She peeked out the window to see a wiry, rugged-looking woman standing there with a steaming pot held in both hands. Of course, Martha opened the door.
"Hi," said the woman, marching in full speed ahead and setting the hot pot on Martha's stove. She turned around to face the disconcerted Martha.
"I'm Faye Murphy. I live in the apartment in back of this one. Sorry I wasn't here to welcome you when you got to Ketchikan, but I was out in the bush working. More about that later. What's your name?"
"Martha. Martha Rose," Martha said. The woman appeared to be in her late fifties, and she wore a black eye-patch.
"No, I'm not a pirate, dear. I got clawed by a lynx over on Chichagof Island a long time ago. I like the drama of black, don't you? I figure this patch gives me a reckless air. Have you had dinner yet? I brought you chicken soup."
Martha wouldn't have cared whether Faye had brought a pot of glue, she was so happy to see a friendly face. And chicken soup was the best medicine Martha could imagine, even though she wasn't sick. Chicken soup reminded Martha of her mother.
"Thanks," she said, beaming at Faye. She lifted the lid. "It doesn't look as though it needs heating."
"I shouldn't think so. It's been simmering all afternoon. Do you have some bowls? I hope you don't mind my inviting myself for dinner, but I just got back from a week in the wilderness, and I needed to see a friendly face."
Martha filled big stoneware soup bowls with steaming hot soup, and Faye produced a box of crackers from the front pocket of her hooded sweatshirt. They sat down at Martha's little table.
"So tell me about yourself, dear," Faye said briskly. "What brings you to Ketchikan? The men?"
"Men?" Whoever this Faye Murphy was, Martha decided, she was definitely unconventional.
"Ten men to every woman in Alaska. Surely you knew that."
"Well, um, I'd heard about it. But no, that wasn't a factor in my decision. What brought me to Ketchikan was purely business." And she went on to tell Faye about Sidney and the Bagel Barns and how she would eventually share in the profits.
"Sounds good to me," Faye told her. "Most of the women we get—well, they're thinking about the lonely guys who come here to fish for a living or work at the cannery or the lumber mill. They —the men, I mean—come to make a killing financially. They can work for a high salary at the mill or the cannery for a few months, live cheaply and sock it all away and go back to Seattle or Vancouver to loaf for the rest of the year. That's not for me. I like to keep busy all the time."
"What do you do?" asked Martha.
"I'm a nurse, dear. Came up here in the eighties looking for adventure, and I found it, all right. I accompany Dr. Andy Sharf when he flies out to take care of people who live too far from town to see a doctor. Would you like to hear about the lynx attack?"
Martha nodded. She'd wanted to ask but thought it might be a topic Faye would prefer to avoid. By this time, however, Martha had an idea that Faye didn't avoid any topic.
"We made an emergency landing in Dr. Andy's plane on Chichagof Island—this was back in the 1990s, I've forgotten exactly when. There was an old hunter's shack still standing, so Dr. Andy and I prepared to spend the night. We'd emergency-landed before a couple of times when we had engine trouble, and we figured somebody'd find us by morning. So Dr. Andy says, 'Faye, go get some of that dry grass outside so I can start a fire in the fireplace.' There was plenty of wood stacked up inside, but there wasn't any tinder. So I stepped outside and walked smack into a mother lynx protecting her young. I screamed and ran inside, but not before she slapped me with her paw. I managed to slam the door on her whiskers, but by that time my eye was a goner. Glad I have one left, though."
Martha was shaken by Faye's story and the matter-of-fact way in which it was told.
"Oh, you don't need to worry," Faye assured her. "You won't run into a lynx in Ketchikan
"Hi," said the woman, marching in full speed ahead and setting the hot pot on Martha's stove. She turned around to face the disconcerted Martha.
"I'm Faye Murphy. I live in the apartment in back of this one. Sorry I wasn't here to welcome you when you got to Ketchikan, but I was out in the bush working. More about that later. What's your name?"
"Martha. Martha Rose," Martha said. The woman appeared to be in her late fifties, and she wore a black eye-patch.
"No, I'm not a pirate, dear. I got clawed by a lynx over on Chichagof Island a long time ago. I like the drama of black, don't you? I figure this patch gives me a reckless air. Have you had dinner yet? I brought you chicken soup."
Martha wouldn't have cared whether Faye had brought a pot of glue, she was so happy to see a friendly face. And chicken soup was the best medicine Martha could imagine, even though she wasn't sick. Chicken soup reminded Martha of her mother.
"Thanks," she said, beaming at Faye. She lifted the lid. "It doesn't look as though it needs heating."
"I shouldn't think so. It's been simmering all afternoon. Do you have some bowls? I hope you don't mind my inviting myself for dinner, but I just got back from a week in the wilderness, and I needed to see a friendly face."
Martha filled big stoneware soup bowls with steaming hot soup, and Faye produced a box of crackers from the front pocket of her hooded sweatshirt. They sat down at Martha's little table.
"So tell me about yourself, dear," Faye said briskly. "What brings you to Ketchikan? The men?"
"Men?" Whoever this Faye Murphy was, Martha decided, she was definitely unconventional.
"Ten men to every woman in Alaska. Surely you knew that."
"Well, um, I'd heard about it. But no, that wasn't a factor in my decision. What brought me to Ketchikan was purely business." And she went on to tell Faye about Sidney and the Bagel Barns and how she would eventually share in the profits.
"Sounds good to me," Faye told her. "Most of the women we get—well, they're thinking about the lonely guys who come here to fish for a living or work at the cannery or the lumber mill. They —the men, I mean—come to make a killing financially. They can work for a high salary at the mill or the cannery for a few months, live cheaply and sock it all away and go back to Seattle or Vancouver to loaf for the rest of the year. That's not for me. I like to keep busy all the time."
"What do you do?" asked Martha.
"I'm a nurse, dear. Came up here in the eighties looking for adventure, and I found it, all right. I accompany Dr. Andy Sharf when he flies out to take care of people who live too far from town to see a doctor. Would you like to hear about the lynx attack?"
Martha nodded. She'd wanted to ask but thought it might be a topic Faye would prefer to avoid. By this time, however, Martha had an idea that Faye didn't avoid any topic.
"We made an emergency landing in Dr. Andy's plane on Chichagof Island—this was back in the 1990s, I've forgotten exactly when. There was an old hunter's shack still standing, so Dr. Andy and I prepared to spend the night. We'd emergency-landed before a couple of times when we had engine trouble, and we figured somebody'd find us by morning. So Dr. Andy says, 'Faye, go get some of that dry grass outside so I can start a fire in the fireplace.' There was plenty of wood stacked up inside, but there wasn't any tinder. So I stepped outside and walked smack into a mother lynx protecting her young. I screamed and ran inside, but not before she slapped me with her paw. I managed to slam the door on her whiskers, but by that time my eye was a goner. Glad I have one left, though."
Martha was shaken by Faye's story and the matter-of-fact way in which it was told.
"Oh, you don't need to worry," Faye assured her. "You won't run into a lynx in Ketchikan
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