The Road to Paradise

by Karen Barnett

  “But I was here to keep you safe. That’s the only reason I came.”

  “What about to irritate Philip?”

  A snorting laugh escaped his lips. “That was just a bonus.”

  She adjusted her position, avoiding the jagged rock pressing into her hip. “Well, we’re not dead yet, so I won’t be hearing any apologies.”

  “It doesn’t do much good to apologize after.” He heaved a sigh and rolled to his side, glancing up at the cave mouth. “I don’t think this storm is going to let up in time.”

  “In time for what?”

  “In time to get off the mountain before sunset. That last push took far longer than it should have. We were less than forty minutes from the summit when the group turned back.”

  “But we walked for hours—or at least it felt that way.”

  “We did. We’re going to stay overnight.”

  “Here?” A wave of nausea gripped Margie. “Alone?”

  He shrugged. “Unless you have another idea.”

  “Will Henrik come looking for us if we don’t return tonight?”

  “No.” He pulled off his knit cap, his brow furrowed into deep grooves. “The group will return to Paradise and wait. It’ll take days to get a party together. I’m afraid we’re on our own.”

  Margie gripped her elbows and rocked in place. A whole night on the mountain. She didn’t want to think how dark it might get—and how cold. The steam from the earth below did seem to warm the enclosed space, but it was no Finnish sauna.

  Ford touched her wrist. “I’m so sorry.”

  She pulled off her glove and gripped his damp fingers. “I still think God brought us up here for a reason, Ford. We just have to find out what it is.”

  “God brought us up here for a reason?” Ford’s throat squeezed. Just when he was starting to think his father and Margie might be right about this heavenly Being, Ford ran smack against why he didn’t trust Him in the first place. He’d thought it might be God whispering to him, but it was just his own foolish desire to impress the woman he loved. Pride goes before a fall, right? Only in this case, the fall came first.

  Their chances of making it off the mountain were shrinking by the hour. The steam cave was a lucky find, but it only solved the most immediate problem. How long could they spend in this hole before the volcanic fumes killed them? Would one or both of them drift off to sleep, never to awaken? They’d end up two more casualties of Rainier—fools lost to the mountain’s whims. Two bodies never to be recovered. At least he didn’t have a son who’d spend years haunted by the father who never returned.

  None of that mattered. What mattered was Margie. She was too important to be reduced to a footnote in the park’s annual report—whoever would write it this time around.

  Ford squeezed her fingers, reveling in the fact that she’d even touch him after the situation he’d dragged her into. “I’ll get you home.” The words almost stuck in his throat; his voice cracked as he spoke.

  Her smile was barely visible in the dark shadows. “I believe you.”

  The shivering vibrating off her arm spurred Ford into action. “You cold?”

  She laughed quietly. “I’m trying to imagine I’m sitting in front of the roaring fire in the Paradise Inn lobby, but it’s not working.”

  “Come here.” He tugged her hand, drawing her closer.

  “Ford—”

  “I don’t want you dying from exposure.” He shifted, scooting closer to her. “We can worry about decorum later. Let’s get you thawed out.”

  She gave in, sliding next to his side and hunkering under his outstretched arm.

  Ford wrapped his elbow around her waist and pulled her closer. “You’re like a block of ice. Do you have dry clothes in your pack?”

  “Yes-s. But I can’t imagine they’ll stay dry very long in here. How are you still warm?”

  “Exertion, probably.” Margie was right about the damp air and the dripping roof turning them both soggy. It would make for an unpleasant night, but that wasn’t the worst part. When—if—they emerged into the outside world, their wet clothes would be a serious hazard. Then again, if she froze now, it wouldn’t matter much. His father always said to take one crisis at a time.

  “Put them on, anyway.” He reached for her pack, opened it, and drew out a dry shirt and long wool socks. “This will be a good start.”

  She struggled to her feet and sighed. “It may be dark in here, but I’d still rather you turn your back.”

  “Of course.” Ford pushed up to his knees and turned away, focusing on his knapsack. He had a tin cup attached to the outside, but it took his clumsy fingers several minutes to untie the knots securing it to the frame. They needed drinking water and soon.

  While Margie changed, he clambered up the steep tunnel. As he packed the cup with snow, Ford glanced out the entrance hole. Blinding mist still blocked any potential view. There was no way of knowing what time it was or how much longer the storm would rage. Hopefully it would die down by morning. If not…One crisis at a time.

  Inching back down the incline, he cringed at every rock that rattled down the slope. “Is it safe to come down?”

  “Yes, I’m just trying to add some layers.”

  Ford slid into the lower cavern, finding enough space to stand hunched over. He’d noticed a couple of hissing fumaroles along the edge of the grotto and made his way over to them. The vents spewed steam into the air, but thankfully none seemed particularly foul smelling. With his gloved hand, he settled the snow-packed tin cup on top of one of the hottest stones. With any luck, they’d be sipping warm water in no time.

  Margie pulled the cardigan over her shoulders, trying to banish the idea that they’d been entombed in ice. How dark would it get when night fell? She shuddered at the thought.

  Ford knelt in a far corner of the cave, his bare hands stretched in front of him like he was sitting in front of a campfire.

  “What are you doing?” Her words echoed through the dank space, her eardrums still not accustomed to the quiet.

  “Come feel this.” He glanced over his shoulder.

  Her legs ached with each step. Hopefully a night of rest would revitalize the muscles enough to descend the mountain. The three hissing fumaroles reminded Margie of a steam kettle. Margie warmed her fingers and then ran them across her damp cheeks. With this much moisture, her skin ought to be luxuriant by morning. “Are you sure it’s not gassing us? I’ve read that volcanoes vent toxic gases like carbon monoxide and hydrogen sulfide.” She covered her mouth and nose. “I wish I’d brought my geology book.”

  “I smell only a small hint of sulfur, and we don’t seem to be having any ill effects.” He glanced up. “Are you?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m just cold and tired.”

  “Then I think we’re safe enough, for now anyway. We can take shifts sleeping, just to be sure.”

  Having Ford along was much more comforting than a book. She sat next to him and extended her fingers toward the warm air.

  Ford slipped on his gloves and reached for a tin cup he’d nestled amongst the rocks. He swirled the steaming liquid around before taking a quick sip. “Perfect.” He handed it to her. “Careful, it’s hot.”

  “Aren’t you resourceful?” She accepted the cup and drew it to her lips.

  “Survival is good incentive. Your survival is even better.”

  Margie swallowed, the heated water as comforting as a cuddly blanket. Someday she and Ford would laugh about their experience, if they managed to remain friends after this. Maybe we’ll tell the story to our grandchildren someday.

  She shouldn’t allow herself to think such things, but the tiring day had weakened the barriers she’d erected around her heart. Why would God push them together if there was no possible future for them? Margie held the cup out to him.

  Ford shook his head. “Finish it. I’ll take the next one.”

  Margie sipped the warm liquid. “Are we on the summit, then?”

  Ford stood, la
ying one hand against the ice curving above their heads. “Technically, we’re under it.”

  “But did we make it to the top?”

  His face was lost in the darkness, but his sigh told her everything she needed to know. “We’re on the south side of the crater. Columbia Crest rises another couple hundred feet on the northwest side.”

  The weight of his proclamation seemed heavier than the layers of ice above their heads. Philip had no idea what he had sent her up into. Her stomach twisted. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this. I know you had no desire to ever climb again.”

  Ford sat down beside her, his eyes barely visible in the dim light. “I thought we said there’d be no apologies.”

  “I know, but if I hadn’t—”

  “I needed to face my own demons regarding this mountain, and I’ve done so. I’m grateful to you for giving me the push I needed.”

  “Being pushy is a strength of mine.”

  His face twisted up into a smile. “One of your many fine qualities, I’m sure.” He took the empty cup from her. “My dad’s accident’s haunted me far too long. I couldn’t let go of the fact that his body was never recovered. I always thought that if I came up here, I’d be forced to face how I’d let him down.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ford’s shoulders pulled forward. “I was supposed to be on that climb. I’d spent the whole summer patrolling the park’s east side with Luke. Dad planned the late-season summit trip as a welcome-home surprise. He didn’t realize I’d made plans with some friends to go camping at Mowich Lake.” Ford’s brow creased, the shadows settling into the lines on his face. “He told me to go ahead. We could climb together another time.”

  Margie bit her lip. The pain in his voice sent an echoing hurt through her as well. She couldn’t imagine never seeing her father again, no matter what he’d done. He’d been so broken by his confession to her. Why hadn’t she spoken forgiveness to him? Because I thought there’d be another chance.

  Ford twisted his neck, looking toward the cave ceiling. “It’s odd, though. Being up here—in here, even—I feel closer to him.”

  Margie’s heart lifted. “Really?”

  “Like he was still waiting to spend that time together.” He laughed softly. “It sounds crazy. I know he’s not here, not really, but…”

  “Maybe that’s what God wanted you to experience out of this adventure.”

  His lips pressed together. “My dad was a believer, like you.”

  “Mrs. Brown told me. She said he used to lead the Sunday meetings in Longmire.”

  “That he did.” Ford’s voice lowered to a husky whisper, focusing on the cup in his lap. “He’d be disappointed to see what I’ve become.”

  Prickles rose on Margie’s arms. “Don’t say that. You’re a fine ranger and a good man. How could your dad be anything but proud?”

  Ford pushed to his feet, his face hidden by the shadows. “I should go refill this. We’re going to need plenty of water to survive the night.”

  Ford spread his bedroll a few feet from Margie’s, the steam vents at his feet. Was it just this morning he’d thought how sweet it would be to wake up to her face again? This certainly hadn’t been how he envisioned it.

  After digging through her knapsack, Margie pulled out packages of crackers. “I assume we should ration these, since there’s always the chance that this could be a longer stay than we intended.”

  “Sounds wise.” The light was fading fast. Ford gestured to the blanket; thankful the shadows hid her face from view. “I hope this doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”

  “We don’t have much choice.” Her voice seemed a higher pitch than earlier.

  They shared a meager meal in silence, and more of the hot water, passing the cup back and forth to share the warmth. This was going to be a long night.

  After they’d finished, he patted a hand on top of her blankets. “Why don’t you take the first sleep shift? I’ll keep watch.”

  “In the dark? What are you going to watch?”

  “I’ll listen, then. Make sure you’re breathing all right.”

  She sighed, curling up in the blanket. “We’ve been here for hours. If the mountain was going to asphyxiate us, I think it would have done so by now. Just go to sleep.”

  Ford pondered her words. He didn’t feel any ill effects from the steam, just exhaustion from the climb. “Makes sense.” He lay down, the blankets doing little to shield his back from the stony ground. A heaviness settled in his stomach. He rolled to his side, trying to make out the lines of her form in the fading light. “Are you warm enough?”

  A long moment passed. “I’m fine.”

  Would she tell him otherwise? Ford closed his eyes, useless in the blackening cave, anyway. The weight of the day’s events pulled at every muscle. Margie’s assertion that Berge was already crouched when Lewis slipped troubled him. Perhaps in the panicked flurry of activity, she misinterpreted what she saw. His faulty shoelace excuse rang hollow. Perhaps Berge sensed Lewis’s poor footing, but then why wouldn’t he say as much? Had it been a stroke of luck—or a devilish trick?

  A huge sigh split the dark. As Margie shifted and wriggled in her blankets, every sound was amplified amongst the dripping echoes.

  Ford squelched the instinct to ask her if she was warm enough—again. She’d hardly uttered a complaint since the start of this disastrous climb, and it seemed unlikely she’d start now. The sound of her teeth chattering melted his resolve faster than snow in the tin cup.

  Reaching out a hand, he fumbled through the darkness until it landed on the damp wool hat covering her soft hair. When she didn’t flinch away, Ford shifted closer.

  Margie’s hand landed in the middle of his chest. “Ford, I’m not sure it’s wise.”

  “You don’t trust me?”

  “I don’t trust myself.”

  His thoughts spun in dizzying circles as he tried to puzzle out the meaning of her statement. “I don’t understand.”

  She rolled away, taking her warmth along with her. “It’s probably best you don’t.”

  The inky blackness had claimed all his senses except for hearing. Had he not been able to sense her breathing, he’d think he was alone in the dripping cave. I will never climb without a lantern again.

  “Ford, can I ask you something?” Margie’s voice sounded in the darkness.

  He lifted himself up on one elbow. “Anything.”

  “Before we left the group, you said you heard God’s voice.”

  Ford held his breath for a moment. “I think I said an ‘inner voice.’ ”

  “Do you think it might have been God?” She rustled around, as if sitting up.

  The gentle tone in her voice sent a rush of warmth through him. He rubbed his chin with damp fingers. Had that quiet voice prodding him along come from heaven? “I…I thought it might have been. But it doesn’t make sense. If God wanted us to continue, why didn’t He protect us?”

  “We’re here, aren’t we?”

  The woman’s reasoning seemed a little shaky. “He could have kept the weather clear for another hour and saved us all this misery.”

  “Maybe you…No, it’s not my place.”

  “What?”

  She waited a long moment before responding. “Maybe you needed to be in a position of weakness before you could submit to His strength. Ford, you are the epitome of the strong, self-reliant man. Why would someone like you even need a heavenly Father?”

  Her pointed words cut him to the bone. “What I needed was my earthly one.”

  “Of course. I’m sorry.” A few more rustles came from her vicinity. “Do you ever sense God’s presence here in this wilderness?”

  Ford swallowed. God’s presence. Is that what he’d been feeling? “Sometimes, yes.” His feet were growing uncomfortably warm. Ford sat up and shifted around to move the rest of his body closer to the warmth. By the end of the night, he’d be like a chicken on a spit.

  “There’s a psalm that says, ‘When
I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained; what is man, that thou art mindful of him? And the son of man, that thou visitest him?’ ”

  “So, what am I? To God, that is.”

  “A precious child. One He loves enough to send His own Son to die for.”

  The cavern fell silent. Ford listened to her even breathing until it seemed to deepen into sleep. He rolled to his other side. She was right. The mountain hadn’t killed them yet. Why should it do so now?

  Perhaps because his father hadn’t been as lucky.

  Ford pressed his hand against the bridge of his nose, a well of emotion seeping through his system, like the steam slowly melting the solid ice around them. His father’s face filled Ford’s mind. Smiling, laughing, eyes twinkling—no matter how frustrating a day he’d endured, Dad had a light that spilled from within. Sort of like Margie. And the Browns. And everyone else Ford knew who followed Christ. Could he experience that level of joy?

  A hollow opened in Ford’s chest. He hadn’t been able to protect his father. He’d failed to protect Margie. He couldn’t even save himself. Finding this steam cave was nothing but a lucky accident. They should have been lost forever, wandering in the storm.

  Get us off this mountain, God. Get her off at least. Then we can talk.

  Margie stirred, her neck stiff from being propped on her knapsack. How long had it been? The darkness pressed in, like a smothering blanket. Eventually the sun would have to rise. The earth would warm. They’d trek down the mountain to face Philip and all his cronies. She may not have made the highest point of the summit, but sleeping in the crater—that should earn her a delay at least. She couldn’t permit a steam shovel to tear through her meadow, even if she had to throw herself in front of the hideous machine. Did Philip have any idea how hard those precious little plants worked to establish themselves?

  Philip should know something about harsh environments. As a child, Margie had followed him home once. She’d never forget the forlorn shack next to the railroad tracks, gaping holes in the wooden shingles. It had burned down a few years ago, while Philip was away at school. No one seemed to miss it.