Drawing out a cigarette, Philip shrugged. “No matter. There’s still my agreement with Senator Lane. He and I are partners. As his campaign manager—”
“Actually, Carmichael,” Margie’s father interrupted, “you’ll have to find another candidate to back. My camping gear and fishing tackle are all packed. I’m anticipating many quiet afternoons enjoying God’s green earth. And then I’m taking my lovely wife on a long-overdue European vacation.”
“You’re retiring?” The unlit cigarette drooped between Carmichael’s lips.
“Already done. I’m trading that other Washington for this one.” Margie’s father spread his arms wide. “My home.”
Margie took her father’s arm. “So, Philip. What’s left?”
The corner of his mouth twisted upward as he glanced around at the gathering. “I can work around those minor details. I’ll still get what I want. But this place?” He stared up toward the rafters. “It’s going to make me a wealthy man.”
Margie shook her head. “And here we thought you already were. But that’s not exactly true, is it?”
Philip reached for a water goblet on the nearby table, the ice clanking against the glass. “You know I hate to brag, my darling. It’s not money that matters in this world. It’s drive, ambition, and education.” He lifted the drink, as if offering a toast.
“I can’t argue that you have the first two in spades.” Margie’s stomach churned. The time had come to call Philip’s bluff. But as she knew from the past, he wasn’t a man who took kindly to losing. She cast a quick glance at Ford, hoping his presence would lend her strength.
Philip’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying, Margaret?”
She folded her arms. “Where did you say you went to school?”
Philip’s skin paled, slightly. He took the cigarette from between his lips and tapped it against his palm. “Why are you doing this? Have you gathered all of these people together because you’re so afraid of me?”
Her chest tightened. Philip had spent his life slipping through people’s defenses. What made her think she could put him in his place so easily?
Ford strode forward, taking a spot at Margie’s side. “Answer the question, Carmichael.”
Philip took a long drag, rolling his eyes skyward. “St. John’s Preparatory Academy for Boys, and Harvard University where I graduated with honors. All of which you know, Margaret, being that your father paid for every cent of my education.”
“Every cent, yes. That’s a good way to put it.” Margie pulled a notebook from her pocket. “The problem is, I telephoned both schools. Do you want to know what they told me?”
The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “You what?”
Ford cocked his head. “I think the rest of us would like to know.”
“They have no knowledge of you.” Margie flipped open the book. “Well, that’s not exactly true.” She tapped her pencil against the page. “St. John’s said you attended for one term. After failing two classes, you withdrew your tuition and disappeared. Harvard has no record of you even applying for admission.”
Her father cleared his throat. “I won’t ask where my money went, but I believe the Tacoma Hotel and the Rainier National Park Company might be interested to learn that you falsified your paperwork.”
The newspaperman flipped the page in his notebook, scribbling down details as quickly as they emerged.
Philip’s face flamed red. “What does it matter? I’ve achieved my goals through resourcefulness and ingenuity.”
Margie’s chest ached. To see her childhood friend torn down to his bare bones dropped a cloud over anything she achieved here. If only he would have come to her when he’d had difficulties in school instead of showing up years later full of bravados and threats. “What you’ve achieved has come through chicanery and subterfuge. You’ve twisted everything I tried to do for you and turned it into something malicious.”
“I deserved better.” He strode toward her and knocked the book from her hands. “More than your pity, more than your family’s charity. I wanted my own life.”
She blinked back tears. Sadness would only play into his game, and she refused to abide by his rules anymore. “You wanted my life.”
Deep lines formed around his eyes. “Who wouldn’t?”
Ford wedged himself between them. “You can’t play the victim here, Carmichael. I’m not buying it. You decided if you couldn’t have Margie, you’d get her out of the way, didn’t you?”
Margie turned to Ford. “What are you talking about?”
“He paid the guide to sabotage our climb. Carmichael didn’t want you to summit—and if you did, you weren’t supposed to make it home.”
Ford’s words came as a blow. Philip wanted her dead?
“And I have a few questions to ask about the fire, as well.” Ford jutted his chin forward.
Philip pursed his lips. “Like anyone will believe the word of a ranger terminated for fraternizing with one of his employees.”
Henrik lifted his voice from the rear of the room. “They might believe me, ja? I still have the money you gave me.”
Harry Brown stepped forward. “Mr. Carmichael, I’d take joy in escorting you off my mountain. And if you’re smart, you’ll leave the state as well.” He lifted his chin. “Because I intend to pursue the investigation linking you to the arson at Longmire.” He pointed to the man from the Ledger. “And I reckon by morning, the story of your little confidence game is going to be all over Tacoma, and it’s likely to spread from there.”
Philip jammed the cigarette into his mouth. “A few too many blood-sucking mosquitos out here for my taste, anyway.”
“Here, you might want these.” Margie handed him the deck of playing cards. “It’s missing a few, but I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it work.” She watched the two men until they left the dining room, her heart growing numb. When had Philip become such a twisted mess of a soul? Is there any hope for him, Lord?
“Margie, you did it.” Ford gripped her shoulders, a grin spreading across his face. His jacket hung loose on his frame, so unlike his well-tailored park service uniform.
“Ford, I’m so sorry about your job.”
“I imagine Harry can restore my position, if you’re willing to withdraw your complaint.”
A laugh bubbled up from deep within. “I don’t know. What about my job?”
“Does that mean you’d return to the park?” He tightened his grip on her arms. “Please say you’re coming back.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist. “I don’t know. Would I get a hat this time?”
A laugh burst out of him. “For this—you can have mine!” He dug into his pocket. “And I have something else for you, too.”
Margie stepped back so she could see.
He pulled out a small book. “I’ve been saving this for you.”
“My journal?” Her spirits soared upward like a falcon coasting above the alpine meadows. “You found it.”
He placed it in her hands, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Yes. Before the climb, actually. I tried not to read it, but…” He closed his fingers over hers. “But reading your prayers for me—it really helped me understand. I hope you’re not upset.”
She pulled him close, laying her cheek against his chest. “Ford, do you remember what I said when I first started here?”
“That you wanted to sit at the feet of a master, discover the secrets in the soulful eyes of the black bear? Had any luck there?”
“Of all the things I’ve said, that’s what you remember?” A wave of heat crept up her neck. “One of my goals was to share God’s love with at least one person while I was here.” She drew back to study his face.
He smiled. “You succeeded.”
October 8, 1927
The thin layer of snow crunched under Ford’s boots as he and Margie picked their way up the rocky slope. The river roared below them, echoing through the forest. “It’s not far now.” He claimed her hand
, a rush of little-boy excitement pouring through him. He’d been dying to show her this spot for months, and today was the perfect day.
The upper limbs of the trees swayed in the early fall breeze, the blue sky above allowing sunlight to dapple the ferns at their feet. He’d taken her off trail, winding around the long way to keep their destination a mystery.
“My legs aren’t nearly as long as yours.” She panted.
He slackened the pace a notch. No need to hurry. We’ve got a lifetime. Was it any surprise he was eager to get started?
She wrapped her mittened fingers around his. “I can’t believe it’s been a month already. And no word of Philip.”
The name scraped against his thoughts. “Let’s keep it that way.” He squeezed her hand. “Today is just about us.”
“Just us.” Margie sighed, her breath curling up in a mist of fog. “I must admit, I miss living across the clearing from you.”
Ford stopped for a moment and drew her into his arms. “We discussed that. If we’re going to make a go of things, we need to be cautious.” The sentiment had sounded reasonable at the time, but he regretted every day she didn’t live within arm’s reach.
Margie relaxed in his embrace, laying her head against his chest. “I know. It doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“Paradise isn’t so far. And the housing is luxurious compared to the squalor you endured at Longmire.”
She squeezed his waist. “I miss my dear little cottage. I hope my pack-rat friend found a new home.”
“I think the word cottage is a little too charitable for that old shack. Harry wants to tear all of those down and build a dormitory.”
Margie jerked her head back. “Don’t let him do that. I adore the little Thoreau-style cabins.”
Her protest sent a wave of amusement through him. “I’ll warn him, but you are quite capable of fighting your own battles.”
“I know, but it’s nice knowing a man at the top.”
The warmth of her body against his lulled him into a comfortable peace. He could stay here and hold her all day. But he had other plans. He leaned down for a quick kiss before moving on.
As his lips met hers, Margie caught the back of his head in her hand, deepening the kiss before he could get away. The sweetness of her mouth sent his heart pounding, the depth of her passion pulling at both his heart and his soul. He grazed his lips up her jawline, nuzzling against the warmth of her ear and trying to remember why he’d been in such a hurry.
She giggled, pulling her head back. “Your nose is cold.”
He pressed her into a bear hug. “That’s because we’re just standing here. If you keep distracting me, we’ll never get where we’re going. And trust me—you don’t want to miss it.”
Margie wove her arm through his as they began walking through the undergrowth. “You weren’t complaining.”
“No, I surely wasn’t.”
“Where are we going?” A question she’d already asked a dozen times.
He’d had her close her eyes when they left Paradise. Then he drove around for a little while trying to throw her off the track. “Where do you think?”
She turned and surveyed the landscape. “We’re still at a pretty high elevation, so not far from Paradise, I’d guess—based on the subalpine firs. And it’s obviously glacial outwash, so we’re not far from the terminus of one. Smells like Stevens Creek.”
“You can’t smell that.” He sniffed the air. “Can you?”
“Ha! I knew I was right.” She tugged on her arm.
“You got me.”
She stopped as the meadows opened out before them. “Wait—are we going to the Paradise ice caves?”
He pushed a fir limb aside, holding it in place so she could pass. “You said you hadn’t seen them yet.”
“No, because the guides and the climbing rangers lead all those tours. I hadn’t cajoled one of them into taking me yet.”
Ford squeezed her hand. “Hey now, no cajoling the other rangers.”
She hid a smile. “I thought they trekked across the snowfields to reach them.”
“Only because they like taking the groups nature coasting as part of the trip. People sure love sliding down the hill on the seats of those paraffin-coated pants. There are more folks lining up all the time.” He played with one of the curls hanging just under the edge of her red woolen cap. “I was trying to surprise you. If I’d handed you an alpenstock and tin pants, you might have gotten wise to my plan.”
“I probably would’ve wondered if we were heading for the summit again.” She tugged on his arm. “I’m sorry I spoiled the surprise.”
“I should have known you’d be able to guess.”
“I’m glad we came this way. I’ve had enough glacier travel for one summer.”
They walked on for several miles, taking the circuitous route Ford had planned. At least it gave them plenty of time to enjoy the afternoon together.
After the confrontation with Carmichael, Ford had let Harry hold onto his badge for another week. It felt good to make the man sweat a little. And it had given him time to enjoy Margie’s company without the pressure of typing those confounded reports.
Even though he’d intended to hire Margie for the crew, Luke got ahead of him, asking her to take over some of the planning work for the RNPC as well as entertaining guests at the Inn with her poetry and nature talks.
Ford clambered up a craggy hillside and held his hand out for Margie. “How are the plans coming along?”
She made a face as she dug the toes of her boots into the steep slope and grasped his hand. “We’ve gone through the blueprints with a fine-toothed comb. I’ve explained why some of them are impractical, but there are others Harry’s determined to implement.”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
After reaching the top, she brushed dirt off her knees and stood. “The golf course, of all things. Why would anyone tear out an alpine meadow to build a golf course?”
“Especially since the snowmelt will make it soggy most of the time.” Scanning the land ahead, Ford saw the toe of the Stevens Glacier in the distance.
“And the cabins. Rows upon rows of little housekeeping cabins.” She sniffed. “I know we need overnight accommodations, but why must they look like military barracks? How about some sweet little A-frames or small groupings of canvas tents down in the forest?” Margie bent down to examine a maidenhair fern sprouting from a crack in the craggy cliff. “No, humans are obsessed with order. They can’t see the beauty in the randomness of God’s creation. In the little surprises.”
Ford touched the outside of his coat, feeling for the telltale lump of a certain item in his pocket. He knew all about surprises. “You’ll just have to show them.”
She sighed. “One person at a time.”
Twenty minutes later, they were picking their way through the rocks to the cave mouth, where the Paradise River gushed into the light of the early fall day.
Margie grinned. “The birthplace of a river.”
“Watch your step.” Ford ducked into the cavern, the light taking on a blue cast.
She balanced over the loose stones, glancing up at the scalloped ceiling. Once they’d passed a few feet inside, it swept upward to over twelve feet high in places. “I can’t believe it. It’s like a church.”
“Not like any church I’ve been in.”
She placed both hands against her cheeks. “It’s the light, like stained glass—except all cerulean. The summit cave wasn’t blue.”
Ford thrust his hands into his pockets and looked around, trying to see the place through her eyes. “Jennings told me that by the time the ice has moved this far down the mountain, it becomes quite dense and all the air bubbles are squeezed out. It absorbs most of the light, but scatters the blue rays—like the ocean.”
“It’s like stepping inside a sapphire.”
“A sapphire, really?” He picked his way over to her, drawing her into his arms.
She smiled up at him, the dim
light casting a sheen across her hair. “A little bit of an exaggeration.”
“Poetic license.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. Ever since she’d returned to the park, he couldn’t seem to get enough of her touch. Thankfully, the feeling appeared to be mutual.
Margie sighed, melding into his grasp like the glacial ice to the mountainside. “This cave’s quite different from the steam vent we visited on the summit—though the other holds some precious memories.”
“If I have my way, this one will as well.”
She looked up at him. “What did you have in mind?”
Her lips drew Ford’s attention, sending his heart beating in a rapid motion. He bent forward until their mouths met, the soft touch lifting the hairs on the back of his neck.
Margie curled her fingers around his collar, responding to his kiss in a way that stole the breath from his lungs.
As he slid his thumb along the silky skin of her throat, his heartbeat accelerated until it nearly matched the nearby stream. And that’s why she can’t live across the clearing from me.
“This would do.” Margie tipped her forehead against his. “For a memory, that is.”
“It’s a start.” A tiny thread of tension wormed its way through his shoulders as he dug into his pocket. “But I had something better in mind.”
“Better?” Her breath tickled his cheek. “What could be better?”
Ford’s fingers closed around the ring, the metal warm against his chilled skin. He stepped back, keeping a grip on her left hand as he lowered himself to one knee on the muddy cave floor.
Margie’s eyes widened, and her cheeks reflected the luminous blue glow. “What are you doing?”
He squeezed her fingers, willing his voice to remain steady. “Margie, you know I could never give you the mansions and fine jewelry of your youth, but I can promise you my love. With it comes mountains, lakes, forests, and all the bugs and dirt you can stand. Most girls wouldn’t think it terribly romantic, but I hope you say yes, anyway.” Ford lifted the ring, squeezing it between his thumb and forefinger so as not to drop it in the dirt. “Will you be my wife?”
The Road to Paradise Page 28
