Running The Edge: Chapter 5 - Reedsport Regional Hospital

 

Chapter 5

Reedsport Regional Hospital

The Next Day

 

                The heart of the storm played itself out as it moved inland discarding heavy rain across the lower elevations and burdensome snows in the mountains. A light rain continued to saturate the air along the coast with a cold chill hovering just above freezing, not cold enough to turn to ice, but chilled enough, with but a shallow wind able to cut well into the heaviest of winter clothes. Just inside the Regional Hospital entrance a day-old newspaper sat on the reception room table with the headlines reading: 

 Umpqua River Bar Accident

Five Lost

                 Down the hall inside one of the office rooms, subdued but frank voices could be heard coming from inside.   “Chief Adams, I’m Dr. Allan.” They shook hands. “Let me show you what we know.” The doctor attached a series of x-rays onto the light box and switched on the light.

                 “What’s the verdict?”

                 “Other than a serious concussion, cuts and bruises, a couple of cracked ribs, and what appears to be a slight injury to a disk in the Thoracic Region, there appears to be no long- term physical concerns. Considering what happened, he’s one lucky young man. In twenty or thirty years he may walk with a limp if that back injury gives him trouble.”

                 “So…he will be back to normal then, given some rest.”

                 “Well, normal is relative here. The ribs will heal in a few weeks, the disk may give him some problems, possibly requiring surgery sometime in the future, but it should heal on its own given time. But that cut on the head was deep and required twelve stitches. It’s the easiest part to treat, but a concussion that severe can take a while to recover from. He’ll need mostly rest.”

                 “How long you figure?”

                 “Hard to tell. The initial problematic symptoms normally a few weeks at least, could be longer. We will need to keep him under observation for a few days here, then he can spend time convalescing at a rehab center. We have a good one here in town. With any luck at all, he’ll make a quick recovery.

Chief Adams nodded, “Just make sure he gets everything he needs. Take care of my guy.”

                 “Most of his recovery will depend on him, however, there may be more to this.”

                 “What do you mean?”

                 “Matt will heal physically. How quickly he progresses is up to him and nature. However, what he went through out there may have damaged him in other ways.”

                 “What are you talking about doc? Cut to the chase here.”

                 “Okay. I’ll give it to you straight. He went through a tremendous emotional shock. He lost his crew and his friends, and he could just as easily have died. His confidence could be shaken, so much so he may never again be the same. He could need counseling to go along with the physical recovery.”

                 “So, you mean a shrink? He won’t like that.”

                 “Could be he’ll need to see one, but I’ve seen this before, in Vietnam, lots of the boys came back with similar symptoms because of what they went through. Some handled it better than others. They called it battle fatigue back during WWII and Korea, but it’s all the same. Psychologist back then really didn’t know what to make of it, some kind of traumatic stress induced psychosis. They are starting to understand it better now.”

                 “So, what kind of effects does it have?”

                 “They may seem fine, then something triggers a relapse, a negative reaction that can manifest itself in any number of ways. Matt’s reaction is still yet to be determined. It might be years before it begins to cause problems, or maybe none at all, or he could have an adverse reaction if he is pushed too hard, to fast before he is ready. Even if he could physically do so, it probably is not a good idea for him to potentially face another incident like the one he just came through. He could be a danger to himself and to others. Fear is often subtle, not unlike stress, but given an opportunity, it can consume a person. It builds on itself, accumulates even after the cause has been removed. The effects of it doesn’t just go away and can rear its ugly head under the right circumstances.”

                 “You mean like losing control.”

                 “Probably more like freezing up or maybe exploding in anger which if it happens under a similar situation could become a real problem.”

                 “Matt’s never been afraid of anything. He’s been through all kinds of difficult rescues and never had any kind of a problem. He’ll shake this off in no time. He’s the bravest person I’ve ever seen.”

               “Well Chief Adams, again, I hope you are right. It’s not so much about courage. It runs deeper. I would guess he has never had to face this level of adversity. He’s never been injured before, not physically and certainly not emotionally like this, nor lost anyone. I’m pretty sure he’s never come this close to dying. My advice is if and when he returns to duty, take it slow, real slow. The mind is a complicated organ. Only time will tell.”

  Later that afternoon

 

                James LeBeau, simply known as Cajun by the crew, hustled to complete his cleanup chores of the station’s galley. From Southern Louisiana he spoke with a distinctive creole accent, a product of his Cajun ancestry, but he was one fine cook often creating spicy gourmet meals for the crew. He possessed an uncanny ability to find several bucketloads of crabs sitting on the fueling dock, usually showing up after one of the trawlers had been towed in by the station due to a mechanical problem.

                 By regulation, they were not supposed to offer such gratuities, nor was Cajun supposed to accept them, but Chief Adams turned a blind eye to the offense, as did all the commanding officers of the other units along the coast. Besides, Cajun really knew how to prepare and cook crab and the crew were entitled to a treat from time to time.

                 Chief Adams stepped into the mess area just as Cajun was finishing his cleaning. “Cajun, that was one fine meal you cooked up this evening. Where did you learn how to cook like that?”

                 “My grandma show me how. She one fine lady, and goo cook.”

                “Well, she must have been a good culinary teacher. You sure do know how to get it done.”

                 “I go with wit my gut mos of the time. Just a matter how to put all da parts together.”

                 The Chief laughed as he pulled out a chair and sat at one of the tables. “Well son, I’m for one glad you are part of this crew.”

                 Cajun gritted a massive smile across his cherub looking face and stood a little taller as he made the last series of wipes across the serving counter.

                 “How ole Matt doin anyway?”

                 “I think he will be okay, just needs a little time to recover.”

                 “Dat was a bad ting wha happen. I hope he okay.”

                     “We’ll see.”

                 “My brotha once got cot like dat in a big hurcane down in the gulf. Road it out he did for near two day. Everbod tought he a gonnar, but the Good Lawd pull him through.”

                 Chief Adams chuckled and nodded. “That’s good to know.”

               “Avry one pray, for him and Gawd heard doughs prays, yes sir, he heard avry one.”

                 Chief Adams continued to sip on his coffee when Joe Tripp, the County Sheriff, entered the building and stepped into the mess area.

                 “Can an old man bum a cup of coffee from you guys?”

                 Chief Adams pointed to the coffee machine standing in the back side of the mess area. “Help yourself. What brings you in?”

                 “Oh nothing, just checking on Matt. How’s he holding up?”

                 “He’ll be laid up for a while until he recovers. Doc said to go easy and give him some time to get back to normal.”

                 Joe shook his head in disbelief. “Man, that was a bad situation. We’re lucky we didn’t lose everyone. We’ve had some bad situations before around these parts, but nothing like that.”

                 Chief Adams didn’t respond, he just nodded in agreement.

                 “Any word on a Board of Inquiry hearing?”

                 “Oh, there will be one for sure. Probably more sooner than later. District don’t like leaving things open ended. They want answers and solutions. My guess in the next few days. I’ve already been contacted by the Coast Guard legal services.”

                 “That’s good, just to cover yourself if for no other reason. You never know.”

                 Chief Adams took a long slurp from his coffee as Joe sat beside him. “Joe, Jack hasn't been found yet.  We need to close off the beach until we do, you know. Don’t want someone to stumble onto a body by accident.”

                 “Already done Mac. The access road is closed to traffic until further notice. Besides there are all kinds of debris washing up on the beach. Lot of souvenir hunters trying to sneak down there are getting in the way.”

“We will rotate search teams on the beach for several days until we find everyone or we are sure we won’t. I just hope we do and soon. We also have a crew watching the 303 until we can pull her off the beach. We need to have her refloated as soon as we can. It really puts a strain on the crew to be down to one boat. With only 20 or so men, well, we can’t allow much free time until we get the beach cleaned up.”

 

Running The Edge: Chapter 4 - Winchester Bay Harbor Office

 

Chapter 4

Three Days Later

               A persistent drizzle soaked the Oregon coast saturating the land, the trees, creating a somber, disquieting scent of another world. The floating carpet of clouds caressed the trees lining the higher edges of the surrounding hills. The moment felt at home, yet foreign to Sharon after having been away from its recognizable embrace for so long. Not yet acclimated, the sleep deprived feeling hovered around her eyes like the misty vapor kissing the trees. A shiver from the chapping wind made its presence known with a metallic tonality. She stood silent and empty, long after the others had left the grave site. She could hear nothing but the fringe of the tent, that covered the grave, flap in the strong breeze. Behind her about twenty yards away her brother Nathan stood next to Ian and the pastor who had performed the final ceremony. Behind them, beyond the gated area, a single file of cars streamed away into the afternoon mist until only one remained.

                 She sensed the unfriendly vapor pierce into her soul searching for a path of escape. Not finding an outlet, it fermented deep within her. Dispirited, she tried to bravely stand against its frigid taunts until she began to shiver even more. Never had she felt so hollow, so empty, so helpless, and so confused at the same time. A slow, deep breath did little to mitigate the heaviness that confined her soul. Her thoughts flowed forward and backward, searching for answers, seeking an avenue of escape where none appeared to exist. She was desperate to bargain a measure of comfort from God, but in her detached, sleep deprived state, she could not bring herself to question him. Guilt threatened her heart as she wanted to blame God, but in her deepest hidden chambers where hope still resided, she could not bring herself to do so.

                 Her mind drifted to a time when she was a young girl, barely old enough to remember. They were no more than flashes really, moments snared in the blur of a child’s memories. She was holding her father’s hand and Nathan was sitting alone not far away. She saw her father standing beside a grave not unlike this one with his head bowed with tears dripping from his face. He turned to her and knelt low to look her in the eye.

                 “Why are you crying daddy?” She remembered asking.

                 He forced a smile and said, “Someday, you will understand.” No more could she could remember from that day, and now, yes, she did understand.

                 The 303 was refloated and towed to a drydock up the Umpqua River out past where the community of Reedsport hugged its banks. Bill Anderson’s body washed up on the beach a few days after the accident. The two broken bodies of the lost Coast Guard crewmen a day after that. Their remains were shipped away to their respective families, their coffin’s draped with an American Flag.

                 Jack’s body was never found. Somehow his grave seemed empty knowing he was not really there leaving a painfully open void that lacked the peace of closure.

             “Sharon, I’ll stay here with you as long as you want.” Nathan tried to comfort his sister.

                 She lifted his arm at the elbow pulling it close to her and leaned her head against his strong shoulder. He patted her hand with a tenderness he found difficult to express.

                 “It’s time we let him go,” she said in a hushed voice, “I’ll be okay.”

                 Nathan nodded in agreement and as they turned to walk away, Sharon asked, “Have you spoken to Matt?”

                 Nathan hesitated, stopped walking and tightened his shoulders.  

  “…No.”

  

Winchester Bay, Oregon

Harbor Office

Station Umpqua River

Two days later

 

                Master Chief Adams, lifted the newspaper and casually eyed the frontpage image as he stepped next to the window overlooking Winchester Bay harbor. His once athletic physique sagged a bit in a more age-appropriate fashion.  His hair was thinner and grayer around the edges, and although still thin, his gut tugged on the belted waist line of his kakis. When he was a young man, he hired on as a crewman with several of the commercial trawlers. That experience gave him a great admiration for the sea, and an even greater admiration for the men who must make a living from it. Those few years taught him independence and instilled within him a degree of toughness that still influenced his decision making even now.

                   The evenings came early this time of year and the setting sun decorated the underside of a bank of clouds that hovered over the harbor. Against this backdrop, the uneven rigging of the trawlers Midnight Sun and the Marc Allen II, the ME II as everyone called her, rocked gently amongst the forest of other lines and outriggers as the wake from the passing trawler Harmony, just in, rolled across the harbor. The ME II was Nathan’s boat, the sister ship to Jacks Marc Eagle. He had grown to know and respect these people, his friends now, and he had witnessed them suffer through difficult times.

Some seasons were leaner than others, they were never great, but all the crews were a family of sorts. Competitors in a profession of diminishing returns, comrades against remorseless elements, they supported each other. When one suffered, they all mourned.

                 Winchester Bay for many of them was the only piece of dry land they knew. Too many of them were no longer following their chosen way of life, too old to continue the hard ways of making a living off the sea, or were dead. He felt sadness to some extent knowing how a nostalgic way of life that barely clung to existence, was lingering toward mediocrity. Sons and daughters left the profession in search of a better, easier life dwindling the fishing fleet to a few older hulks. Many of the sea worthy ones were sold off at auction to the large fishing fleets operating out of Seattle or Vancouver. The few independents that remained faced an uncertain future. In their place, commercial charter boats took up the slack and tourism grew in importance. While it should not have bothered him, it did. An old school graduate from what was affectionately called ‘The Old Guard’, he was not inclined to readily let go of what he believed important just for the sake of progress.

              Back in his early days of working out of this harbor refuge, Winchester Bay was full then with the harbor crisscrossed with the rigging of dozens of trawlers, and fewer charter boats, with homes dotting the hills and tucked into the corners of the inlet. All were lit with glowing fireplaces belching smoke that mix across the lower sections of the hills. The only tourists were local folks from around the state who’d trailer their own private boats down for a weekend of fishing during the salmon season, or those who could afford to rent a charter boat. Now it seemed they came in droves during the summer months when the bar moderated, but it wasn’t the same.

                 What was once a quaint hidden community was beginning to turn into a tourist trap. The state and county wanted to promote the area to bring in dollars and by doing so this once quiet little harbor became crowded with RV’s, ATV’s, and trailer boats operated by ‘trailer sailors’ more inclined to get drunk and into trouble than catch salmon, thus making his life all the more difficult.

                 Most of the stations search and rescue (SARs) operations fell between Memorial Day and Labor Day as the tourist showed up. They tended to be mostly routine missions mixed with an occasional higher-level rescue. The winter months saw fewer missions but they were also the more dangerous ones, for that was when the bar grew restless. The yearly SAR total would commonly hit four hundred or more. Their record for a single day was twenty-seven on a 4^th of July weekend when hundreds of boats crossed the moderated bar, all of them avoidable, routine calls. With a small crew of barely over twenty men, it put a strain on their ability to answer that many calls. But, answer they did. Another four months or so would pass before the next summer rush began. For now, he was content to ride the relative quiet of what remained of winter.

                 Most of the crewmen of the Umpqua River Lifeboat Station were barely out of their teens. Some of them still suffered with seasickness every time they went on Bar Patrol. They were an eager bunch if not a naive lot taken from various slices of America coming from all corners of the country.

Sometimes he had to initiate some tough love on a few of the more knuckleheaded of the bunch, but for the most part, about all he had to do was keep them busy so they did not have time to get themselves into trouble, and make sure they were trained and ready when they were on duty. The group he had now was a good crew.

                 The trawler skippers of Winchester Bay had ample experience handling bad weather, even so, he felt anxious about another approaching storm noted in newspaper and weather reports along with weather advisories that came in over an ancient teletype system the station still used. Most trawler skippers would hunker down inside the harbor until a storm blew itself out. Those caught outside the bar would ride it out for as long it blew. Each day spent locked inside meant fewer dollars to make it through the year. The leaner the times became, he feared the need to earn a few more dollars would outweigh the threat posed by a storm resulting in some to take unnecessary risks in an already risky profession.

             “Mac you and me are a lot like those old trawlers sitting out there,” Pete Hancock blurted out.

             Pete was about ten years older than Chief Adams having retired from the Coast Guard, a good number of years ago now. He was truly a relic of ‘The Old Guard’ when all they had for breakfast was a cup of coffee and probably a hangover. He was average height, but a stocky man, balding now, but was tough as barnacles. His current job as Harbor Master was supposed to have been only a temporary job until they could find a suitable replacement. Years later he still held the position. He and Mac spent a lot of time together over the years. In many ways they missed the old life…in many ways they did not. Their friendship was solidified by sharing difficult and at times tragic events from their time together in the Coast Guard.

                 Chief Adams closed the newspaper, then tossed it onto the dark walnut desk. “How you figure that?”

                 Pete grinned showing his pipe tobacco-stained teeth, and kicked his feet across the edge of the desk placing his hands behind his head.

                  “We’re rusting hulks from a by-gone era and we’ve lost all our charm long ago.”

                 Chief Adams snickered under his breath.

                 “You never had much charm to lose my good friend.”  

                “Maybe not…but I’ve weathered many storms like most of those old tubs out there. The trick is to know when to tie up for the last time and never risk it again.”

Chief Adams tossed a skeptical look his way, “That’s what I’ve tried to figure out. How do you know when to tie it up, when to let go?”

                 “You don’t, but that’s what makes life a gamble. It does not matter what you do for a living, sooner or later, the way I figure it, your old body will let you know. Just like those old tubs out there, something will break down that can’t be fixed, and that’s when you say I’ve had enough. Then there are the pencil-neck bean counters who think they have the right to dictate who does what and when. They force you into an either ‘take it, or leave it’ decision.”

                 Chief Adams took a few seconds before responding and continued to stare out the window. Retirement sounded wonderfully tempting.

                 “How old are you now Pete?”

                 “Well over sixty.”

                 “You ever think you’ve had enough, ready to kick back and retire for good?”

                 Pete hesitated before answering allowing a whimsical look to overcome his normally stoic expression.

                 “I ain’t exactly in my prime anymore, but I figure I got a few good years left to give before I hand it up. I probably would retire for good if I weren’t so dedicated. I could use some help around here though.”

                 “Dedicated? That’s a laugh. Thought you were going to hire someone?”

                 “I would…but I can’t find anybody good enough who wants it badly enough, and those who do want it don’t have a clue how to do the job.”

                 The Chief snickered under his breath again and faced the harbor.

                 “Pete, you ever have any doubts after you retired from the Coast Guard…I mean about why you did what you did for so long…was all those years worth it, did they mean anything?”

                 Pete rolled his head to one side and kicked his muddy shoes against the table leg and dislodged a handful of mud clods.

                 “You get’n all sentimental in your old age? Listen, I fought those pencil-neck personnel officer guys all the way through the process. I didn’t want to quit, but they made me. Budget cuts they said…bunch of nonsense if you ask me.”

                 “That isn’t what I asked.  Was it worth it, all those years? Wasn’t there a time you wondered, what if, what if I had done something else?”

                 Again, Pete hesitated and didn’t immediately answer. Instead, he stood and walked to the window as the sun hovered just above the horizon.

                 “See the Midnight Sun sitting over there.”

                 “Yeah, so.”

                 “Old John Hansen now owns it.”

                 “I know that.”

                 “I pulled him and his crew off the old Sea Scamp when they went up on the south jetty during the storm of ’61, and all we had back then were those old 36foot wooden jobs. That was the second worse storm I ever saw, turned that old Sea Scamp plumb to kindling, like the Marc Eagle did. Pert near lost our boat too. They’d been crab fodder had we not been there. You know his grandson now works for me during the summer, good kid too. And, there’s Joe Brown over there, operates the Harmony. His old rig the South Wind took a rouge breaker across the stern and sank in three minutes just outside the number two buoy a few years before that. The hulk is still there at sixty fathoms…fished him and his son out of the drink. His son is a doctor now living somewhere around Portland…has a real nice family.” He paused for a minute and tamped out the ash from his often used, old pipe.

“What about that drug bust you made back in ‘68, they said it was worth close to what…a million maybe two, three million dollars on the streets…you caught those dealers dead to rights. Just think of the kids whose lives’ might have been ruined had those nasty things got through. No Mac. You tell me if it was worth it, and that doesn’t include all the idiot trailer sailors we towed in or pulled out of the drink because of some idiotic stunt they pulled. Between you and me Mac, I figure there’s a few hundred, maybe a thousand people walking around right now who wouldn’t otherwise be here had we not done our jobs. Just think of all the rookie kids who have come through this station looking and acting like lost pups with peach fuzz on their upper lip, some not even knowing the stern from the bow, and when they finally get mustered out, they leave with a sense of purpose, young men with ideas and confidence about who they are and how to face life. They lived more is a few short years here than a dozen maybe twenty years doing something else. Was it worth it all those years? Well…maybe instead of asking me or even yourself, maybe you ought to ask all the people who owe their lives to that small group of young men over the years who were willing to risk their lives, if it was- worth it.”

                 Chief Adams did not respond, he forced a grin slightly under a smirk. He realized Pete was right, but he still wasn’t sure about the answer he was seeking. His attention was directed toward the fueling dock that floated on the back side of the Coast Guard Umpqua River Station’s boathouse about two hundred yards from the harbor office.  He lifted a pair of binoculars and sighted on the individual walking down the ramp. Tied to the dock was the venerable CG44331. She was quite a rig, one of the early ones. Along with the 303, which was now in dry dock for a refit after the accident, they were two of the most renowned surfboats in the Guard having participated in countless rescues and accounted for thousands of lives saved…and a few not so fortunate. The Chief stepped to the right of his friend and propped his hand on his shoulder.

                 “You beat everything I ever saw Pete.”

                 Pete snapped his head around.  A bewildered look covered his expression. Stepping behind the desk, he sat deep into the comfortable chair then leaned back, he extended his feet across the edge of the table and relit his pipe puffing a few times to insure it was burning. The pungent odor of the sweet pipe tobacco filled the room. After one long puff that left a thin blue cloud hovering over the desk, he said,

                 “You think too much Mac…life ought to be easier at our age.”

                 “It oughta be, but it ain’t. Old farts like you keep stirring up stuff.”

                 “How you figure that.”

                 “Seems like every time I got you figured out, think I can see through that hard crust of yours, you come up and say something profound that shoots that impression all to pieces.”

                 “That’s what I do best.”

                Chief raised his brow and dropped his chin as he inspected his friend in the eyes.

                “Say profound words, or stir up things.”

                 “No…shoot things all to pieces.” They both laughed and in the middle of their laughter a voice from just outside the door caught their attention.

                 “Well, I certainly have to agree with that statement.” Pete and the Chief focused their attention on the young lady standing in the doorway with her arms crossed leaning against the jam like she belonged in their private conversation. It took a few seconds, but both of them at the same time recognized Sharon.

             Pete spoke first, “Well, I’ll be a sorry sack of seagull dung, oh…excuse me…Sharon child…”

                 Chief crossed the room and reached around her shoulders giving her a giant hug that almost took her breath away. There was some shuffling of chairs as Pete and Chief made room for her to sit. She appeared somewhat embarrassed by all the commotion and coyly tucked her chin smiling politely in the process. 

                 Pete stuttered without thinking, then almost regretted it, “So sorry to hear about your dad…I…uh…never knew a finer man. Sorry I couldn’t make the funeral.”

                 Chief Adams cast a shut-up look toward Pete, but before he could interject anything, Sharon said, “Thank you Pete…actually, I understand you’re looking for an assistant Harbor Master.”

                 Pete’s eyes lit up and he leaned forward immediately interested, “That I am.”

                 “I could sure use a job, if you’ll have me. You know I did spend my summers helping out around here while I was in college so I have a pretty good idea of what goes on around this place.”

                 Pete glanced over at Chief Adams who cast a supporting nod in agreement knowing Pete’s answer before he said it.

                 “Well yeah, you bet your sweet…oh, excuse me Sharon…I mean…when can you start?”

                 “You say the word Pete, and I’ll be ready to go, but…although, I may need a few days to get settled and all.”

                 “Tell you what, consider yourself rehired. You’re still on record in the files, so I’ll put you on the payroll first thing Monday morning. Get yourself settled, and you can start anytime you’re ready after that. We’ll fill out all the rest of the paper work later.”

                 A smile stretched across her face. She always loved working in the harbor office, “Pete, you are the best. Thank you so much. It’s so good to see both of you again. With all the things surrounding dad and all, I haven’t been able to think too much about anything else, but now that I am back, well, this will really help.”

                 “None of us did Hun. Tell me again where you took off to,” Chief Adams asked.

                “New Guinea, up in the highlands. You remember I was there helping out a missionary doctor and his wife.”

                 “Oh yeah, sort of took off all of a sudden like if I remember, what four, five years ago now.”

                 “Over five, almost six years.”

                 “Yeah ole Matt acted like a lost puppy there for the longest time after you left,” Chief Adams cut his statement short realizing that once again his mouth started moving before he really thought about what he was saying.

             Sharon politely smiled and said, “Actually, I haven’t seen Matt yet.”

             “Well, I won’t sugar coat it for you Sharon. Matt got busted up pretty good, lucky he survived. I guess you have heard about what happened.”

                 Pete made a zipper motion across his mouth and Chief Adams stopped in mid-sentence.

                 “Mac. I know most of what happened, at least what Nate told me. Just have not been able to assimilate it all yet. Probably best to just let Matt get better before I talk to him.”

                 “Maybe. He is going to need mostly time.” Mac replied.

                 “I’m afraid Nate will need some too.”

                 “Nate? Well sure, but he’s a tough old seagull.”

                Sharon smiled again, “Oh, he’s okay, mostly, just that, I don’t know, whenever I bring up him going to see how Matt is doing, he balks at it, acts kind of putout really. He won’t talk about it much, but he’s never been much of a talker anyway.”

                 “Well, don’t you worry about old Nate. He’ll be okay. You just take care of yourself, get yourself situated and get back to work whenever you’re ready.” Pete jumped in.

                 As Sharon stood, Pete stumbled to his feet and she gave him another friendly hug, “Thank you so much for the job, it will sure make things easier. I’ll get back with you next week, Tuesday, if that is okay. You can count on me to do a good job for you.”

“Honey, you got more grit than the saltiest old sailor around these parts, and you’re a might purdyier too. I know you will do a good job.” He slapped his hands together and danced a clumsy jig spinning in a circular motion, “Hot dang it…I might just get to retire for real after all.” They laughed and carried on for another few minutes before she left.

As she sat inside her rental car, jet lag fatigue continued to weigh heavy on her shoulders, and she felt a palpitation in her chest. She closed her eyes, lowered her head, took another deep, quivering, breath, and drove away as she wiped a tear from her eye.

                               

Running The Edge: Chapter 3 - Highlands of New Guinea

 

Chapter 3

Highlands of Papua New Guinea

January 1975

Three Days Later

 

                A forgiving light glowed in the background of her dream, the kind of light spread with warmth and fulfillment across her most sheltered emotions. She was contented in this realm and it was here she searched for an answer to an uncertain question, a haunting question drifting without an answer for almost six years. Somewhere in the discolored light of her dream her life’s desires and her faith met at a confused crossroads, each branch demanding a separate path, opposing choices. She wanted both, needed both, but only one could be served at a time. Somewhere outside her dream, she chose her faith, less so because she wanted to, but more so because it was the right choice to make, understanding and hoping beyond all expectation by doing so, what her life desired would, with God’s blessing, in time find its path to fulfillment.

Love is a complicated emotion to walk away from. Yet, she had no choice, really, and by taking up her cross she left the only man she had ever loved, the only man who had ever meant as much to her as her love for God. Even so, recognizing she had made the right choice, an empty heart felt far too often alone, and when her hollowness of spirit threatened to overwhelm her, it was in her dreams she found refuge. Always just before she awoke, during the last remaining moments of her deep sleep, is when her dream, at its most vivid, became as though it was real.

At first those dreams left her confused, but as they reoccurred, she began to believe God gave her those visions of the subconscious to carry her forward toward new challenges not yet played out, a new castle of sorts, but one where she still experienced unfulfilled hope. At times she felt torn apart, confused, troubled by the intimate nature of those dreams. They seemed so real, they were in her sleep, and, somewhat unashamedly, she never desired to awaken from them. Within this castle of lost desires where she was now living, she saw the face of the man she loved. A face overflowing with loss and one seeking redemption. Within her heart the residual warmth glowing from the dream tugged at her desires to return to him. It was a lingering theatrical performance, one that recreated their last night together, a night she could not forget for its beauty, but a night marred by a mistake of passion. In her dreams that passion was beautiful, yet a beauty she could not allow to rule her life.

Her dream always ended the same way. She would turn from her love, walk away, and watch his image fade into the void. Each time, as it was with this dream, from across the distance she would be engulfed by children of dark skin running and laughing replacing the void within her heart with their love. Only this time, this dream, was different.

As they danced around her a deep roar encroached around them drowning out all other sound and they stopped dancing to search toward the sky. She raised her hand to shade her eyes from the searing light and gazed skyward. Then a rush filled her dream and she reluctantly opened her eyes to abruptly awaken with blurry vision into a world where a real sunbeam drifted into her room. Outside she heard,

“Balus!  Balus!” 

Not yet fully awake, her eyes focused on her surroundings and she heard the village children shouting from across the dusty compound as they scampered about and laughed with a glee born from anticipation. It took a moment for Sharon to filter back into reality, to bring the sounds and sights around her into focus, her conscious senses searching to resolve what was real from what was not. Shifting her eyes left and right she recognized surrounding her were the thatched walls of a small bungalow and the sounds that filled the area seemed foreign and unfamiliar in her half-awake state. A temperate breeze caressed her shoulders slightly lifting her sleep-tasseled hair off her face. She shifted her eyes and focused on the sunlight filtering through small gaps in the walls illuminating the suspended dust particles hovering in the air throughout the room. Then, again the roar filled the room as it passed overhead and she finally recognized it as an airplane, “Balus,” she said softly before sitting upright with a jolt. “Balus! Oh my, I’ve over slept.”

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She, with a quick swipe, threw her light blanket to one side and rolled to a standing position in one fluid motion, much too quickly as the blood rushed from her brain causing her to become light headed. She just as quickly plopped down on the edge of her small bed with a pronounced jolt and caught her breath.

Sharon was an attractive, twenty-seven-year old woman, who stood a tallish five foot seven with shoulder length sun bleached blond hair that at the moment was unkempt and plagued with the dreaded bed-head look. She still retained an athletic, girlish figure and her once fair skin now tanned from time in the field glowed with a soft brown natural tint in the morning half-light filtering into her bungalow. She took a couple of long breaths to regain a sense of equilibrium. After a third breath she sighed, “Oh my,” again and shook her head trying to shake loose of the sleep. She looked across the small room toward another smaller unmade bed that was empty except for a tossed pillow and a crumpled light blanket. Outside in the compound dark skinned children were running and older adults were hustling behind them trying to keep up.

The children’s mothers were adorned in bright cotton pattern wraps, some red, some blue, along with a few green and white patterns.  A few men tagged along with them most wearing a tattered T-shirt and shorts of various styles and condition.

Her mind finally cleared so she now realized that she was not really alone with the man of which she was dreaming, she was here in the Highlands of New Guinea where she had been for over five years.

One barefoot eight-year-old village boy with skinny legs and wearing a Chicago Bulls T-shirt tucked into a too large cutoff pair of shorts stopped outside the entrance and excitedly waved at Sharon while shouting, “Balus…Balus!” and pointed toward the sky, then rejoined the mob of other children as they ran toward the edge of the village. Having lived amongst these people in the Highlands she understood much of the tok pisin, or Melanesian Pidgin English that most of the inhabitants spoke. Language just came natural to her. Balus meant airplane and for a third time the balus flew low over the compound spawning even more excitement in the children. She shook her head and took another deep breath. “I’m running late and Ian’s early,” she mumbled half aloud to herself.

                She found the excitement in the village children intoxicating when Ian flew his twin engine Cessna 310 into the makeshift airstrip painstakingly hacked out of the jungle. Actually, it was a reclaimed airstrip that had been hurriedly built during World War II and then abandoned and overgrown after the war ended. Scattered around the hills were several rusting hulks of Japanese and Allied aircraft along with assorted rusted equipment from that era, abandoned and left to rot. In thirty years, the tropics will account for a great deal of natural reclamation, but with the help of government agencies and the local peoples, it was cleared and given new life. This tiny airstrip offered a great opportunity to make and maintain contact with the indigenous peoples of the Highlands. Doctors and educators used it mostly, most of them associated with mission’s work with a few connected with other faith-based organizations from around the world. Normally, Sharon would run with the children to greet the airplane, but not on this day. Too much to do, especially now having over slept.

“I should have finished packing last night,” she chastised herself as she rose again, more slowly this time, and walked in her bare feet toward the door of the bungalow. Across the compound a hazy blue smoke from cooking fires drifted like a low fog illuminating rays from the sun as they penetrated through the trees and bounced off the exposed dirt creating a velvety warm hint of moody light. The aroma of morning meals being cooked wafted with the smoke. She would eternally love the mornings in this village. Forested hills ascending across the background combined with low clouds clinging to their heights created an idyllic setting.

Most days she would rise early enough to hike the short distance where a natural overlook commanded a view of a handsome valley where at the bottom, a meandering river tumbled and carved its way to the sea. It was here she would start her day by penning her thoughts in her journal.

Twice a day she would write, the first one each morning and then again that evening to see if her morning thoughts played out the way she hoped they would. On most days they never did. Today would not offer enough time for her to make the climb to the overlook, so she transiently jotted a few thoughts into her journal;

Going home today. It will be a good day.

She had learned a great deal during her tenure here, teaching and performing administrative work as an assistant for two doctor missionaries, more here than any job she might have ever pursued back in the states, but her time was coming to a close.

The morning was rapidly warming up, even now, so early, most days always grew warm being about six degrees below the equator and as she stepped into the sunlight its intensity grew even more. The staccato growl of the airplane’s engines again filled the compound as the pilot sailed the Cessna above the crest of the distant hill, then dropped quickly to circle the airstrip sizing up the wind direction one more time before landing. Shading her eyes, she waved at the airplane as it passed by and the pilot rocked his wings left and right waving in return as it zoomed by. One final turn to line up his landing angle the pilot allowed the Cessna to drift earthward crabbing to the right just a little to compensate for the cross wind, then he expertly settled it onto the grass gently bouncing a couple times on the rough texture before slowing. He rhythmically gunned and throttled back on the engines to taxi toward the end of the field. All the children, excited, waited there, but were held in place by other adults. As the airplane rolled closer, they shouted in unison, “Ian pailat loli,” (Pilot Ian Candy) in anticipation of the hard candy treats Ian Logan always brought them during his biweekly visits.

                Sharon sighed and cast her eyes again toward the darkened confines of her bungalow. Reluctantly, she stepped inside to continue packing her meager belongings. It would not take long. She knew this day would find her, and even though she tried to prepare herself for the inevitable, her emotions were not yet ready to let go.

                An ex-Royal Navy Search and Rescue pilot from Scotland, Ian Logan was a youthful looking man forty-two years young. Strong, thin and fit, for the last seven years he was one of the bush pilots in the area shuttling supplies and gear into the backcountry along with assorted missionaries, teachers, doctors, and the occasional journalist, tourist, or politician. He was the pilot who shuttled Sharon into the area when she first arrived, and he had grown quite fond of her.

Some would say he was a great pilot and although he would not consciously admit to it, he knew he was and could have enjoyed a successful career in the military, but he chose to fly here, where he was needed the most. As an RAF Search and Rescue pilot, he mostly flew helicopters, but in many ways preferred fixed wing aircraft.

He allowed the 310’s engines to idle and coasted to a stop about fifty yards from where the village children and some of the adults were waiting. In one rush, they broke free of their adult restraints and ran toward the airplane shouting with an exuberance that bordered on mayhem. He quickly shut off the engines and applied the brakes.

It took a few moments to shut down the flight systems, as he did so the children surrounded the aircraft and pounded on the wings and began to rock the wings as best as their skinny little arms would allow. Stepping onto the wing he cast a smile as wide as his shoulders and waved at the kids. 

 “Loli, loli”, they shouted in unison, prompting him to deliver the much-anticipated candy. Their shouts of glee warmed his heart as he loved these kids more than he could rationally explain. He reached behind the front seat and exposed a paper bag making the kids shout even louder, then he tossed it into the air creating a mad scramble to catch it. Within seconds the fifty odd pieces of candy disappeared into the mouths of the children. As they ran off, he vaulted off the wing chuckling to himself and started to walk toward the compound, when he noticed one smaller boy about four years old standing alone with a sad expression on his face.

                He walked over to him and knelt to his level, “And what be wrong with you my lad?” The boy lifted the now empty paper sack.

                “Well now, we cannah have that. Let’s see, I know, come on lad, I need you to help me.”

                The boy followed Ian back to the Cessna, “Let’s see, I have a bag of mail inside toward the back someplace, but I cannah seem to reach it. Can you reach it for me?”

                The boy smiled and nodded easily hopping onto the wing and slid behind the seat. He lifted a small black leather folder and handed it to Ian.

                “Let’s see, you know, I think there was a special delivery just for you in here.” Ian began to rummage around inside the bag, then stopped, raised his eyes toward the boy and smiled.  “Awe, here it be.”

                From inside the case he lifted a small plastic bag that contained five pieces of hard candy that shined red, blue, and green in the sunlight. He handed it to the boy whose eyes grew wide with excitement, his brilliant white teeth sparkled as a smile spread across his face. He all but jumped into Ian’s arms.

                “Tenkyu Ian Pailat.”

                “What, I was just deliver’un the mail twas all. Get along now. Join the others,” and the boy leaped off the wing and ran off kicking up dust with his bare feet.

Sharon sat on the edge of her bunk bed carefully placing into the soft carryon bag the last few things she would take with her back to the States. The last item she inserted was her tattered bible, a gift from her dad. Before she carefully placed it inside the bag, she opened it and read again the dogeared note her dad had written to her.

For you my special delight…with all my love…Dad.

She replaced the note and tucked the Bible toward the middle of the bag. As she surveyed the cabin for anything she may have missed, a tear welled up in her eye. She fought back the emotions that gripped her heart as she audibly spoke. “Thank you for the best years of my life…I’ll never be the same.”

Some noise behind her caught her attention and she turned to see standing outside the entrance, a young girl with a tanned face about five years old with golden hair that shined in the sunlight.

“Hi sweetie.” Sharon said with a half smile.

The girl half ran, half skipped up the steps and across the wooden floor then jumped into Sharon’s arms almost knocking her down.

“Are we really going today…in the balus?”

“Yes, we are.”

A giant grin stretched across the young girl’s face, “All the way to …Orh…a…gern.”

Sharon laughed at her broken pronunciation, and they both giggled.

“Well, we have to get on an even bigger balus, but, that’s right, all the way to Oregon.”

 “How long we stay there before we come back home?”

Sharon’s expression changed not having figured out just how to tell her daughter that they would not be coming back.

“Well, Nicki honey, I don’t know.”

This small village in the Highlands was the only home Nicki had ever known. Growing up here she learned not only independence, but was isolated from the pitfalls of living in a modern society. Heaviness pressed on Sharon’s heart as sadness and uncertainty infiltrated her thoughts. Nicki, was the light of her life, yet because of her, fear penetrated her heart, a fear born of unknown consequences her decision to return home might have on her.

But, no longer could she live the lie. Even though her mission here was a wonderful experience, and she understood the divine nature of her assignment, no longer could she remain in this lost corner of the world. She would have to face what lay ahead and as difficult as that might become, in spite of her fears, she knew it was essential. 

“Hey, girl, you two ‘bout ready.” A red haired, freckle-faced, slightly over-weight young woman about twenty-five years old, with a perpetual smile on her face leaned half way into the room.

“Almost ready Miss Sandy.” Sharon proclaimed.

Nicki ran over to her and Sandy lifted her high off the ground and spun her around.

“We are going to have so much fun on this trip and you know what?”

Nikki giggled and shook her head side to side.

“Once we get to Oregon, you and me are going to stay together for a few days until your mom gets all settled, won’t that be fun.”

Nicki giggled again and gave Sandy an appreciative hug.

Sharon also smiled and told Nicki to run along and say good-bye to her friends.

“Sandy, what would I ever do without you? You are the best.” Before she could finish, a series of tears pooled under her eyes, slowly at first, then they thickened and followed the smooth lines across her cheeks. After flowing a little, they lightly floated to the wooden floor. 

“Hey, hey, now come on, no tears here. It’s not allowed. Don’t you worry about anything from here on out. Nicki’s gonna be fine, and your dad and brother are gonna be fine, and you’re gonna be fine, everything’s gonna work out just…”

‘Yeah, I get it, just fine.”

The two embraced then stepped apart. Both sighed and gave each other half a smile. Both wiped tears away before bursting out laughing to have happy tears start flowing again.

“I hope you are right Sandy. Dad and Nathan, they will probably understand, well Nathan will anyway, Daddy probably. It’s Matt I’m worried about. I should have told him.”

“Just leave it in God’s hands. He’ll find a way to work on Matt’s heart,” Sandy tried to reassure her as she held Sharon’s shoulders with outstretched arms.

“I hope so. He was rather bullheaded at times.” She paused in mid-thought. Across the gap of years her thoughts locked onto his rugged smile and boy-like appeal. She raised a small picture of Matt from the top of a table next to the bed and stared hopefully into the image. She drew a sharp sigh, “And then again, he could be rather charming when he wanted to.”

“You two better hurry.” Doctor Jason Alexander and his wife Alice stepped into the room. Jason was a tall man approaching sixty years old standing over six feet tall, but he was thin almost to the point of being gaunt. His salt and pepper hair cropped just above the ears was otherwise rather unkempt and tossed and he had not shaved in two or three days. His shirt was half tucked in and half hanging out of his worn and faded cargo shorts. Alice on the other hand carried with her an air of perfection, always well groomed, even living in the confines of this remote village. She wore a long-brimmed baseball cap that was pull down low over her forehead with a loosely formed ponytail protruding out of the size adjustment strap on the back.

Her white blouse was tied around her still girlish waist accenting her youthful looking figure, even though she was well into her fifties. Both of them were doctors who ten years previously gave up a thriving practice in the states, Los Angeles, to provide medical assistance to the people of the Highlands, a calling which had its roots anchored to Jason’s WWII experience as a medic.

Sandy continued her half laugh and half cry, then, gave Sharon and Alice another hug and as she left. Before stepping out, Sandy reminded Sharon to hurry along, “See you at the landing strip in little while.”  

Alice turned to Sharon and recognized the apprehension showing on her face. “You okay hun?”

“I don’t know. I hope so. Doctor Jason, Alice I don’t know what I would have done if not for the both of you, with Nicki and all. Most people would have…well, you know. Am I doing the right thing?”

“That’s all in the past hun,” Alice interposed as she gave Sharon a gentle pat across her shoulders.

Jason picked up a small framed photo of Sharon and Nicki, “Just look at that beautiful child. You cannot tell me she wasn’t meant to be born. There’s a reason for all this, a reason for Nicki, a reason why you came here and why you must return home. It’s time to trust your instincts. I for one believe you are doing the right thing.

He looked at the photograph one more time and replaced it on the table. “I’ll never forget the day Nicki was born and the look I saw on your face when you held her for the first time. Nothing else mattered. Remember that feeling and that day. Use the love you have for Nicki so you can share that love with your family. We both know it’s not going to be easy, but you’ll be okay. I just know you will. You’re a strong person in so many ways, and Nicki is a wonderful, resilient child, and never forget, every single day, all of us will be praying for you.”

Sharon pursed her lips trying to hold back the tears. Alice patted her on the shoulders after a last embrace. “Thank you so much, both of you. I’ll never forget you.”

“Oh honey, we are the ones who’ve been blessed because of you and Nicki. We luv ya both, and we’re going to miss you so much.”

Tears now began to flow down Alice’s face and she grabbed Sharon in a strong embrace. Both used their fingers to wipe the tears away, just before Ian stepped into the room carrying a small envelope.

“You people beat everything I ever saw. I risk my life flying into this ragged little place, and not one word of gratitude do I get. What’s a guy to do?”

Sharon began to laugh between her tears. “Oh Ian, we all love you. You know that.”

“Be nice if just once someone said so.” With those words, the four of them burst out laughing and Jason grabbed Ian’s hand in a firm and powerful handshake. “Ian my man, in spite of what everyone else says, for a scoundrel, I think you are almost the best pilot I ever saw.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment…I think.”

“You better take it, cause that’s about as good as you’re going to get around here.”

Ian laughed, “That’s more than I normally get. All kidding aside, we best be getting off love. There’s some thunderheads suppose to form between hear and Port Moresby this afternoon.  We need to leave right away to miss them. Oh yeah, by the way, here’s a telegram I picked up and brought with me. Didn’t open it or anything but it might be in relation to those medical supplies you ordered a while back.”

Jason received the envelope and handed it to Alice without reading it. “We’ll meet you at the landing strip in about ten minutes,” Sharon said as she headed out the door to say good bye to some of her village friends.

He grabbed her single piece of luggage and easily hefted it upon his strong shoulder. This all you got? Alright then, let’s get along now…ten minutes.”

As he started to leave Dr. Alexander stopped him. “All kidding aside, Ian, we’re going to miss you around here. It won’t be the same, the kids are really going to miss you.”

“Well doc, I’m gonna miss you too. But I need a break. It’s time for a change, and besides I’ve got a great opportunity as part of an Air Evac team just down the road from Sharon.”

“Air Evac? What might that be?”

“I’m going to work with the American Coast Guard. It’s a chance to get back into what I used to do, maybe not so new, but this kind of program is something I’m ready for. I’ll be working with the best military air rescue teams in the world. It will take a few weeks to get back up to speed, but I’m looking forward to the opportunity.” He hesitated before continuing, dropping his eyes as if searching for something profound to say.

 “You know doc, my calling here has been the best thing I’ve ever done and I’ve learned a great deal about myself in the process. Now its time to give some of it back, besides, the new pilot coming over will do you a good job, and I told him to be sure and bring a bag of candy for the laddies.”

“Well, I for one feel better about the girls making this trip with you along with them. You’re a good man for doing this.”

Ian lowered his head and cast a short grin across his rugged face. “You know doc. All I can say is there has to be a reason for all of this to have played out the way it did. We may not see it just yet, and I don’t know what it is, but I’m certain everything we’ve gone through was for a purpose.

“Yeah, well, you got that right. We’ll be praying for all of you, but just for us, you take good care those girls you here. You are their guardian angel now.”

“I’ve been called a lot of names in my life, but never an angel. You know, I kinda like the sound of that. All kidding aside Doc. Don’t you worry about the girls. I’ll make sure they get there safe and sound. That’s the easy part. It’s what happens after we get back that worries me.

I love that young lady over there, you know, like my little sister and Nickie, she’s like my own. I wouldn’t want anything bad to ever happen to either of them and if anyone ever hurt that girl…well, I think my kick-butt instinct would probably not be so forgiving and might take control. When we get back, I’ll just be down the road a little ways, and I will check in on her from time to time to see how she is doing.”

Dr. Alexander shook Ian’s hand again and nodded his approving faith in Ian’s commitment to get her home. “You take care of yourself too.” After Ian left the room the doctor turned to say something to Alice, but before he spoke, he noticed a long and forlorn look on her face.

“What’s the matter?”

She looked at him and said nothing. She simply handed him the telegram. He glanced at it and saw that it was from Sharon’s brother Nathan.  It read:

Dr. Alexander, please relay this message to Sharon.

Sharon, our father died in an accident at sea a few days ago. Please return to Winchester Bay as soon as you can. More details later.

Nathan

The doctor lowered the telegram and closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. “Oh no.”

 Alice finally spoke. “Jason, we can’t let her leave without knowing. We have to tell her.”

Jason stood shaking his head in disbelief. “I know, I know. Good grief, why now of all times? Maybe you should tell her.

“No, you should. You are the closest thing to a father she has now.”

Before he could turn around, Sharon returned to the bungalow.

“Have you seen my camera? I can’t leave without my camera.”

She scurried about searching for the misplaced item when she noticed Jason and Alice remained subdued and silent. “What’s the matter?”

Alice step close to her, “Sharon honey,” but she couldn’t finish.

Jason stepped in close to continue, “The telegram was from your brother. I’m sorry honey, there was some kind of accident…your father…”

Sharon grabbed the telegram quickly scanning it before letting it fall to the floor. Her knees grew weak, and she ineptly stepped to the edge of the bed to half sit on, and half off.

“Why...my God, why now. Why. I don’t understand.”

Ian took one long jump to clear two steps leading into the room. “Come along now lassie, we must be off.”

The doctor shook his head, “Not now Ian,” and pointed to the telegram. Ian lifted it off the floor and quickly browsed it. He dropped his shoulders and lowered his head with a genuine feeling of sorrow for his friend. “Oh my…For the first time in my life, I don’t know what to say…I’m so very sorry.”

Sharon held her hand to her mouth then turned and unevenly smiled at Ian. “It’s okay Ian. I’ll be along in a few minutes. I know we must go.”

“Take all the time you need love. The weather will hold for a while longer.” After saying those words, he turned and walked shaking his head toward the grass airstrip.

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Thirty minutes later Sharon sat strapped next to Nickie in the rear seat of the Cessna and felt the bumpy texture of the grass airstrip shake the airplane as they taxied toward the end of the field. Sandy, although subdued by the revelation now haunting her friend, sat with quiet expectation in the co-pilots seat next to Ian. After a short pause, a loud roaring filled the cabin as the engines gained power. Ian released the brakes, the feeling of being accelerated pressed across their backs, more shaking with the grass field and the jungle speeding past the window, then a sudden smoothing with an emptiness filling the pit of her stomach. It was an emptiness generated less from the motion induced from their takeoff and more from leaving behind the peace and harmony she had known here, to face an uncertain, and now shattered, reality awaiting her. She closed her eyes, sighed with a heavy breath followed by a single giant tear that arched its way along the lines of her cheek, she in a breathless moment, said, “Good bye.”