another storm. She submerged into the
snow on the leeside of the fissure and made a cave for the two of them.
She pulled Benton in. She leaned him up against her, stroking his hair,
washing the blood away with snow. She chanted a song she had heard Bess
sing once. It was a pretty song. She never understood it. 
"Oh chi, chi mi na morbheanna..." 

Benton opened his eyes. He shuddered slightly. His back hurt. Elaine
coaxed him not to move. 
"You fell from the top of that fissure," She explained, "it's amazing
you're still alive." 
He smiled weakly. 
"Leave me here" 
Elaine strained to hear him. 
"What?" 
"Leave me here," he repeated weakly. "I don't know if I can make it. My
back hurts. I don't think I have internal injuries but things are pretty
numb as they are." 
She shushed him. 
"Don't talk like that," she scolded him, "you're fine." She chuckled.
"Besides, how will I get home? This is your nick of the woods, remember?" 
"Due south, Elaine," he said, "keep going. Leave me here. I'll only hold
you back." 
She pounded his chest. He let out an anguished cry. 
"Don't talk like that ever." 
He spoke no more. Elaine hummed the song again. 
"Oh, chi, chi mi na morbheanna..." 
Benton smiled weakly. 
"Do you know what that song means?" 
Elaine shook her head and bandaged his chapped hands with torn strips of
cloth. 
"No. It's a love song, isn't it?" 
Benton smiled again. 
"It means mist-covered mountains. It's Gaelic." 
Elaine now smiled. 
"Harry told me that he tried to teach you Gaelic when you were a kid." 
"My mother sang that to us when we were children. She used to lull us to
sleep with those Gaelic songs. Bess remembers them as though they were
sung to her yesterday. She sang them to Rory." 
Benton went silent. Elaine hummed the song again, lulling him to sleep. 

October 20 
They trekked further on. Benton was still woozy. His back hurt but he
tried to relate stories to Elaine of excruciating pain when he tracked
down criminals in the Yukon. Elaine would not believe it until she heard
it. Her perfect Mountie was capable of shameless bravado. She laughed but
when he sat down to rest she could see the pain etched on his face. At
night, under the snow and stars, she prayed for rescue. 

November 12 
Elaine was stronger than Benton thought. Her strength and resourcefulness
kept him alive. Her very safety gave him a reason to live. Had she died in
the plane, he never would have moved from her. Today, no wind hindered
them. The sky was dark and clear. Elaine became pale in moments and even
doubled over when they rose that morning. The rabbit they had eaten, raw,
did not make him sick but she was not used to the taste of raw meat,
Benton told himself. She would be. 
A night wind blew across their covered faces and they made camp. Aurora
borealis danced across the navy sky. Elaine had never seen them. She
smiled, reached her hand up as though to touch them. She cowered into the
igloo Benton constructed and regarded the thinking man. 
"You know, we've done the yuppy thing for so long. We've had Diefenbaker
scamper along and Anna, she's such a cute girl. Don't you think it would
be nice if there was the pitter-patter of little mukluks around the
igloo?" 
Benton furrowed his brow. 
"I don't know what you mean." 
"I mean, it would be nice to hear the pitter-patter of little feet around
the home." 
"I'm not sure what you mean." 
Elaine huffed. 
"I mean, the seed has been sown. Things have been knocked up and it is the
family way to put it to right. I am expectant with your reply though I
believe I have made my feelings pregnant with meaning." 

Benton still seemed puzzled. 
"Could you dumb it down just a little." 
Elaine became extremely impatient. 
"What I am trying to tell you is..." 
He put up his hand to caution her. 
"No wait, Elaine. I am keen to guess. Something must be troubling you..." 

(Two hours later) 
Elaine sat outside of the igloo cross-legged waiting for Benton's reply.
He climbed out and approached her. 
"Now, I still am confused as to what you were trying to say to me at the
beginning but I think I have the gist of it. You're frostbitten, that's
it." 
Elaine huffed, rose to her feet and scowled at him. 
"Torrach, prenada, enciente, drachtig, gewichtig, przymiotnik, gravid,
raskaana, incinta- pregnant!" 
Benton's blue eyes looked at her with a delicate naivety. 
"Is something troubling you?" 
She struck him as hard as she could and stamped away in a hurry. Benton
rubbed the place where she had belted him. 
"I can't believe it!" she mumbled. "He never gets anything. Right over his
head." 
Benton gaped. 
"I'm going to be father- again?" 
He ran to the furious Elaine and kissed her. He held her for a long time.
Her feet did not touch the ground for hours, she estimated. 

Elaine lay in the igloo falling into unconsciousness. Benton ran his
bandaged hand in her hair. 
"Elaine, are you awake?" 
"Hmmm?" 
She rolled over and faced him. 
"Yes?" 
"What will we name him? Or her?" 
She smiled at him and rolled over again. 
"I don't know. We have plenty of time to think that through." 
He nuzzled up to her, wrapping his strong arm around her burgeoning belly.

"Good night, Elaine." He shut his eyes and smiled ruefully. "Good night,
little Fraser." 

December 25 
Waves gently lapped against the sides of the ice floe. Elaine had told him
that it indeed was an ice floe and that she thought it was perilous.
Benton shrugged off her worry saying that the ice floe was a sturdy mode
of transportation. They had been sailing on this floe for a few weeks.
Elaine painfully counted the weeks, the morning sickness and then the
motion sickness, not to mention the frightful cold and how her back hurt.
Benton tried to make her as comfortable as he could. Together, on the
night of Christ's birth, they lay huddled in the darkness, wrapped around
each other to preserve warmth. 
Benton lay transfixed by the blinking stars in the clear sky. 
"I wonder what Anna is doing now?" 
Elaine measured the sorrow in his voice. He talked in his sleep. The
whisperings of Anna became frighteningly intense. 
"I know what she is doing," he answered his own question, "She isn't
asleep as she should be. Ray has probably put her to bed twice this
evening but she is being willful." He laughed. "She can be sometimes." His
eyes went glassy. "I can hear her thoughts, Elaine. I really can. I know
that sounds crazy but..." 
Elaine rested her head on his shoulder. 
"No it's not crazy, Ben. It makes perfect sense." She stroked his long,
dark hair. "You'll get home to her. You promised you would and you have
never broken a promise to her." 
Elaine rolled on her back. 
"You know what? All I want for Christmas is my Serta." 
Benton gaped at her. 
"That's all you want?" 
Elaine nodded. 
Benton tried to stifle a laugh but that proved impossible. Elaine laughed
with him. 
"That's what we should get when we go home. A Serta. Three or four of
them. And we'll put them in different rooms so we can lie down on them
according to our moods." 
Benton gripped his belly from the laugh that ripped through it. The ice
floe rocked slightly and they tried to control their unbearable laughter.
Still, giggles escaped their frostbitten lips. 
"Merry Christmas, Elaine." 
"Merry Christmas, Benton." 

January 5, 1997 
They were escaping ice floe country. Benton leapt over the final lead and
onto solid ground. He had fallen in once, a brief episode, up to his
chest. Just now, he could feel the blood trickle through his body. He
reached over his hand and helped Elaine across. She stepped onto solid
land and breathed a sigh of delight and relief. Benton went ahead of her,
stomping playfully on the choppy ice. He was metres ahead of Elaine last
time she looked. She cupped her hands over her eyes. A mound of snow, it
appeared, moved in the distance. 
"Benton!" she cried. 
Benton had crouched low. He was well aware of what was ahead of him. He
removed the burdensome packs and the parka from his back and drew his
hunting knife. He wished he had the hunting rifle but if the polar bear
did not see him or simply backed away, it would not be needed. He prayed
to God that it would not be. 
Elaine tried to run to Benton but she was loaded with great weight. The
mound of snow got bigger and took frightening shape. 
The Inuit believed that the polar bear originated as balls of snow. Once
born, the Great Mother Bear would lick their formless bodies and give them
shape. And what a shape it was, Benton thought. Four hundred pounds of
solid, muscled white fury. It did not fear man. Nanuk, Marie Pinsent had
told him, feared nothing. He remembered very little of that stern, laconic
Inuit woman, his maternal grandmother, but he did remember that. He rested
on the balls of his feet and prepared his knife for the kill. 

Elaine watched helplessly from the distance. The bear pounced toward
Benton. She swung the hunting rifle from her shoulder, cocked it and
aimed. 
Benton was pinned beneath the furious animal. He had been slashed. He
stabbed furiously into the bear's blubbery flesh. Its jaws enclosed his
skull. 
Elaine put her finger on the trigger, closed her eye and pulled. 
The bear's head collapsed onto Benton's chest. Another round penetrated
the thick fur, leaking out scarlet blood onto the snow. Benton breathed.
He pushed the animal's skull from his body and stood. Elaine came bearing
down on him. She looked at her kill, then at her husband. His left
shoulder was gashed. He breathed heavily from his exertions. He plunged
his knife into it, angry and alive. 
"I say we skin this son-of-a-bitch!" 
Elaine gaped at the inexhaustible Mountie. He nodded to her. 
"That's right- we'll feed on the hand that bit us." 

May 27 
Wet snow blanketed the northern skies. A lone structure of greyed wood
stood in the middle of the tundra. Benton kicked the door down. Elaine was
slung over his shoulder, weakened and limping. A cot in the corner, musty
and disused, would serve as her bed. She fell to it and propped herself
up. Benton threw his packs and parka to the floor and helped Elaine remove
her parka. She puffed out air wildly. Sweat poured from her head. 
Benton threw scant pieces of firewood into the stove and placed a bucket
of snow onto the burner. Elaine rolled on her side and gripped her belly. 
"The baby will be fine," she breathed, "a strong, healthy baby...what
doesn't kill you will only make you stronger...." 
Benton tried to believe her but hope seemed faint. She had been marching
since the crash and food was scarce. Now, the baby would arrive early.
Benton sat at the corner of the cot. Her pain subsided. 
"Elaine, you should prepare yourself," Benton frowned as he took off her
boots, "the baby might not live." 
She gritted her teeth. She hated his fatalism. Why was he hopeful with
everyone else but not her? She kicked him feebly. 
"Listen to me," she rasped between spurts of pain, "I have carried this
child in me. I've given him every spare ounce of strength I have. If
you've felt what I have over these past months, you wouldn't believe he
would die. The baby won't die." 
Elaine's tirade was cut off by groans. Benton believed her now. In a
matter of minutes, the infant would be born and he would see with his own
eyes the merit of Elaine's words. 
Benton took the steaming bucket from the stove. Elaine gripped the folds
of blanket that covered her naked waist. Benton wiped the sweat from her
forehead. Forming a fist, Elaine struck him and sent him flying. 
"You did this to me!" 
She gasped as the pain cut through her lower half. Benton lifted himself
from the floor and lifted the blanket slightly. 
"Push," he said. 
"Don't tell me to push!" she rasped. 
He placed a piece of leather between her teeth to clamp down on. She
propped herself up and pushed again. 
"I can see an arm," Benton said in awe. 
Elaine pushed again. She desperately tried to control the yelps of pain. 
"A head!" Benton cried. 
Elaine pushed once more and fell back. 
"Come on," he urged, "we're nearly there." 
Elaine clamped down on the leather, pushed and fell back, her strength
leaving her. 
Benton lifted the child up. He laughed. 
"Elaine! Elaine, we have a son!" 
She gazed at the huge infant as he kicked and cried. Benton placed the
slimy boy onto her chest. She wiped away the viscous fluid from his face.
His chest heaved with loud wails. She waited for the baby to open his
eyes. 
"He's so beautiful," she breathed and kissed him gently. 
Benton placed his hand on his son's head. Even though the boy was big, his
head was dwarfed in his father's hand. The baby's eyes opened to slits.
Elaine could see the gleaming blue in them. 
"He has your eyes." 
Elaine rubbed the sobbing baby's face and kissed him once more. 
"I want to name him Daniel," she said finally. "Daniel was my brother's
name. It was because of him I became a cop." She closed her eyes. "He was
gunned down on the beat." 
A tear nestled itself in the corner of her closed eye. 
"I like Daniel." 
"Daniel Fraser," Benton smiled, his hand still resting on his newborn
son's head. "Daniel Robert Raymond Fraser." 

Benton slumped down in a chair next to the window. Light appeared dimly
through the streaked window. Spring was coming. The shack, apparently, was
a Danish weather station. It had been disused for at least two years.
Benton could tell that by the wrinkled Danish language edition of Time
magazine. The shack had no radio or batteries. Just a half-full kerosene
lamp, two cans of cherry pie filling, more powdered milk, a can of herring
and oatmeal. The eating was good. The Danes, he thought, always planned
ahead. 
Benton chewed on a piece of dried polar bear meat. He cast a glance over
to Elaine and Daniel. They slept peacefully. Elaine's hot breath fluttered
the boy's feathery black hair. His hands were rolled up into tiny fists.
He smiled to see Daniel, big and strong. Something weighed in the back of
his mind. Daniel had inherited his parents' struggle for survival. The
Arctic was cruel and showed mercy to no man. It had tested Benton's metal
for years and now it would test his son's. But what didn't kill him, made
him stronger. Benton smiled proudly and allowed himself to be lulled by
the infant's gentle breathing. 

Elaine rocked Daniel to sleep by the window. Light shone upon Daniel's
cream-coloured face. She touched the corner of it with her forefinger. The
child did not budge. Benton lay sprawled across the cot. He was just plain
exhausted, marching all day, carrying her half the distance and then
delivering little Daniel. He didn't even bother to remove his boots. He
didn't toss or turn. His breathing was light. Elaine recalled all the
times she had lain with him, her head on his heaving chest. There were two
people now for his chest to support. She lifted herself up from the chair
and walked over to the cot. She lifted up the flimsy blanket and threw it
over him. She sat back down and whispered to Daniel, stories of the Windy
City. 

Benton shot up, a sharp expulsion of air, a stream of sweat on his brow.
Daniel stirred fitfully in Elaine's arms. 
"What is it?" 
"The plane," he breathed, "shadows around the plane, someone's sabotaging
Jim's plane..." 
Elaine sat next to him, wiping the sweat from his brow. His dreams were
always intense. 
"Who?" 
"Someone who hates me...she hates me..." 
Elaine looked at him still confused. 
"She was there all along, Elaine," he explained frantically. "Following
me." 
He looked deeper into her eyes. 
"Who, Ben?" 
He rose and looked out the window. 
"As soon as the weather clears, as soon as you are fit to travel, we'll
go." 
He grabbed his pack and refastened the buckles on it. Elaine shoved him. 
"Who, dammit?!" 
Benton looked at her seriously. 
"Victoria." 
A sudden weight had been thrust on her. 
"But...she's gone. She can't have. How?" 
"She followed me, Elaine. There must have been a reason. Whatever it is, I
don't want to hear it. She's had her revenge a long time ago..." 
Benton continued to sort out his pack. Elaine pulled Daniel closer to her.
Now their trek was not only one of survival but a manhunt. 

June 30 
The landscape become more rocky. In the longest time, Elaine had not seen
moss. It grew on the undersides of rock that sparsely dotted the snowy
plains. Daylight perpetually shone and the weather was warmer. Elaine
found herself removing the extra layers of mens' shirts she wore
underneath her sweater. Daniel sweat in the amlaut he was constantly bound
in. During the day, when he wasn't being nursed, he was bound to his
mother's back in the makeshift rucksack cooing and playing with her hair.
Benton would talk to him. Today, as they walked on the rocky ground, he
taught Daniel The Cremation of Sam McGee. 
"Strange things are done in the midnight sun by the men who moil for
gold..." 
Benton would notice that Daniel was not paying attention and he would call
until the distracted infant would pay him heed. 
"The Arctic trails have their secret tales that would make your blood run
cold..." 
Elaine must have heard the ballad at least fifteen times in the course of
the day. 
The land up ahead was more and more bereft of snow. A huge congregation of
rocks lay ahead. Benton threw down his pack and stretched. 
"We can camp here for the night," he suggested. "We'll get an early start
tomorrow." 
"Can't we go on?" she begged. 
Benton simply looked at her. 
"Why? It's so warm." He plucked a small bunched purple flower from the
rocky earth and presented it to Elaine. "Saxifrage." 
Elaine smelled the flower. She had not seen flowers since she left
Chicago. She snatched it from Benton's grasp and ate it. 
"Yummy," she mumbled. "Sure, we can stay here. Yeah," she nodded, "why
not? It's pretty. And methinks I see food." 
She crouched to her haunches and picked greyish-blue berries from the
ground and ate them. 
"Some would think the garden of Eden was right here," she smiled as she
stuffed the berries in her mouth. Benton smiled with her and ate withered
berries. 
A stirring startled the couple. Benton saw a shadow behind a boulder. He
drew his hunting knife an Elaine swung the rifle from her shoulder. They
edged silently toward it. Benton peered behind the boulder. Elaine
grimaced at the sight. 
"Eww! What is it?" 
"That is a muskox," he pointed at the huge, shaggy creature. 
Elaine moved slightly. Benton kept her still. 
"Don't torment it," he warned. 
They backed away and let the yak-like creature feed on the moss. They
moved to a place among the boulders where the air was still. Benton threw
off his parka and tossed his pack aside. He brushed his shoulder-length
hair from his face. He lay back on the rock. Elaine placed Daniel down and
nestled him comfortably with her bundle. She slid up to Benton and started
to undo the buttons on his lumberjack shirt. He lifted his head up. 
"Elaine, what are you doing?" 
"It's been a long time since I've actually touched your skin," she slid
off the shirt and worked her way to the thermal shirt that had become a
second skin to him. 
"Elaine, it is no more than ten degrees Celsius." 
"I don't care how cold it is. I want you." 
She kissed the scars on his chest, the polar bear gashes, the reminder of
the otter incident. Benton now could not resist. It was warm, he reminded
himself as he moved his hands along Elaine's thin torso. 

The evening grew colder and it was only when the mosquitoes bit their
naked flesh that they put their clothes back on and covered Daniel's
newborn flesh from the ravenous insects. 

August 28 
Autumn. It was when things had begun to unravel. A year ago, Benton
returned from Fort Nelson after Uncle Harry's interment, when he had
realized what a fool he had been for his short-sightedness, not noticing
Elaine, his future helpmate, lover, mother of his child. Elaine had
squandered her time for a scoundrel, a man not even worthy of her spit.
She wondered why she had not been patient as she had always been. Now, the
only question she asked herself now was if she had known that a year from
then she would be stranded in the Arctic with the man she loved would she
surrender herself to the dangers and deprivations? The answer had been a
resounding yes. 
"We're getting closer," Benton said without looking at Elaine. 
A pause fell between them. 
"What will you do when we get back?" Elaine asked. 
"I'll bring Victoria in," he answered, his voice devoid of feeling. 
Elaine had been afraid of it. The answer which confirmed her fear had
fallen from his lips. He was obsessing as he done before Victoria betrayed
him. The fact that she had even been worth a thought hurt Elaine. His
every waking moment as they drew closer to autumn had been about her, how
he would capture her, how her revenge would not be complete. 
Elaine grabbed his arm. 
"Am I the only woman?" 
Benton stared at her. 
"What?" 
"Am I the only woman?" 
Benton was flustered. 
"Yes." 
"Do you mean that? Am I the one you think of? Am I the one you make love
to? Should I be the mother of your baby, or should she?" 
Benton stared at her intensely. 
"I want her behind bars." 
"I want her dead!" Elaine blurted. "I want her dead inside of you. I
want..." Elaine cleared her throat and retained her composure. "I want to
be the woman you married, not her." 
Benton pulled Elaine to him and buried her head in his arms. 
"You are. There is only one woman, Elaine, and it always has been you." 
Elaine could tell when he lied. Now he was not lying. The truth had come
from his heart and she was satisfied. 

September 23 
Snow flurried around the sleeping couple. In the darkness, Benton could
see a light. He edged toward it cautiously. The tiny light luminated a
cabin in the darkness. His heart burst. He ran toward it. He could make
out the porch, the front steps, the snow-laden roof. A small figure stood
on the porch leaning against the rails. It waited for him. As he came
closer, he could recognize who it was. Anna smiled at him. 
"Come," she whispered. 
Benton jerked up. He was still under the snow. He pushed Elaine up. 
"Come on," he commanded, "we're nearly home." 
"But we've walked all day," she griped. 
Benton pulled her to her feet. 
"Come on," he insisted, "we have no time to lose." 

September 24 
Constable Alexander Mackenzie Reynolds lifted his feet to his desk. A
dreary report to fill out. How exciting. There were at least two reports
to fill out a week in Grise Fjord. The town had less than one hundred
people in it and nothing much went on. Fishing and hunting licenses were
approved of, air field lights were replaced when they burnt out, Mr.
Miggins worried about his chickens. Once, a kid broke into someone's home.
It had caused an uproar in the sleepy town. Alexander, for once, had
something to do. 
He had been banished here for striking a superior officer, something he
did not entirely regret doing as he felt the man was- as he had put it- a
son-of-a-bitch. Still, he was here, bored to tears and itching to get out.
He hoisted a copy of the Chicago Times from a disorderly pile of papers
from his desk. In a red circle, the article stating a memorial service was
being held for his friend, Constable Benton Fraser and Officer Elaine
Besbriss, evoked a sense of emptiness in him. He had not seen his friend
or the woman since the April before last. Now, condemned to this place, he
could not even remember them with the congregation that would be
assembled. 
An elderly man burst into Alexander's office. 
"Constable Reynolds! Constable Reynolds!" Mr. Miggins cried. "Jakey's
foolin' with my chickens again." 
"Is he?" Alexander ascertained. 
"Yeah," Mr. Miggins nodded, "you've got to do something, please." 
"I'll have a word with him," Alexander promised. 
A young Inuit man flailed into Alexander's office. His long black hair
flew into every direction. 
"Alex, Alex," he panted, "there's a guy, crazy, I think. He's screaming.
At the end of town." The man retained his composure and became earnest.
"Do you want me to take him out?" 
Alexander shook his head. 
"Uh, no, Morrie. I'll deal with it." 
Alexander placed his Stetson on his head, fastened up his parka and
followed the eager Morrie to the strange man. 

Benton pulled Elaine by the hand. Houses, scores of drab bungalows against
the backdrop of snow and rock. They laughed. They had made it at long
last. Benton jumped wildly up and down. Life could not get any better
right now. 

"Olly, olly, oxen-free!" he cried and laughed insanely. 
Elaine cradled Daniel who whimpered when he heard his father scream so. 
"Elaine, celebrate with me! We're almost home. We haven't seen people
in...oh...a year now. And look, the town's people are crowding around us."

People rolled out of their houses. The quiet had been disturbed. Benton
laughed at them. He had been separated from people before, even isolated
himself from them, but now had been different. It was a test of the human
will, of his marriage, of fatherhood, of the force, and he had triumphed. 
Morrie pointed out to Alexander the strange man. Alexander neared him.
When Benton saw him, he laughed and ran to him with arms outstretched.
This wild embrace caused Alexander to fall to the ground. He punched
Benton off of him. 
"Alex! Alex! It's me!" 
Alexander peered at the strange man. Underneath the parka, long hair and
beard, it was Benton. He gaped in disbelief. 
"You're dead! You're dead!" 
Benton was happy to disappoint him. 
"No, I'm not. I'm very much alive." 
Benton lifted himself from the ground and ran to Elaine. 
"Alex, you know Elaine. And.." he peeled back Elaine's hood, "my son,
Danny." 
Alexander let himself smile. 
"Un-fucking-believable," he muttered. 
Alexander dispersed the crowd and took the two to his office. Elaine and
Benton ate the donuts at the coffee station. 
"Okay, explain to me how this can happen. You died in that crash." 
"No we didn't," Benton contradicted as he swallowed a honey-dip donut. "We
survived and trekked across the Arctic. Now we have to head home and find
who did this to us." 
Alexander's blue eyes widened in mock engrossment. 
"Really? Just like that?" 
"That's right," Benton answered. 
Alexander sat back. 
"Who did this to you?" 
"Victoria." 
Benton's face was as stone. His resolve pushed him through the Arctic with
wife and child just to track down the woman who had betrayed him and now
tried to kill him. A Mountie to the end. 
Alexander's face went white. 
"Is this personal?" 
Benton leaned on Alexander's desk. 
"Very." 
Alexander swallowed an obstruction. 
"That aside, you're not going to believe this, Ben, but they are having a
memorial service for you in Chicago." 
Benton grabbed the newspaper Alexander produced. 
"What? I'm not even dead." Benton turned to Elaine. "They might wait until
we're actually dead, my love." 
"A Flora Grey is holding the service." 
Benton grasped the paper. 
"That bitch!" 
Alexander was surprised. 
"That was Victoria's alias. The name she used when I first arrested her.
She rented out the getaway car under that name." Benton became more
serious. "We have to get down." 
"Just like that?" 
"Alex," Benton pleaded. 
"There's a plane leaving for Chesterfield Inlet. I'll make sure you're on
it," Alexander warily assured. 
"I don't have my passport," Elaine added. 
"Don't worry about it," Alexander consoled her, "I'm sure the American
authorities would let you in once they understand the full story." 
Alexander got up. 
"No time to lose," he said and let them to the airfield. 
Mr. Miggins ran to him. 
"Constable Reynolds! What about my chickens?" 
Alexander patted him on the shoulder. 
"Mr. Miggins, I'm leaving you and Morrie in charge. You have the authority
to do with Jakey as you see fit according to law. Godspeed." 
Mr. Miggins smiled. He would make Jakey pay. Oh yes, he would make Jakey
pay. 
Alexander rapped on the side of a Sandpiper. 
"Gary, you've got passengers!" he called out. 
The oil-stained pilot stepped out of the plane. 
"No, I don't." 
Alexander stood toe-to-toe with him. 
"Oh, yes, you do." 
Elaine, Benton and Alexander piled in. The couple sat comfortably in the
passenger seats as they had done in the journey over. When Alexander
looked at them again, the family was huddled together, asleep. 
"Let's get a move on, Gary," Alexander ordered. 
The engine started, the propellers whirred and the Sandpiper lifted off
the tundra. For the most part, the journey was over. 

THE END.