Barefoot Sisters: Southbound

by Lucy Letcher;Susan Letcher

  I raised an eyebrow. "And what precisely did you have in mind?" It was somehow easier to flirt with him, now that I had decided nothing would conie of it.

  "Well, we could act out a few scenes from your novel," Lash said.

  Tim perked up. "What novel is this?"

  "Dude! You mean they didn't tell you about the book they're writing? Passion's Stealth-/ire?"

  "Passion's Stealth-/ire?" Tim said carefully, as though testing out the words. There was a gleam in his eye.

  "It's a romance novel," Isis said, a little sheepishly. "Set on the A.T."

  "Oh, this sounds good." Tim said. "Tell me more"

  "Well, it's about a sobo and a nobo who meet and, you know ..." Isis said.

  "We started writing it when we were icebound in Virginia."

  "Yeah, jackrabbit was lonely for Black Forest," Isis said, and I elbowed her in the ribs. "Hey! Anyway, we decided to kind of bend the genders, 'cause romance novels are usually so stupid. We made the heroine big and tough, and the hero kind of delicate. She,., a sobo. MEGA Maid. She meets this skinny little hobo, GAME Boy." There was general laughter at the names. "And, well, one thing leads to another ..

  "You've got to read us an excerpt," Tim said.

  "Oh, it's really bad," Isis told him.

  "Come on! It's Valentine's Day! Just a few paragraphs?" He grinned. "I'll do my Elmer Fudd Sings Wagner act" He spread his arms wide. "Oil, 13woon- hilda!" he sang in a ridiculous falsetto, batting his eyelashes. "Bwoon-hilda, I wuv you!„

  "All right. Just for that," I said, when I finished laughing and caught my breath. I reached into the top of my pack for the grimy sheets of stationery covered in tiny writing.

  "Let's see ... oh, this is where they meet for the first time: It was late in the a/ternoon iiheu the scrawniest, scractJliest nol)o she had ei'er seen stggc.ered up to the shelter. Perhaps the drenchinE rails, which plastered his thin shirt to his chest and thi~lls, coiitrihuted to his drowned-rat appearance, but .11GGA .1Iaid could tell at a 'lance that the boy was carrying too little food-and had been carrying too little food liar months. She could also tell from the lingering redness in those large, soft eyes that he was hiking off ahangover--not an unusual state for a nobo. But there was soinethin,g unusual about this one. Maas it that satiny dark hair that shone in the rain, or those deep brown eyes into which she had been staring fir longer than she had intended?

  'Excuse my lack of mawwrs,'she said, risin;g from her Thermarest with the languid grace of a lion. 'I've been in the woods too long. My names .'tIEGA Maid.' She extended a large, tanned hand.

  "'GAME Boy,'the hobo,grunted, placing his small hand in hers. She marveled at the delicateness of that hand-she could feel every bone of his fingers, feel the slight tremor that ran tlnrongh them. She glanced down and sail, that his whole body was trembling. Was it only the chill of his wet garments, or did some ill-disguised emotion hold him in itsgrasp? MEGA Maid had had this effect on men before, and she had taken many of them into her sleeping bag, from the innocent farm boys whose hearts she had callously broken and tossed aside, to the tawdry but talented Trail bums who sold their services for the price of a Snickers bar .. .

  Lash looked down and mumbled something into his beard. Everyone laughed and he began to blush.

  "But this time it felt different. The lad's trembling awakened in her not the instincts of a predator, but a new, gentler emotion. Something akin to pity softened her steely eyes as she told him, 'Go put some dry clothes on, kid. I don't tent to take the blame when you freeze to death.'

  "'I'm iearrn enough,' GA,11I: Boy protested hotly, not Iettin~g,go of her hand, And anyway, I don't carry a change of clothing.'

  "'Strip!' she ordered, and continued (ignoring his shocked expression), 'I'll lend you something."' I put the paper down.

  "And?" Tim said eagerly.

  "And nothing," I said. "That's all there is. The ice storm ended; we packed up.

  Spike and Caveman applauded, laughing. "You ought to give Harlequin a call," Spike said.

  Tim looked sorely disappointed. "You mean that's as far as they got?" Then lie grinned wolfishly. "If you ever want any help with your novel, you know, any ideas about what conies next, I'd be glad to show you a thing or two" He winked.

  Isis looked taken aback, but I laughed. "You'd better start stocking up on Snickers bars, then"

  Lash gave a wicked grin and passed out the last of his mini Snickers. Then lie closed his food bag, stuffed it in the top of his pack, and took up his hiking poles. Tint packed up as well.

  "Are you guys leaving?" I asked.

  "Yeah," Lash said. "This shelter's probably not big enough for all of us" It was true; the shelter was not quite as large as the others in the Smokies. We probably could have made room, but it would have been a tight fit.

  "I guess this is one of those `bye, never see you again' moments," Tim said.

  "What?" I asked.

  Caveman explained. "When we were hiking with Tim back in Vermont, lie liked to move a lot faster, but he also took more time off. We lost track of how many tinges we said goodbye to him, thinking it would be the last time. After a while, that became our standard thing to say, even when somebody just went to the privy: 'Bye; never see you again."'

  "Okay. Bye; never see you again." I said to Tim and Lash as they headed out.

  "Never see you again," they called back over their shoulders as they hiked into the gathering dusk, and I wondered if this time it was true.

  It was a crowded night in the shelter, even without Tim and Lash. The Family, Yogi, and Yurt Man packed into the interstices. Packs and food bags hung from every available peg. Yogi added his tarp to the one Spike and Caveman had strung across the entrance. The blue-green light filtering through the fabric gave the interior of the shelter a strange underwater glow before the day faded.

  I slept poorly; the wind moaning around the eaves and flapping the tarps woke inc up each time I drifted oft. Some time in the middle of the night, I heard Yogi yelp with fright, perhaps in a dream. Hope whispered, "Miss Janet?" and someone shushed her. I heard footsteps in the shelter, and I wondered if I was dreaming too.

  As the gray light of dawn came up, I saw that I hadn't dreamed after all. Miss Janet sat on the end of the sleeping platform, watching us all with a motherly smile.

  Yogi rolled over and sat up. "My God! It is you! You know, you just about gave inc a heart attack last night."

  She chuckled. "Sorry 'bout that. I didn't mean for anyone to notice me when I came in."

  Yogi looked a little sheepish. "Well, I'd just gotten up to take a leak, and I headed back to bed. I turned around and there you were, not two feet away from me. You'd've been startled too!"

  The children were beginning to stir. "I knew it was true!" Hope said. "Look, she is here!" Soon everyone was awake and talking at once. Miss Janet handed out candy and Valentine cards.

  Joy looked puzzled. "How'd you get here? Where's your pack?"

  "Oh, I just hiked in from the parking lot at Newfound Gap. It's only three miles or so. Alls I had to bring was a daypack"

  "Thanks for coming out here," Isis said. "It's great to see you again."

  "Oh, I wouldn't miss it. It's so good to see y'all." Her face turned serious. "Besides, theres a storm front moving this way. It's gonna hit tomorrow sometime. Ice, lightning, high winds. I came to see if y'all want to go down to the valley. I talked to Jill and Bill; they'd be glad to have y'all back. Spike and Caveman, y'all are invited, too," she added, almost as an afterthought.

  They conferred for a while. "Thanks, but I think we'll stay out here," Spike finally said.

  "If it gets really bad, we can hole up in a shelter," Caveman added. "We've got plenty of food to get to Fontana. I don't really feel like going hack into town just yet. Thanks, though"

  I felt exactly the same way. The woods were so mysterious in the fog, and the occasional glimpses of cliffs when the clouds opened were like windows onto a different world. More than anything, I wanted to
stay out here among the mountains. To return to civilization now would be to break the spell. The Family wanted to go to town, though, and Isis would follow them, I knew. Wherever she went, I would have to go. We hiked to the parking lot in pouring rain.

  Isis

  'hoa! Check it out!"

  "Direct hit!"

  We had just settled into Jill and Bill's tiny house, piling our packs and jackets into the spare bedroom until they covered all the floor space.Jackrab- bit, Yurt Man, and I were helping Jill chop vegetables for tacos, while Miss Janet, Yogi, and the Family clustered around the television with Bill. To judge from their gasps and exclamations, they were watching either all action movie or some exceptionally dangerous and well-played sport.

  "Isis, jackrabbit, c'mere! You've gotta see this!"

  I stepped around the counter into the living room, fighting back a twinge of annoyance. I knew the children hadn't seen much television in their lives; it was still a novelty to them. But what sporting event could be more important than dinner?

  On the left side of the screen, a calm, neatly dressed woman waved a long pointer. I couldn't hear her voice above the children's rustle and chatter, but to judge from her sparkling eyes and unruffled brow, she seemed to be sharing some trivial yet delicious piece of gossip, meant for our ears alone. I turned my attention to the green wall beside her. It was a weather neap; Tennessee on one side and North Carolina on the other. A few white patches flickered across its upper right-hand corner. As I watched, they coalesced into an elliptical mass and advanced down the wall like an enormous fuzzy caterpillar, right along the jagged line labeled "Great Smoky Mountains" The woman poked the white ellipse with her baton, and it began to spout symbols: cute little clouds with raindrops, snowflakes, and lightning bolts protruding from their bellies.

  "Shh ... shhh ... Turn up the volume!"

  The announcer's sultry voice rose. "... a severe winter storm warning. Around noon tomorrow, arctic air from Canada will clash with this teartri front .. " She indicated what looked like a string of red Mardi-Gras beads advancing across the left side of the map. "... producing ice storms and thunderstorms with winds of up to sixth miles per hour"

  I tore myself away from the television, stepped over Hope and John, and slipped back into the kitchen.

  "Was that the weather forecast?" asked jackrabbit, who was still chopping onions.

  "Yup. It looks like we'll have to take a zero."

  "Take a zero?" She spoke in a voice so low that only I could hear her, but her eyes blazed. "We took three zeros in Hot Springs, less than a week ago. If we let every winter storm keep ns penned up indoors, we won't get to Springer till June. Fuck the weather. I'm hiking tomorrow. I want to finish this fucking Trail."

  "What about our plan to yo-yo?"

  "That's exactly what I mean. We won't have time to yo-yo, if we finish the Trail too late. People are already starting northbound, and I want to be with them:"

  "We've got plenty of time.'

  "You mean you've got plenty of time. You can dawdle all the way to Georgia, and as long as you get there before the summer solstice, you'll have completed a thru-hike. I'll still be missing two hundred miles. I want a thruhike. It's what I came out here for. And unless I catch a bus back to Massachusetts as soon as we reach Georgia, it looks like northbound is my only chance."

  "I guess so," I answered.

  I preferred the "hiker trash has too much fi4n " rationale, I thought to myself.

  Dark clouds obscured the mountains to the east, but in the valley the air felt soft and springlike. Jill showed me and Mary where the thin, bright leaves of crocuses and the pale shoots of hyacinths were beginning to break through the leaf mold in her garden. Mary sighed as she brushed a clump of dried moss off a hyacinth. I knew what she was thinking; in the mountains, where we lived, spring would not come for at least another month.

  Jackrabbit spent the morning checking the weather on the Internet at ten-minute intervals. When she wasn't seated in front of the computer, she paced up and down the hall, three steps in each direction. It wasn't until she called the local weather station, confirming that a massive thunderstorm was due to strike Clingman's Dome in a few hours, that she resigned herself to the idea of a zero.

  "As long as we get an early start tomorrow," she said, throwing herself into an armchair and opening the Smokies map.

  We didn't get an early start the next day, after all. Jill and Bill fixed us an enormous breakfast, and it was past ten by the time we had eaten, helped wash dishes, located everyone's gear and packed it all into the back of Miss Janet's van. We stopped for lunch on the way through Gatlinburg, then went to the outfitter's to replace someone's ripped gaiters. At last, we headed toward Newfound Gap, only to find ourselves caught in a traffic jam. Hundreds of tourists were taking advantage of the clear weather to go for a drive in the mountains, and very few of them, it seemed, had any experience with icy roads. Near the Gap, we had to stop three or four times to help people push their cars out of the ditches. In between car-pushing expeditions, jackrabbit chatted with John in the back seat, braided Hope's hair, and traded tourist jokes with Yogi. I could sense her impatience, though-in the way she held her shoulders, as if trying not to touch the people on either side of her, and in the way she fixed her attention on the mountains each time we stepped out of the car-not just her gaze but her whole body, tense as a drawn bow.

  We reached the Gap at three in the afternoon. The low sun flickered through the fir trees, and a bitter wind whipped across the parking lot.

  "Let's go," said jackrabbit, slinging her pack onto one shoulder.

  "Wait, Miss janet's taking a picture"

  I should get a picture too, I thought. This is probably one of the last times we'll all he to'etiier. I started to dig out my camera, but thought better of it; my hands felt too cold.

  "Where are you going tonight?" I asked Paul, as we lined up by the van for the photo.

  "Mount Collins Shelter, I guess. It's five miles from here, and that's about all the daylight we have left. Where are you going?"

  "1 don't know. Maybe Mount Collins"

  Miss Janet put away her camera and bent down to hug Hope goodbye. Mary tucked Faith into her pack. Suddenly, I realized that jackrabbit had reached the other side of the parking lot already. She was about to disappear into the woods. I snapped my pack straps closed, seized my hiking sticks, and sprinted after her. Halfway to the trailhead, I paused for a moment, looking back. Mary was hugging Miss Janet. Paul was helping John adjust his pack. Hope and joy danced around, trying to keep warm, and Joel nodded, grinning, in response to something Yogi had said. I waved; only Faith stuck her mittened hand out of Mary's backpack and waved back.

  "See you. Maybe. Goodbye," I shouted, wondering if anyone would hear nie over the wind. Mary looked up and waved, smiling. I turned away and plunged into the forest, following my sister.

  Isis

  ackrabbit and I paused at the side trail to Mount Collins Shelter to leave messages in the snow for the Family. FFTN, use love you, I wrote, while jackrabbit spelled out their names, one by one, with the tip of her hiking stick. As I wrote, I let my mind wander down the shelter path. We could turn now and find water before the sun set. We could start a fire, cook supper early, and listen for the children's laughter ringing through the twilit woods. We could sing together once more, as the stars came out, and sleep shoulder to shoulder, sharing our warmth. We could say our goodbyes properly, when the time came.

  I looked up from my writing. The sun seemed no lower than it had been when we left Newfound Gap. Partly a trick of perspective, I knew-we had climbed about a thousand feet in the past five miles-but it felt as though we were flying. The trail stretched ahead of us, a bright blank ribbon of snow. On either side of it, the beech and birch trees held their glittering crowns aloft, the thin branches glazed with ice shining like torches in the evening light. We could outrun the sunset, or stop and let it catch us in a high place, then walk all night under the stars. J
ackrabbit was rig{It, I realized. It is time, past tinge, for us to strike out on our own. Even the sharp air, burning the back of my throat, felt cleansing.

  We reached Clingnian's Dome, the highest point on the A.T. at 6,643 feet, just as the sun touched the tips of the evergreen trees on the ridge ahead of us. Dropping our packs, we sprinted for the observation tower. Long beams of amber light pierced the fir forest and caught in the corners of our eyes. Ice coated everything: the ramp, the hand rail, the maps at the top of the tower that were supposed to tell us which mountains we could see. I had left my own map in my backpack, so we looked at a landscape without names: thin scalloped ridges, glowing gold, the skeletons of old fir trees thick with ice rime, the wind blowing curtains of snow or mist like orange scarves across the sun. A round hill rose in front of us, its fir-covered peak vanishing under the orange mist, then reappearing like the shore of some fairy country, shining for a moment through its veils.

  Night fell swiftly as we hiked down from Clingman's Dome. The wind quickened and the stars shone out between the branches. Still, the unbroken snow held its soft gleam long after twilight; we only turned on our headlamps in the last half hour so we wouldn't miss the shelter trail.

  As it turned out, we needn't have worried. Double Spring Gap Shelter sat right beside the A.T., a hulking brown building with a mesh of chain-link across the front. We let ourselves in through the bear gate and set to work, changing into our warm clothes and rolling out our foam pads in the middle of the wide sleeping platform. Jackrabbit gathered up our empty Nalgenes and went looking for the spring trail while I unpacked our food bags. I had just found the couscous, and was still looking for the butter, when the gate creaked, and jackrabbit strode back in, smiling and humming "Wade in the Water" to herself. She set four full bottles down in front of me; in spite of the freezing weather, Double Spring had lived up to the promise of water in its name.

  It surprised me how quickly my body returned to the rhythm of hiking alone. I woke an hour and a half before dawn and brushed my hair in the darkness: a cold silky river washing over my hands, with blue sparks of static snapping at the edge of it. I pinned it in a tight braid around my head, pulled on my hat and gloves, and had water hot for cocoa by the time I woke jackrabbit. We left the shelter before the first streaks of color touched the eastern sky.