The Road to Paradise

by Karen Barnett

  Ford shifted. “Are you sleeping?”

  “No.” She whispered, as if her voice might disturb the sleeping cave.

  “Warm enough?”

  She drew the cover up tight over her shoulder. “Yes.” Morning couldn’t come soon enough.

  Ford must have sat up, blocking the draft coming from the cave mouth. “Margie, I think we should discuss what happened in Tacoma.”

  “Now?” She rubbed the damp skin on her brow. “If you feel it’s important.”

  “I do.” His voice cracked.

  Her throat tightened. She rolled to face him, not that it mattered in the dark.

  “I feel badly about what happened. You were upset that evening, angry with Carmichael and your dad. I took advantage.” His sigh cut through the cavern. “I need you to know, that’s not who I am. Or rather, it’s not the man I want to be.”

  A half laugh, half sob bubbled up from her chest. “You were not to blame for what happened. I lost my head. I’d been drawn to you since we first met, but never dreamed you would feel the same. When you…when we…” Her throat squeezed off the words. “It was such a romantic place, and you’d come to my rescue…I couldn’t stop myself.”

  “Couldn’t…Wait, I kissed you.”

  Her heart thudded against her ribs, thinking back over the moment. “No, I kissed you.”

  Ford went silent for a moment. “I’m pretty sure about this.”

  “As am I.” A pinprick of irritation settled in her heart. He couldn’t take the blame for something she did.

  “Well.” His quiet laugh filled the darkness. “Then maybe I’m not so sorry after all. Perhaps it was meant to be.” He paused again, as if weighing his words. “Maybe we were meant to be. Have you considered that?”

  Meant to be? What did that even mean? “I wish that were the case, Ford. I really do.” She blinked hard against the tears threatening her eyes. “But there’s no future for us. We don’t have enough in common.”

  The darkness grew very still, punctuated only by the sound of water dripping. Regret lodged in her chest.

  Ford took a deep breath. “Mrs. Brown said I was still broken from my father’s death and I was looking for you to heal me. I didn’t think much of it at first, but the idea has dug at me ever since.”

  The words settled into Margie’s heart like the missing piece of a puzzle. Ford’s grief did seem to color everything he did. She ached for him, but nothing she said or did would bring healing. Only God could do that.

  He continued. “I sensed you had the same deep peace my father always showed. It’s what drew me to you, I think—at first, anyway.” His halfhearted laugh echoed through the space. “But it’s more than that. Climbing up here and facing my fears, dealing with the memories of my father’s death head-on…” His breathing sped up, catching slightly as if there was something standing in its way. “I didn’t expect to meet God up here.”

  She sat up, her thoughts scattering. “Ford Brayden, are you—”

  “I’m not sure yet, Margie. Maybe.”

  Margie’s heart raced. She couldn’t stand speaking to the faceless dark any longer. Clambering to her knees, she crawled toward his voice.

  “What are you doing?”

  She reached out a hand, colliding with his chest. He was sitting up, legs crossed. “Finding you.”

  He grasped her fingers, pulling her close. “Why?”

  “I need to know this is real.” She felt around until she found his face, running her fingers over his bristly jaw. “Maybe” wasn’t an assurance of faith, but it was certainly a leap in the right direction.

  Ford swiveled to the left, his chin sliding away from her palm. “Margie, I really hate to interrupt, but is that light I’m seeing?”

  Margie turned. A faint glow had appeared amidst the black.

  The bitter cold swept in as Ford clambered to his feet. The glow had grown stronger, filtering down into the cave like a message of hope from the land of the living.

  Margie remained on her knees. “We survived our night in the belly of the whale.”

  “I’m going to take a look.” Pulling off his knit cap, he ran fingers through his damp hair. “We might as well have slept in a rainstorm.”

  Her voice floated in the darkness. “Or a bathtub.”

  Ford navigated across the loose rocks and eased his way up the steep slope. The light increased as he made his way to the opening, fresh air wafting through the entrance and chilling his clammy skin. Digging his hobnail boot into the ice, he heaved himself up the last few feet to catch a glimpse of the outside world.

  After spending a night in complete blackness, the glare off the snow brought stinging tears to his eyes. Ford blinked, shaded his eyes from the bright sunshine, and surveyed the edge of the crater outside their little shelter. A gentle wind whipped along the surface of the crater, but the colors of sunrise stretched through a perfectly clear sky. He turned and called down into the icy throat of the tunnel. “You’re not going to believe this, Margie.”

  Columbia Crest rose in the distance, the ice a rosy pink in the dawn light. After pushing himself out of the hole, he stood up and shuffled toward the crater’s edge, sinking into a thin coating of fresh powder on the icy surface. A blanket of clouds, like cotton batting, lay in the valley below.

  Ford pressed a shaky hand to his forehead. We’re alive. He crouched on the rocky edge, the glowing world too beautiful to behold on steady legs. He’d stood on the mountaintop before, but had he ever really appreciated the view? Perhaps a brush with death made everything more magical. Gripping a jagged boulder for balance, the solid rock lent strength to his tired muscles as he gazed out at the sea of clouds below. Heart pounding, he slid his palm along the rugged stone, oblivious to the cold. Magical wasn’t the right word. He murmured the words into the brisk air. “ ‘What is man that You are mindful of him?’ ” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Is this Your doing? All of this? The land down there? Up here?”

  A breeze picked up the icy flakes and swirled them around his feet. A surge of emotions filled his chest, like steam welling out of the volcanic vents. The Presence he’d mentioned to Margie was as discernible as the light dancing off the mist. Ford drew in a deep breath, a shiver racing through him. He hadn’t really expected God to meet him on the mountaintop. Why would He take interest in someone like Ford? I’m sorry I don’t have more to offer.

  What had Margie called him? “A precious child. One He loves enough to send His own Son to die for.”

  Ford’s throat tightened as he opened his eyes, gazing out at the expanse. I’m sorry it took me so long to understand. The light brightened with each passing moment. Dad always said I had a thick skull. I guess he was right. About everything.

  A lump grew in his throat. What would he say to Margie? Would she think this was a ploy to gain her affection? A shiver crossed his skin. He couldn’t tell her. Not right away; it was all too fresh. But this event felt too monumental to be ignored.

  He dug through the pile of rocks at the edge of the crater and hefted a couple into a small cairn. No one would know what the monument represented, but he would know it was here. Thank You for not giving up on me.

  A scrabbling sound drew his attention back to the vent opening. Margie’s face appeared in the gap, her eyes wide and mouth opened.

  Ford shook his head, the wonder only increasing as she joined him in the outside world. “You look like a marmot emerging from its winter den.”

  “There’s a flattering picture.” She accepted his hand and struggled out onto her feet. A smile spread across her lips as she surveyed the scenery. “I can’t imagine anything more beautiful.” The sun crested the edge of the low clouds, the rays spilling out over the rippled surface and bathing her face in its glow.

  His throat thickened with emotion. Keeping a grip on her fingers, he pulled her to his side. “Margie, we survived.” His voice sounded rough in his own ears.

  She wrapped her arm around his waist and squeezed. “Di
d you doubt we would?”

  The weight of her against his side made his head swim. He lowered his chin to the top of her head. I love you. Ford bit the words back before they could escape and steal the moment. He didn’t need to frighten her away again.

  She gestured to the west. “Is that the real summit?”

  “Columbia Crest, yes.”

  Margie turned to him, an obvious question in her brown eyes.

  “Margie, we’re soaking wet. We need to get down before we freeze.”

  She gazed across the crater at the mound rising in the distance. “It doesn’t look far. And the sun is coming up—the weather will be warming soon.”

  The very fact that she wanted to attempt it sent a swell of pride through his chest. “If you’re sure you’re feeling strong enough.”

  “I want to stand at the top of the world—with you.” Margie’s cheeks and nose were stained red with windburn, her lower lip cracked from exposure, but her eyes burned with an intensity rivaling the sunrise.

  Ford’s pulse raced faster than it had on yesterday’s climb. She had to be the most gorgeous creature on the face of the earth. “I’ll go get our packs.”

  The ice crunched under Margie’s boots as she plowed her way to the mountain’s crest, the sunshine spilling over the horizon like sea foam on the beach. The cold air ripped her breath away as fast as she could draw in a new lungful of air, but nothing was going to stop her from finishing this quest.

  The sound of Ford’s steps just a few feet behind her gave her courage. After leading the way across the snow-filled crater, he’d waved her ahead.

  She thought the final ascent would be filled with dreams of beating Philip, but instead her mind whirled with anticipation of seeing God’s earth laid out before her. Pushing up that final rise, her throat ached. Tears filled her eyes. She’d never desired to climb the mountain, but God had made it happen.

  Her trousers clung to her legs, the wool drying in the brisk wind. Who had she been when she arrived in Longmire months before? The coddled daughter of a United States senator, accustomed to fine meals, crisp linens scented with rose-petal soap, clothes laundered by nameless servants—unworthy of the life she’d been born into and incapable of reaching for the life she wanted.

  Margie slowed her pace on the final few steps, wishing to make this moment last for the rest of her life. She peered down into the expanse, her heart jumping in her chest. The clouds below thinned until only a bridal veil of mist wrapped the lowlands, and the golden light of morning embellished the scene with purple and orange hues. Lord, Your robes fill the temple.

  To the south, ridges upon ridges appeared through the clouds and several other large volcanic cones graced the skyline—St. Helens, Hood, Adams. The sky looked as if it stretched out forever into the distance. It was difficult to believe that heaven could be any more glorious than this, though she knew the earth was a pale shadow of what was to come.

  She swept at the tear trickling down her cheek, the rough wool of her glove scraping at her raw skin. Poor, weak, insignificant Margie—standing on top of the mountain.

  Ford appeared at her side, his breath ragged. “You made it.”

  “We made it.” Margie reached for his hand. “With God’s help.”

  A smile spread across his face, the two-day growth of red-gold whiskers catching the light of the sun. He pulled her close. “That we did.” He stooped down, pressing a kiss to her wind-roughened lips.

  The touch stole any breath she had, and Margie leaned into the kiss, burying her fingers behind his neck. The sweetness of the moment overpowered any hesitation, the warmth of his mouth spreading through her body.

  Once they parted, he pressed his head down into the nape of her neck for a heartbeat, then clamped his gloves around her hips and hoisted her into the air, pack and all.

  She shrieked, clutching at his head and knocking his knit cap loose. “What are you doing? Put me down!”

  “Look around, Margie! Look where you are.” He grinned up at her as she clung to him like a squirrel in a treetop.

  Margie lifted her eyes, her heart drumming a quick rhythm against her sternum. As Ford turned slowly in place, she loosened her grip on his skull, lowering one hand to his shoulder. The earth spread below her like an intricate tapestry woven with a myriad of blues, purples, and greens. Something broke open in her chest, the energy rushing upward like the steam pouring out of the volcanic vents, but arriving as bubbling laughter. Lifting the other arm she stretched her fingers toward the sky.

  Ford blew out a long breath as gravity hurried him down the trail, Margie at his heels. Paradise Valley had never looked so good. Even the monstrous steam shovel, with its boom jutting into the sky, seemed to welcome them. Soon they’d be rid of the ugly contraption forever—or at least until the next determined entrepreneur weaseled his way into the director’s good graces.

  Eight hours ago, they’d braved frigid temperatures at the summit, but now the intense sunshine beat down on their heads. He risked a quick glance over his shoulder to check on his climbing partner.

  Margie walked with her head down, a tiny smile toying at her lips. Those lips.

  Ford turned his eyes forward. He didn’t regret stealing a kiss this morning. Even though their situation was far from decided, their shared experience would provide a bond that couldn’t be severed—no matter what happened. He’d kiss her right here on the trail, if he didn’t think it would complicate their homecoming. Tipsoo Lake, Comet Falls, Yakima Park, Pinnacle Peak. With each step, he listed the places he’d kiss her in the future, once this madness with Carmichael was over. And if she agreed to marry him, they’d spend their honeymoon backpacking around the entire mountain so he could show her every corner of the vast park. He wanted to see her eyes light up when she saw each new view, even if it took a lifetime.

  And it would if he had a say in it.

  Margie’s shoulders ached under the heavy pack, but that was the least of her pains. Her feet, her neck, her legs—the inventory would take weeks. Spotting the Inn ahead lifted her spirits. Soon she’d be out of these clothes and soaking in a steaming tub. That idea had carried her through miles of walking in icy clothes, even after the rising temperatures took away the risk of dying from exposure.

  She followed Ford through the doors of the Inn, tears springing to her eyes. That first day she’d visited the marvelous structure with the handsome ranger, she hadn’t anticipated that one day the place would feel like home.

  She yanked off her wool cap, running fingers through her matted curls, suddenly conscious of how she must look—and smell—after several days of hard climbing. Ford appeared every bit the rugged mountain man of her dreams, but her? Probably more like a three-day-dead porcupine left by the side of the road.

  “Ford!” Luke ducked out from behind the counter. “You two are a welcome sight. We were concerned.” He gripped Ford’s hand and shook it in both of his own. He glanced at Margie, his eyes shifting from her head down to her mud-splattered boots. “Come with me, both of you. We need to get you out of sight.”

  “I know I must look terrible.” Margie sighed.

  Luke shuffled them through to the kitchen. “It’s not that. There are reporters in the lobby from The Tacoma Daily Ledger and The Seattle Star. And there are a few others lurking about.”

  Ford groaned. “I guess that was to be expected. At least we have good news.”

  Margie’s stomach sank. “I can’t face them. But I want to finish this right. Is Philip still here?”

  Luke nodded. “Yes, he’s in the dining room. And he’s with someone else you’ll probably want to see.” The man turned, beckoning them to follow. “I’ve paid one of my busboys to make sure the reporters stay in the lobby, at least for the time being. But once they realize you’re here, I’m not sure I can hold them back.”

  Margie slid the pack off her shoulders and hung it over a forearm as she followed the manager, with Ford trailing a few steps behind.

  Brilliant lat
e-afternoon sunlight flooded the long hall. Philip stood, tossing his napkin over his half-finished plate. “Well, well.” A smile spread across his lips, but his gaze remained hard.

  I go missing and that’s the best greeting he can muster? At least she didn’t need to feel remorse over breaking his heart. By all accounts, he didn’t have one.

  The woman at his side sprang to her feet, upsetting several glasses. She pivoted in place, clutching the back of her chair with white-knuckled fingers. “Margaret?”

  Mother? A wave of dizziness washed over Margie, and she grasped at Ford’s arm without thinking. “Mother? Why are you here?”

  Ford intercepted Margie’s pack before it dropped to the floor. “Mrs. Lane. Good to see you, again.”

  Her mother ignored Ford and rushed to Margie, her hands fluttering like wounded birds. “Look at you.” Her eyes were rimmed in red, lines radiating from the outer corners. “We thought you were dead. The guide, he…he said…”

  Philip patted her mother’s arm. “He said there’d been a fall, and you’d gone on alone in abominable conditions.” His eyes narrowed, moving from Margie to Ford. “He intimated Ranger Brayden was leading you to your death.”

  “Margie, Margie,” her mother placed trembling palms on Margie’s cheeks. “Why did you do this to me?”

  Has she ever called me Margie? Hot tears flooded Margie’s eyes, an ache growing in her chest. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

  “We wouldn’t have even been aware, if Philip hadn’t telephoned.” Mother pulled her into a stiff embrace, the sable stole crushed against Margie’s cheek. “Your father’s in the capital, or else he’d be here, too.”

  Ford cleared his throat. “It was uncertain for a bit, but we managed to keep each other alive.”

  Mother drew back, her eyes like flint. “And what does that mean, young man?”

  His mouth opened a hair, his lips raw and cracked. “I only meant, you would have been proud of your daughter, ma’am. She has a very level head.” He glanced at Margie with a nod, his gray eyes as warm as she’d ever seen them.