 It was already dark when Doctor
Daniel Ross stopped the U-Haul truck in front of his
driveway. He unhitched his car trailer and left it on the
street, then he backed the truck around, aiming for the
driveway. He missed, running over the curb, the rear
wheels spinning, chewing up the wet grass. Daniel cursed
to himself; he'd been there less than ten minutes and
he'd already torn up the lawn. As the tires dug in he
heard something fall in the back of the truck.
He finally got the truck backed down the
driveway close to the garage door, then he got out and
stretched, checking the house number against the one he
had written on the back of the Realtor's card. The
numbers matched; this really was his new house he was
finally home.
It had been a long, weary trip from Colorado
Springs, north through Canada's British Columbia and the
Yukon, and finally into Anchorage, Alaska. His friends
had told him that he was crazy to drive a U-Haul all that
distance, especially towing his car, but he hadn't
listened; he had wanted to see Canada close up. Besides,
some of his possessions were from his mother's house and
he couldn't bear to part with them. Her nineteenth
century pump organ, an ornate walnut monstrosity, had
been in the family for generations. Although a legitimate
antique, it had appraised at less than four hundred
dollars but its sentimental value was priceless.
He raised the door on the back of the U-Haul
to unload a couple of suitcases; the sound of the sliding
door echoed though the dark neighborhood. The porch light
on the house to his right was lit and the curtains in an
upstairs window glowed from within. As he gazed up at it,
the curtains rustled, then moved apart. The dark
silhouette of a figure appeared in the window; Daniel
could not make out the face but judging from the amount
of hair attached to the face, it was female. The figure
did not move, and although Daniel could not see them, he
could sense a pair of eyes boring into him.
Daniel fumbled for his house keys, praying
that the Realtor had given him the right ones. He left
the suitcases in the driveway and walked down a curving
sidewalk into an alcove. There was what appeared to be a
rock garden to his right between the main part of the
house and the garage. A tree of some sort leaned out from
the rock garden, drooping over the sidewalk. He ducked
under its branches and confronted a double entry door.
Here goes, he thought, inserting his key in
the lock. He turned it, the bolt slid back. Turning the
doorknob, he pushed one of the doors open and fumbled on
the interior wall for a light switch; he found several
and flipped them all on, flooding the alcove and the
foyer with light. He walked back up the sidewalk, ducking
the tree--it was a sickly Japanese maple and would be
removed just as soon as he found his saw--and closed the
truck door, glancing up at the window. The figure was
still there, unmoving. Either a very nosy neighbor or
someone who is bored stiff, he concluded. The figure made
him nervous.
He pulled the truck door down and locked it,
then he lugged his suitcases into the house. Dropping
them in the foyer, he retraced his steps and unloaded a
sleeping bag and air mattress from his car. His last act
before re-entering the house was to glance up at the
window. The figure had disappeared; the curtains now hung
limply. As he walked down the sidewalk, the porch light
next door winked out. Who had been watching him from the
window so intently?
Leaving his stuff in the foyer, he walked
around the house, flipping switches and inspecting rooms.
Not a close inspection, because he was bone tired; his
main concern was a bathroom, he needed to find one
quickly.
The house was large and sprawling;
reminiscent of a mountain lodge, a fairly common
architectural style in Alaska. The foyer led past the
opening to a formal living room, then directly back into
a large great room. The great room sported a high vaulted
ceiling, paneled, as were the walls, in natural cedar. A
huge limestone fireplace occupied the center of
attention, surrounded by bookcases; a luxurious hunter
green carpet graced the floor. French doors led outside
to a patio and an opening to his right led to a large
kitchen.
There was another outside door in the
kitchen, an opening into the dining room at the front of
the house, and a door which led to the double garage.
Daniel remembered his childhood house and how you could
run in a circle through the living toom, dining room,
kitchen, entry way, and finally back into the living
room; this house was laid out the same way.
On the opposite side of the foyer was a
hallway which led to three spacious bedrooms. Daniel
carried his sleeping bag to the largest of these and
tossed it inside, followed by his suitcases. He retraced
his steps, turning off all the lights, and retreated to
the bedroom. Unrolling the sleeping bag, he slipped into
a pair of gym shorts and crawled in the bag, totally
exhausted. Nice house, he thought. This will do--this
will do nicely. The sun was shining by the time he awoke; he
had slept for ten uninterrupted hours. He showered and
dressed quickly, then he pulled a small coffee maker and
mug from his suitcase and carried them into the kitchen;
the little device was soon bubbling merrily as Daniel
stood watching, anxiously awaiting the presence of thick,
dark Folgers.
As he waited, he heard the doorbell ring. Please
not a welcoming committee, he groaned inwardly. Opening
the front door, he discovered a large basket sitting on
the front step. He picked it up and carried it in; there
was a small card tied to the handle with red ribbon. He
untied the ribbon and opened the card. It read:
I'm
glad you're finally here! -- Love
This was one of those things that make you go
"Hmmm." He shrugged, looked in the basket.
There was a large Corning Ware dish in the basket,
surrounded by beautiful red flowers of some kind, a
plastic fork and knife, and a large icy-cold bottle of
orange juice. He pulled the flowers and utensils out and
extracted the dish, lifting the lid: a fantastic
omelet--at least five eggs--with cheese, pimento, and
shallots, six strips of crispy bacon, and two pieces of
buttered whole wheat toast with a little jar of
strawberry preserves.
Daniel stood at the counter and dug into the
omelet; it was absolutely delicious. Soon, there was
nothing left. He rinsed out the dish and orange juice
bottle, then he filled the bottle with water and put the
flowers in, placing them on the window sill; their sweet
fragance filled the kitchen.
Pouring a mug of coffee, he sipped and mused.
Who was really glad he was here? He didn't know
a soul in Alaska. And why would they write
"Love" on the card? Whoever had brought the
basket couldn't live very far away; the food was not from
a restaurant, and it had been piping hot. Why had they
just dumped the basket and run? Very neighborly, but very
mysterious. He had the basket and the dish, maybe their
owner would show up to reclaim them. Whoever it was, he
was grateful--their cooking compared favorably with a
four-star restaurant. He re-read the card and looked at
the handwriting; it was very lacy and delicate--the
handwriting of a female.
Daniel raised the garage doors and walked
outside into the sunlight; his first act was to glance up
at the mystical window next door. The curtains were drawn
back but there was no figure peering down. Raising the
rear door of the truck, he pulled out the ramp and
started sliding furniture and boxes into the garage The
atmosphere in Alaska was similar to the Rockies: very low
humidity, so the air didn't retain heat; it was hot in
the sun, and cold in the shade. The sun was beating down
on the truck; there was no one out and about in the
neighborhood so he changed into swim trunks, hoping to
replenish his tan as he unloaded. Most of his
professional life was spent in a physics laboratory, so
he had had to resort to tanning salons, but lately there
had been little time for lying on a tanning bed.
By late afternoon he had the truck completely
unloaded, so he drove it into the street, rehitched the
car trailer and towed it to the U-Haul lot, where he
turned in the keys, backed his car off the trailer, and
drove it back to his house.
He pulled in the driveway, walked down the
sidewalk. Directly in front of the door was another
basket, identical to the one he had found that morning.
He walked back out to the driveway and was peering down
the street when his eye caught a movement; he glanced up
and saw the face of a girl, long hair surrounding her
head, looking down at him from the window. She stared at
him for a second, then she was gone; she hadn't moved
back or ducked, she was just gone.
Daniel carried the basket inside. Curiouser
and curiouser, he thought. Leaving the basket for the
moment, he pulled a white table in from the garage and
placed it in the corner of the kitchen, then he fetched
the four chairs that went with it.
He sat the basket down on the table and
looked inside; it contained a large Tupperware container,
an icy-cold twenty-ounce bottle of Pepsi, and a pile of
yellow flowers. Moving the flowers aside, he pulled out
the container and opened the lid. Inside were four
objects wrapped in aluminum foil. He unwrapped the
objects: three huge hamburgers with onions, lettuce,
tomato, pickles, and mayonnaise, and a large portion of
hot, crispy French fries with a smaller Tupperware
container of ketchup. He untied the card and read it:
I hope
you liked the bacon and eggs! -- Love
Daniel took a huge bite out of the burger--it
was fantastic; built exactly as he liked it, with mayo
instead of mustard and ketchup, and with just the right
amount of salt. The fries were delicious; a crunchy crust
with a sweet and creamy interior.
He took a swig of the Pepsi and re-read the
card, then he fetched the first card from the counter and
compared the handwriting. They were identical. The writer
had added the word "love" again. He assumed it
was a "she." He would hate to find out it was a
"he"--it would destroy his fantasy. Could it be
the girl in the window? He hadn't seen much of her face,
she had vanished so quickly. A small, oval, delicate
face; long dark wavy hair--brown or black. Not a little
child, but maybe not yet an adult.
It had been a long time since Daniel had
eaten three hamburgers, but they were so good he wolfed
them down; by the time he had finished he was completely
satisfied without feeling stuffed.
"Thank you, whoever you are," he
said aloud. "You are one hell of a cook." He
placed the Tupperware container with the Corning Ware
dish and put the two baskets together.
The evening was spent sorting paperwork. He
called the other members of his project group and
informed them that he had arrived in Anchorage safely.
They gave him a status report on the project and he
agreed to meet with them the day after tomorrow. That
gave him just one more day to finish unpacking. From the
looks of things, and the level of his fatigue, it would
take at least a week.
Unloading an entire van might have been fine
for an athlete, but Daniel was not an athlete. He did
some running and played tennis and golf to keep in shape,
but sports were not his forte. He was too short for
basketball, too light for football, and he hated baseball
with a passion. His body was not unattractive; it was
lean and smooth, but it didn't bulge with muscles. Nor
was he particularly handsome; his face had a certain
rugged good looks about it with gentle blue eyes; an
unruly mop of dark brown hair hung down over his
forehead.
Daniel stuffed the papers back in his
briefcase; his thoughts had wandered to the girl in the
window. He was very tired, but even more curious. He
slipped on a jacket and walked outside; the night was
cool. Wandering down the driveway, he glanced up at the
mystery window. The curtains were down again, backlit by
a soft glow. He leaned against his car and stared up at
the window, hoping to see the girl again. Her small face
haunted his thoughts. He thought he could make out some
shadows moving behind the curtains.
After a few minutes, he strolled down the
street in front of the house, passing it and walking a
few hundred feet, admiring the neighborhood. Typical
suburbia, but with lots of trees and a beautiful green
belt running behind the houses, complete with a little
bubbling brook.
Crossing the street, he turned around and
walked the opposite direction, past his house. All was
quiet. Recrossing the street, he headed down his
driveway, pausing to make sure his car was locked. The
light in the window had gone out; whoever the girl was,
she had either left the room or gone to bed. He walked
into his house and shut the door.
On the other side of the window, the girl
knelt on the floor and looked out at the night. She had
seen Daniel crossing the street, stopping to check his
car, then she had watched him as he walked around the
corner of his garage and into the alcove. A few seconds
later she heard his front door shut.
She stood up and shut the window, then she
crawled onto her bed. She had already set her alarm for
five o'clock; it took awhile to prepare a proper
breakfast and pack it in a basket. She already had the
flowers; this time they were pretty blue ones. She hoped
Daniel would like them. Daniel was a nice name; she had
gotten it from the men from Sears who had delivered a
refrigerator, washer and dryer the week before Daniel had
arrived.
She laid in the dark, on top of the covers;
she could feel the breeze from her ceiling fan but she
was still hot. Sliding her hand down her stomach, she
found the bottom of her long T-shirt and pulled it slowly
up her legs, arching her back and pulling it above her
waist. The cool breeze felt good on her skin.
"Daniel," she whispered, rolling
the name around on her tongue. "Me and Daniel,
Daniel and me. You're the one I've been waiting for all
these years and now you're finally here. Tomorrow,
Daniel...tomorrow..."
Daniel tossed and turned on his mattress; he
had hauled it into the bedroom, thrown his sleeping bag
on it and crashed. But he couldn't sleep. It was the girl
in the window. She was in his house; she was walking down
the hallway--he could hear her bare feet padding across
the carpet.
She was in his bedroom; she was crawling
into his sleeping bag. He could feel her cool, silky
skin, her sweet lips over his. He could feel her breath
on his face, it smelled like the flowers on his window
sill. Her hair tickled his chest; it hung down in his
face. Her brown eyes looked down into his.
"I love you, Daniel," she
whispered. "I'll love you forever."
"And I love you," he replied.
"Please tell me your name."
She smiled and kissed him. "My name
is..."
END OF CHAPTER ONE
 
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