The Way of Women (11 page)

An owl screeched in flight. Some small animal skittered across the ground by the head of the tent. David drew in a deep breath and, with its release, let the worries float out into the night air to meld with the perfume of a mountain spring night. Fir branches rubbed and scraped in the breeze above. The creek gossiped with the rocks. He slept.

By Saturday noon, they reached timberline. Every viewpoint revealed The Lady in distress. The newly created crater at the north summit belched steam fumaroles into the fleeing clouds. The snowpack cried muddy
creeks. Cinder-gray ash weighted fir bows like dirty snow. To the north, Spirit Lake shimmered beneath the intermittent sun, its deep blue a reflection bowl for the struggling peak.

David and Brian shrugged out of their packs and grabbed a bag of trail mix. They climbed to the top of a granite point. Far below them a miniature Mount St. Helens Lodge bounded the edge of the lake.

David opened his camera case and focused on the scene below.
Harry Truman’s Lodge
, he thought, remembering back to a time when Coke glasses were filled with Harry’s special brew and imbibed in front of a roaring fire. Harry thought he owned the mountain. “Wonder how Harry’s doing?” He adjusted the f-stops on the camera body.

“That song about him sure hit the top fast.”

“The old reprobate.”

“Dad! I thought you liked him.”

“Sure I do. He’s a genuine character. But if the mountain really does blow like they’re predicting, he’ll get himself killed, and someone else will die looking for him.”

For a second Brian forgot to chew. “How?”

“Well, if the mountain really does erupt …” David turned the wide-angle lens toward the peak. After a long pause, without pressing the shutter, he put his gear away.

“Dad?”

“Uh-huh?” David slumped, eyes closed. “I don’t want to remember her this way. Next time we come, she’ll be herself again.”

After shouldering their packs, Brian asked. “You want to go higher?”

“No. I had thought about looking in the crater, but let’s leave well enough alone. You want to head on down to the Lodge?” The thought of a shot of Harry’s special stock bit a desire into his throat.

“Na. The lake’s too cold for swimming yet.” Brian glanced at the man beside him. “You want to?”

David thought a moment. “No. Let’s head back for camp. See if there are any trout in that stream. I know you packed plenty of food, but creek-fresh trout tonight or in the morning sure sounds good to me.”

After supper at the campfire, as Brian roasted marshmallows on a willow stick, David thought of home.
I wish Katheryn were here. She’d help me sort through this muddle. Why can I talk about great writers and thinkers, even grammar, for hours, but can never explain or describe this heaviness that settles near me?

“Dad, you want one?” Brian held out a marshmallow, light brown on all sides and mushy in the middle, just the way his father liked them.

“Perfect, thank you.”

“Another?”

“No thanks.” The marshmallow being turned burst into flame. “At least not that one.”

Brian blew it out. “I know, that’s for me.” He pulled off the crispy coat, ate it, and held the gooey center over the coals. “I love you, Dad.” His whisper danced with the sparks against the black of the night.

Sleep that night came quickly. David’s last thought as he shifted his aching legs away from a root stabbing him was one of gratitude. Tomorrow would be a new day. And maybe a granddaddy trout lurked in the shaded hole just beyond the knobby knees of that giant cedar.

C
leaning failed to keep her mind occupied.

Katheryn threw her cloth in the sink, wrenched the rubber gloves from her hands, and tossed the slippery things into the sink after the cloth.
I’ve had it—give it up, dope
, she dumped her thoughts after them.

No matter how hard she worked, she couldn’t keep her mind away from the mountain—and her two men. David had been so down lately, and there seemed no way to get him to open up and talk about it.

Maybe he didn’t want to figure out what was bothering him. Why was this time any different than the other years, other than deeper depression, or so it seemed?

And you let Brian go up with him, in spite of your doubts and fears
. That was the part that rubbed raw right now. If David needed to go, so be it, but to put Brian in harm’s way …

And you let him
. The voice refused to shut up.

“How could I do that?”

How could you not?
The calmer, more rational side of her brain kicked
in. All these years she’d lived by the creed that David was the head of the household, and therefore he had the final say on things. If they disagreed and were not able to come to an agreement, she believed he should lead. That’s what Scripture said. That’s what she’d heard preached.

But now!

I’m worrying needlessly. And I know that worry is a sin, an elevator going down and taking me with it
. She drew in a deep breath. “Father, forgive my worrying. Please free me now so I can … can what? Thank you for knowing me better than I know myself, and please keep those men of mine safe up there. Let them have a wonderful weekend and come home refreshed with wild stories of their adventures. Thanks for listening. And loving us all.”

She wandered around the now sparkling house. All the windows were divested of their spotted winter look, and the rich cherry wood dining room set sent burnished reflections back to the cheery sun now able to penetrate the windows. She stopped at the French doors from the family room to the deck. Two tubs of Red Emperor tulips nodded in the slight breeze. The daffodils needed to be replaced, she saw. Their yellow trumpets had gone to seed heads. The air tasted like spring with freshly turned earth, hyacinths, sprouting grass, and budding leaves all blended into one heady fragrance as she bent to snap off the seed pods.
Perhaps snapdragons would be a showy change
, she thought, pulling out a couple of weeds at the same time.

Back in the kitchen, she turned on the teapot. She hadn’t felt much like eating, but the clock on the stove reminded her that lunchtime had come and gone. When the cranberry herb tea and peanut butter toast were ready, she took them into her office.

You have absolutely no more excuses
, she scolded herself. The house was
immaculate, the errands run, the ingredients on hand for the chocolate-chip cookies she would bake for her returning campers, and her weekly letter sealed and stamped for her mother. She finished her lunch, brushed auburn strands of hair back from her face, and drew the disk for her third young adult novel from its protective sleeve. She slipped it into the computer, brought up chapter four, and immersed herself in the peccadilloes of thirteen-year-old Brandy Evans. Three hours later she was still tapping away at the keyboard.

Dusk shrouded the yard when she stretched her arms above her head. She massaged the muscles in the back of her neck and looked around the room, amazed that tortoise-time had escalated to hare. On her way to the kitchen for a refill on the tea, she thought of her campers, most likely cooking dinner at their campfire.
I can’t believe it
. Eight already. She switched on the burner. David and Brian were most likely already in the sack. The thought of her husband’s sore muscles made her conscious of her own.

A gentle “woof” at the door reminded her that Lucky wanted in. In fact, the German short-hair Lab had probably been begging for admittance for who knew how long. “I’m sorry, Lucky. I lost track of time.”
And everything else
. She gave the liver-red dog an extra pat to make up for the lack of attention. Lucky sat and offered one paw, as if she were the one who had been remiss. Katheryn knelt down, shook the proffered paw, and rubbed the dog’s broad head. Her strong fingers found Lucky’s favorite place behind her soft ears and stroked. The dog’s eyes closed in ecstasy.

Katheryn smiled. “Ah, if only it were this easy to keep everyone as happy.” She rose from her kneeling position, her right knee cracking in the process. “Age. Don’t ever get old, you hear.”

She poured the hot water over the tea bag in her ceramic mug and,
while it steeped, explored the contents of the fridge, the freezer, and finally the cupboard. “Those two guys of ours probably had fresh trout for dinner,” she carried on her conversation with the dog. “Want some cheese?” Lucky answered with a bark. “Dumb question. You always want some of anything.”

After slicing the farmer cheese and arranging it with crackers on a small plate, she took mug and plate into the family room and set them on the coffee table. Lucky wiggled in between the sofa and the table, both eyes fixed on the food. Katheryn tucked her long, denim-clad legs under her as she curled in the corner of the sofa after turning on the television. Lucky glanced from food to face and back.

“I get the hint.” Katheryn laughed as she tossed a bit of cheese in the air. Lucky caught it with only a slight clicking of her jaws. The ritual continued until the meal had disappeared. Katheryn smiled when the dog leaned into her knees. “You’re good company, you know that?” Lucky sighed and closed her eyes.

The ringing phone made her heart leap. Perhaps they were on their way home and calling to tell her to get some dinner ready.

“Hello.”

“Hi, Katheryn, this is Ann Wholly.”

They chatted for a couple of minutes, all the while Katheryn wondering at the purpose. While they could be called acquaintances, since both of their husbands had tenure at the university, she’d not label the woman a friend. However, Ann always knew the inside scoop on faculty business.

“I’m sure you are wondering why I’m calling …”

Actually, a lot. Most likely you have some pet project you are hoping to get me to volunteer to help on
. “It’s nice to hear from you.”

“Yes, well, I think I’ve heard something really interesting, something you and David might really like.”

Spare me the suspense
. “Yes?”

“Rumor has it that Williamson turned down the position.”

“You’re kidding.” Williamson was the one who got the appointment over David. Katheryn’s heart skipped a beat.

“Not in the least. Same rumor said they will now offer it to David, who should have had it in the first place. You’d better not say anything—ah, that’s silly of me. I’d tell my husband in a heartbeat. I’m betting David will get the call on Monday.”

Katheryn couldn’t stop smiling, not that she wanted to.
David, if only I could reach you. This should blow that gray cloud away for certain
. “Thanks, Ann. I cannot tell you how pleased I am. Thank you for calling.”

“You are most welcome. Let’s get together for lunch when this is all over.”

“Yes, of course. Have a great evening.” Katheryn hung up the phone and leaned her forehead against the coolness of the wall. “Thank you, Lord. What a homecoming this will be.”

Katheryn sank down in David’s recliner, but rather than paying attention to the sitcom on the television, she pictured David’s joy when she’d tell him. She patted Lucky, who leaned against her knee, and when she’d calmed down, her mind wandered back to the plot of the book she’d been working on. Brandy, a spunky young girl, trying to adjust to junior high, was in trouble again. This time with her mother. Katheryn was loosely patterning the girl on Susan, the Sommers’ oldest daughter. Except Brandy’s stunts were funnier, and Katheryn wasn’t
her
mother.

When nothing about Mount St. Helens appeared on the late news, Katheryn breathed a sigh of relief and snapped off the set. She stretched,
hands clasped way above her head, and gently turned from side to side. She thought again of how sore David must be. “Sure wish they’d come home tonight.” She let Lucky out for a last run, put the dishes in the dishwasher, readmitted the dog, and headed for bed. Maybe she’d get another twenty pages in tomorrow. May 18. Maybe she should invite their older children for dinner tomorrow night. It would be a nice homecoming and a great way to celebrate the good news.
I’ll call them in the morning
, she promised herself just before dropping off to sleep.