The careful words he’d scratched out on a piece of notepaper remained folded in his pocket. He hadn’t gotten them exactly right, but the sentiment was there. He hoped it was enough.
Margie’s skin flushed cold and then hot, her heart racing. Did he just say that, or did I only imagine it?
Ford remained balanced on his knee in the mud, lines forming around his eyes. “Margie?”
“The river is so loud, would you mind saying it again?” A tremor raced down her arm, all the way to her hand, warm in Ford’s grip. “I want to be absolutely certain I heard it right.”
The crease in his brow softened, a tiny smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Which part?”
“Just the last few words.” The fog from her breath curled into the air.
“Will you be my wife?” He shifted his position, grimacing slightly.
“Yes.” Margie threw herself down into his arms. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Her sudden motion pushed him off-balance, and they both landed on the wet ground. A grin spread across his face. “Thank goodness. You had me worried there.”
She wrapped both arms around his neck. “Ford, I’m so happy.”
He loosened her grip and clambered to his feet, pulling her along with him. “Let’s get this ring on your finger before you change your mind.”
She yanked off her mittens and held out her trembling hand. “I can’t believe this. When did you have time?”
“Luke and I slipped away a few days ago. Tacoma and back in seven hours. It might be a new record for that rickety old truck. I also stopped by and asked your father for his blessing.” He grinned. “Believe it or not, your mother was the first to agree. I think retirement suits them.”
Margie gasped as Ford slid the ring over her finger. Twin pearls sat nestled together in a delicate gold setting.
He bent his head close, holding her hand in both of his, rolling his thumb over the pearls. “They’re your pearls, Margie. I found them in the ashes of the cabin, and the jeweler cleaned them for me. The only two to survive, it seemed. And when I saw the pair of them together there—well, it reminded me of us.”
Margie’s heart swelled. “I love it.” She lifted her hand to his cheek. “Just like us—together.” She drew his head down for another kiss, her lips lingering on his for a long moment. Afterward, she slid her hands inside his jacket and around his waist, relishing the warmth against her palms.
Ford nibbled a few kisses along her earlobe before drawing back and smiling down at her. He glanced around the cavern. “I’m tempted to yell our news, just to hear it echo all around us. But I also don’t want to bring ice down on our heads. Maybe we should step outside?”
“Or maybe,” she snuggled in a little closer, “we should just stay here a little bit longer.”
December 15, 1927
Paradise, Mount Rainier National Park
Ford struggled through another drift, careful to tromp down the path for Margie. She was on the edge of exhaustion already and the foot of fresh December snow wasn’t helping matters any. The seven-mile trip from Longmire to Paradise was a glorious hike in summertime, but ascending almost three thousand vertical feet while negotiating snowdrifts taller than a person’s height was a challenge even for him. Margie had only used snowshoes twice, and here she was bravely placing one webbed foot after the other. “We’re almost there.”
She pushed her red knit cap off her forehead, her face rosy with exertion. “You said that two hours ago. I stopped believing you a mile back.” Margie’s breath came in puffs of fog. “I hope Luke has a pot of coffee on. Or better yet, hot chocolate.” She gave him a pointed look. “Did we bring cocoa?”
“There’s at least a year’s supply at the Inn, don’t worry. We’re not going to run out of food.” He scanned the route ahead, the sunlight creating sparkles on the icy surface. “Some honeymoon, eh?”
Margie puffed her way up next to him and stopped. “The best.”
He slid an arm around her waist and pointed at a rise in the field ahead. “We’re home.”
“What?” She craned her neck. “Where?”
Ford grabbed Margie’s hand and started forward, dropping his grip on her in a couple of paces. Snowshoeing didn’t lend itself well to romantic walks. “Right there. Don’t you see the smoke?”
She looked ahead. “The Inn’s completely buried—up to the eaves.”
“We’ll be able to toboggan off the roof. It’ll be dark inside, though. Sort of like being back in the summit cave.”
“Except infinitely more comfortable.”
It took another fifteen minutes to reach the Inn, where a tunnel pointed the way to the second-floor entrance.
Luke popped outside, a giant grin lighting his face. “I thought I heard voices. I’m glad you survived the trip. I’ve got the kettle on. Would you like some tea?”
Margie threw her arms around him. “I would love some. I’m so glad to see you.”
“I’m sorry I missed the festivities. How dare you get married during the worst snowstorm of the year.”
Ford unlatched Margie’s snowshoes and helped her step out of them. “You weren’t the only one who missed out. It ended up being a rather cozy affair.”
She beamed. “It was idyllic. Like Robert Frost’s ‘Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.’ ”
Luke led the way inside, steering them toward the apartment just off the huge kitchen. The stove kept the rooms toasty, and the hot drinks were a welcome treat after their long day in the snow.
Margie sighed as she sank down onto the sofa. “I think I’m going to sleep for a week. I am exhausted.”
Ford folded his arms. “Then you’d miss Luke’s departure.”
Their friend grinned. “I can’t wait to get out of here. Christmas in Seattle with my aunt and uncle—no snow, just lots of rain. Now that sounds perfect. I’ve spent the last three winters moldering away up here. I can’t believe Harry talked you two into spending the rest of the season here. Are you sure you won’t go crazy? Not everyone can stand the isolation.”
Ford glanced at Margie, his heart warming. “It was Margie’s idea.”
“My own Walden experience.” She smiled. “And Ford bought me a new journal. I can’t wait to fill it with winter observations.”
Luke chuckled. “Day one: Snowed. Day two: Snowed some more. Day three: Doesn’t it ever stop?”
Ford took a sip from his steaming cup. “I’m sure it’ll be much more poetic than that.”
Margie folded her legs under her. “Besides, we’re not isolated. We have each other.”
Ford tipped his head. “Three months alone with my bride? Sounds like Paradise.”
A blush tinged Margie’s cheeks. “And that’s how I talked him into it.”
Luke shook his head. “You’re a lucky man, Ford.”
“Don’t I know it?”
A bump and scraping sound made him jump. Something skittered by on the far side of the wall, making enough noise for dozens of tiny claws.
Margie’s nose wrinkled. “Oh, no. That’s not…”
Ford set down his cup. “Neotoma cinerea or Tamias townsendii. Perhaps even a Zapus trinotatus.”
“You’ve been practicing. And don’t even joke about jumping mice—I can handle anything except rodents that jump.”
Luke shook his head. “No weaseling out now, Margie Brayden. I’m already packed. You two are on your own.”
Ford settled onto the sofa next to his wife, sliding one arm around her waist. “Just you and me.”
She pulled him close. “And dozens of pesky rodents. Do you suppose there’s an Archibald Jr.?”
Luke cleared his throat. “I have some soup heating in the kitchen. I’d better go check on it.” He slipped out of the room.
Ford took the opportunity to place a kiss on her lips. “I think we scared him off.”
She laid her head against his neck, stifling a yawn. “He’s just being polite.”
He rubbed his fingers acr
oss her shoulders. “And you’re sure you can endure three months snowed in with me?”
“I can think of nothing I’d love more. Come spring, Harry will have to drag me out of here.”
Ford glanced at the darkened windows. “He’s certainly going to have to dig us out.”
She nuzzled along the tip of his ear. “I’ve already made a list in my journal about ways we can stay warm.”
“Have you now?” He reached toward her pocket, the small book a bulge against her hip. “I’d like to take a look at that.”
She squirmed away, giggling. “Later. We’ve got all winter.”
His pulse jumped a few notches in speed. “Mrs. Brayden, I think this winter honeymoon is your best idea yet.”
“I do believe you’re right.” Margie laid her cheek against his. “And for a few short months, the Lord is blessing us with the mountain all to ourselves.”
“He’s given me much more than that.” Ford smiled. “If I’d known what a treasure Harry was delivering the day you arrived, I’d have been much more of a gentleman.”
“And I wouldn’t have expected you to be some mystic spiritual guide into the wilderness.” She ran a teasing finger along his jaw.
“You were the spiritual guide. You helped open my eyes.” He ran a hand around the curve of her hip. “It’s strange—now I see Him everywhere. I can’t believe I missed it before.”
“I didn’t actually do anything. It was all Him.” She placed a kiss on his lips. “But now we’ve got the whole season to enjoy His creation together.”
“Not just a season.” Ford pulled her onto his lap. “We’ve got a lifetime.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed this fictional journey through Mount Rainier National Park as much as I did. Years ago, I had the honor of working as a seasonal ranger at Rainier, and taking a peek further back into the park’s history was a treat.
In several places, I simplified Rainier’s history to help the flow of the story. Paradise, in particular, involved a wide array of buildings at the time including multiple dormitories, a day lodge, campground store, a photo shop, and many other facilities. For the characters to speak of the Paradise Inn, the Paradise Lodge, and the Paradise Camp Lodge might have been confusing. I imagine it probably was for people at the time too!
Most of the characters in this story are fictional, but I did use a few real names.
• In 1890, twenty-year-old teacher and journalist Fay Fuller became the first woman to reach the summit of Mount Rainier.
• Alma Wagen was the first female guide to work at Mount Rainier, hired after many of the male guides left to fight during the First World War. Though she primarily led glacier tours, she did occasionally lead summit ascents and became a popular favorite among climbers.
• In 1918, Helene Wilson was hired to check in vehicles at Rainier’s Nisqually entrance. She was one of the first “rangerettes” (as they were called) to work for the NPS.
• I named Ford’s father “Herman” in honor of Herman B. Barnett, who served as Chief Ranger during the era of The Road to Paradise. I didn’t realize when I started writing the book that I shared a last name with the ranger who held Ford’s position in 1927. What a fun coincidence! Ranger Barnett’s descendants still live in the area and, like the fictional Braydens, the family continued to work at Rainier, actually boasting three generations of rangers. Thankfully, unlike Ford’s father, Herman Barnett enjoyed a long life.
• And finally, for those of you who are familiar with the life and writings of Floyd Schmoe (1895–2001), I hope you recognize his spirit within the characters of both Margie and Ford. Hired as Mount Rainier’s first naturalist in 1924, he is directly responsible for shaping the interpretive program at this incredible park. I was honored to work on the interpretive staff many years later, and his name was still mentioned on a regular basis. Schmoe’s book, A Year in Paradise, was the inspiration behind the closing scene of A Road to Paradise. A longtime peace activist, Schmoe went on to build Seattle’s Peace Park, and he also traveled to Hiroshima, Japan, to build homes for survivors of the atomic bomb. His organization was responsible for housing over one hundred families. May we all leave such a legacy.
I hope this story encourages you to visit our beautiful parks. They are a national treasure that we should never take for granted. Margie would probably remind you of the words of the great naturalist, John Muir: “The mountains are calling and I must go…”
Blessings!
Karen
READERS GUIDE
1. The Road to Paradise, the first of the Vintage National Park series, takes place at Mount Rainier National Park located in Washington. Have you ever been to Mount Rainier? Which of the national parks have you visited? Do you have a favorite? Is there one you dream of seeing?
2. Archibald the pack rat made a big impression on Margie during their first encounter. Have you ever dealt with unwelcome visitors in your home or while camping? What did you do about it? Which of God’s “lesser creatures” (Margie’s words) do you find difficult to appreciate? For me, it’s spiders!
3. In chapter 4, Margie tells Ford, “The beauty of His creation speaks of the Father’s love.” Have you ever sensed God’s love while experiencing nature?
4. Ford feels differently about nature. After losing his father to an avalanche, this is his opinion of the mountain: “Rainier cared little for those who walked its flanks. It didn’t need their help any more than it desired their devotion.” My eyes were opened to this truth after I misjudged a trail and ended up sliding ten feet down a rocky slope, stopping just short of a precipitous drop-off. How do you reconcile Margie’s belief that creation is God’s gift to humans with the inherent dangers found in wilderness?
5. Ford and Margie view nature in very distinct ways at the story’s opening. Do you feel like they reached a middle ground by the end? In what ways did they change? Who made the biggest change?
6. When Margie is speaking of the Paradise wildflowers, she says, “Sometimes a fragile appearance masks deep strength.” Is there anyone in your life who fits this description?
7. Mrs. Brown is one of my favorite characters, even though she doesn’t appear often in the story. At a pivotal moment in Ford’s journey, she tells him, “You walked up that mountain a strong man and returned a Christian.” What do you think she meant by that? How does being strong sometimes stand in the way of our faith? Has God ever had to take you to a place of brokenness?
8. Margie never desired to climb a mountain, but God led her there. When she stood on the summit, she was overwhelmed by God’s power and goodness. Is there a mountain in your life that He is calling you to climb—through His strength?
9. Don’t you just love to hate the villains? Philip Carmichael was driven by a desire to control and possess. What caused him to be that way? (And don’t say the author!) When you are faced with people who have nicer things and more advantages in life than you, how does it make you feel? How do you deal with jealousy, envy, and other dark feelings? After you discuss this, take a peek at Galatians 6:4–5 for Paul’s suggestion.
10. Margie falls in love with her Longmire cabin even though she’s accustomed to the finer things in life. What type of park accommodations do you prefer? If you were to visit 1927 Mount Rainier, where would you rather stay?
a. Margie’s Waldenesque cabin (with or without Archibald the pack rat)
b. Longmire’s National Park Inn (enjoying a rocking chair on the front porch)
c. The Paradise Inn in summer (the finest room, if you please)
d. The Paradise Inn in winter (with or without a handsome ranger)
e. A tent in the campground (no dancing bears)
f. A tent somewhere in the wild backcountry (you choose)
g. Who needs a tent? (out under the starry sky)
h. I’d rather just read about it from my own cozy bed.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing a story set at my beloved mount
ain has been a dream come true. Thank you to the staff at WaterBrook Multnomah, particularly my editor, Shannon Marchese, for catching my vision and making it all possible. Special thanks to my agent, Rachel Kent of Books & Such Literary. I treasure your calm presence and wise counsel.
Many thanks to my critique partners for sharing both their skill and their encouragement: Heidi Gaul, Marilyn Rhoads, Christina Nelson, Patricia Lee, Tammy Bowers, and Rebecca DeMarino.
I owe many thanks to the staff and volunteers at Mount Rainier National Park, especially Brooke Childrey, Park Curator. I showed up on the doorstep of the archives begging for historical information, and she generously came to my rescue with stacks of documents, photos, and microfiche. What a treasure trove! Thank you to Greg Burtchard, retired Mount Rainier Archaeologist, and Donna Rahier, retired superintendent’s secretary, for reading and offering suggestions on early drafts of the manuscript. Your knowledge and experience helped to breathe life into this story.
Thank you also to my supervisor, Jack Morrison, and the many wonderful rangers I served with in my two years working as a seasonal interpretive naturalist at Mount Rainier. Like Margie, I showed up with plenty of enthusiasm and book knowledge, but a definite lack of know-how on anything practical. Their patient teaching and mentoring shows up several times in these pages.
And finally, thank you to my family for enduring years of writing, research trips, deadlines, and overall craziness. I could do none of this without you.
I love connecting with readers, so I hope you will look me up on social media. To hear about future releases and other author news, please sign up for my free newsletter at KarenBarnettBooks.com.
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