Chapter 6

Winter was making one last dying effort as Ginny stepped down from the commercial prop-jet at Whitehorse, Yukon Territory. The falling snow was so thick she couldn't see the hangar as she made her way toward the charter line headquarters, falling in huge wet snowflakes that stuck to her like glue. She was soaked to the skin when she finally reached the shelter of the hangar, and the tiny office of Northern Lines Charter Service.

"I'm Mrs. Dennison," she said hopefully, "I think my brother- in-law made arrangements for a flight with your company. Have I got the right place?"

A young-looking man wearing a ski jacket looked up from the pile of charts on the large table, "Yes, ma'am... you've come to the right place, all right. I'm Rick Scovill, your pilot."

Ginny's first thought was that he looked much too young to be flying a plane. "Oh... Well, I guess I'm ready anytime you are," she smiled.

"That might be quite a while, ma'am," replied the pilot, "I guess you didn't notice all that snow coming down out there."

Ginny looked out the window, as if she was seeing the near- blizzard for the first time. "Gee I guess I wasn't thinking," she said, a little embarrassed. "I just never thought about it, I suppose. But don't the planes take off in rain and snow and such?... I thought I remembered flying in the snow one time, coming home to California from Indiana."

The young pilot laughed, "Wait till you see the plane we'll be using. It's not much like those big jets you're used to."

"Oh, I flew up here in one... A small one, I mean. It only seated about twenty-five or thirty people."

Rick stepped back and opened a narrow door to the hangar behind the office; a cold gust swept through like a winter storm. "That plane over there... that's what I meant when I said small." He pointed his index finger toward a well-maintained L-16, a World War II spotter plane.

"That thing?" shrieked Ginny. "You must be kidding! It looks like a toy!"

Rick motioned her through the doorway into the hangar, and Ginny followed close behind, shivering in the unheated immenseness of the old building. They passed a dozen or more larger planes; she'd seen photographs of similar ones in magazines. Even those looked small after the commercial liner she'd flown to Whitehorse on, but this tiny thing was too much!

"Well, here she is," said Rick proudly, opening the flimsy door on the pilot's side. Inside were two seats, one in front, one in back. "What'ya think of her? Quite a cute little number isn't she?"

Ginny shook her head incredulously. "Cute, yes... but can it fly?"

"Sh-h-h-h," whispered Rick, "don't let Nancy hear you talk like that."

"Nancy?" Ginny looked around for another face, but they were apparently alone in the huge hangar.

"Yeah... That's her name. Nancy, meet Mrs. Dennison from California."

Ginny felt rather awkward, never having been introduced to an airplane before, and she didn't know quite what to reply. "Uh... could we go back inside your office, Mr. Scovill? I'm freezing to death."

"Sure," answered Rick. "This was terribly inconsiderate of me. I forgot you aren't used to our Canadian weather yet. But you will be if you stay up on the Mackenzie very long."

Ginny had to think for a moment before her memory told her that was the name of the big river Arnie and Florence lived on. It flowed north, to the Arctic Ocean, she remembered from one of Arnie's old letters.

"I don't think I'll be up there too long," said Ginny. "Maybe just for the summer."

Rick smiled, "If that's the case, you might not see any real North country weather at all. It'll be more like California in the summer... maybe even a little hotter."

"Hotter? I thought it was up close to the North Pole or something."

"You haven't done your homework, ma'am," said Rick, stifling a laugh. "Norman Wells is one helluva way from the North Pole... if you'll pardon my language, ma'am."

Ginny could tell already she had a lot to learn about this strange part of the world. Strange at least to a small-town girl from Indiana. Cold weather and snow she'd come prepared for, but not for a California climate. "Just how warm is it up there in the summer?"

Rick thought for a moment. "Well, it depends on what part of the summer, such as it is. There's really only about two months of what you'd call summer. But sometimes it gets up in the nineties in the middle of the day... though it might drop below freezing that same night."

"Ninety? I brought all my winter clothes!"

"Well, I wouldn't worry about it," laughed Rick. "Remember-- it drops down awfully low sometimes at night. And you never know when a real cold wave is going to come through. Once in a while they get some awfully cold storms off the Arctic ice whistling up the Mackenzie."

Ginny was beginning to wonder if she'd made the right move in coming up here at all. But that had never crossed her mind back in Los Angeles; just the chance to get away from all her troubles and spend some time with relatives, even if they were in-laws, was all the incentive she needed to make up her mind. She hoped Fred wouldn't be too terribly angry when he got her letter. She hadn't had time to write him for his permission and wait for an answer. With the way he wrote letters, she might have been standing around for months waiting for Fred to say yes.

It was mid-afternoon when the freak snowstorm blew over, leaving in its wake a beautiful, cloudless blue sky that stretched from horizon to horizon. Ginny could make out the hazy shapes of distant mountains, far off to the north, ringed with cloud-like fog and squatting like watchdogs of the untamed Northwest Territories beyond, blocking out the influx of civilization from the warmer, less awesome south.