The Road to Paradise Read online

  “We’ve less than a thousand vertical feet to go.” Ford pulled his wool cap lower over his ears. “But conditions are worsening. We may have to turn back.”

  “What?” A high-pitched whine sounded in her ears. Was it her blood pressure or the wind? “We’re so close. This can’t all be for nothing.”

  “Not yet, but if things don’t improve…” Ford’s voice trailed off.

  “I thought you and Henrik were concerned about temperatures being too warm. This is better, right?”

  His eyes, hidden behind the dark glasses, revealed nothing, but his silence did little to conceal the truth.

  No, no, no. She’d struggled up miles of icy slopes, nearly lost her mind balancing over deep crevasses, and pushed herself beyond the point of exhaustion just to return empty-handed? We have to summit, Lord. You wouldn’t bring us this far for nothing.

  They had rotated positions on the line and now she stared at Ford’s backside as he broke the trail up the steep slope. His shoulders hunched under his pack, he trudged forward, head down.

  She choked down her misgivings. Ford wouldn’t abandon the climb without good reason. Exhaustion tugged at her every muscle. How could she face Philip? His steam shovel waited to shred its way through the subalpine meadow, clearing the ground for hotels, dance halls, ski pulls, and the hideous gondola cables. The thought sickened her, sending fresh energy to her legs.

  Ford and Henrik might argue, but she was going forward. They wouldn’t forcibly carry her down the mountain. They wouldn’t dare.

  The line tugged at her waist. She glanced back to see Lewis, the fourth man in their party, lagging far behind, Henrik just above him. Were they talking? Probably discussing their decision. Maybe she should stop and let them catch up. She had the right to make her argument. She ground her staff into the ice and swiveled to face them.

  At that moment, Henrik dropped to one knee on the ice, driving his ax into the snow. Lewis slipped and then began cascading downhill at a rapid clip.

  Margie gripped the alpenstock. “Ford! He’s falling!”

  Lewis’s momentum dragged Henrik a couple of body lengths. The guide forced his ax into the snow a second time, digging in with the toes of his hobnail boots.

  The line jerked her off-balance, and she shrieked as her back crashed against the ice. Landing with one arm hooked around the steady pole, Margie shut her eyes, expecting to be pulled down the mountain at any second.

  The moment never came. Opening her eyes, she stared down at the two men, both secured against the slope.

  “I got it,” Henrik hollered. “Lewis, you all right?”

  The man below responded, but the wind whipped his words away before Margie could decipher them.

  “Margie?” Ford called, his voice higher pitched than she’d ever heard.

  “I’m fine.” She kept her arm clamped on the stick, but forced herself up to a seated position so she could see what was going on below.

  Lewis, gripping the line with both hands, sat up on his knees. He appeared to be unhurt.

  Sounds from above made Margie turn and look up.

  Ford was lowering himself along the rope. He stopped beside her and gripped her elbow. “I’m going to go check on the other two. Wait here. Are you secure?”

  She nodded, hugging the staff with all her might. Suddenly the idea of returning early didn’t seem so objectionable. “I don’t know what happened. Henrik knelt down before Lewis fell. Did he know something was going to happen?”

  “It’s hard to say. Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”

  She glanced up to where Ford had been when the incident began. “What are you hooked to?”

  “I set a picket stake and tied into it. Drink some water while we’re stopped.” Ford continued on down the slope, leaving Margie shivering.

  Water sounded heavenly. So did a warm bed, a roaring fire, and a hot cup of coffee. Without lessening her grip, she unscrewed the canteen’s cap. The water was slushy with ice, but she managed to swallow a couple of mouthfuls, the basic action distracting her from the panic clawing at her stomach. What if Henrik hadn’t halted the slide? Would she have had the strength to hang on? Would Ford have been able to catch them? The thought sent a wave of dizziness through her system.

  She gazed out over the view below. A layer of puffy clouds had blown into the lowlands making the peak look like a snowy island floating in the sky. With mist obscuring the crest above, she felt alone in a world of ice and rock. Margie laid her head against the pole as the buffeting wind seeped through her clothes and stiffened her muscles. Margie closed her eyes. They could continue up or head home. She no longer cared.

  Ford dug his heel into the ice with each step. The last thing he wanted to do was destabilize the group a second time.

  He hadn’t witnessed the fall, but Margie’s scream had frozen him in place. God, protect her. The knee-jerk prayer sneaked past his lips before his training kicked in. Thrusting the ax into the ice, Ford anchored himself, waiting for the line to tighten and drag them all to their deaths. Could he hold four climbers? Doubtful. But knowing Margie was one of them—he’d fight every inch of the way.

  Now as he made his way down to Henrik, a hollow ache grew in his stomach. Conditions were worsening, temperatures plunging, and Lewis appeared to have lost his alpenstock in the fall. Ford scanned the area below but could see no sign of the missing pole. Climbing without one—particularly in this wind—would be disastrous.

  Further risking Margie’s life was out of the question. They might not have a future together, but he had to know she had a future of some sort. He’d never loved anyone the way he loved this poetry-spouting, plant-obsessed woman, and he’d do anything to get her off this mountain in one piece. Philip Carmichael could have Paradise—every bug, spider, and rock of it. All Ford wanted was Margie. And if he couldn’t have her, at least he could rest easy knowing she was safe.

  Lewis and Berge huddled, voices raised above the blowing snow.

  Ford plunged down the last few steps to join them, ducking his head against the wind. “What happened?”

  Berge scowled. “The end of this climb, that is certain. We need to turn back. No one’s summiting today. All of the other teams have started back down.”

  “I agree, but Margie will be devastated. We were so close.”

  The guide scratched at the tip of his nose, reddened by the wind. “No help for it. It’ll be a challenge getting Lewis down the mountain without another fall.”

  The stout man frowned, averting his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “It happens to the best of us.” Ford caught the man’s shoulder with his gloved hand. Turning to Berge, he gestured toward Margie. “Margie says you crouched before Lewis slipped. What was that about?”

  Berge jerked his head around to face him. “Nei, I”—he paused, quickly glancing at the other climber—“I was…fixing my bootlace.”

  A prickle raced down the back of Ford’s neck. Henrik Berge, the man who taught every other guide how to fasten knots, had failed to secure his own laces? “You probably saved us all.”

  Berge averted his eyes. “Timing is everything.” He cleared his throat. “We should be going. Should I retrieve Miss Lane?”

  “I’ll do it. I need to take out that pin anyway.” Ford stretched, the cold settling into his joints. Margie must be half-frozen. Pushing up the slope, he retraced his steps and arrived at her side in a few moments.

  Margie’s head rested against her forearms. She didn’t even bother to look up as he approached.

  “I’ve got bad news.” He shuffled the last few steps. When she didn’t respond, he grabbed onto her shoulder and gave it a shake. “Margie?”

  She stirred. “Yes?”

  He dropped to one knee. “You can’t go to sleep up here. It’s too cold.”

  “Mmm.” She rested her head against the staff.

  “No, you don’t.” He grasped her wrist and stood, hoisting her up to her feet in the process. “Come on, it’s time to
go home.”

  “Wha—no!” She shook off his grip, lost her balance, and landed on her backside.

  He helped her up, his arm supporting her weight. “There’s no longer any option, Margie. That storm is moving toward us, and we’ve got to get Lewis safely to base camp. He can’t return on his own.”

  Margie ducked her head. “Of course. I don’t mean to be selfish.” She glanced up toward the crest as the mist parted a fraction, a sliver of the snowy dome gleaming in the afternoon light. “We’re just so close.”

  His heart sagged. They were close. Another hour and they’d have been standing at the top of the world. Most of the difficult climbing was done. Now it was just up and into the crater, then across to Register Rock and Columbia Crest. “I know; it’s frustrating.” He turned and gazed at the two men waiting below, replaying the fall in his mind. Carmichael’s words floated through his thoughts: “I paid for the guide myself.” The man wouldn’t actually endanger Margie over a silly wager. Would he? The memory of the fire still haunted Ford. He had no proof Carmichael was behind that, either.

  The pressure of Margie’s body leaning against him pushed Ford out of his dark thoughts. The fall might have been an accident, or it could have been staged. Did he dare to place their lives in Berge’s hands on the descent?

  What if they went on alone? Could they outrun the storm? Ford jostled Margie’s shoulder. “Are you still awake?”

  “I’m just using you to block the wind.” Her voice sounder lighter and more coherent than before. “Why are we just standing here?”

  “I’m thinking.” He glanced up at the dome, the exposed stretch growing clearer by the moment. Perhaps this was the window they needed. “Do you trust me?”

  She placed her palm on his chest. “With all my heart.”

  That sealed it. It might be the most foolish decision of his life, but something in his gut said it was right. Margie would probably say it was that prayer he’d uttered earlier. Maybe so. “Let’s go on up. You and me.”

  She yanked off the dark glasses. “Can we do that? Is it safe?”

  Could God really be leading him now? “It’s not safe. It’s probably a mistake. But something is telling me to go ahead.”

  “Something?”

  “I don’t know—an inner voice, maybe.”

  Her lips curved just enough to appear over the edge of her scarf. “He’s been whispering the same to me. I was just afraid it was my own selfish desires.”

  His heart hammered against his ribs. Margie had changed him; there was no denying it. Did God actually answer prayers? Ford grabbed her hands and pressed them between his own. “You need to understand: this is beyond foolish. There’s a chance—a good chance—we could both die up here.”

  Margie’s brown eyes shone. “I understand. I trust you.”

  Her confidence drove a sweet ache through his chest. God, if You’re real—help me do the right thing. I don’t want to risk her life. “We’ll have to push quickly to beat the storm.”

  She slid her arms around his waist. “We can do it. Ford, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

  Margie followed Ford step for step up the glacier, forcing a deep breath with each placement of her foot. Henrik’s staunch disapproval had not sown any seeds of doubt in either of them, but Margie’s stomach churned at disobeying the guide.

  The Lord was at work here. How else could one explain Ford’s sudden change of heart? She’d almost been able to watch the progression in his eyes as they spoke. And if God was willing to get her to the top of this mountain, maybe He’d do great things in Ford as well. Her spirits rose with each step even as tears sprang to her eyes. Lord, You are good. Too good to me.

  The wind rushed along the glacier, blasting loose ice particles and roaring in Margie’s ears. At this point, even the strenuous exercise was doing little to warm her blood. Her focus pulled inward as shivers racked her body. Hopefully they’d reach the top soon. Chances were they wouldn’t dally long.

  Margie pushed her scarf over her nose, trying to minimize how much of her skin lay exposed to the icy sandblasting. Either her imagination played tricks on her, or the weather worsened the farther they went.

  Ford struggled on, but their pace lagged.

  The clouds cloaked them in a veil of white. With her thoughts in disarray, Margie couldn’t even compose a good line about this experience for her journal. Wait—she no longer had a journal. Margie let her eyes fall closed, her world constricting into a tiny bubble bordered by roaring wind and cold.

  The words to a hymn floated through her head, and the lyrics helped her keep inching forward. “When darkness veils His lovely face, I rest on His unchanging grace. In every high and stormy gale, my anchor holds within the veil.”

  She needed to keep moving. Eventually she’d remember where she was going and why. Just follow. Margie opened her eyes, snowflakes clinging to the edges of her dark glasses.

  Empty mist swirled in front of her.

  Margie took two more steps and stopped, tension clawing at her throat. Had Ford fallen into a crevasse? Had she wandered off course? Isolation closed in, and she sank to her knees. Wandering lost on the mountain had never been part of her plan, but staying stationary was a death sentence. Margie pushed her palms against the ice and clambered up to a squat when the line ahead tightened, jerking her off balance.

  She gripped the rope with trembling fingers. Ford was on the other end—he hadn’t abandoned her. How had she forgotten that? Struggling to her feet, she lunged forward.

  Ford appeared out of the gusting snow, his shadowy form growing large as he trudged back toward her. “Are you all right?”

  Margie’s ribs ached from panting for air. “Disoriented,” she choked out the word.

  He gripped her elbows. “We’re not in good shape. This moved in too fast.”

  She couldn’t resist pushing into his arms and leaning against his chest, her heartbeat throbbing in her ears. “What do we do?”

  “We’re near the edge of the crater, I’m sure.” He dug into his pocket and retrieved a compass and map. “If we make it, we’ll be out of the wind for a moment and can reassess.”

  Margie nodded, knowing the motion was worthless. Maybe if they just stayed together, everything would be all right.

  Ford leaned close to her ear. “Let’s get moving. We need shelter. Stay close.”

  As if she planned on letting him out of her sight again.

  She ducked her head against the wind and followed. Eventually they scrambled over a rocky ridge. With her thigh muscles spent, Margie struggled to keep purchase on the unsteady surface. She braced herself with the alpenstock.

  Ford shouted over his shoulder, but the flurry whipped the sound away. He swung his arm, gesturing to something in the distance. Turning away, he skidded down the rough terrain.

  Margie hurried after, rocks and ice sliding under her boots. Where are we going? Is this the top? A dark opening loomed in the ice ahead of them. She froze and grabbed the rope. Was Ford heading for a crevasse?

  He stopped just short, picking at the ice with his ax before turning and beckoning her forward.

  She scooted closer. “What is it?”

  Ford whipped off the dark glasses, squinting at her as a grin appeared over the edge of his scarf. “Our salvation.” He yanked off his pack and let it drop to the ground. “It’s a steam vent.”

  Margie’s heart jumped to her throat. “Steam?”

  Ford evidently didn’t hear her, because he sat on the ice and lowered his booted feet into the narrow gap. “Follow me.” Turning his shoulders to match the opening, he slithered out of sight.

  Margie wrapped both arms around her middle, pressing the staff close to her side. She had no energy to fight the wind buffeting her from all directions. An ice cave couldn’t be any more frightening than a whiteout. She dropped to all fours, casting her knapsack to the side. Leaning forward, she peered into the hole. A gentle warmth flooded her face, and her heart jumped in
response. “Are you all right down there?”

  “Come on in,” his voice echoed.

  Sitting on her backside, she scooted down into the gap. Dragging herself over the rocks, she wriggled like an earthworm entering its burrow.

  Ford gripped one of Margie’s ankles, guiding her down the steep slope to where it opened out to a larger cave—big enough for both of them. Untying the rope, he tossed it beside her. “Stay put, I’m going to get our supplies.” He scrambled up the slope, stones skittering loose in his wake.

  She retreated, glancing around at the dim cave, the curving ice ceiling shaped into an oddly beautiful scalloped surface. Droplets of water pattered down onto the floor of the chamber. A little farther down, the ground dropped off into a lower section disappearing into the gloom. How far down did the tunnel go? The thick, steamy air held just a hint of rotten eggs and something else Margie couldn’t identify. She tucked her nose under her damp scarf. Die outside in the cold or in here with poisonous volcanic gases?

  Ford reappeared, lowering the packs to Margie. After crawling down, he leaned against one of the boulders, chest heaving. “It feels so good to be out of the weather.”

  Margie placed her hands over her ears. “It’s so quiet.” Other than their breathing and the sound of water dripping, the cavern was eerily silent. “Are you sure it’s safe in here? Is the air breathable?”

  “It’s a chance we’ll have to take. We wouldn’t have lasted out there.”

  Pulling her knees to her chest, Margie laid her head down and closed her eyes. Even in here, shivers still racked her body. “So we wait out the storm?”

  Ford remained quiet for several moments, as if in his weariness he’d drifted off to sleep. Finally, he took a shuddering breath. “Yes. I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have left the group. I thought we could beat the weather to the top and be down before things got this dire. It was a bad decision.”

  Opening her eyes, Margie studied his face in the dim light filtering down from the opening. She wanted to reach out and touch his wind-burned cheek, but was too exhausted to lift herself off the stony ground. “It’s as much my fault as yours.”