by Irene Brand
He smiled. “Yes, and I resented having to spend Sunday afternoon in the house when my friends were fishing or biking. My father was strict about Sunday. We didn’t work, nor shop, nor do much of anything. We worshiped, meditated and rested. More than once, when our parents took their habitual Sunday afternoon naps, Jean and I slipped down to the creek and went swimming. I always suspected our mother knew it, but if Dad had caught us, we’d have known.” He chuckled. “Dad had never heard of child abuse, and he swatted the seat of my pants more than once.” He took a drink of water, recapped the bottle and placed it in his backpack.
“We had a good childhood, although I didn’t think so at the time, for when I was in my teens, Dad put me to work on the ranch. I was in 4-H and played softball for our high school, so it wasn’t all work. We didn’t travel though, and I’ve always been sorry about that. I go to see my parents in California once a year, but that’s the extent of my traveling.”
“Ranching is a year-round job, I’m sure.”
“Yes, it is, but it’s the life for me.” Joseph pulled his cap lower on his forehead. “Have you always lived in Colorado, Connie?”
“After I was five years old. We’d lived in Wyoming before that, but Dad was transferred to Denver, and we’ve lived here ever since.”
“What did you do as a child?”
“I didn’t have an active childhood because of my physical problem, and my medical bills were expensive, so we didn’t travel, either. I have one sister, who’s married, and lives on the East Coast. She comes with her husband and two boys to visit us every year, so we haven’t gone there. It sounds as if you and I may have been deprived of some things in our childhood, but we’re both fortunate to have had caring parents, who gave us security.”
Joseph reached for her hand and squeezed it. “And we still have them—I’m thankful for that.” He scrambled to his feet, and held her hand and drew her upward.
“Are we going to take the long way back to the wagons?”
With a sigh, Connie said, “I’m willing. Actually, I’d like to stay here the rest of the day and do nothing. Right now, I’m duty free, but my work starts again when we get back to the wagons. We should move on, though, for the longer route may take more time than we expect.”
Charlotte and Leonard Redmond reached the mesa, and Connie said, “Here’s a map Russell left for you. The rest of us are going to take this longer route back to the wagons.” She pointed it out to the siblings. “If you travel the short route, follow the red arrows on the map.”
“We’ll eat our lunch, rest and then decide,” Charlotte said. “We stopped to take so many pictures that we’re later than the rest of you. We’ll probably return the shortest way.”
“Okay,” Connie said. “If you do take the long route, that trail is marked with round green dots. See you back at the wagons.”
“Forward march,” Joseph said, a smile breaking across his face. Connie loved it when he forgot his troubles and let his natural, friendly personality surface.
“Lead the way,” she said. “It’s probably a long way back to the wagons.”
Chapter Ten
The first storm came two hours after Joseph and Connie left the mesa. The sudden downpour started without warning, and both of them were wet before they could retrieve ponchos from their packs and pull them over their heads. It rained for fifteen minutes, but they kept plodding downward, avoiding slick spots on the path as much as possible.
When the sun came out, they were on the bank of a small stream.
“Let’s take off these ponchos and hope our clothes dry in the sun,” Joseph said. “We should cross this creek before it rises any more.”
“Russell mentioned some challenging streams. I wonder how many more there are? I’m a little worried—probably we should have taken the shorter route. These showers may continue.”
Joseph took off his cap, and slapped it against his thigh to get rid of the water. Looking at the sky, he said, “You may be right, but we’ve come too far this way to retrace our steps—let’s hope for the best.”
Joseph went upstream a short distance looking for a shallow ford, but when muddy water started roiling from the mountain, he rejoined Connie. “We’ll have to cross here right away.” He rolled up his pant legs and sat down to take off his shoes. Connie removed her boots, tied the strings together and slung them around her neck.
“It’s no more than a foot deep here.”
Joseph agreed. “But it’s swift and deeper than our shoe tops, and I don’t want cold, wet feet as well as wet clothing. Ready?”
“I left my socks on because I have an extra pair in my pack. Those rocks look slick, and the socks will give me some leverage. Let’s go.”
Connie gasped when she stepped into the icy water, and Joseph, leading the way, shouted, “Wow! Talk about cold feet!”
The stream, only fifteen feet wide, seemed easy to ford, and they’d almost reached the other bank when Joseph fell to his knees and was submerged to his waist. Connie grabbed his arm, he struggled to his feet and they reached the bank without further mishap.
Concerned, Connie asked quickly, “Did you hurt your hip?”
With water dripping from his rolled-up jeans, Joseph ran his hands over his left hip and thigh. “I don’t feel any pain, but my knees sting.”
He had a cut on his left knee, and Connie took a first-aid kit from her backpack and cleansed the wound with an antibacterial wipe. Joseph winced when she applied a disinfectant and ointment to the bruised area.
“You’re persecuting me again, Doc.”
“Pardon me!” Connie replied in mock anger. “The next time, I’ll let your leg bleed.”
Connie sat on a rock, replaced her wet socks with dry ones and put on her shoes. Joseph rolled down the legs of his jeans. “I wish I’d brought an extra pair of pants. My shirt may dry, but these jeans won’t. We’re going to have a miserable hike the rest of the way.”
Hearing thunder in the distance, Connie said, “And if we have more rain, we may find other flooded streams.” She looked at the crude map Russell had given them. “It looks as if there may be three more creeks. I wonder how the others are getting along. Russell does a lot of backpacking, so he won’t be taken by surprise, but I don’t think the Redmonds have had much wilderness experience.”
“They didn’t seem interested in coming this way, and the other trail isn’t so risky.”
The rain held off until they reached the first stream, which was strewn with large boulders. They crossed it easily by jumping from one rock to another. When the rain became a steady downpour, Connie started worrying. They were a long way from the wagons, and their progress was slow because the roadbed was slippery. What if they had to spend the night in the mountains? She couldn’t be alone with Joseph all night. Perhaps some of the other hikers couldn’t make it across the streams either, and several of them could camp together.
With water lapping at their heels, they crossed the second of the three streams, teetering and tottering on a large log that had been placed from bank to bank. Joseph shouted above the roar of the water, “Russell probably put that across.”
“Only one more creek to go,” she said.
They’d just reached the other side when a large wave washed over the log and dislodged it, hurtling it downstream. There wouldn’t be any way to return over this route. They traveled for another hour, but halted beside the last stream. Judging from the map, Connie knew they couldn’t be more than three miles from where the wagons were parked for the night. She looked around anxiously, hoping to see some of their other companions, but the area was vacant except for her and Joseph.
“This creek is still rising,” Joseph said, “so it will be several hours before it’s fordable, and it’ll be dark before that. We’ll have to stay here tonight.”
“There has to be another place to ford the stream,” Connie said desperately.
Joseph motioned to the steep mountain terrain. “The only possible crossing is h
igh on that mountain, and I’m too tired to look for it. I’ve had all the walking I can take today.”
“The others will worry about us.”
“I doubt it. Russell will know the situation. It’s going to be a cold and wet night, but I think we’re stuck here.”
She couldn’t be here all night with Joseph. What would people think?
“I wish I knew something about this area. There might be a shelter close by,” Joseph continued. “We’ll be miserable before morning. Neither of us are dressed warmly, and I assume you don’t have a blanket in your backpack,” he added jokingly, but Connie didn’t find the situation amusing.
She didn’t answer, desperately looking back along the trail, hoping that the Redmonds had followed them and would be along soon. But after several minutes of indecision, she conceded that she’d been plunged into an awkward position through no fault of her own, and she would have to deal with it.
“I see a small rock outcropping up the mountain a short distance that might provide a little shelter,” Joseph said.
She nodded agreement, and he slowly led the way up the steep incline. The ledge jutted a few feet from the rock formation above it, and although the ground was damp, at least the rain wouldn’t pour directly on them, and they would be safe from lightning. Connie removed her poncho and backpack. Her clothes hadn’t had a chance to dry, and she was cold, hungry, miserable and tense.
“I don’t have much food left, but I still have a full bottle of water,” she said, trying to speak calmly.
“I’m carrying matches in my pack, but there isn’t any dry wood, so I guess we can’t have a fire. I’m sorry I can’t provide a better solution, Connie.”
“It isn’t your fault.” Without looking at him, she started laying out the food in her pack. “I have an apple, half of a cheese sandwich and a package of raisins.”
“I was greedier than you at lunchtime. I ate my whole sandwich, but I have a package of cookies and a banana. There’s also a container of orange juice. Not enough for a banquet, but we won’t starve.”
They ate before it got completely dark, but the easy camaraderie they’d shared throughout the day was missing. Joseph made several attempts at conversation, but when Connie responded in monosyllables, he lapsed into silence also. When all the food was gone, Connie put all the wrappers and containers in her pack and leaned against the rock wall, staring out into the gathering dusk.
“Connie, the only way for us to have any comfort at all tonight is to split our ponchos—put one on the ground, lie on it and use the other for a cover. That won’t be very comfortable, but by lying together, our body heat will keep us warm.”
She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “No. I won’t do it. I’ll put on my poncho and sit up all night. You can do what you want to do.”
“I don’t understand you, Connie. I’m not suggesting anything immoral. I told you I’m not that kind of person. Don’t you trust me?”
“The Bible says to refrain from all appearance of evil. If anyone ever heard we slept together, they’d think the worst.”
“Who’s going to know? There’s no one here but us, and I won’t comment on what we do.”
She shook her head.
“Connie, you’re judging me by the actions of Ray. Just because he tried to force his attentions on you after you broke your engagement is no reason to think I’m the same kind of person.”
She turned surprised, angry eyes on him. “How did you know about that?”
“Eric told me. He heard Ray bragging to another staff member about the way he’d grabbed you and had given you some passionate kisses, so you wouldn’t forget him. When you ran away from me that day, I talked to Eric—trying to make some sense of the way you’d acted. He advised me to give you time to forget Ray’s indiscretion. I’ve tried to be a friend to you, and except for one misguided statement I shouldn’t have made, I don’t think my behavior has been out of line.”
Connie reached for her poncho, tied it around her body and scooted as far away from Joseph as she could while remaining under the rock shelter. Lying down with her backpack for a pillow, she said bitterly, “As you’ve pointed out, I’m the one with the problem. I have to do what I think is right. Good night, Joseph.” She turned her back on him. The ground was hard and cold, and she couldn’t help thinking of the comfort she could find in Joseph’s arms.
She’d carefully guarded the facts about that morning, soon after she’d broken her engagement, when she’d encountered Ray on her early morning run. She was strong, but no match for the muscular Ray, who’d grabbed her and kissed her repeatedly in an insulting manner. When he’d seen Peggy McCane jogging down the path, Ray had left her with a taunting laugh.
His attitude had left her skeptical of men in general, and she’d made up her mind to steer clear of any future involvements and concentrate on her worthwhile career. Her vocation was a calling from God, and that was what He wanted her to do. She could devote full priority to it if she didn’t marry. Joseph’s arrival at NLC had changed all of that, and not for the first time, she wished she hadn’t learned to love him.
With her back to Joseph, she didn’t know what preparations he made for the night. Her uneasy mind, as well as the discomfort of her body, kept Connie awake, and she squirmed on the hard ground. The area was littered with stone fragments, and every way she moved, a rock gouged her body somewhere. The rain stopped, and the sky glistened with stars. Her depression lightened to think that the streams would be fordable in the morning.
Obsessed with the need to know what time it was, as quietly as she could, Connie unzipped her pack and took out a small flashlight, hoping the batteries weren’t dead. Covering the flash with her poncho, she turned on the light to look at her watch.
Twelve o’clock!
She hadn’t slept at all, but she’d had plenty of time to think. Connie sat up and eased her back against the rock wall. When her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she made out Joseph lying on his side, facing the other way. As she watched, he flexed his left leg, and she knew he was uncomfortable.
“Are you awake, Joseph?” she whispered, not wanting to awaken him if he slept.
“Yes. I can’t get comfortable enough to sleep.”
“Neither can I. I checked my watch, and it’s only midnight, so it’s a long time until daylight.”
“Yes.”
“The rain has stopped though, so we should be able to cross the creeks in the morning.”
“That’s what I think.” He turned, and leaned on his elbow, looking toward her. His voice was reserved, as if he didn’t care whether or not he talked to her.
“I hadn’t told anyone, not even Kim, about Ray’s insulting behavior,” Connie said. “And you’re right, I had no reason to suspect you of behaving the same way. I apologize, not only for the way I acted tonight, but also for ever believing I couldn’t trust you. I’ve botched everything, including the way I reacted to tonight’s situation. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“Connie, there’s nothing to forgive. I’m not angry with you. I’ve been worrying over what I had done to make you mistrust me.”
So far, she’d muffed every opportunity to have a close relationship with Joseph. What if she never had another chance? She moved gingerly across the uneven ground toward him, and he sat up, his open arms waiting. She leaned against him, and his arms pulled her close.
“I do trust you,” she said, “with my life, my reputation, my virtue.”
He eased her head gently to his shoulder, and secure and comfortable, both of them slept at last.
Connie awakened alone, muscles aching from her cramped sitting position. She saw Joseph down by the creek, but from this angle, she couldn’t tell if the water had fallen enough for them to cross. The ledge was too low for her to stand, so she crawled away from it before she stood, groaning with the effort. Any other time she’d slept on the ground, she’d been tucked in a soft bedroll. The last few hours, relaxing in Joseph’s arms, had taken away some discomfor
t, but she still had aches all over her body.
Joseph saw her and called, “Probably another hour before we can cross. I’ll come up for my pack, and we can be ready.”
When he reached the ledge, he leaned over and kissed her. “I thought you’d have breakfast ready by now.”
She made a face at him. “Don’t even mention food. I’ll bet Rose is preparing biscuits, hash browns and gravy this morning, and we’re going to miss it. We should have saved some of the food we ate last night.”
They took their belongings to the creek bank, and sat down to wait, luxuriating in the warm sun that shone around them. A half hour later, Joseph said, “I hear horses,” and in a few minutes, riders came into view around a curve in the trail.
“That’s Victor Gregory!” Connie shouted.
“And two of his men,” Joseph added. “They’re leading our mounts. They’ve come to get us.”
Connie, her aches forgotten, stood up and waved. “Am I glad we don’t have to walk back to the wagons!”
Victor halted his horses and shouted, “Don’t you know how to swim?”
“Don’t try to be funny,” Connie said. “We’ve spent a miserable night. Did all the others get back okay?”
“We had to ferry the Redmonds across a creek, and by that time, it was dark. Kim wanted me to come and find you, but as dark as it was, and with more rain threatening, we might have missed you. I figured Mr. Caldwell knew enough about this country that you’d survive all right.”
Victor took the reins of the extra horses and splashed across the stream. “Kim sent you dry clothes, Connie, and Eric took some jeans and a shirt out of your pack, Caldwell. They’re in my saddlebags, along with a thermos of coffee and some sandwiches that Rose sent.”
They sipped on the hot coffee and devoured the sandwiches before Connie went downstream, Joseph upstream to change their clothes behind some bushes. Last night Connie couldn’t see anything positive about their delay. Now she would always be thankful for this forced sojourn as the time she’d learned to trust Joseph.
