Seaside Blessings

by Irene Hannon

  “No. Is it a place?”

  “A very magical place that appears out of the mist once every hundred years.”

  As Kristen relayed the tale of the enchanted Scottish town to her enthralled daughter, she tried to quell her growing unease. The fog was continuing to thicken, billowing down from the treetops that had disappeared soon after she’d begun her story. Visibility on the path was decreasing with frightening speed. By the time she wrapped up her narrative, it was down to less than fifteen feet.

  “That’s a cool story, Aunt Kristen. Do you know any more?”

  “Sure. I know lots of stories like that. And I have some real-life stories, too, about when I was growing up on the farm. My brother and I had some great adventures.”

  “Will you tell me some of those, too? I’d like to hear—”

  Beatrice stumbled over a root, and Kristen grabbed her before she fell.

  Only then did the thick fog register with her daughter.

  “Wow!” The word came out hushed, awed—and scared. “I can hardly see the trail. Are we going to be able to find our way back?”

  “Of course.” Kristen drew her close, and for once Beatrice didn’t resist. “We’ll just walk faster and pay extra attention to the edges of the path so we don’t wander off.”

  But a few minutes later, Kristen had to admit defeat. Despite her diligence, they’d somehow parted company with the trail.

  Stopping beside a giant fern, she fought down a wave of panic.

  “What’s wrong, Aunt Kristen?”

  “You know, it’s getting kind of hard to see, and I don’t want to get lost. I think it might be better if we find a spot to sit and wait for the fog to lift.”

  “Will it do that before dark?”

  Morning fog doesn’t usually linger past nine. Afternoon fog...that’s a different story. It can last all night.

  As Genevieve’s comment from her first visit replayed in her memory, her panic surged again. Because in the short time she’d been in Starfish Bay, she’d seen plenty of evidence to support the woman’s statement.

  They could end up being here all night.

  With the mountain lions.

  Her heart began to pound.

  “Aunt Kristen?” Beatrice plucked at the sleeve of her slicker. “How long will the fog last?”

  It took a second for her daughter’s frightened query to register.

  “I don’t know, honey, but we have food and water and everything we need until the sun comes out again. We’ll just have to find somewhere dry to wait.”

  “Like a big hollowed-out tree trunk?”

  “That would work.”

  “I bet there’s one close by.”

  She hoped so. Beautiful as the forest was with the sun streaming through the treetops, it was downright spooky—and disorienting—in the fog. Any sort of shelter would be welcome.

  “Let me get my flashlight and we’ll check a few trees.” Kristen slipped off her daypack, unzipped it and rummaged around for the flashlight. Once she had it in hand, she clicked it on, slung the pack over one shoulder and reached for her daughter’s hand.

  Beatrice didn’t need to be coaxed. She tucked her fingers into Kristen’s and stuck as close as possible.

  The flashlight was of marginal use in the fog, but it did come in handy when the third tree they investigated yielded a small hollowed-out area at the base. It wasn’t as roomy as some of the ones Clint had shown the children on the junior rangers hike, but sufficient to accommodate the two of them.

  “This should work, don’t you think?” Kristen flashed the light around the interior. The ground was dry, and she didn’t see lurking spiders or other creepy-crawly creatures.

  “I guess so.” Her tone dubious, Beatrice peered into the space, still clinging to her hand.

  “Before we go inside, let me check my cell phone just in case I have a signal.” She pulled it out and flipped it open.

  Clint had been right.

  No signal.

  “Does it work?” Beatrice watched her with wide eyes.

  “No, but that’s okay. We’ll be fine.” She tucked it back in her pocket. If she thought any other hikers might be close by, she’d call out. Strength in numbers and all that. But theirs had been the only car at the trailhead. “Should I go in first?”

  The little girl nodded and continued to cling to her hand.

  Ducking down, Kristen stepped into the tree. Once inside, she could stand. Barely.

  Beatrice followed.

  “Let’s sit over there.” Kristen indicated the most protected spot.

  After they settled in, she opened her daypack and took inventory. First-aid kit, compass, matches, digital camera, binoculars, two bottles of water and assorted snacks.

  Most of the items were useless—and she hoped she wouldn’t need the first-aid kit.

  As for the snacks...before long Beatrice might be sufficiently hungry to eat the yucky granola bar. If she stayed calm, it wouldn’t take long for her appetite to kick in.

  “Okay.” Kristen propped her back against the inside of the trunk and pulled Beatrice close beside her. “We’re all set. Would you like a drink of water?”

  “No.”

  “Then how about another story? I could tell you about the time my brother and I tried to teach one of our dogs how to fly.”

  Beatrice wiggled around so she could look up at her in the dim light. “Dogs can’t fly.”

  Kristen smiled and brushed the wispy blond hair back from her daughter’s forehead. “That’s true. But we thought if we made him a pair of wings, maybe he could learn.”

  “Did it work?”

  “No. And he was not an enthusiastic student.”

  Kristen launched into the tale, playing up the funny parts, doing her best to keep her daughter entertained. She even elicited a few giggles. And she managed to coax Beatrice to try the granola bar and drink some water.

  As for her own appetite, it was nonexistent. She was too busy praying that no stray mountain lion in search of his own dinner would happen upon them.

  It was going to be a very long night.

  * * *

  “You better make a fast exit unless you’re planning to sleep here.”

  At his boss’s remark, Clint checked out the fog rolling past the window of the visitor center and grabbed his jacket. “No, thanks. I’ve sacked out here on a few occasions and the accommodations stink.”

  The man sniggered. “No argument from me. Been there, done that. You want to take the parkway when you leave instead of 101? You could check the trailheads while I shut things down here.”

  “Sure.”

  “Let’s hope any hikers had the good sense to get out fast when this started to roll in. Otherwise, they’d better be prepared to wait it out.”

  Clint shoved his arms into his jacket and grabbed his hat, still eyeing the fog. “Yeah. We could be socked in all night.”

  “No kidding. Drive safe.”

  With a wave of acknowledgment, Clint exited the center. The fog continued to move in thick and fast as he crossed the lot toward his truck, the gray mist swirling through the deserted parking lot and obscuring the field where the elk liked to gather. At this rate, driving back to Starfish Bay was going to be dicey. That last winding stretch of coastal road leading into town was a bear to drive in bad weather.

  Once behind the wheel, Clint tossed his hat onto the passenger seat, started the engine, turned on his fog lights and drove toward the parkway. The faster he got home, the better.

  Unfortunately, fast was not an option. Visibility continued to deteriorate at an alarming clip, making it more and more difficult to spot the trailheads or any cars parked beside them. He reduced his speed to a crawl, using his odometer to help him gauge the locati
on of the trails.

  So far, the park appeared to be deserted. For once, hikers must have heeded the warning signs of the encroaching fog and...

  He slowed, scrutinizing the roadside parking area by the Brown Creek Trail.

  Was that a car?

  Guiding the truck to the right, he edged closer.

  It was a car.

  Expelling a sigh, he set the brake and pulled out his radio. His boss picked up as he walked toward the vehicle, and he gave him the bad news. “I’ve got a car at Brown Creek.”

  The man said a word that wasn’t pretty. “Any sign of the occupants?”

  “I’m checking.” Clint squinted at the car as he drew close—and sucked in a sharp breath as the make registered. It was a silver Accord.

  The kind of car Kristen drove.

  He was tempted to repeat the word his boss had used.

  “Find anything?” His boss’s voice crackled over the radio.

  He flashed his light in the windows. Empty—except for a tattered Raggedy Ann doll in the backseat that confirmed his suspicion.

  It was Kristen’s car.

  Meaning she and Beatrice were somewhere on the trail.

  He hoped.

  In fog like this, it was easy to become disoriented, wander off, get lost—and get hurt.

  His pulse kicked up a notch.

  “Clint?”

  He swallowed past his fear. “It’s empty. But I recognize it. It belongs to my neighbor. She must have gone hiking with her daughter.”

  “Not good.” The man’s tone was grim. “Let me round up some people to help with the search. I just got a report of a mountain lion sighting from some hikers who were on that trail earlier today. Odds are it was a bobcat, but you never know.”

  Clint’s heart stuttered.

  Reminding himself that the threat of a mountain lion attack was statistically very small, he reined in his panic and strode back to his truck. “In the meantime, I’ll start a circuit.”

  “Okay. Stay in touch by radio.”

  “Will do.” He exchanged his regular flashlight for one better equipped to cut through fog and grabbed his backpack—praying he wouldn’t need the emergency supplies inside.

  After sliding the radio back on his belt, he set off down the trail. Every fifteen seconds, he called Kristen’s name.

  But as he wound deeper and deeper into the forest, the only response was the hollow, foreboding echo of his voice.

  * * *

  What time was it?

  In the shadowy confines of the tree trunk, Kristen had no idea. And she didn’t want to flip on the flashlight to find out. It might wake Beatrice, who was cuddled against her, sound asleep, her stomach full with both of the granola bars plus the baggie of trail mix.

  At least one of them was relaxed.

  But who knew the quiet daytime forest could be so full of sounds at dusk? Every breaking twig, every rustling branch, sent her pulse skyrocketing.

  On top of everything else, the temperature was diving.

  Even as she stifled a shiver, Beatrice stirred and spoke in a sleepy voice. “I’m cold, Aunt Kristen.”

  “We can fix that.” Easing away from her daughter, she unzipped her slicker and shrugged out of it. Then she turned on the flashlight and helped Beatrice into it, checking out the fog as she folded back the sleeves to accommodate her daughter’s shorter arms. If anything, it was thicker than ever.

  “But this is your coat.”

  Despite Beatrice’s protest, she zipped up the jacket, suppressing another shiver as she spoke. “I’m not cold. And we’ll stay real close together. That will help keep us warm. Why don’t you climb onto my lap?”

  Beatrice complied, snuggling close, and Kristen wrapped her arms around the little girl, savoring this one bright spot in their ill-fated hike. Her back might be cold against the tree trunk, but with her daughter resting against it, her heart was warm.

  “Maybe Clint will find us.” Beatrice yawned.

  It was a nice but futile wish. He wouldn’t even know they were missing until he stopped by for cookies and conversation later—and he’d have no idea where they’d gone.

  But there was no reason to dash her daughter’s hopes.

  “You never know. In the meantime, we’ll stay snuggled up inside this tree. Won’t this be a great adventure to tell Rose about next week?”

  “I guess. But you know what? It’s more fun to read about adventures in books than to be in a real one.”

  Kristen leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

  No kidding.

  As the minutes ticked by and Beatrice’s warmth seeped into her, she, too, began to relax and think about other things. Like the precious gift in her arms. The blessing of her rekindling faith. And the special man who was fast winning her heart.

  Funny. As she’d begun to make her peace with God over the past few weeks, she’d experienced two emotions long absent from her life: gratitude, and hope for a brighter tomorrow than she’d ever let herself dream of since the day she’d signed away her rights as a mother.

  A smile playing on her lips, Kristen exhaled long and slow and let herself drift into a dream starring Clint that offered a welcome escape from both the chilly air and her anxiety.

  How much time passed, she had no idea. But a sudden, cold prick on her forehead pulled her abruptly back to reality.

  She lifted her hand and felt her temple. It was wet.

  Apparently their snug, hollowed-out tree wasn’t so snug after all.

  As she flexed her foot to try to restore the circulation cut off by her daughter’s weight, she peeked through the opening in the tree trunk. Was it her imagination, or had the fog thinned? And was it a bit brighter out, too?

  She checked her watch. Seven-thirty. This time of year, they’d have enough daylight left to make it back to the trailhead before dark—assuming they could find their way back to the trail and the fog didn’t thicken again.

  Both were optimistic assumptions.

  But what if they stayed here overnight and the fog was no better—or worse—in the morning?

  Besides, she agreed with Beatrice. Adventures were better in books. The thought of spending the night in a tree, surrounded by wild creatures, held no appeal.

  Easing away from her daughter, she crawled over to the opening, exited and stood, holding on to the tree for support while the feeling returned to her leg. No question about it. The fog situation had improved. Visibility was now at least ten feet. That was far enough to keep them on the trail...if they could find it.

  “Are we leaving, Aunt Kristen?” Beside her, Beatrice poked her head out of the tree.

  “I think we might want to give it a try. We can always come back to this tree if we have any trouble finding the trail.” She scanned the terrain. “But I don’t think we’re far from it. Why don’t you—”

  Fear snatched the words from her mouth.

  What had caused that darting shadow at the edge of her visibility?

  “Kristen, honey...hand me the flashlight. And get back inside.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Just hand me the flashlight, okay?”

  Kristen kept her gaze fixed on the spot where she’d seen the shadow, waiting for her daughter to find the flashlight. Once it was in her hand, she clicked it on. Swung it in a slow arc.

  And felt the scream rising in her throat as the light hit a pair of yellowish-green eyes that were staring directly at her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Clint lifted the bottle of water to his lips and took a long swig to lubricate his parched throat. He’d been calling Kristen’s name every fifteen seconds for the past twenty minutes, with no response. Had they taken the South Fork spur instead of staying on the Brown Creek Tra
il? He’d assumed they’d stick to familiar territory, but...

  A woman’s scream ripped through the air.

  Kristen!

  He sucked in a breath, choking on the water he’d just swallowed. Gasping, he tossed the bottle aside and took off in the direction of the cry, struggling to breathe.

  A child’s terrified cry pierced the stillness, vaulting his pulse into overdrive. He veered off the trail toward the sound, crashing through the giant ferns as he opened his mouth to call out.

  But Kristen spoke first, yelling so loud there was no chance she’d hear him.

  “Stay away, do you hear me? Don’t even think about coming closer! Go away! Get out of here! See this stick? If you come any closer, I’m going to take a swing!”

  As she continued her loud tirade, he emerged from the fog into a pocket of clear air and sized up the ominous scene in one swift, comprehensive glance.

  Twenty feet away, Kristen was standing in front of the hollowed-out base of a redwood. She was gripping a five-foot-long branch with both hands, holding it high as she waved it back and forth.

  Crouched less than fifteen feet in front of her was a mountain lion, its stare fixed on her. And it was slowly creeping forward.

  The lion was in attack mode.

  Kristen was doing all the right things. Shouting, trying to look as tall as she could, maintaining eye contact. She’d obviously read the material he’d given her that first day.

  But it wasn’t going to work.

  The lion was intent on taking down its prey.

  Any second, in one short, sudden burst of speed it was going to spring toward Kristen’s neck.

  As Clint pulled his Sig Sauer from its holster and raised his arm, locking it straight out while steadying the gun with his other hand, the lion made its move.

  Bunching its haunches, it leaped, front paws extended.

  Without hesitation, he aimed and pulled the trigger.

  As the shot echoed through the fog, Kristen screamed and swung at the leaping lion. The branch connected with the flailing animal, but the weight of its limp, falling body threw her off balance. She went down inches from the motionless animal.