But Allegra Stanton Saylor, who had her mother’s solid determination and her father’s compassion, still kept going, following that light. She really didn’t know if it was something deep inside her spirit pressing her on, or if it really was just devotion and loyalty to her parents. It didn’t matter. It was her decision, and once made, Allegra followed through and toughed it out, always. She never gave up.
Now, as she sipped at her mug of hot soup that her father had already prepared for them, she sighed deeply. I just can’t stand it anymore . . . we’ve got to figure out some better way of helping the weaker ones. Poor Dad, he’s already forged ahead, hiking farther and faster than he really should, and scouted for this place, and gathered firewood for three fires for the night and then built the fires . . . but the Hartleys are simply too exhausted to even cook for themselves. And they can’t have much food in that pitiful little suitcase Mr. Hartley’s lugging . . . And poor Olivia Wheatley, does she even know how to cook? So far all I’ve seen her do is huddle by the fire and eat pieces of that dried Proto-Syn fruit. And she practically has to spoon-feed that little girl, when she can gather her scattered wits enough to remember to eat herself . . .
“Mom . . .” Allegra nodded toward the fire across from them, built in the shelter of two soaring pines. Mr. and Mrs. Hartley were clinging to each other, Mrs. Hartley’s head on his shoulder, her eyes closed with exhaustion. On the other side, Olivia Wheatley was sipping from a cup of coffee that her father had given her. She took a sip, her eyes wide and unseeing, and then offered it to her seven-year-old little girl, Dana. Dana automatically took a sip, then offered it back to her mother. The two did this over and over again, without speaking or looking at each other. Their listlessness was pathetic, and somehow frightening to watch.
“I know,” Genevieve sighed. “I’ve been thinking about them, of course. We’ll just have to help them, Allegra. I can’t bear it another minute.”
She nodded numbly. It wasn’t just a question of having a charitable heart. Out here, in the wilderness, taking responsibility for other human beings was becoming a life-and-death decision. For one thing, food was critically short. Allegra had, as her father had told her to, “packed smart” when she was loading up foodstuffs from their pantry. She’d brought rice, bouillon cubes, dried meats and vegetables, crackers, dried beans, all things that were relatively light to carry. Her mother had thought to bring the lightest and most efficient utensils. Her father, naturally, had packed badly needed medicines and medical supplies. Altogether, their family was fairly well-equipped for such an arduous journey.
But they were not well-equipped to care for more than four people for very long. Merrill, who was still moving around the laggers—who had in some nebulous way become “his group”—hauled a fallen pine branch to the Hartleys’ fire and began breaking it up and tossing the smaller branches on to stoke it. It blazed up, crackling and spitting ominously, and he said something to the four of them. None of them replied, though Mr. Hartley gave him a grateful glance.
Merrill came back to his family, his face troubled. “I can’t stand it anymore,” he declared. His kind face was lined with worry.
Allegra gave him a desert-dry smile. “I was just thinking that, and Mom just said it. Great minds think alike, huh.” Standing up, she dusted off her posterior in a businesslike manner. “Okay, we’ve got soup. Do they have any cups or bowls, do you think?”
Merrill gravely told her, “You know, Allegra, I haven’t been certain about taking them on. You and Kyle and your mother must be my first concern. And I’m just not sure that we have food enough for them.”
Perry Hammett, who was sitting by Kyle and telling him a Benny the Blue Bear story, looked up. “Mr. Stanton, I’ve got lots of food. More than enough for one person. If we all threw in together, maybe?”
Merrill smiled warmly at him. He knew that Perry, in spite of his ample size, wasn’t really very strong, and also he was really still a child. He’d packed like a child. He had chocolate and candy and cookies and potato chips and sweet powders for drinks, and even sugar lumps. The solid food that he’d had was what Merrill cooked for them and they shared with him.
But he shared with them, too, eagerly, and Merrill thought that maybe it was harder for this chubby boy with the sweet tooth to give Kyle his cookies than it was for them to give him their soup.
“You know, Perry,” he said with an air of thoughtfulness, “I think that’s a really good idea. And the Lord will bless you for it.”
Perry blushed and ducked his head, and his words were almost inaudible. “I know that, Mr. Stanton. He’s already blessed me with—with you and Mrs. Stanton and Miss Allegra and Kyle.
I’m—I want to help.”
Allegra said sternly, “Dad, I can take care of the Hartleys and Olivia and Dana right now. Why don’t you just sit down for a minute, and rest? And talk to Mom, please. She misses you. We all do.”
Efficiently, Allegra marched over to their fire and said in a no-nonsense tone, “Mr. Hartley, we’ve got soup and crackers, but we don’t have many dishes. Do you and your wife happen to have bowls, or—of course, those coffee mugs will do. Give them to me. What about you, Olivia? Olivia . . . yes, Olivia, I’m talking to you . . .”
Looking after her, Merrill, who had sunk gratefully down by his wife’s side, shook his head, smiling a little. “She looks as frail and wispy as a light summer breeze. But she’s more like a stout headwind, when she gets going.” He pinched his wife’s arm lightly. “Like you.”
Genevieve retorted smartly, “And you look like an accountant, but you act like Marcus Iago in Southern Terrors. ”
“Too bad it’s not the other way around.”
“Not for these people,” Genevieve said, suddenly somber. “I think it’s a shame that we’ve splintered up like this. The group that Pastor Colfax is baby-sitting doesn’t seem to need much of anything, while somehow you’ve gotten stuck with shepherding all the poor, lost little lambs.” Though the group traveled together, along the same paths and stopping and starting at the same times, they had loosely split into two groups. Tybalt Colfax led a group of eight people, while the weaker ones had tended to become Merrill’s “group.” Ty Colfax was the leader, effectively. But because finding good campsites for twenty-one people was so difficult, Merrill had eventually started scouting for the group after lunch, moving ahead, finding a site, gathering firewood. Ty, his wife Galatia, and their “group” always seemed to move faster than the others, reaching the campsite first, choosing the best places, starting their cooking and setting up their shelters before the rest had even arrived. The six people who traveled with them were a couple in their thirties with two children, and another athletic young couple in their twenties.
Merrill’s “group” had become the weakest, like the Hartleys; the misfits, like Perry; and the lost, like the Wheatleys. Two other couples, all of them in their early forties, sort of scrambled along between; they stayed with Ty Colfax and his group as long and as much as they could, but often they couldn’t keep up and ended up rather shamefacedly camping with Merrill’s group and depending on his fires.
Now Merrill, gazing sadly around at the fourteen people huddled around his three fires, said in a low voice to his wife, “I just don’t understand it, Genevieve. I’m not cut out for this. I’m not the kind of man to lead these people. It doesn’t make sense.”
She looked up at him and smiled a little. “But it does to the Lord, Merrill. It must. He’s set you in this place, with these people, and though you don’t seem to know it, you’ve done miracles, every day. So I guess you are exactly the kind of man to lead these people.”
He was a little taken aback—and also exhausted. “Let’s go ahead and get the blankets out and settle down right over there, by that stand of big rocks. I’ve figured that’s going to give us a good view of the fire.” Every night, Merrill chose a place that would allow them to drink good, sweet coffee, eat some of Perry’s chocolate, and gaze at the signal fire. It
was a good time for them. It gave them hope, and peace.
But that night there was no fire.
For the next four days the group wandered, lost and hopeless, in the old and hostile hills.
“I tried to talk to your father before he went ahead,” Ty Colfax said in a tone that begged Genevieve and Allegra to see reason. “But he simply wouldn’t listen. I must say, Mrs. Stanton, that I believe Merrill may be suffering from some form of exhaustion. He doesn’t know where we are, and he certainly doesn’t know which direction that signal fire is. Or was. If it was ever there at all.”
Genevieve sighed wearily, while Allegra’s blue eyes sparked dangerously. She didn’t think much of Tybalt Colfax, but especially she didn’t like his wife, Galatia. Though Ty Colfax had never said much to Allegra, Galatia was extremely cool to her. Allegra didn’t know what she’d done to offend the woman, and she didn’t care. She’d never said anything, for Ty was her parents’ pastor, and they seemed to respect him. But Merrill and Genevieve were saddened when Allegra refused to go to church with them. Now, however, she couldn’t escape them, as they’d dropped back to present their pleadings to Genevieve and her, for some reason.
“I don’t understand exactly what you want from me, Pastor,” Genevieve finally said stiffly.
“Well, Galatia and I think that it would be much better to turn back, and return to Hot Springs,” Ty explained. “We were hoping you would persuade Mr. Stanton to turn around.”
“What difference would it make?” Allegra said acidly. “You obviously don’t have a clue where we are, and you think my father’s lost. So why do you think he can lead you back to Hot Springs?”
“Allegra,” Genevieve said quietly. Allegra’s delicate features looked mutinous, but she kept silent as Genevieve went on calmly, “Pastor Colfax, I’m afraid I can’t help you. My husband makes his own decisions, and so far they have been very good ones. I support him. Right now, he’s finding us a campsite. My plans are to follow him, and then camp when and where he tells us to. If you wish him to do something different, then you really must speak with him about it.”
Tybalt and Galatia, who was looking pretty rough without all her cosmetics and creams and collagen plasters, exchanged glances. Tybalt looked uncertain, while Galatia looked positively furious. Quickly Ty said, fumbling a bit, “I—understand, Mrs. Stanton, if— you’ll just excuse us—come along, Galatia, we’re falling behind . . .”
He led her ahead, but her hissing whisper could be heard clearly by Genevieve and Allegra, “Ty, you’re the leader of this group! This is ridiculous! You don’t need to ask anyone’s permission, much less grovel to that—that little nobody and his wife . . .”
He said something in a low voice that they couldn’t hear, and then they were out of earshot.
With a warning glance at her daughter’s savage face, Genevieve said, “Allegra, such behavior is beneath your notice. You’re better than that.”
“Oh no it’s not, and oh no I’m not,” Allegra muttered.
Ignoring her dire mutterings, Genevieve went on calmly, “Galatia appears to be one of those people who doesn’t do well under stress.”
“Stress! Mother, you call this—this—disaster just a stress?”
“Calm down, Allegra. You’re shrieking.” Genevieve searched Allegra’s face, which was working as she tried to get her emotions under control. “You’re all right, aren’t you, Allegra?” her mother asked, now with anxiety. “I mean, of course this is a terrible hardship. But—you don’t agree with the Colfaxes, do you?”
When Allegra tried to answer, but couldn’t, Genevieve’s placid features suddenly filled with understanding. Shouldering her pack more securely, she nodded. “I understand. I’m sure most everyone here really feels the same way, Allegra. It’s confusing, and it’s frightening, especially since the signal fire has disappeared. But your father and I have prayed without ceasing in the last two days, and both of us know in our spirits that God has prepared a place for us. We’ve determined to go on until we find it, knowing that He will somehow guide our path.”
Even though she felt ashamed, she murmured, “Even without food?”
Confidently Genevieve said, “The Lord will provide. He has promised that His children will never have to beg for bread, and I believe in that promise.”
They rested after lunch. Their rests were getting longer, their meals scantier, their marches shorter. It was cold, though nowhere near freezing, because a damp mist, so light it was invisible, fell all during the dull, smoke-colored day. The hills were wreathed in a sullen smoke about their summits, and leaden curls of mist rose from the ground.
“But just up about a mile, Pastor, is a fine campsite very close to a fast-moving stream,” Merrill said. It was almost three o’clock, and with the low clouds and mists, evening would be coming soon—too soon. “We need to get everyone moving now. We can’t possibly let the older people and the children go stumbling around in the dark. Someone’s bound to get hurt.”
“Merrill, I’m afraid you just don’t understand,” Colfax said, shaking his head sorrowfully. “My people don’t want to go on. They want to go back. And I’m afraid most of your people feel the same way.”
Merrill Stanton’s rounded shoulders sagged even more heavily. “But, Pastor, surely you can’t think of camping here. This just won’t do. It’s not close to water. The trees are sparser and stunted here, on the west side of the mountain, it’ll be hard—if not impossible— to get enough wood for everyone.”
Tybalt Colfax, who had chosen this site for a cold lunch and a rest, bristled slightly. “But this rock shelf provides some excellent protection, Merrill, and it looks as if it’s going to drizzle all night. There’s even a small cave. We could—fit a couple, perhaps, and all four of the children in there.”
Merrill Stanton’s kind, rather weak blue eyes widened with alarm. “A cave? Have you lost—I mean, Pastor Colfax, surely you don’t propose to go into a cave! With all the wild animals in these hills? You can’t do that!”
Colfax pulled himself up to his full height, which was considerable, and spoke with ringing authority. “I beg your pardon, Mr.
Stanton, but I think you should show a little more respect. I’m not a fool, you know. I looked in the cave, and there’s nothing there, nothing at all. Now, if you don’t wish Kyle to have warmth and shelter for the night, then so be it. That will allow some others who might appreciate my efforts a little more room. If you’ll excuse me—”
His face drawn into a mask of disbelief, Merrill sat back down with Allegra and Genevieve. Behind them, Kyle and Perry sat. Perry was showing Kyle some of the old, dark Renaissance pictures in his enormous Bible. But his full-moon face was troubled as he listened to Colfax and Merrill, and he watched Genevieve and Allegra with sympathy.
“I just can’t believe it,” Merrill murmured, taking his wife’s hand as if to draw strength from it. “I can’t believe anyone could be that foolish.”
Olivia Wheatley suddenly appeared in front of them. She looked ghastly, with a pinched face and wild eyes and pale hair sticking out in wet strings under a Ty-wool cap. “Did he say there’s a cave? C’mon, Dana, let’s go see . . .” It was the most animation she’d shown in the entire two and a half weeks.
Merrill started to get up, calling, “No, Mrs. Wheatley—” but Genevieve’s hand clutching his arm froze him.
“You can’t stop them, or anyone, Merrill,” she said quietly. “They do have the right to make their own decisions.”
He sat back down, then buried his face in his hands.
They had stopped on a small west-facing shelf of one of the highest mountains they could see. Pines were the only trees hardy enough to grow here, and they were as twisted and distorted as if a bonsai master had been tending them. Above them, the mountain’s heights loomed to about five thousand feet. There were some stands of tall firs and pines and a few cedars farther up, but the ascent was steep, and hauling any deadwood back down would be treacherous. And, of cours
e, as Merrill had said, there was no water here.
They were debating whether to go on to the campsite that Merrill had seen. About a mile ahead, the shelf widened out to a level plateau, and the mountainside was not nearly so precipitous above them. A small stream trickled out of some rocks and flowed merrily by a glade that was three feet deep in still-fragrant brown pine needles. But Allegra said unhappily, “It’s too late, Dad, for the Hartleys, at least. Look at them. It’d take them hours to stagger a mile.”
“But—” Merrill never completed the sentence, for out of the great thick of boulders they were facing, a man stepped out.
A man they had never seen before.
He was of medium height, and as thickly built as a wrestler. He was dressed in a dull green poncho and had a shapeless hat jammed on his head. Cradled carefully in one arm was a deadly-looking rifle with a big bore and a long barrel.
Allegra—and everyone else—froze, rather comically, in mid-gesture and mid-word.
With exaggerated slow and large movements, the man held up his rifle, barrel pointed upward, and then lowered it to the ground and leaned it against the rocks. His hands still up in the air, he said in a deep, resonant voice, “Hello, the camp. Nobody has to be scared, all right? I’m harmless.”
Coming to his senses, Merrill scrambled to his feet, shoving back his mackinaw to expose the butt of the .45. But he felt like a pure fool, and looked worse, of that he was certain, so he didn’t touch it. “Kind of foolish, isn’t it? Sneaking up on a man’s camp like that?”
The man’s face was shadowed by the slouchy hat, but they could clearly hear the exasperation in his voice. “Mister, I made enough noise to disturb a deaf man’s sleep. I thought about just hidin’ and yellin’. How do you think that would’ve gone over?”
Merrill Stanton seemed half angry, but then he was overcome by amusement. “I probably would’ve shot at you, but then again you probably wouldn’t have been in much danger. I’m Merrill Stanton.”
“Riley Case.” As if aware he presented a rather mysterious and dangerous sight, he slowly removed his cap, then nodded at the ladies. His hair and eyes were as dark as a starless night, and his face was pugnacious, with a strong, full jaw outlined with a heavy beard-shadow and a high forehead. “I’d like to talk to you people,” he said in his slow way, “but I think, Mr. Stanton, that you and me better go get those imbeciles out of that cave first.”
The Beginning of Sorrows Page 41
