Loon Cove

By Pamela Lord

What would you do if the love of your life was taken from you?
For thirty-two year-old Audrey Douglas it means waking each day to a life filled with challenges and choices – some as fundamental as the conscious decision to continue breathing and others that are heart wrenchingly complex.
Although widowed for well over a year, one such decision continues to haunt Audrey.
Should she put their memory filled New Hampshire cabin up for sale and avoid the painful reminders of lost happiness - or keep it and risk resurrecting grief she has fought desperately to overcome?
Either way, she must return to Loon Cove.
But while en route to the cabin, a bull moose meanders into her path and sends her SUV careening down a steep embankment. Only the efforts of astute Fish and Game officer Ben Tanner stand between her and certain disaster.
Her brush with death is transforming. Does her renewed desire to embrace life stem from the affection of her North Country friends - or just one Fish and Game officer in particular?
Regardless, love rather than grief will guide her decision when she realizes that although she can never change the past, she can shape the future - a future that may begin, rather than end on Loon Cove.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pamela Lord
• Release date: Jan 6, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458155634

Pamela Lord

Many of the scenes Pamela describes are adaptations of actual events.When she was a child her late father, a New Hampshire Forest Service employee and avid sportsman, often took her hiking in the White Mountains to scout game. Indeed there actually is a bear's den, although its location will forever remain a secret.Her memories of their great adventures were partly the inspiration for this novel.Pamela and her husband divide their time between their log home in southern New Hampshire and their North Country cabin where they enjoy fly-fishing, kayaking, snowmobiling and hiking. This is her debut novel.

Book preview

Prologue

We cannot direct the wind,

But we can adjust the sails.

~ Bertha Calloway

The Condo project was behind schedule. Each missed deadline carried a fresh set of penalties and now a design problem had the steelworkers at a standstill. It wasn’t the news that John Douglas needed to hear on that crisp October morning. The architect grabbed his plans and headed for the jobsite.

The foreman strutted up to the Explorer and before John could even slam the door, began spewing forth a diatribe of complaints, his stubby finger punctuated each word inches from John’s chest. He would like to have punched the air in front of John’s nose, but at 5’7 he was hardly a match for the architect’s 6’4 frame. I’m telling you the tolerances are off.

And I’m telling you, they’re not. John unrolled the plans and slapped them onto the hood of his SUV. Here, take a look for yourself.

Are you telling me I don’t know my business? The foreman started to raise his hand again, but reconsidered under John’s steely gaze.

I’m telling you they’re accurate.

The foreman glanced over them, shook his head and turned on his heel. It’s your ass when this goes down wrong, he shouted over his shoulder.

John rerolled the plans and threw them onto the passenger seat. The last thing he needed was another delay. He’d reviewed the specs on this project a dozen times, always second-guessing himself. He was a perfectionist. He couldn’t afford to be anything but—given what was at stake. One small slip up could cost lives. He’d seen it firsthand as a kid fresh out of college.

Insurance carriers for a South Korean project had hired his firm to go in and make an independent assessment as to what had caused the collapse of a department store. His boss had sent him along, more for the education than what he might contribute, he was sure. Structure failure due to negligence and unsafe design changes had killed 501 and injured another 937 people. He’d been indelibly impressed. So much so that when he was tempted to skip that last verification, the tortured faces of those survivors still picking though rubble days after the collapse pervaded his thoughts and he’d review his calculations one more time.

So now, it wasn’t ego as much as pure confidence that drove him to the conclusion that he was right and the foreman was wrong. Still…

The guy was a hothead, but John had worked with him on other projects and had to admit he knew his stuff.

The foreman was anxious to make up for lost time so when he raised his arm and spun his finger in high sign fashion to the crane operator, it was an oversized load of I-beams that left the ground and began their six story ascent.

The tolerance issue nagged at John as he watched the load lift. He couldn’t afford to take any time off, especially with this new wrinkle, yet he’d be away most of the following day. Poor planning on his part, but there was no way around it.

Their appointment with the infertility specialist had been a long time in the planning and he couldn’t back out of it at this late date. Not that he wanted to, although he wasn’t any too eager to jerk off in a cup and hand it over to some lab tech.

They were going to check for swimmers. Yeah, he could only imagine. The weaker ones probably floated around the top like dying fish leaving the strong ones to wiggle their way around the middle and bottom.

Somehow the doctors thought by making light of it the process wouldn’t seem so embarrassing. Hah, he thought. He only hoped that his weren’t all floaters. Besides, hadn’t the doctors pretty much determined that the problem was with Audrey? Not that he wanted it to be her fault, but a man’s virility wasn’t measured exclusively by muscle mass and he knew it. Maybe the power of suggestion would pull him through— strong swimmers to the middle and bottom. No weak floaters, please.

Strong to the bottom, weak to the top.

A sudden realization swept over him and he prayed that he was wrong. Could the wrong stock have been delivered? If these were the beams intended for the top three levels, of course the tolerances would be off. Only the engineer might have realized the distinction and he was off at another site.

John grabbed his hardhat and ran in search of the foreman, but he’d disappeared. Desperate to get the steel back on the ground for inspection, he jumped into view of the crane operator and signaled him to stop.

The operator shot him a disgusted look and threw the levers hastily while the load was in mid-swing. The sudden shift in momentum produced uncontrollable torque on the heavy payload and the cargo shifted, snapping the harness. The crane, unable to stabilize the weight, began to tip and released the girders from their sling, transforming them into missiles.

Hey, watch out! shouted the crane operator. But the warning came too late.

Audrey was putting the finishing touches on an article for the next day’s edition of the Essex Free Press when her phone rang. Damn, she said. She was hoping to skip out early so that she could get to the market in time to pick up a few things for dinner. She enjoyed cooking and had planned a special meal for the two of them. Tomorrow would mark the start of a new chapter in their lives and she wanted it to be memorable.

Audrey? The voice was unfamiliar.

Yes, she said, still keying the final paragraph.

Audrey Douglas? She repeated her name.

Yes, she repeated, allowing a tone of impatience to creep into her voice.

This is Mass General Hospital. Your husband is John Douglas, born on March 23rd?

Yes, what’s wrong?

He was injured at work. It’s very serious. Please come to the emergency department as soon as possible.

How bad is it? She scrambled to grab her purse and keys.

He’s in critical condition, Mrs. Douglas. Please come immediately.

Rush hour was at its peak as she navigated from one lane to the next, hitting the gas one minute, slamming the brakes the next. What in God’s name has happened? She hadn’t taken the time to ask a lot of questions. That would have delayed getting to him. He can’t die. Critical is bad, but people survive critical, don’t they?

The traffic in Government Center was at a standstill. Horns blared, people rushed by in front of her BMW. Lights changed from red to green to red again. Audrey wanted to scream. Didn’t they know her world may be ending? She pounded the steering wheel with her fists and waited for them to turn again. Finally, they changed. She dared anyone to cut her off. Just two more streets. I’m almost there. Hang in there, darling, I’m coming.

Looking around quickly for a space and seeing none, she pulled up to a loading zone. Throwing the car into park, she grabbed the keys and raced for the bright red EMERGENCY sign.

Hey, Lady, you can’t park there! yelled a security guard.

So tow me! she shouted over her shoulder as she slipped through the automatic doors.

The emergency department lobby was bustling with activity. Two ambulances had just pulled up and attendants raced past, pushing the stretchers ahead of them. They reminded Audrey of the bed races held each year at the town fair back home. Bizarre, she thought disgustedly. As if she had any control over her thoughts or anything else at that moment.

Squeezing through a small crowd of patients waiting to register, she pushed her way to the front of a partitioned cubicle where a clerk was cradling a phone on her shoulder and entering information into the computer.

Excuse me.

The clerk looked up and stopped typing long enough to hold up her index finger.

No, you don’t understand! Audrey snapped. The clerk looked up quickly, her eyes widened and her fingers stilled.

I received a call from this hospital that my husband was admitted in critical condition. His name is John Douglas and I need to know where he’s being treated.

The clerk spoke softly into the phone and hung up. One moment please, and I’ll locate him. She typed a new entry into the computer, read it slowly and quickly picked up the phone. Mrs. John Douglas is here. Another moment passed before she cradled the receiver. Someone will be right with you. Looking past her, the clerk resumed her duties. Next? she said.

Mrs. Douglas?

Audrey turned, expecting to see a nurse in scrubs but instead found a stout middle aged woman in business clothes. Where is my husband? Audrey was trying desperately to control the panic in her voice.

Quietly, she spoke. Please come with me. She guided her to a nearby room. A young man in a lab coat waited at the door. Please sit down, she said patting the seat next to her. Audrey searched the woman’s face, then the man’s.

Clearing his throat, he spoke. Mrs. Douglas, I was the physician assigned to your husband when he was brought in by ambulance two hours ago. I am very sorry, we did everything possible...

Audrey felt the blood rushing to her head, filling her ears with a pulsating roar that grew louder with each breath. She turned to the woman and tried to speak, but couldn’t form the words. Finally, with great effort, she spoke. How? Her voice was guttural.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. His hands clasped and he seemed to relax, if only slightly. Your husband suffered a fatal head injury, Mrs. Douglas. He recounted the details of the accident.

Da, di, did he suffer?

No. Although he was alive when he was brought in, he was unconscious. We inserted a breathing tube and placed him on life support. The damage was simply too profound. He was declared brain dead approximately thirty minutes ago. He hesitated, and then spoke. Mrs. Douglas, we have not disconnected the life support because some of your husband’s organs may be suitable for donation. Under federal law we are required to ask you if you will give your consent.

Audrey reeled backward as if she’d been slapped. NO! she cried. He’s been through enough! Sobbing and shaking, she leaned into the woman’s shoulder, burying her head as if to rid herself of the conjured image of her strong, handsome husband, mangled from a huge hunk of steel, now waiting to be carved up, dissected into only God knew how many pieces and doled out to strangers.

Looking over the top of Audrey’s head, she met the doctor’s eyes with a look of resignation. I’ll be back with the release to remove him from life support, he said, as he left the room.

Audrey. May I call you Audrey? The voice was soft, speaking directly into her ear. I know how shocking this must be for you. I will stay with you for as long as you need me, to help you with arrangements and in any other way I can be of assistance.

Audrey tried to straighten up in her chair. I just don’t want him to go through any more. He’s been through enough.

The woman was quiet for a moment and then she spoke. I understand, she said. It’s completely your choice. But have you thought about what he might have wanted? She let the question settle over Audrey before she continued. John was a young man. His organs could save the lives of several people who may not otherwise live to grow up, marry or have children of their own.

Audrey covered her eyes with her hands. Children? The children that she and John had been trying to conceive would never be. She would never be able to look through the kitchen window while preparing dinner and watch him teach their son how to hit a baseball. Never have the pleasure of watching their daughter pirouette her way through her first dance recital. No tangible evidence of their love would ever exist. His life and hers, at least as she knew it, had just ended. Without looking up she spoke. What organs would they take?

Whatever organs you gave permission for them to take, but primarily they would be looking at John’s heart, liver, lungs, pancreas, kidneys and possibly his corneas.

Several minutes passed. Will I be able to see him first?

Absolutely. We can go in whenever you are ready.

Chapter 1

A year and a half later…..

The rain, accompanied by the ebb and flow of a cool spring breeze sent her curtains billowing from their sills one second and left them clinging to the screen the next. Half asleep, she instinctively reached across, searching for the reassuring warmth of his body as he lay next to her under the tumble of quilts.

She languished in that middle world which was neither here nor there—a world that allowed her to believe that with him beside her, all things were well and safe and right. A world that for one delicious moment was normal. A world that existed until her fingers swept the cool, emptiness beside her.

Wrenched awake, she tossed and turned, trying to recapture the tranquility, but it was futile. Lying alone in the dark invited heart aching memories of her last moments with him on that October day, so although her clock barely read one-thirty, she arose. She would get a head start on the trip and sleep in tomorrow.

She’d packed the evening before, so with only a cooler to fill, she backed out of the driveway a half hour later, letting the garage door drop quietly in front of her.

She ticked off her mental list of to-dos as she drove. The gardener’s check was in the mail. Utilities were prepaid. Security alarms were activated. She hoped she hadn’t forgotten anything. Routine habits that used to come naturally were now chores to be reckoned with. Her life had turned into an exhausting job of staying on top of the day-to-day details of life with no one to share the responsibilities and rewards.

The city limits of Amherst were soon behind her and before she realized it, she was rounding the curve of the on-ramp to Interstate 93. She drove nonstop—a first for her. It had always been their custom to stop for gas in Lancaster before making the final leg of the trip, but tonight she only glanced at the darkened filling station as she sped by. Though her gauges were reassuring, she sighed.

Just one more first of what had been so many over the past year.

She shifted in her seat and thought again of how much she liked his Explorer. It was comfortable and she felt safe driving it, so much so, that after his death, she drove it almost exclusively, leaving her BMW to gather dust in the second bay of the garage. The high beams did a good job of illuminating the sides of the road where the spruce and balsam closed rank. Like symmetrical sentries, they stood guard over the swollen Connecticut River as it surged alongside the road just beyond the reach of their feathery boughs.

She made good time. The rain had stopped predictably at the top of the notch and a sliver of moon played hide and seek with her as she drove. It’s a different world above the notch, he would say as they drove through the narrow winding pass. Her mind’s ear heard the intonation of his voice as clearly as if he’d been sitting next to her. A little chill forced an involuntary tremor and she gripped the wheel tightly for a second before relaxing back into her seat.

Was she doing the right thing? She’d deliberated whether or not to make the trip for so long that the burden of indecisiveness weighed on her like the pendulums of her cuckoo clock.

Right or wrong, she was well on her way and before she knew it, the steady hum of tires on asphalt changed to a low rumble as the SUV made the quick turn onto the gravel road. Still, it had been a long ride, made longer by the silence of being alone with her thoughts.

Alone, except for Finley.

There was a stir from the back and without looking she instinctively knew he was beside her—surfing the console as he’d done dozens of times in the past. His panting grew rapid as they approached the road to the cabin. At seven, the Chocolate Lab’s chin hairs had whitened, but he still got excited when he sensed that he was close to his doghouse in the North Country.

Almost there, Fin, she said, as she glanced over to the passenger seat where he had settled.

Her peripheral vision detected a shadowy movement and her eyes shot back to the road. The headlights picked up the tiny reflection of light from his eye, no bigger than a nickel as he clambered up over the banking, but instantly she knew what she was up against. Her mind and hands engaged simultaneously and she overcorrected in her attempt to avoid the huge bull moose as he loped directly into her path. She would have missed him if he hadn’t swung around, retracing his steps. Her bumper caught him at his shoulder, thrusting him over the hood of the Explorer and through the windshield, swathing her in a blanket of fractured glass.

Her screams ended abruptly when the impact of the airbag knocked her unconscious, but the SUV continued on. With her sneaker now firmly wedged against the gas pedal, she crossed to the opposite side of the road and plowed through the soft shoulder.

The vehicle careened then rolled, carrying with it the moose, his legs flailing, down the steep embankment. Mercifully the vehicle missed the largest of the trees, and finally came to a rest on the driver’s side; its front end teetered precipitously on the banks of the raging Connecticut River.

Audrey didn’t know how long she’d been drifting in and out of consciousness. She only knew that each time she opened her eyes she was staring through the shadows of her dimming dash lights into the long snout of the motionless animal. His lifeless eyes now clouded, his head rested level with her shoulder. The opening that had once been her windshield was filled with the hairy carcass.

Worse, she could hear Finley’s whimpers from somewhere within the vehicle’s murky depths. The SUV sloped downward making it impossible for her to get oriented. Torrents of water rushed past the broken windows–and a bone chilling cold enveloped her.

Ben Tanner was paying for his thermos of coffee when Randy Monroe strode through the door.

Where’re you headed? Randy asked, as he handed his thermos over to Sandy.

Up in your neck of the woods. I’m due to meet the stocking truck in an hour or so up by the branch, he said, reaching for his wallet.

What’re you stocking? Randy picked up one of Sandy’s homemade muffins. Oh, yeah, Sandy, throw in one of those beef jerkys for Sam.

He’s bringing up a load of trout. Easterns and Rainbows, mostly. If we get done in time, I’ll follow the truck back to Berlin and give’em a hand loading up salmon fry for tomorrow’s run.

Ben waited for Randy to get his coffee and walked out with him. Randy’s K-9 partner waited patiently in the SUV and rose from the seat as they approached.

Sam was the best-looking Belgian Shepherd Ben had ever seen. His long, jet-black coat belied the sheer brawn hidden below the surface and accentuated his elegant stance. At four years old, he was in his prime, both mentally and physically. A dual-purpose dog, Sam was trained to track, apprehend and sniff out illegal drugs. All business in the field, he was a pussycat with Randy’s kids, always trying to climb in between them after lights out.

He reminded Ben of the dog he’d lost to cancer the year before. Magnum had been his constant companion and he missed him.

Go ahead, Ben, open the door and pat him.

Yeah, sure, Ben retorted. Not until you speak to him. You know darn well if he doesn’t recognize me, I’ll be taking a trip down to Mountain Valley.

Randy laughed as he opened the door and swung his lanky legs up into the cab. Hey, Sammy, give your old friend a big kiss. Instantly, the dog leaped over Randy and began lapping Ben’s face and hands.

He wiped the drool off his face with his sleeve. He’s looking good, Randy.

Yes, he is. Isn’t it about time you got another one?

Ah, I don’t know. When the right one comes along, maybe.

Randy started his engine. Follow you up as far as the branch?

You betcha! Ben replied. Catch you later.

He caught the headlights of Randy’s Border Patrol vehicle in the rear view and thought again how lucky he was to have met him. Both in their mid-thirties, they enjoyed hunting and fishing together whenever their shifts—and Randy’s family obligations—allowed.

The eastern ridges were silhouetted by the pink glow of a sunrise that had yet to crest the mountains when Ben noticed the skid marks trailing off the edge of the road. Instinctively he pulled over.

He scanned the gravel with his flashlight until he picked out the drag marks and followed them through the soft shoulder until they disappeared. His forehead furrowed when he spied the dark sticky evidence of blood mixed with bits of fur.

Randy’s headlights caught the reflection of the gold CONSERVATION OFFICER insignia on the tailgate of the green pickup and he pulled up alongside. Hey, Ben, what’s going on?

Not sure, he said as he scrambled down the embankment. Straining to see beyond the shadows of the thick undergrowth, he spotted a glint of chrome. As he got closer, he made out the shape of the SUV; its one surviving headlight cast dim reflections onto the raging water.

Call for rescue, he yelled from below. We’ve got a rollover. They took out a moose. He’s gone clear through the windshield and lodged in the cab, but the back end of him is in the river and I don’t know. . . The tinny screech of metal scraping on rock drowned him out. Hurry up, Randy, she’s shifting! The current’s taking her, he shouted as he barreled through the brush to get to the vehicle.

Cautiously, he climbed up onto the SUV and began panning his flashlight through the blown out windows.

The moose occupied most of the front passenger area and he could barely see past its bulk. Leaning over the top of the cab, he thrust his flashlight through the remnants of the sunroof and aimed the beam onto the woman. Suspended in the seat by her shoulder harness, her head slumped against the shattered window.

Randy scrambled down over the banking and drew up alongside the upended vehicle. Rescue’s on the way, Ben. ETA is fifteen minutes.

There’s a woman in the driver’s seat. Looks like she’s alone. No, wait. I hear something down under the dash. Ben yanked on the door handle but it was locked, so he reached in through the jagged glass and snapped the button. He tried again, but the rollover had jammed it tight. I need a hand with the door. I can’t get it open and I can hear movement in there.

Randy tugged. She’s not budging.

Stay with her then. I’ll be right back. Ben scaled the banking and sprinted to his toolbox. Scattering wrenches and screwdrivers over the bed of the truck, he found what he was looking for and raced back down to the SUV.

Ben shoved the pry bar in next to the latch and with one thrust broke the lock, freeing the door. Peering inside, he was surprised to see two terrified brown eyes staring up at him from between the twisted legs of the moose.

It’s a dog, Ben said as he reached in and lifted him out.

Randy, do me a favor. Go up and grab that old blanket out of my truck. She’s probably in shock. Looks like she’s been here awhile.

Audrey managed to force one eye open. Squinting at the flashlight, she tried to speak, but was unable to utter more than a single word. Fin, she whispered.

Ben leaned in and pulled the moose aside. Don’t worry, Miss. We’ve got help on the way. Try not to move. We’ll have you out of here in no time. Can you tell me where you hurt?

My dog, she moaned and then her world went dark again.

Chapter 2

Audrey awoke on an exam table. Although covered with a warming blanket, she was shivering uncontrollably and wondered if it was from the fierce cold or shock and thought that it was probably both.

Her right arm was being prepped for an IV and her neck was braced, rendering her head immobile. The nurse looked up as Audrey’s one good eye fluttered open. Unable to see anything through the glare of the examination light, she flinched as the nurse tapped Audrey’s arm in search of a vein.

Hold still for a minute, dear. Slight pinch. There, now you will be more comfortable. The sing-song lilt of her Asian accent seemed out of place in such sober surroundings.

Doctor, she’s waking up, she said as she opened the IV line that would replace her lost fluids.

Audrey had closed her eye against the sting of the needle. When she opened it a middle-aged man in a lab coat stood at her head, mercifully blocking the blinding glare. He seemed inches from her face and as he spoke, she blinked and squinted trying to bring him into focus.

Good morning young lady, he said. You are at Mountain Valley Regional Hospital. You were brought here following a motor vehicle accident. What is your name?

Audrey, she said softly. Audrey Douglas.

Can you tell me where you hurt? he asked, as he flashed his penlight into her eye.

I have an awful headache. And my neck is sore.

Well, Audrey, you were unconscious for quite awhile according to the officers who found you. You are suffering from hypothermia and you have a laceration in your scalp. I think we’d better get a CT scan of your head and neck to see what other injuries you might have. I’ve also called in an ophthalmologist to take a look at that eye. He motioned the nurse to prepare a suture tray.

My dog! she said, growing more alert with the stimulation. What happened to my dog?

Not sure, the nurse replied. We’ll find out, if we can. In the meantime, is there anyone that you would like to call?

I didn’t tell anyone that I was coming.

Although she’d mentioned her plans to a few of her friends, she hadn’t been specific with details. She had her new satellite phone, and of course Finley to protect her. As if he would know what to do. The dog was as docile as an old house cat.

She’d debated whether to call ahead to let Gillian know she was on her way, but then thought better of it. What if she’d changed her mind at the last minute and decided not to go? Besides, she wanted to see the look of surprise on her face when she showed up for tea in the morning. She’d certainly be surprised now.

I need to call my friends in Windy Hill. She knew Gillian and Seamus would help her find Finley—if it wasn’t too late.

The suturing done, she gave the nurse the number and watched as she dialed. Handing her the phone, Audrey listened and waited.

Aye. She welcomed the sound of his gravelly voice.

Seamus, it’s Audrey, she spoke with as much strength as she could muster. I’m in trouble and I need help. Her voice began to shake and for the first time since the accident, she began to cry.

Audrey? I can’t understand you. Here, talk to Gillian.

Audrey, where are you? Gillian asked as she glanced at the clock.

I’m at Mountain Valley Regional, Gillian. I hit a moose on the way up last night and went off the road. I got pretty banged up. But I had Finley with me and I don’t know what’s happened to him. The tears she’d struggled to choke back were now streaming down her cheeks. I’m afraid he’s either lost or dead. I can’t bear to think of him hurting out there. I need help, Gillian.

Don’t worry, lass. We’ll be there straight away.

* * *

So, Adam. Think he’ll make it? Ben asked as he gently stroked the dog’s head. The dog returned his gaze with soft brown eyes and a slight tremble at the base of his tail.

His front leg is broken in two places and he took a real hit to his head. Hopefully all he has is a concussion. If he doesn’t have internal injuries, he should be okay. He’s in good shape for his age. I’ll know more after I do the ultrasound. Hey, don’t you have to go to work?

"Yeah, but I wanted to see him through. His owner doesn’t even know what happened to him. She