Lost in Dreams

by Roger Bruner

the men nodded in agreement. “Sometimes you men learn about things I’ve done before I even decide to do them.” The room exploded in laughter, which soon gave way to whoops and applause. “So let me tell you the facts before the grapevine distorts them.” He paused and looked around the room. “Judging by your faces, though, I think the grapevine has beaten me to it again.”

  More laughter. And many additional cheers.

  “The news of the hour: Chaplain Harry Thomas has been arrested on a number of serious charges. If convicted—and there’s not much of a chance he won’t be—he may join you here for much of the rest of his natural life … without pay, I hasten to add.”

  The men whistled, hooted, and hollered. They clapped, and they stomped, and I was as loud and enthusiastic as any of them.

  Warden Jenkins looked embarrassed. Or perhaps mildly bothered. I couldn’t tell which. Maybe he hadn’t expected a group of Christian inmates to cheer over somebody’s arrest. Or maybe he felt frustrated that someone in his position couldn’t properly join in the cheering. He must have been dying to.

  “I’m not 100 percent sure who your next chaplain is going to be, but I have an idea. I promise you he’ll be a Christian, though. I’ll make sure of that personally.” Man! That was a strong statement. Before the men could start cheering again, he continued. “When I look at all of you, I thank God that these good people”—he pointed to each of our team members—”have done such a wonderful job of ministering to you. I intend to keep these services going. Not every night like this, but on a regular basis. If I can’t find any people from my church who’re willing to make the sacrifice of time and gas, I’ll do it by myself.”

  Now the men were on their feet, moving forward as one humongous tidal wave and clapping him on the shoulder. The guards uncrossed their arms and instinctively touched the handles of their pistols, but they crossed their arms again almost as quickly. If this was a prison riot, it was a first-of-its-kind—a desirable one.

  “Men, I hate to interrupt this wonderful adulation, but I think these folks want to begin a worship service.”

  As I headed for the podium, a hymnbook in my hand, Graham touched my arm. “Over now. Said no worry.”

  How could he have known?

  chapter fifty-one

  Act 3

  It was late when we got back to the hostel that night. I’d fallen asleep in the van. “Girl,” Aleesha said as she shook me, “Mr. Rob and I carried you in from the bus at Santa María and put you in your new sleeping bag, but you’ve gained weight here. Get up and get inside.”

  She was right about the weight. I’d done some hog-wild eating between the time of my unexpected instant recovery and our departure for California. Enough to gain back what I’d lost while I was sick. I’d probably gained six or eight new pounds eating Graham’s cooking. Pounds that repulsed me almost as much as my memory of Chaplain Thomas.

  One unfortunate aspect of having a small build—aka, being skinny—was the inability to be selective about where extra weight ended up. I’d never found the paunchy look to be very flattering, and I’d seen enough rotund, bare midriffs to have something to base my opinion on.

  But I’d never expected to end up looking that way myself. Oh, well. I wouldn’t get to enjoy Graham’s cooking much longer. Or Aleesha’s, for that matter. I’d lose that weight fast when I started eating my own cooking. I hoped I wouldn’t kill Dad with it, though.

  Kill Dad …? Uh, not funny.

  When I woke up the next morning—was it Sunday already?—sunlight was streaming through the windows I’d done my best to clean the day before and still left streaky. If Aleesha had let

  me sleep in again and made me miss breakfast, I was going to give her what-for when I caught up with her.

  But when I unzipped my sleeping bag and sat up, I saw body-sized bulges in the other two sleeping bags. Huh? I was awake before Aleesha? I’d never let her live that down.

  The memory of bedtime the night before was a distant patch of fog in my less-than-wakeful condition, but I vaguely remembered Rob saying we wouldn’t need to get up at any given time. He was rewarding us for getting the hostel ready for the building inspection by not planning any Sunday activities. Not even an informal Bible study or a worship service. We’d hold one at Red Cedar tonight, and he said that would be good enough. He knew how truly tired we were, although our fatigue was probably more emotional than physical.

  He’d also mentioned something about going to church in town with Larry and Laurie. The round-trip would take about two hours. So he’d be gone almost all day.

  We probably disappointed him by declining the invitation to keep him company. Not even Dad wanted to go, and that must have seemed strange. Those two men had grown almost inseparable during the course of the week.

  Oh, and hadn’t Rob said something about Graham having ham-and-cheese quiche in the fridge, ready for us to microwave when we got hungry?

  Yum. Let’s try for pound seven. Or will it be pound nine?

  Graham must have been getting used to us girls. Just before supper the day before, he’d invited us to move back into his spare room (I cleaned his windows in appreciation). I think he was concerned about us continuing to camp in an unheated unit, although—truth be told—we’d been quite comfy in our sleeping bags. Nonetheless, having easy access to the shower and being within scenting range of food cooking made his offer one we couldn’t refuse.

  I slipped into the cleanest of my grungy work clothes. Graham had a small washer and dryer, and I was planning to use them once everyone was awake. Otherwise, I’d be plenty stinky and dirty flying home the next day. Filth had never been a normal part of my feminine charm.

  I hoped the sound of the microwave dinging itself off wouldn’t wake Aleesha or Jo. I wasn’t worried about Graham. He’d undoubtedly gotten up at dawn to watch the sunrise. Not a bad habit for someone who didn’t mind getting up that early, but I still couldn’t understand why it meant so much to him. I’d probably never find out.

  I knew what Jo planned to do later. She’d been after me to climb Tabletop Mountain with her, and last night I declined what I hoped would be her final persistent invitation.

  I was an outdoor girl when it came to riding in my convertible with the top down and sunning at the pool or the beach, but I didn’t believe in voluntary physical exertion if I could avoid it.

  Worthy projects like the litter cleanup campaign in Santa María and cleaning and painting the hostel were rare exceptions, yet I’d taken on both projects willingly and cheerfully.

  “Why don’t you ask Aleesha to go with you?” I’d asked Jo tongue-in-cheek.

  She’d answered with a sharp snort that left no room for doubt. Her attitude toward Aleesha hadn’t improved.

  The quiche was so yummy, I had a second helping. Graham always cooked enough to feed all of the members of a good-size church. I didn’t know what he did with the leftovers; he never served them to us.

  “Fatty, fatty, two by four, can’t get through …”

  I looked up from my almost-empty-again plate to see Aleesha grinning at me. She bent over, and I hugged her without bothering to get up. She plopped down in the chair opposite me.

  “You going climbing today?” she asked. I smirked. “Are you?” I said. “I heard you asking Rob for directions.”

  “I’d planned to, but I think I’ll curl up somewhere and read. I have such a reading list for next semester I’d better start on it now.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Aleesha loved reading as much as I did, although assigned reading was iffy and depended on the subject. She was antsy to get the lower-level required courses out of the way and focus on drama and theater.

  I set my fork down and leaned back in my chair, hands folded over my satisfied belly. “I don’t know what I’m doing today.”

  “Hmm. You must have been asleep when your dad said something in the van about climbing Tabletop.”

  “Really?” I didn’t think Dad was any fonder of physical ex
ertion than I was.

  “The two of you together.”

  I gasped.

  “What’s this?” Aleesha said of the sheet of paper that was sitting on her placemat. “My name’s on it. Now who around here would dare to use my name in vain?” She chuckled, picked it up, and unfolded it. “Oh. Directions for climbing Tabletop Mountain. Mr. Rob must have left this for me.”

  “Now don’t you feel guilty for making him go to all that trouble for nothing?”

  “Here.” She handed me the paper. “Why don’t you give this to Mr. Scott?”

  I wrinkled my brow slightly.

  “Just in case he doesn’t have directions yet.”

  “Thanks.” I folded the paper and stuffed it in my shirt pocket as if I’d meant it.

  “Hello, girls,” Dad said as he joined us at the table. “All ready for some vigorous mountain climbing today?”

  His chipper mood made me think once more about his reaction to Mom’s death. Sure, he’d done plenty of grieving—I’d only been aware of some of it—but why had he started acting so cheerful so soon? Denial?

  I enjoyed having him that way, but still … Add that to my list of things I’d probably never know.

  “Not me, Mr. Scott. I’m going to cozy up with a book. Maybe two.”

  “You even have to ask, Dad?”

  He kissed me on the cheek. “How soon will you be ready then?”

  What? Had my sarcasm lost its edge? “You … you’re serious?”

  “Of course. It’s a beautiful day outside. We can work off those extra pounds …”

  No! Don’t tell me even my unobservant dad can see my weight gain.

  “I have another reason, Kim, I need to talk with you about something important, and a peaceful mountaintop would be an appropriate place to do it.”

  “You’re not already engaged to somebody else, are you?” I felt super-dumb for asking that, but it was the first thing that popped into my head.

  “You don’t mean that, do you?” The shock in his voice made me feel like kicking myself all the way back to Georgia. “I haven’t even looked at another woman since your mom died. Or since we started going together, for that matter. No one can ever take her place.”

  I turned to look at Aleesha, but she wasn’t there. Leave it to her to slip away quietly from somebody else’s private conversation.

  “No. Just a silly thought.” Silly thought nothing. If I’d thought about it first, I never would have said it. “Sorry.”

  He smiled and then shrugged. Or maybe he shrugged first. I couldn’t tell. “So you’ll climb Tabletop with me?”

  “Sure. Anything to spend quality time with my favorite dad. By the way, I’ve got some directions Rob left here for Aleesha.” I pulled the paper out of my pocket, but he waved me off before I could finish unfolding it.

  “We don’t need that. Rob gave me directions several days ago.”

  At the rate I was going, I was going to wear that paper ragged just from taking it in and out of my pocket.

  But that was okay. Today was going to be a perfect day.

  chapter fifty-two

  The way looked easy. Until we walked around the left prong of the U to the back of the hostel, that was. What we hadn’t seen from the front was a small lake of fallen rocks that made the first milestone in the directions look fifteen miles away rather than merely fifteen feet.

  The rocks varied in size from pebbles—not more pebbles!—to stones that were heavy enough Dad and I would’ve had trouble lifting them together. Even the smallest ones appeared to have sharp edges, though—edges I wouldn’t have wanted to tackle barefooted. The uneven layering made the surface dangerously unstable to cross.

  Once we started trekking across, we discovered how unstable unstable could be. Memories of my experience in the Skyfly terminal of San Diego International didn’t help. And we hadn’t even reached the base of the mountain yet.

  Before we’d gotten halfway across, my abdominal and leg muscles screamed at me for straining so hard just to maintain my balance and remain upright. Although I was wearing my good sneakers—I hadn’t thought to bring anything more appropriate on this trip—I could almost feel blisters starting to form on the bottom of both feet. Thank goodness, I wasn’t going to cross this more than once.

  Ugh! Plus the return trip.

  “I don’t guess you want to give up, do you?” I said. I was only half-teasing. “Do you?”

  That’s when it struck me that I actually wanted to make

  this climb. Even if it killed me. So I wasn’t very athletic. That was no secret. But I didn’t want my father to think of me as a quitter.

  I shook my head. “We’re in this together, old man.” I giggled, trying to imagine what kind of face he’d make at my comment.

  Rob’s directions weren’t just good; they were excellent. Not counting having to cross those fallen rocks, that was. But truth be known, he probably hadn’t climbed Tabletop since the rock slide. He would have noted it in the directions or provided an alternative starting place if he’d realized.

  Our climb wasn’t bad, but getting lost would have been a cinch without those directions. Fortunately, the landmarks Rob described were right where they were supposed to be. I hoped they’d be equally recognizable on the way back.

  How dumb would we feel if we reached the top without problems and got lost on the return trip? The descent wouldn’t be something to attempt in the dark, even with a considerably more powerful flashlight than the LED penlight I had in my coat pocket.

  I noticed several sheer drops just yards from our path. Path? Calling our walkway a path was like referring to a migrant shack as a luxury hotel. The area was thick with underbrush, and many times we couldn’t see what we were about to step on—or into. I shivered periodically at the thought of accidentally waking a hapless snake. A very poisonous one.

  I could just see Dad trying to haul my body down the mountainside. Maybe he’d slip me over one of those steep drops and pick up what was left when he got back down. What would that hurt if I’d already died of snakebite?

  We hadn’t seen much wildlife yet. Just a few boring birds that didn’t even have the decency to greet us in cheerful song or the courage to protest our invasion of their territory with

  squawking. We assumed a few furry little critters might be crawling around nearby or watching from hidden places and wondering who these idiotic intruders were. I tried not to consider the possibility of larger animals.

  Why fret, though? I trusted Rob; he wouldn’t have blessed our climb or given Dad the instructions if it hadn’t been safe. I also trusted Dad; he had the patience to follow those directions implicitly. I trusted God even more, though; He’d created Tabletop Mountain, and it belonged to Him.

  About an hour and a half after leaving the hostel, we found ourselves six feet from the top. Most of the climb had been fairly easy going—like climbing a steep hill—but these last six feet were the longest, steepest six feet I’d ever seen. Straight up. Were we supposed to climb a six-foot cliff face with our bare hands? Maybe those rocks at the base of the mountain had once been stair steps leading from here to the top.

  “Look about five feet to your left,” Dad said. “Rob doesn’t say anything about it, but that spot looks like it has a couple of potential handholds.”

  “Uh …” I looked where he was pointing. “Right there?” I didn’t want to admit I couldn’t spot them.

  “Uh, tell you what, baby girl.”

  “What, Dad?” Was a sense of defeat one phase of caution?

  “Looks like we’ll still have to pull ourselves up the last foot or so. Not much danger of falling far, though. I’ll go first and then pull you up.”

  I would’ve thrown my arms around that man in a major hug if I could have done it without losing my balance. I did the best I could to move aside and allow him access to the handholds he thought he’d seen. He took a deep breath. I think he was almost as petrified as I was, but at least he didn’t let on. He probably
realized his terror would be catching.

  Why does the advice Don’t look down always make

  a person want to do just that? If Dad had dropped me, I wouldn’t have fallen far, but this terrain was rugged. Rugged enough to lack a soft landing spot. I could see myself breaking my right arm all over again. Or maybe both arms this time.

  Dad grunted as he pulled me up inch by inch. Small slivers of rock fell past my head, bounced off our launch point, and landed somewhere yards below while I dangled like someone in the sweaty hands of a first-time trapeze artist. How small and harmless my Santa María pebbles seemed in retrospect.

  “Good thing you’re a lightweight,” Dad said as he pulled me over the top. He held me steady while I stood up and got my footing.

  I was up! On top. Alive and ready to sing “Climb Every Mountain” at the top of my lungs. Even if I couldn’t remember many of the words.

  “Let’s move away from the edge, Kim.” He didn’t have to suggest that more than once.

  The view a safe fifty feet away from the edge was … I’d say breathtaking, majestic, or grandeur-iffic, but those words wouldn’t begin to describe it. I could see miles in every direction. Mountains to the east of me, mountains to the west, and more to the north and south. Some of the taller ones already wore a cap of snow. Or maybe leftovers of the previous winter’s snow. Between the mountains were valleys the late fall hadn’t totally browned and rivers that zigzagged like pieces of ribbon someone tossed in the air to see where they’d land.

  “This place is something else, isn’t it?” Dad said.

  I hadn’t even looked at the ground I was standing on. I already understood where the name Tabletop had come from, but now it made even more sense. We were standing on a plane maybe two hundred yards in each direction. But what was that I saw growing …?

  “Prickly pear,” Dad said before I could say anything. Same kind of cactus Santa María had such an abundance of … the kind that had ringed the girls’ sleep field … and Rob and Charlie had somehow magically used for fuel. “Rob told me about these. Birds must have flown here from some area where prickly pear abound. They’d feasted on edible parts of the cactus and ended up with cactus seed in their digestive systems. Then they flew over this mountain, and some of the seeds fell when they—”