The Road to Paradise

by Karen Barnett

  Philip stood with his arms spread like some sort of iconic figure drawing all eyes to himself. “As you know, we’re here to honor Senator Lane and his years of service to our state and our community. Now as we approach an election year, it’s time to look to the future, right Senator?”

  Her father lifted his hand in response as the guests applauded.

  Margie fidgeted; Philip’s voice set her on edge. Why was she the only one who saw him for what he was? And now that he knew about Ford, things would only get worse.

  Philip spoke at length of her father’s merits and achievements, working his audience into a positive frenzy. After a loud round of applause, he quieted, as if contemplating his next move. “I’d like to turn our attention to an issue that concerns all the citizens of this great state. God has blessed our region with abundant resources—minerals, timber, water—not to mention scenery. The time has come for us to grasp our potential and become the nation’s leading producer of lumber and hydropower.”

  Margie’s chest tightened as it always did when conversations with Philip or her father turned this direction. Progress was inevitable, but how much more could they squeeze from the land?

  He gripped the microphone with both hands, angling toward a red velvet curtain hung over some sort of massive placard. “Senator Lane intends to propel us into the next decade on the wings of prosperity. And who will profit from this? Seattle? Olympia?”

  The guests murmured, several men cupping palms to their mouths and booing the businessman’s contentious words. The battle for superiority among Washington’s biggest cities was stuff of legend.

  “No?” Determination settled into his steely eyes. “How about here in Tacoma?”

  The room erupted in cheers. The ladies clapped their white-gloved hands while well-dressed gentlemen stomped and hooted like lumbermen at a barn dance.

  Ford shook his head. “It looks as if he’s loaded the room with local men.”

  Philip raised his arm, evidently taking pleasure in the control he wielded. “Please, gentlemen! Let’s conduct ourselves with decorum, shall we? There are ladies present.” He cast a glare in Margie’s direction.

  Margie placed a hand on Ford’s arm, needing a reminder that at least the ranger was on her side.

  Philip waited for silence before continuing. “Tacoma is the shining gem of this state. Not just because of our fortunate placement as a port city, but as a gateway to the mountains beyond.”

  Margie held her breath. He wouldn’t dare talk about his plans for Paradise—he hadn’t received approval yet.

  “I entreat you, citizens of Tacoma, look not only to the Puget Sound, but turn your eyes to the glorious peak from which we derived our fine city’s name. The federal government named the park after an English naval officer who never set foot on our country’s fertile lands.” Philip’s expression hardened. “I say it’s time we took the mountain back.”

  On Philip’s cue, the curtain was torn from the giant placard, a painted depiction of the mountain rising behind the glittering city, the bay spreading out in the foreground. Sprawled across the top in two-foot-high letters, the title read, “Mount Tacoma—Jewel of the Cascades.” Carmichael led the clapping this time, stepping down from the podium to stand in front of the massive sign. He lifted his hands, encouraging people to their feet. He shouted above the din, “Why should we call it Rainier? Let’s proclaim it to the nation—the rightful name is Tacoma, and we all know this to be true, don’t we?”

  The crowd’s energy pressed in around them like a storm about to break. Margie twisted her necklace. “I can’t believe he’s doing this.”

  Ford placed a hand in the center of her back. “Let’s see what your father says.”

  Margie held her breath as her father approached the platform. Mother followed, fingers fluttering to her chest as if overwhelmed with pride.

  “Tell him no, Papa.” Her whispered voice didn’t carry through the raucous gathering.

  Ford leaned down and spoke into her ear. “What does it matter? You said yourself that the Indians called the mountain ‘Tahoma.’ Who cares what they call it?”

  “It’s not about the name. Philip is laying claim to the mountain. For the city—for himself.” Just as he’d laid claim to her.

  Margie’s father climbed the three steps to the stage and straightened his jacket before taking the microphone. Philip leaned in, whispering into his ear. For men who’d been estranged for years, they appeared rather chummy.

  In that moment, Margie knew what was coming. Somehow Philip had snared her father in his trap. Since he couldn’t control Margie, he was grabbing hold of every other aspect of her life, painting her into a corner. How long would she be able to hold out?

  Father scanned the room and cleared his throat. “Mount Tacoma is a source of pride for this community. A sign of God’s blessings and providence.” He glanced at Margie, his lips pulling downward for a heartbeat. “I believe it’s time for us to invest in the mountain that has brought us such prestige. Its natural beauty brings people to our state from the world over. Do we want them to see the place neglected and wild? Or do we want to build it up into a symbol of what makes the Northwest great?”

  He tugged at his collar as if struggling for breath. “I’m asking for your support in this great endeavor. Together we will make Mount Tacoma into a showpiece for the world.”

  Philip stepped closer, slapping a hand onto her father’s shoulder. “I believe it’s time for our second unveiling, don’t you, Senator?”

  “Yes, of course.” He gestured to the curtain on the opposite side of the platform. “Be my guest.”

  Philip beamed. “Because we want the world to be our guest—at the aptly named Paradise, complete with every luxury and service they could desire.”

  The curtain dropped to reveal two massive color prints of Carmichael’s vision for Paradise Valley—one representing summer and one winter. The depictions held only minimal resemblance to the proposal he’d brought to Paradise. Apparently those had been but the precursor to the actual plans.

  Margie pressed fingers to her throat. “No.”

  Guests surged forward to examine the horrific paintings as an excited buzz of conversations filled the room. Above their heads, the monstrosity was still visible, with all it meant for the future. Just below the mountain’s peak, the meadows of Paradise were filled with sprawling ski lodges, hundreds of tiny cabins, rope tows, vehicles, and a cabled gondola delivering skiers to Carmichael’s idea of Paradise. The summer scene showed a golf course and paddocks filled with trail horses.

  Philip lifted his voice above the tumult. “Beyond what you see here, I envision campgrounds, restaurants, petting zoos, dance halls, theaters—and a modern hydroelectric dam on the Paradise River will provide electricity to the whole resort. This is the national park of our future.” He spread his arms, voice booming over the gathering. “Welcome to Mount Tacoma!”

  An ache had burrowed into Ford’s temples by the time he escorted Margie back to the truck. Carmichael’s idea of “minor” improvements spelled disaster for the park as he knew it. Civilization was marching its way up the mountain slopes. Suddenly he understood the pressure his father felt to protect Rainier—or “Tacoma.” But Ford’s training focused on taking care of the land, not battling greedy businessmen.

  Margie smacked a palm against her leg, sending a couple of blue feathers wafting to the ground. “He can’t. He just can’t.”

  Ford swung open the truck door. “He seems to think he can, and most of that crowd agreed.”

  She sighed. “I want to get as far from this place as possible.”

  “I’ve had enough city life for one night. Maybe even for a month.” He waited as she climbed in.

  “I can’t believe my father is going along with this. I don’t understand.” She pressed a fist to her eyelids as if to force the tears back.

  He stopped and faced her, taking her fingers in his hands. “I spoke to your father, briefly. He said somet
hing about being in a tough spot.”

  “And obviously it involves Philip in some way. What could it be?”

  “He didn’t say. I’m sure he’ll explain in private.” He glanced down at her hands, lost in his grip. The chill on her skin sent a quiver through his heart. She seemed to blame herself for this predicament, but Ford saw Carmichael’s plans for what they were—a blatant money grab.

  “I thought perhaps we could drive back to Longmire tonight, but I guess we need to return to my parents’ house.” She drew her fingers away, pulling them to her lap.

  The gesture wasn’t lost on him. Her earlier romantic feelings had cooled in light of the evening’s events. He should have expected it. He stepped back, hand on the doorframe. “I wouldn’t want to take the truck so far after dark, anyway.”

  “If we got stuck somewhere, we’d be…” Margie bit her lip, not finishing her sentence.

  Alone. Overnight. The idea sent a wave of heat through his chest. “Yes.”

  She managed a mournful smile. “I suppose it’s time to face my mother.”

  He closed her door. A night at the Lane house didn’t strike him as a good time, but maybe it’d give him a chance to figure out his next step. Because now that he’d kissed her once, he wanted to ensure it happened again.

  Margie stood in her childhood bedroom, slipping off the blue gown along with her hopes for the evening. She’d come to Tacoma to speak to her father, but instead she’d stood and watched as Philip whipped the gala crowd into a drooling frenzy. Those businessmen couldn’t wait to get their hands on her treasured Paradise and transform it into a circus sideshow.

  Somehow Philip had managed to ensnare her father in his vulgar plans. It was up to her to untangle this mess she’d created.

  And then there was Ford. Margie sighed. What a kiss. But he was her boss—and an unbeliever. Hadn’t she always said she wouldn’t get entangled with someone who didn’t share her faith? Then again, Philip claimed to be a believer but showed little evidence of it. Lord, what am I supposed to do? Forgetting that kiss would not be an option.

  And all this happened with her dressed like a molting Steller’s jay. Margie tossed the detestable garment over a chair. Knowing who’d picked it out, she was certain to never wear it again. Perhaps she should cast it out the window—set it free. She stood in her slip and swiped a handkerchief across her damp eyes. Reaching for the dress she’d worn from Longmire, she pressed it to her chest.

  Was Ford changing out of his tuxedo at this moment? Her throat tightened. He’d done so much for her tonight.

  A knock sounded at her door.

  “Just a moment.” She yanked on the simple dress, fastening the buttons as quickly as she could. After pulling a brush through her disheveled locks and blowing her nose, she hurried to the door and opened it.

  Ford stood there, dressed in his own suit. “I was going to head downstairs. But this house is so large, I wasn’t sure which staircase to take.”

  Margie stepped back. “Let me finish getting ready, and I’ll walk you down.”

  He hovered in the doorway. “I probably should wait out here.”

  “I’ll just be a moment.” She sat down at the dressing table and dug in the drawer for a clip. Anything that would make this mop more presentable to her mother. After clipping her hair back, she pulled on her shoes and grabbed her sweater. “I think I heard my parents come in. It’s time we got some answers.”

  Her mother’s voice drew Margie to her father’s study. The double doors stood ajar, light spilling out into the living room. “You let Philip do all the talking. What’s wrong with you this evening?”

  Margie shot a quick glance at Ford. Perhaps they’d chosen a bad time to descend the stairs. And yet she could hardly suggest a return to her room.

  “Katherine, you know Philip had me at a disadvantage. What was I supposed to say?”

  “He wanted you to announce his and Margie’s engagement.”

  Margie gasped, backing straight into Ford.

  “Never.” Her father cleared his throat. “I’ll not see that man wed my only daughter.”

  Margie strode forward. “And nothing could convince me to marry Philip. Is that why you’re doing this?”

  Her father jerked his head up at her intrusion, his cheeks splotched with color. Both of her parents still wore their evening clothes, but her father’s tie and collar hung loose about his neck.

  Ford appeared at the door, his lanky frame filling the space.

  She hated the idea of subjecting him to her family drama, but there was no help for that now.

  Her father pinched the bridge of his nose. “Margie, I didn’t know you were there.”

  Margie turned to her mother. “I don’t know what Philip has told you, but we are most certainly not engaged.”

  Father sagged down into his desk chair. “That’s a relief.”

  Mother’s lips pursed. “You always liked Philip, Margaret. Why have you turned on him?”

  “And you always despised him. When did we swap sides?”

  Her mother glanced at Ford. “I’m not sure we should have this discussion in front of company, Margaret. You’re putting Ranger Brayden in a most uncomfortable position.”

  Ford rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’m here to support Margie.”

  Margie exhaled, the tension of the evening bubbling over. There was no reason to further subject him to her family turmoil. “Perhaps you should give us a moment alone.”

  He held her gaze for a long moment before nodding. “I’ll wait in the living room. If you need anything, I’m nearby.”

  After he departed, Margie’s mother shook her head. “Why did you bring a stranger into this? What’s that man doing here, anyway? Please don’t tell me you’ve gotten involved with a park ranger.”

  Margie bit down an acerbic reply. Her mother’s condescending attitude was a problem for another day. “He’s here as a friend. The park is Ford’s life. He deserves to know Philip’s intentions. And Father, I think I deserve an explanation as well. Why did you let Philip say all those things tonight if you don’t agree with him?”

  He lowered his chin. “Margie, sit down, please. We need to talk.”

  She sank into one of the plush chairs opposite her father’s desk. The dark shadows around his eyes spoke volumes.

  He turned to Margie’s mother. “Darling, why don’t you look in on our guest? I hate to think of him sitting alone.”

  Mother huffed. “Very well. No one could ever accuse me of not being a good hostess.”

  Margie waited to speak until the door closed behind her mother. “Papa, please tell me this is all a bad dream.”

  Her father sighed, scrubbing a fist across his forehead. “I wish I’d run that boy off when he followed you home years ago.”

  “You know I wouldn’t have stood for that.”

  He grunted. “You always had a soft spot for the downtrodden, and I wanted to encourage that in you. It’s the sign of a good leader. Christ modeled compassion for us, and I was delighted to see you embrace your faith.”

  Margie scooted forward in her seat. “It didn’t seem like it at the time. Neither you nor Mother had a kind word for Philip.”

  “I could see his intelligence and his drive—but he was using you, Margie. From the very first day. There wasn’t a stroke of kindness in the lad.” Father shook his head. “I thought if I helped him achieve his goals, he’d find his own way and leave you alone. I was setting a backfire in order to preserve what meant the most to me.”

  “What meant the most…” The answer came to her midquestion. Her. She shook her head. “Philip and I were close once, but we parted ways after he left Tacoma for school. When he returned, I could see the coldness in him.” Had there ever been warmth, or had she just seen what she wanted? “I told him I wouldn’t marry him.”

  “I’m sure he took that well.” Her father rarely resorted to sarcasm.

  Margie touched her cheek, still shaken by the memory of Philip’s
rage. It was so unlike him—or so she’d thought at the time. Now she wondered. “This is all history now. How did he weasel into your campaign? None of these ideas sound like you.”

  Her father’s gaze locked on her. “The ideas aren’t bad, in and of themselves. To draw attention to the parks, one must also draw visitors. A careful plan to develop certain areas at Mount Rainier could be good for the park, the state, and the nation.”

  “How could you say such a thing?” Margie’s throat closed. “Have you studied Philip’s plans?”

  He waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, his plans are excessive, certainly. But you can’t deny development is needed. If we do nothing, the increased load of visitors and their automobiles will destroy the natural beauty of the place. Even now, people are parking all over the Paradise meadows, cutting trees for bonfires, leaving their trash in the lakes, trampling the most beautiful places. Is that what you want?”

  “No, but—”

  “Then you must concede that the park service needs to plan with an eye to the future. Find a way to accommodate more tourists and more vehicles—or close the gates forever. Which would you choose?”

  Tears stung at Margie’s eyes. He was right. “But Philip’s not interested in preserving wilderness. He wants to exploit the park and line his pockets with the proceeds.”

  “As I said, he doesn’t have a spark of kindness in him. He needs a firm guiding hand.”

  “And that’s you?” Hadn’t her father stood in defeat as Philip spun a web of deceit over a group of hungry business moguls?

  Her father stood, stepping around the desk to her side. “No, my dear. It’s you.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. “What do you mean?”

  “He’s offered to let you help run the park. You can push for what you think is best.”

  “In exchange for my freedom? Why are you supporting him at all? Why don’t you meet with the park administration yourself? Come up with a plan that works for everyone?”

  “Margie…I must be honest.” Father swept a handkerchief across his nose. “I haven’t always been the pillar of the community you believe me to be. I’ve cut a few corners over the years.”