She turned and gazed into his eyes, her lashes damp. “Do you still want to? With me?”
“More than anything.” Warmth rushed through his chest. He took her free hand. “You haven’t seen the late-season flowers there, and August doesn’t last forever.”
“I’d like that, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea.” She pulled her fingers free.
“What? Why?” His chest squeezed. Nothing mattered more in this moment than knowing she’d walk beside him into that beautiful meadow. Only next time, he’d make sure he had a ring in his pocket. It was too soon for such thoughts, but he couldn’t help it. She’d said that she loved him, after all.
“Oh, Ford. I’d love to imagine a future with you—you can’t know how much.” Her chin trembled. “But it won’t work.”
Her words seared into his soul. He turned, facing out toward the valley below—the view that had terrorized Margie a moment before. Now it beckoned to him. The safe trees below where he could hide himself, forever. “Because of our different worlds?”
“I don’t care about such things.”
“Then what?” He shoved the glasses back over his face, the glare blinding.
She glanced away, as if avoiding his question. “Deep down, we want different things. We believe different things.”
He stared at her back as she returned to the climb, increasing the space between them.
Believe.
Ford wasn’t even sure what he believed any more. Cracks were forming in the wall he’d built between himself and his father’s faith. But likely that wouldn’t be enough for her.
No matter his feelings, he still had a job to do up here. Even if Margie didn’t want him, he’d vowed to see her to the top. He took a deep breath. A short night at the base camp, and they’d summit in the morning. What happened after, as Margie would say, was in God’s hands. For whatever that was worth.
Five hours after leaving Paradise, Margie plodded the final few steps to the stone hut at Camp Muir, her heart heavier than her pack. When Ford had started talking as if they had a future together, her spirits had spiraled upward like a hawk riding a thermal. But it was no use. She loved him, of that she was certain, but they disagreed on their most fundamental beliefs. To build a relationship without a solid foundation would only lead to disaster. The first time they hit problems, everything would crumble. It would be deceitful to allow Ford to think they had a chance at such happiness.
They’d hiked the rest of the way in silence, trudging steadily upward. Margie hadn’t bothered to stop and rest again. Five more steps. Good. Now five more steps. She lost track of how many times she’d restarted the count. Her legs trembled, and her chest ached from the thin air. Now that they’d arrived at the base camp, she thrust the alpenstock in the snow and let her knapsack crash down next to it.
Ford paced up beside her and stopped, barely winded. “It hasn’t changed a bit.”
Margie rubbed her neck, the sudden lightness making her feel like she could float up into the air. “Did you expect it to?”
“Everything else has.” He went inside the shelter without a backward glance.
Margie surveyed the scenery, one hand braced against the stone building to prevent any dizziness. The mountainside spread out below her, the snowfield glittering in the afternoon sun. The jagged Tatoosh range spiked upward like a palisade fence, a dense carpet of gray-green forests covering the lowlands beyond. In the distance, the icy domes of three more massive mountains—Mount Adams, Mount St. Helens, and Oregon’s Mount Hood—rose against the skyline.
The breath caught in her chest. Seeing God’s creation from this lofty vantage point would transform how anyone viewed the world. She glanced upward to Gibraltar Rock, Disappointment Cleaver, and the summit beyond—now hidden by a wisp of cloud. How could anyone see all this and not be sure it was from the hand of the greatest Artist ever known? The knowledge was too pure and powerful to take in.
The rest of the party scattered, some resting in snowbanks and others exploring the area. Margie poked her head into the shelter, relieved its sturdy walls would be surrounding them during the night. Several of the men had come prepared to sleep under the stars, but the idea of refuge appealed to Margie. If she were outside, she’d probably dream of rolling off the mountain.
Wooden platforms filled one wall of the stone hut. Her Longmire cabin had looked cozy in comparison, but at least there was a roof and floor. Being the only woman did complicate things. “Where am I to sleep?”
Ford glanced up from his equipment. “Your choice. I don’t think you have to worry about anyone bothering you in this crowd.”
“That didn’t even cross my mind.” It was a half truth at best. She glanced around. There was one spot near the wall that looked relatively private. She stepped around him and dropped her belongings on the bunk. “What happens now?”
Ford tied up his pack. “A quick dinner and then to bed. With the weather as warm as it’s been, Berge will want to start out well before the sun rises. You don’t want to be climbing during the heat of the afternoon.”
“Do you really get overheated with all this snow around?”
“That’s not the problem. You want the snow to be good and frozen, or the surface gets unstable. Sometimes it’s just the ice holding boulders in place. You don’t want to be down below when they let loose.”
Henrik’s silhouette filled the doorway just as Ford mentioned his name. “Ja. We’ll start early.” He looked between Margie and Ford. “There’s been some rockfall recently with the warm weather. As the ice softens, things get…unpredictable. The mountain is fickle.”
Ford sat on the platform, lifting one booted foot and fiddling with the laces. “Very.”
Margie spread her bedroll across the wooden surface, trying not to imagine the hazards ahead. Ford’s words from Kautz Creek wafted back into her mind. “I’d never lead you into a dangerous situation.” What sort of dangers was she leading him into?
Henrik stepped all the way inside and folded his arms. “I thought we’d take the Disappointment Cleaver route instead of Gibraltar. Too much scree for my comfort level. I don’t want anything coming down on our heads. You agree?”
Ford tucked his pant leg into the boot before glancing up at the guide. “You’re the boss here. Why ask my permission?”
The guide jutted his chin forward, deep grooves forming around his mouth.
“I am fine with whatever you decide.” Ford stood, his greater height dwarfing the other man. “But I appreciate your concern.”
Henrik ran a hand over the blond whiskers dotting his chin. “I just want to make sure there won’t be any problems between us.”
Margie glanced between the two, the tension in the room multiplying by the moment. “What sort of problems?”
Henrik jerked his thumb toward the window and lifted his pack. “I’m outside tonight.” Without acknowledging Margie’s question, he headed out the door.
She turned on Ford. “What was he talking about?”
Ford blew out a long breath. “He led the climb that killed my father.”
Margie’s knees threatened to give way. She sat down hard on the platform, grasping one of the wooden supports for strength. “Henrik did?”
“He was the only survivor. Five men died. Berge walked away.”
And yet Ford was here? Why would he put himself through that? “This must bring it all back.”
He shook his head, averting his eyes.
“I haven’t thanked you for the book, Ford. It meant a lot to me that you gave me something of your father’s.”
“You’ll get more use out of it than I ever would.”
They sat in silence for several minutes, Margie searching for some comforting word or gesture that might help. In the end, she just closed her eyes, praying for the man sitting next to her and for the journey ahead.
Berge’s lantern bobbed in the distance, but Ford kept his eyes down as he pushed one boot into the snow after another. The quiet rhyth
m of climbing left far too much time for thinking.
He’d lain awake in the climbing hut for hours fighting sleep as he listened to the other men’s snores. He couldn’t risk the nightmarish images coming upon him so close to the place where the horror originated. There was no telling what might happen. Eventually his eyes fell closed, and he slept like the dead. Maybe that’s what multiple sleepless nights would do to a man. Or perhaps he’d conquered his demons by agreeing to come on this trip.
Margie had shaken him awake in the wee hours, as everyone else was already moving. Opening his eyes and looking into that face…What he wouldn’t give to wake up to her smile every morning. The impossible thought made his heart ache.
Gripping the ax head with his gloved hand, Ford jammed the pointed shaft into the ice every other step. The others had been issued metal-tipped alpenstocks, but he preferred the shorter tool. It was more effective in stopping a fall, and if any of this group was going down, he was determined to provide a decent anchor.
Berge seemed to be choosing their path with care, using his ax to cut steps in the more difficult sections. Even Margie appeared to be having an easy time of it. Maybe she’d settled into a steady walking pace and forgotten about her fear of heights. Not being able to see very far due to the darkness probably helped, too.
The line halted in front of him, Berge’s hand jutting out to the side in a warning just visible in the early gray light of dawn. Ford used the opportunity to stretch his back, stepping off the beaten path to see why they were stopping.
Margie gripped her alpenstock with both hands, placing her forehead against the stout stick. “Finally. I thought we were going to stop every hour.”
“It’s only been about forty minutes since our last break.” Ford took a swig of water from his canteen.
“No. That can’t be possible.” She glanced up toward the horizon. “Then why are we stopping?”
Berge turned and faced them, cupping his hand around his mouth to holler down the slope. “First crevasse. We’ve got a ladder in place, so all you have to do is take it slow. One person at a time. Watch your step because if one person falls and the rest of you aren’t prepared, he can pull a whole team down.”
Margie’s eyes widened. “A ladder? It’s not steep enough to need a ladder here, is it?”
The first good sliver of sunlight was cresting the horizon, sending its warm glow across the glacier’s surface. Ford took hold of the rope linking them together. It might have been better to do this when she couldn’t see what she was crossing. “It’s like a bridge. Crevasses can be pretty deep.”
He edged forward to examine the crack in the ice, the frosty whiteness giving way to shades of blue below the surface. A stout ladder had been secured into the ice, boards laid down as a makeshift surface. Berge bent down to check the stakes holding the device in place.
Margie’s mouth dropped open, and she turned to Ford. She kept her voice low, so as not to carry to the rest of the team. “I’m not—there’s no way I can cross that.”
“You can.” Ford kept his voice steady, placing his hand on her arm to draw her eyes toward him rather than the crevasse. “It’s so narrow, you could probably jump across it. A few steps and you’ll be on the other side.”
“You heard what Henrik said. One slip and I could drag us all down.”
That’s true anywhere on the mountain. Ford swallowed his words. “You’re roped in. You’ll have Berge and Lewis on one side, me on the other.”
“Crossing!” Berge’s voice rang out.
Ford pushed down his irritation. The guide hadn’t even checked to see if Margie was panicking. Of course, he was used to people who actually wanted to climb the mountain—not young women who’d been bullied into it. The man in front of Margie anchored himself, watching closely as the guide edged his way over the rickety platform.
She covered her mouth with a hand, her knees bending slightly as if to get closer to the snowpack. “I can’t watch.” But she did, her eyes glued to Berge every step of the way.
The guide stepped off the far side, gesturing to the second man.
Ford dug his ax into the slope, not convinced that Margie could support the much larger climber in front of her were he to slip. Even though it was a simple crossing, one couldn’t be too careful. Her two days of training wouldn’t turn her into an expert mountaineer.
Margie braced herself, picking up the line. “I’ve got you,” she called to Lewis, voice trembling.
Ford ducked his head to hide his smile. Perhaps focusing on teamwork would encourage Margie to forget her own fears.
The climber glanced back, his raised brows evident under his cap. “Good. I feel much better.”
If Margie was aware of his sarcasm, her face didn’t show it. She dug the alpenstock into the ice and looped her arm around it.
The climber checked his pack before gripping the flimsy rope acting as a balance line. Four halting steps and he was across.
Ford relaxed his stance. Hopefully now Margie had seen two people do it, she’d be less concerned.
She crept forward and stopped. “It’s no different than walking across a floor, right?”
Except for the two-hundred-foot plunge. “Right. And we’ve got your rope. You’re not going anywhere.”
“People do this sort of thing for fun?”
Ford anchored himself again. “This isn’t about fun. It’s about reaching the top.”
Margie’s pack rose and fell as she took several deep breaths. “Must get to the top.” She touched the toe of her boot to the ladder. “The crevasse looks deep.”
“Don’t look. Focus on your feet, not beyond.”
“Right.” She stood still, staring into the abyss.
Berge came a little closer on the far side. “Come on, Miss Lane. It’s a few steps.” His gentle voice cajoled her. “I’m right here. By the end of the trip, you’ll be dancing across these.”
“There are more?” Her voice quavered.
Ford gritted his teeth. This was going to be a long climb. “One at a time, Margie. Get past this one, and you’re several steps closer to beating Carmichael at his twisted game.”
She straightened and pushed her boot farther along the wooden plank. After a rasping breath, she lifted her second foot and drew it up onto the ladder.
That’s my girl. Ford released the breath he’d been holding. Berge was right; after she had one of these crossings under her belt, she’d have no more difficulties. The first was always the hardest.
A breeze picked up, swirling up some loose ice crystals and sweeping them into the gaping crack. Margie clenched her fingers around the rope support, stopping any minuscule forward momentum she’d gained. “Noooo. Don’t do that.”
If anyone could order around the wind, it would be Margie. Unfortunately, the breeze had picked up along with the daylight. Ford moistened his lips, already chapped from exposure. “What was that Virgil quotation you told me back at Kautz Creek?”
Margie bent her knees. “It’s swaying.”
“The quote, Margie. What was it? I can’t remember.”
“ ‘They can conquer who believe they can.’ ”
“Yes. That’s it. Do you believe you can conquer this crevasse?”
“Not really.”
Wrong answer. Ford glanced up at the mountain. The wispy cloud that had shrouded the peak was thickening. They needed to speed things up if they were going to summit today. “Tell me more about John Muir. Didn’t he climb the mountain?”
Margie didn’t move.
Ford glanced behind them. The second team was approaching. “Margie. John Muir—when did he climb Rainier?”
Her voice trembled. “Eighteen eighty-eight.”
“What did he have to say about it?”
“He said…he said,”—she took a step—“Muir said he hadn’t meant to climb it. He just got excited and the next thing he knew he was at the top.” She managed another step, pushing closer to the far side. “At least that’s what
he told his wife.” Two more steps and she was over.
Ford relaxed. She’d done it. The last in the line, Ford fastened his ax onto his pack and made his way across the ladder in a couple of measured strides.
Margie beamed. “I did it. Did you see?”
“I never doubted you for a moment.”
She touched his arm. “Thank you for your help.”
Warmth rushed up his arm as if he could feel her touch through the thick coat. “You’re stronger than you know. You just needed to get your mind off the crevasse.”
Berge gripped the head of his ax. “Yes, very good. Only four more.” He turned and started up the slope, the line trailing after him.
“Four more.” Margie closed her eyes for a long moment. “But none as bad as this, right?”
Ford clapped her on the back. “You’re an expert now. By the time we return tonight you could probably do them blindfolded.”
“I think that might be easier.”
Margie ran her wrist across her forehead. Her steps grew haphazard as she struggled to draw in enough air. The wind had picked up, sending the scarf she’d wrapped around her face flapping against her grease-painted cheeks. The glaring sunshine from earlier had faded. Mist now swirled over the summit.
The climb over Disappointment Cleaver had held more tense moments as they scrambled over the rocky terrain, the wind gusts making every attempt to knock them off. At this point in the climb, the vertical ladder on one section was a relief to Margie. The chilly rails seemed a stronger handhold than the craggy volcanic rock.
She’d seen Ford and Henrik talking in hushed tones at their last rest break. They rallied the group after only a few minutes. Ford had helped her to her feet, the pack making the process cumbersome. “Temperatures are dropping. If we sit too long, we’re going to get chilled.”
“I’m already chilled,” she murmured into her muffler. “Are we getting close to the crest?” For hours she’d gauged their progress by staring up at the snowy dome, though it never seemed to get much closer. Now that the clouds had thickened, she could imagine that it was within reach. Somewhere.
The Road to Paradise Page 22
