by Stacy Monson
Her inquiry about Kenny received a response similar to the other places—name didn’t ring a bell, the photo didn’t look like anyone they knew. They went back to work, leaving her fighting the need to scream in frustration.
“Ma’am?”
She turned to face one of the men she’d talked to.
“There’s an old timer that might know of him,” he said. “Old Joe. Lives in Tabernash, just a bit down Highway 40 from here.”
“Does he have a last name?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “I’m sure he did at one time, but not that I ever heard. Everyone around just knows him as Old Joe.”
“Tabernash. Old Joe. Got it. Thank you so much.”
“Hope it helps.”
“I hope so too.” She waved and hurried down the slope, her feet barely touching the ground as she headed for the jeep. Someone named Old Joe had to know about Kenny. She giggled. And the debonair, womanizing Kenny was now probably known as Old Ken.
The drive to Tabernash moved in slow motion though the dashboard clock read only fifteen minutes. After inquiring about Old Joe at the gas station, she made her way up the mountain to his cabin, surprised they gave out his information so freely. Definitely a city thing that made people suspicious and guarded about sharing information.
At the end of the winding dirt road sat at a tiny log cabin. There couldn’t be more than three rooms in such a small space. Or maybe it was just one room if he was the sole occupant. She took stock of the neat, sparse yard. Aside from a sprinkling of yellow and purple wildflowers, and the ever-present pine needles, nothing spoke of a female touch.
A wooden bench beside the front door was perhaps big enough for two. A couple of lawn chairs sat nearby, pieces of nylon webbing fluttering in the gentle breeze. Just past the cabin an outhouse leaned slightly to the side.
While she preferred a simpler life than Lindy, hers wasn’t nearly this clutter-free. Maybe instead of looking for an apartment she could afford after Lin’s wedding, she should build a little log cabin in the woods. With indoor plumbing.
She climbed out and rapped lightly against a flimsy screen door that looked ready to fall off the rusty hinges. The only sound was a gentle rustling from the wind in the treetops. She rapped harder. Silence answered. Perhaps he was in the backyard.
She walked around the cabin and found cold ashes in a firepit but no sign of life. Back at the jeep, she leaned against it with a sigh. This lead had felt so promising, so—
“Joe’s not here.”
She straightened and turned toward an elderly man with white hair that curled from under a knit cap. “Hello!” She sounded like an over-zealous cheerleader. “Are you his neighbor?”
“Live right over there.” He pointed over his shoulder, though no structure was visible in the woods. “Such a shame.”
“What is?”
“Joe havin’ a heart attack. Just last week.” He shook his head and tsked. “Told him not to try movin’ the logs hisself, but he’s a stubborn ol’ goat.”
No. No, no, no. “Is he—”
“Dead?” He waved a gnarled hand and chuckled. “Nah. It would take somethin’ more’n a heart attack to take him out.”
Her legs wobbled. “Oh, that’s good. Do you know where I can find him? Is he coming home soon?”
He spat to the side. “His daughter made him move to her place to get his strength back. Made him darn mad, I’ll tell ya. He wants to live life his way. But she played the grandchild card and he went. Loves them grandkids somethin’ fierce.”
“Does she live around here?”
“Alabama, for gosh sake. Who lives there?”
Old Joe’s daughter and grandkids, apparently. Now what?
“You a friend of Joe’s?” He squinted at her, rubbing his white-whiskered chin. “You don’t look familiar.”
“I’ve written columns for Outdoor Experience magazine, and I’m hoping to interview him and a few other skiers from the past to get their perspective on what life was like back then, how the ski circuit has changed.”
He continued to study her. “Huh.”
She forced herself to hold his gaze, keeping a smile at the corners of her mouth. “I’m glad to hear Joe is recovering. When do you think he’ll return home?” Don’t sound so desperate.
“Said he’d be back in a few weeks. That was right before he left. I’m thinkin’ she’ll be glad to send ’im back by then.”
Mid-July. He was the best lead she had at this point. The only lead. She couldn’t leave here without talking to him. She’d just have to stay in the area and keep digging until Joe got back.
“Do you know if he knew a guy named Kenny Johnson?”
“Kenny.” His brow dropped as he thought. “Don’t know about a Kenny. Joe has lots of friends, though, so maybe.”
“Would it be all right if I drop by again in a few weeks to see how Joe’s doing?”
“’Course it would. Joe loves company. ’Specially”—he said with a wink—“pretty young women who want to interview him. He loves talkin’ skiing and life and such.”
She pulled a business card from her pocket. “I’ll look forward to that. Here’s my phone number, in case he wants to call me. I’m Mikayla, by the way.”
A calloused hand engulfed hers, surprising in its strength. “Pete. Good to meet ya. You come on back in a couple a weeks, and Joe’ll put the coffee pot on.”
Retracing the road to Tabernash, Mikayla looked at Lula and sighed. “Sure feels like doors keep shutting on us. But we’re not giving up, right?” Despite the defeat pressing against her lungs, she nodded. “Right.”
Kenny Johnson was behind a door somewhere.
~ 19 ~
After the disappointing visit with Pete, Mikayla struggled to keep her spirits up as she made lunch. Moping wouldn’t change anything, however. What had always worked back home was writing something—an article, her thoughts, new ideas. Settled in at the campsite, a travel mug of fresh coffee nearby, she ate her sandwich and then opened her laptop and pounded out her frustration on the keyboard. Words flowed and thoughts tumbled over each other as they raced to the screen.
With Lula snoring quietly at her feet, energy pulsed as Mikayla poured out impressions of the people she’d met, descriptions of the unexpected beauty of where she’d landed, and the hope that pushed her onward. In the angst of the past month, she’d forgotten how writing freed her, untangled emotions, and buoyed her spirits.
Hiker Girl on a Mission. She’d blog about these experiences without using her real name or sharing anything personal about her family. If someone stumbled upon it in cyberspace, hopefully they’d enjoy her photos, her thoughts about the freedom in nature. If not, she’d have chronicled the journey for something to look back on someday.
She sent the blog link to Linnea and Maggie then closed the laptop with a snap, startling Lula to her feet. “Sorry, Lu.” She cuddled her sweet traveling companion as she savored the satisfaction of creating something new. Her search might be stalled for now, but writing would keep her busy and bring her sisters along on the journey. She could create columns from the blog to send to some of her magazine contacts. Making money while she waited would be a good thing.
“Why didn’t I do this at the start?” she mused. Lula licked her chin. “You’re right. They’d have been over-the-top emotional. Not exactly what the mags are looking for.”
She breathed deeply. They wanted photos of beautiful scenery alongside stories about interesting people, and detailed wilderness experiences.
“Like our hike the other day. I’m wondering how sweet little Hannah is doing, aren’t you?” The teen’s tearful smile swam before her, followed by Dawson Dunne’s dimples. Focused on getting close to finding Kenny, she’d already forgotten his offer at Vi’s shop. At the time, she’d expected to be on her way back to Minnesota within a few days. But now…
In the tent, she dug through her clothes until she found his card. Dawson Dunne, Executive Director, Outlook Ad
venture Camp. Where faith and potential connect. An image of smiling brown eyes, hair curling from under a bandana jumped before her. A warm handshake. Laughter in his voice.
He has to be desperate to want to hire a stranger.
And she was desperate to fill her time while she waited for Old Joe.
“Come on, Lu. I need to think so let’s go for a walk.” She locked her laptop in the jeep before they headed out. Twenty minutes later she reached the Wildflower Café & Bakery.
“Well, there’s my Minnesota darlin’.” Vi’s voice rang from inside.
Mikayla stepped into the cool shade of the coffee shop and inhaled. Hazelnut, cinnamon, pastries.
“Sit yourself right down, and I’ll get you some coffee.” Violet refilled the cups of the customers sitting by the window, then returned to Mikayla. “How about a pastry? Homemade.”
“You make them?”
“All of them,” Vi said, a wide smile on her face. “That’s why we opened the café. If I didn’t have a place to sell my pastries, I was going to outgrow my house. And not in a good way,” she added with a wink, patting her hips.
“Then I’d love one. And a glass of orange juice?”
“Coming right up.” Moments later, Vi set a tall glass of foaming juice before her followed by a chocolate croissant. “This should take the frown from your pretty face. Now you just sit there and enjoy.”
As Violet bustled about behind the counter, Mikayla wrestled with the crazy urge to work with Dawson. “Vi, what do you know about Dawson Dunne and his camp?”
Vi tossed a smile over her shoulder. “Other than he’s probably the cutest man in Winter Park? And did I mention eligible?”
Mikayla rolled her eyes. “He offered me a job.”
“You don’t say. Well, that’s something. He’s very particular about who he hires.”
Unless he’s desperate. “What kind of reputation does his camp have? What’s he like to work with?”
“Both have a solid reputation. As far as I know, there’ve been no complaints or safety violations, no illegal activities, no police reports against the camp or the guides.” She leaned a dimpled elbow on the counter. “As for him, he’s a doll. He came to the camp with some issues but seemed to thrive there, so Walter hired him on as a staffer the next summer. When Walt died, he left the camp to Dawson. That young man takes running it very seriously.”
“But,” she added, turning back to the coffee pots she’d started, “if you ask me, he needs more fun in his life. Works day and night for the camp. No time for anything else.”
“So he’s a micromanager?” Red flag there.
“Dawson?” Her burst of laughter made Mikayla smile. “Hardly, honey. He’s got a gift for hiring and training the best staff around. That’s why they’ve got waiting lists for kids to come both to work with him and to attend the camp.”
Mikayla studied her glass as she swirled the remaining juice. If she took the job, she’d still have to go home the first of September. He probably wanted more of a commitment.
“Honey, if Dawson Dunne wants to hire you, that’s high praise. He has a sixth sense about people. Hasn’t hired a blooper yet.”
Mikayla giggled. “A blooper? I’d hate to be the first.”
“You won’t be. Talk to him,” she encouraged. “Find out about the job, ask him hard questions. Then make your decision. I, for one, would be thrilled you’d be hanging around for the summer. You’re a gem, honey.”
She moved away to greet a new customer, leaving Mikayla to ponder her words. She pulled Dawson’s card out and fingered it thoughtfully. Since she had to wait for Old Joe’s return, maybe she could help Dawson in the meantime. Heart fluttering, she retrieved her cell phone and dialed his number before she could change her mind, then left a brief message. There. She’d know if she was supposed to stay or not after meeting with him. If he returned her call.
In the meantime, she’d add another post as Hiker Girl about decisions, options, and figuring out what the future held.
Four hours later, Mikayla drove under the rustic metal sign signaling Outlook Adventure Camp and parked in front of the main lodge. The single-story log and timber building sat in a clearing among tall pines, its green metal roof reflecting the afternoon sun. Atop a rock foundation, a porch stretched across the front with three pairs of Adirondack chairs awaiting campers. An extended roofline offered shaded protection for anyone enjoying the view. She smiled. The porch beckoned her to “set a while” as she had at Aunt Cindy’s.
The screen door of the main entrance swung open, and Dawson emerged with two coffee cups. “Hey, Mikayla. Any problems finding us?”
She climbed out and accepted the cup he offered. “None at all. Thanks for this. I’ve only had one cup today.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Idlewild.” She sipped and sighed. “Mmm, this is good.”
“My secret blend,” he said with a wink, then added, “You can have your little friend join us. This is a creature-friendly place.”
“If you’re sure…” At his nod, she let Lula out of the jeep. “Behave, Miss Lula or it’s back in the jeep for you.”
She darted off to explore, and Dawson swept an arm toward the lodge. “Come on in. So you’re camping at Idlewild while you’re here?”
“I camp whenever I get the chance,” she said, preceding him into the building, Lula on her heels. “Camping season is pretty short in Minnesota.”
In the spacious gathering area, a stone fireplace reached to the rafters, battered leather couches clustered before it. She breathed in the aroma of wood, edged by fragrant lilacs in a nearby vase, and a lingering whiff of past fires in the fireplace. At the left side of the room was a dining area with two long tables before a swinging door she assumed led to the kitchen. To the right side were what looked to be two smaller meeting-type rooms.
She could envision nervous kids checking in at the counter to the left of the front door, laughter and meals shared around the tables, a roaring fire while snow fell outside the tall windows flanking the fireplace. If she started a camp like this for girls and women, maybe her lodge would look like this someday. She’d have to take lots of photos to remember the details.
“Let’s sit in my office while we finish our coffee, and I’ll tell you about the camp.”
She and Lula followed him to the room immediately to the right of the front door. Windows along the front and side walls brought in natural light, making the small room airy and inviting. His oak desk had seen decades of use, as had the black office chair behind it. Above the desk hung a photo of Dawson and another man in silhouette shaking hands, broad smiles on their faces. His dad, perhaps? Shelves along the opposite wall held framed photographs, wood carvings, a small set of antlers, and a variety of books.
He gestured to the chair by his desk, then dropped into his and grinned. “Welcome to Outlook. I was glad to get your voicemail.”
“Thanks.” She returned his smile. “I’m interested to hear about the camp, how it got started, how you got involved.”
“Hope you’ve got all day,” he said with a chuckle. “Nah, I’ll give you the half-day version. The camp was established about twenty years ago by Walter Smith. Great guy. I met him the first time I attended camp. I was seventeen at the time.”
His smile dimmed and he looked away. “That’s a story for another day. Let’s just say Walt pointed me in the right direction. I loved everything about the camp. I think I drove him crazy with questions, but he hired me the next summer after I graduated high school. Been here ever since. I think he saw some of himself in me—the part that needed a little firm guidance to get on the right path.”
“So you signed on for life?”
“That wasn’t the plan, but when Walt got sick a year or so ago, I ended up taking over a lot of his work. When he died, I found out he’d left the camp to me.” Pain darkened his face. “That’s when I became a lifer. I can’t imagine doing anything else. I want to keep his memory alive by
continuing the work he started and making this camp a household name.”
“I bet he’d like that. How does the camp run? I didn’t see cabins when I drove in.”
“When Walt started Outlook, he built the first version of this lodge one log at a time. He didn’t have money to build a structure for the campers, so those first kids had to rough it. Turned out it was a great experience for them, actually being out there living in nature instead of talking about it.”
“But not year ’round.” Much as she loved to camp, winter camping was a whole different creature. She shivered.
“Nope. We have day activities through the winter but not overnight. Mountain weather’s unpredictable enough during the summer months, so to try it in hundreds of inches of snow? Not worth the risk. And the extra insurance is insane.”
Hundreds of inches? What did that even look like? Snow back home was measured in the tens of inches.
“We offer several adventure choices,” he continued. “The main program is the seven-day Outlook True Adventure camp for high school and older. We start with two days of prep here, and then take them out for five days of mountain camping. That program requires at least two guides. We have day programs throughout the year where younger kids, elementary and junior high age, come on-site every day. At night they stay down the road at a local church with their own chaperones.”
“There’s something going on all the time,” she noted, to which he grinned.
“We’ve been blessed. And in case you didn’t know, this is a faith-based camp. We have a ton of fun, but we take our faith in Jesus seriously. Our goal is for the kids to leave here with a solid foundation of knowing who God is and who they are as His children. Hopefully we’ve created a desire in them to learn how to be who God designed them to be, and to want to make a difference in the world.”
“That’s a lot to cram into a week, along with all the camping, hiking, fishing and other instruction they get.” Vi wasn’t kidding when she said he lived and breathed this camp.