In a Dark Season (16 page)

Chapter 18

Two Sides of a Mirror

Thursday, December 21

P
hillip came awake to the
whpp-whpp-whpp
of Molly’s long ears flapping as she stood, stretched, and shook her head, the opening movement of a morning ritual.
Now she’ll come over by the door and wait and if I don’t move she’ll whine real soft and I can get up now and let her out or I can pretend I don’t hear her and she’ll keep whining.

Turning his head, he saw that Elizabeth, as usual, was curled up on her side, the heavy comforter pulled well up over her ears. Deep, regular breathing suggested that she was oblivious to the importunities of her dogs.
She says she never hears them this early—that they’re taking advantage of my good nature.

In the dim, predawn light, he could see Ursa shambling toward the door to join the increasingly impatient Molly. The two dogs stared expectantly at him.

He groaned and swung out of bed, shivering as the chilly air hit his naked body. “Okay, ladies, at your service.” Molly began to dance impatiently, but Ursa yawned and sat back down while Phillip pulled on his robe. James, curled into a tight ball at Elizabeth’s feet, snored on.

When he returned to the silent bedroom, a barely perceptible glow rimmed the mountains on the eastern horizon. He slipped into the warm bed and leaned back to watch the sunrise through the three big uncurtained windows.
Always different. Makes it hard to go back to a bedroom where all you see is walls or curtains.

At his side Elizabeth stirred. “What time is it?”

He reached out to tug at her loose braid. “Almost seven-thirty, my love, and you’re about to miss the sunrise.”

She rolled over and frowned at him. “Seven-thirty? I never sleep that late.” Shrugging off the covers, she pulled herself up to look toward the windows.

“There it comes,” she said, looking to the right where a deep red shaft of light announced the winter sun, edging its way over the dark mountains. They watched in comfortable silence till the molten ball broke free of the earth. The red became gold and then an unwatchable white heat, and the sun, smaller now, began a slow crawl along its southern boundary.

Elizabeth let out a soft sigh and leaned against him. “Today’s the winter solstice—the shortest day of the year. Right now the sun’s as far to the south as it can go. It’ll just creep along the ridgeline over there and be behind Pinnacle around three-thirty. But then tomorrow it’ll rise just a tad back to the north. A few more days—by Christmas—it’ll be obvious that it’s on its way back to due east.”

She turned a wry smile on him. “This is what I was talking about the other day, when you asked about our Christmas celebrations. Watching the sun move across the sky day by day, I began to understand how primitive people might have worried that maybe the days would just keep getting shorter and shorter. And then, when it looked like the sun was coming back, they would’ve had good reason to celebrate.”

“Speaking of celebrating, Lizabeth, are we still on for that hike? I tell you what, I’m ready to be done with criminal justice classes and overheated classrooms and kids with blank expressions and wires in their ears for a while—and I’d like to see a little more of the county.” He rolled out of bed and reached for his jeans. “It looks like the weather’s going to cooperate—clear as you could want—and when I let the dogs out earlier, it didn’t seem that cold.”

She was still staring out the window, seemingly lost in thought, one hand absentmindedly rubbing James behind the ears.

“Something wrong, sweetheart? Don’t you want to—”

The shadow of sadness that had clouded her face was swiftly replaced by the full radiance of her smile. “Oh, I’d
love
to go for a hike. And I know exactly where we should go to make the most of the shortest day of the year.”

“Max Patch is forty-six hundred feet—pretty high for this area, and there’s a 360-degree view. So we’ll get all the daylight there is. It’s a beautiful spot—one of the highlights of the Appalachian Trail in this area.”

“How about Mount Mitchell? It’s the tallest, right?” He glanced to the passenger seat, where Elizabeth was flipping through a guidebook. She looked at him over the tops of her reading glasses.

“It’s kind of sad and creepy up there—the forest is dying from acid rain and some kind of insect—the woolly whatsit—is attacking a lot of the trees. Max Patch isn’t as high but I think it’ll be more cheerful.”

They were passing through Hot Springs, the quiet little town at the intersection of the French Broad River and the Appalachian Trail. The streets were all but deserted this morning, and some of the businesses bore
CLOSED FOR THE SEASON
signs.

“Quite a change from the summer. There were hardy hiking, biking, and camping types all over the place as I recall.”

“Uh-humm.” She was still immersed in the guidebook. “This is cool. It’s about the big fancy hotel that was built here at the springs. Remember, there was something about it in the bit of Nola’s manuscript that I read to you? According to this, in the 1800s, Hot Springs—well, Warm Springs as it was called then—was one of the premier tourist destinations on the East Coast. In 1837 there was a 350-room hotel and people from all over rode stagecoaches for days along the Drovers’ Road to get here. Can you imagine?…They had a dining room that could seat six hundred!”

“What happened to the hotel?”

“Burned…and then another one was built…and in 1920 that one burned down too…and that was the end of the glory days for Hot Springs. But things are starting to pick up now—no huge hotel, but lots of nice smaller places—inns and B and B’s. It’s a pleasant town.”

Flipping to another section of the guidebook, she ran her finger down the page. “Just stay on this road till we get to Meadow Fork. There’re a few more turns and we’ll end up on a gravel road that’ll take us to a parking area at the trailhead. Then it’s just a half-mile easy walk to the summit.”

They drove on in silence. From the corner of his eye, he could see that she was caught up in her own thoughts and blind to the passing scenery.

What’s eating at her? I know she’s worried about that Barrett woman but she called the nursing home before we left and they said the old lady was hanging on. And Sallie Kate told her that it wasn’t likely anything would happen with the property at the river till after the holidays. Lizabeth was fine last night, laughing and carrying on with the kids at dinner and then later…but today, I don’t know…she’s in a weird mood.

As if she had heard his thoughts, Elizabeth reached over and laid her hand on his arm. “I’m glad we’re going. I always try to be out of the house on the twenty-first.”

“How come?” He laid his hand over hers and squeezed it. “Because of the solstice?”

Her hand clasped his and one finger traced a spiral on his palm. “Because it’s the anniversary of Sam’s death. If I’m at home, it’s too easy to relive the whole horrible sequence—from watching him go out the door early that morning to the phone call late that afternoon to—”

She stopped abruptly. “Anyway, when I’m outside and away from home, it’s easier to let go of all that. Particularly up on the high places where life and death seem like…” She struggled for the right words. “…like two sides of a mirror.”

Two sides of a mirror? What in the world did I mean by that? Poor Phillip—the first day of his vacation and I’m coming over all…whatever it is. Get over it, you fool!

The road wound higher and higher, through wooded slopes of green pines and gray-brown leafless trees. No sign of snow here, but ahead of them rose the rounded contours of a mountain, its upper third cloaked in soft rime ice.

“Phillip, look up there—where we’re headed! It’s magical!”

They continued on, steadily gaining elevation. And now the trees on either side of the road were cloaked with the crystalline rime—shining white twigs and branches gleaming against dark trunks. And then they were at the parking area where a brown-and-yellow sign proclaimed
MAX PATCH TRAILHEAD
:
PISGAH NATIONAL FOREST
. A vast meadow lay all around them, punctuated by fairy-tale trees frosted with white, by clumps of skeletal weeds transformed to modern art by their coating of feathery crystals, and sagging barbed-wire fences glittering like gemstones in the morning sun.

They were alone in this enchanted place where the deep clear sapphire of the sky came down to meet the bare slopes and whitened trees. Elizabeth felt a surge of emotion welling up at the sight—but whether it was joy or sorrow, she could not have said.
The two sides of the mirror: touching, but worlds apart.

Pulling on their jackets and shouldering the knapsacks that held a picnic lunch, they left the car to follow the broad grassy trail to the summit. Elizabeth carried the hiking staff Sam had made her years ago, not really necessary on this gentle walk, but a comfort in her hand.
A summer path through a winter world,
thought Elizabeth, as they climbed slowly, pausing every few minutes to take in the changing view.
I could almost believe that it might lead to summer itself.

And without warning there was an opening in the trees and they were looking out across the tops of a sugar-frosted grove below them and beyond that the nearer slopes, dark but glazed with ice, and farther away the breathtaking procession of mountains, range after range rising one behind another like waves, shading from deepest ocean blue to insubstantial shadows that lost themselves against the sky.

And the sky itself, pale where it touches the mountains, but deepening to that amazing, almost cobalt blue higher up.
She could feel tears brimming in her eyes and she turned impulsively to Phillip. “I’m so glad to be here today. And so glad you’re here with me.”

“Me too.” He was studying the view intently. “It’s funny—I didn’t think I’d been here before but it seems so familiar….”

They walked, emerging from the trees onto an open field that stretched out and gently down to show an endless vista of layered pastels in the distance. A little farther and they were at the metal sign that marked the summit.

“It’s the top of the world!” Throwing open her arms, Elizabeth turned in a slow circle, her head back and her face to the cloudless sky above. “The perfect place.” Catching sight of Phillip’s beaming smile, she went to him and hugged him hard. “You thought I was going to break into a chorus of ‘The Hills Are Alive,’ didn’t you? I swear, if I could carry a tune, I probably would. Isn’t this
amazing
!”

Without waiting for a reply, she released him and pointed to the footpath that snaked its way across the meadow to disappear into a small dip.

“Want to do a little section of the Appalachian Trail? We could follow it till lunchtime, have our picnic, then head back.”

They ate their ham-and-cheese sandwiches sitting on the dry grass of a little hollow just off the trail. The sun was warm there, and in spite of the coffee they had shared from a small thermos, they both felt drowsy and little inclined to move.

“I’m going to stretch out for a few minutes, Lizabeth.” Phillip yawned and, shoving the sandwich wrappings back into his knapsack, lay down, using the lumpy little bag as a pillow. “Ten minutes, no more,” he promised.

Elizabeth sat quietly, trying to absorb the beauty and the peace that she felt all around her, to let it flow through her and become a part of her being. The soft touch of the sun, the familiar bitter tang of the coffee in her mouth, the scents of dried grass and clean mountain air, the deep, deep, mesmerizing blue of the sky above her, the murmur of the breeze in the trees just below…

There’re
leaves
on those trees. That’s impossible.

With the help of her hiking staff, she levered herself up and took a few tentative steps down the steep slope toward the golden-foliaged wood.
I know some trees hold on to their leaves a lot longer than others, but this is unbelievable.

She blinked. A thin curl of blue smoke was wisping up in the midst of the golden billows below her. She blinked again and saw, through the trees, the outline of a log house with a tall stone chimney that was the source of the smoke.
Weird. I didn’t think anyone lived up here.

Looking back at Phillip, she saw that he was sound asleep, his chest rising and falling, his lips parted in a half-smile.
He must be having a nice dream.
The sight of him aroused tender feelings—maternal, rather than erotic, she noted with amusement.

“You folks picked a good day to come up here.”

She dropped her staff. Swinging round, she saw a man climbing toward her from out of the golden grove. A battered black felt hat was on his head, and he wore loose jeans and a brown jacket that might have been fashioned from a woolen blanket. He looked to be in his forties, possibly younger. His face was brown and weather-worn but his eyes sparkled blue and clear as the sky, a webbing of fine lines at their corners.

“You surprised me. I didn’t know anyone lived up here anymore. Are we trespassing? We didn’t mean to.” She stepped forward, hand outstretched. “I’m Elizabeth Goodweather. I have a farm over near Ransom.”