Chapter 20
C HAPTER 20
S HE STUMBLED THROUGH THE EARLY MORNING DARKNESS, BARELY awake, her filthy skirts stiff with dirt and creek water. The Band-Aids on her toes made a difference the first hour, but by the time the first rays of the sun hit the long line of mountains ahead of them, they had rolled into uncomfortable ridges of pain. Ahead of her, he strode on, his long muscular legs propelling him forward. She pushed back the rising irritation and vowed she would keep up if it killed her.
The trail was bringing out the worst in her, the hatred bubbling up like a concoction of every vile feeling she hadn’t known she’d been capable of. It was alarming, in a way, wanting to throw a stone at the back of his head, kick him in the shins, yell at him, or merely sit down and allow him to disappear. She had not slept well. Her toes had swelled, the Band-Aids tightening miserably, plus her mind was spinning with all of Steve’s liberal ideas.
For the first hour, they had walked gradually uphill, then the trail became steeper, and the reality of ascending and descending the mountain ahead hit her. She groaned within herself.
She shifted her pack, eased a shoulder away from the painful burn, hiked the strap around her waist away from the offending pinch, before realizing she’d drawn the back of her skirt up over her knees. She stopped and yanked at her skirt, watched the receding figure ahead of her, and howled for him to stop.
He came back, his eyebrows lifted, and she raised swollen eyes and a streaming red face and told him he’d gotten her into this and now he could just figure out how to get her out. She was done. She was going to sit right here by the trail and the rest was up to him.
He laughed.
She watched in disbelief when he lifted his face and howled. He told her of course she was going to make it.
“You’re capable of more than you think.”
And then he was off, saying there was no time to waste, that the driver would be waiting at Gate 19 of the State Game Lands. If they made good time, he planned on finding a diner, and how would she like a burger and fries?
She itched to throw something at him. Anything. A stick, a rock, her shoe. Her whole backpack. Clobber him over his head. How dare he propel her with visions of a burger, like shaking a can of grain to get a horse to move.
But she walked. Angry as a hornet, she marched up the trail, the backs of her thighs burning in protest. Her breathing increased. Sweat dripped from her forehead into her eyes. She was hungry and thirsty. She thought of the Diet Pepsis she used to enjoy at the bakery, the tall glass filled to the top with ice, the carbonated beverage a perfect accompaniment to the club sandwich, her favorite. The thought made her head spin with longing. She imagined sitting at the table by the window in air-conditioned comfort, watching the heat simmer above the street.
Her chest felt as if it would tear apart with the effort of her breathing, but she pushed on, around rocks, occasionally slipping on loose gravel. Her tongue was so dry she felt as if there was a corncob in her mouth, so she tried to call out, ask for a rest, but she could barely make a squeak.
She kept plodding on. She thought if she could reach the top of this mountain, she could likely make it down the other side, but right now she was in grave danger of keeling over, dead as a doornail. She wondered if Steve would be held accountable if she passed away, or if God would forgive him for it.
The sun rose higher, the only mercy the dappled shade they passed through. Her toes felt as if each one had its own little bonfire built on top, her heels like rings of fire all their own. She didn’t realize pain could be endured for so long, or the fact you could get used to it, in a way.
Mind over matter, just keep marching. One foot then the other.
She imagined she’d turned into an enormous stink bug, as ugly and as cumbersome, but still she walked on. The idea of ice-cold Pepsi taunted her, made her weak. She’d had it often at the bakery, but now she never bought it. She’d been taught that soda was bad for you, was a frivolous use of money, and had absolutely no nutritional value, so that was that. They drank meadow tea, a delicious blend of tea her mother dried and placed in the attic for the winter. Mima made tea concentrate and froze it, but it all tasted much the same.
She missed Mima, who had turned out to be a real friend. Had her marriage to her father been worth the years she’d spent with him? Was any marriage worth the effort? Was love sufficient to keep you happy?
She gazed through bleary eyes, surprised to see Steve standing still, facing to her left, having reached the top of the trail. He watched her struggle to catch up.
“You okay?” he called back.
She didn’t bother answering, merely placed one foot in front of the other, unbuckled her pack, slid it off, and sank by the side of the trail, stretched out with her pack as a pillow. She sipped water in small amounts, then took huge gulps, realizing how thirsty she was.
“You did it!” Steve shouted.
Mary closed her eyes, ignoring the palm he extended for a high five.
She closed her eyes, wanting to drift into a long sleep, but it was only a few minutes before Steve interrupted.
“Mary, I’m sorry, but we have to keep going.”
He crouched beside her, smoothing the map. She watched as his finger traced the blue dotted line.
“This is where we’re headed. See the downward shift, then right? It’s a good distance, but it doesn’t seem as if there’s another mountain, barely a ridge. Ready?”
She had no choice, so she got up. She had not realized how hard going downhill could be, her toes pushing into the top of her shoes, her knees aching. She had to do this. It was the only way to the finish line—the driver in his blue mini-van, the soft seats, the cool air pouring out of vents. A cold drink. Food.
Steve stopped, waited till she caught up.
“How are the toes?”
She nodded grimly.
“Once we only have a few miles left, we’ll take a proper rest.”
Vultures circled overhead, their monstrous wings outstretched, their beady eyes searching for carrion. Mary wanted to make some witty joke about them, but found she had no humor anywhere. She felt like a dry cornstalk in winter, dead and hollow, battered by the elements.
After a lunch of two protein bars, she felt a bit better and took notice of her surroundings, catching sight of a chickadee emerging from his nest, an oblong opening in an old pine tree.
They came to a small clearing, overtaken by briars and wild grasses, rife with ticks waiting to leap on a warm-blooded host. Steve found three on his arms, and one on his trouser leg, while Mary had none, no matter how they both searched.
“Well, I’m the one getting bitten by mosquitoes, so you can have a few ticks,” she commented.
“Don’t need Lyme disease.”
“Me either.”
They walked side by side now, the trail widening through level ground. A couple from Arizona, who resided in a village for seniors, approached from the opposite direction, and stopped to chat and wish them well.
Mary’s strength was flagging after five o’clock in the evening, and she asked to sit for a while, but Steve said they had another five or six miles, and in order to reach their goal, they had to keep moving.
“I don’t know, Steve. Can’t you just borrow a four-wheeler and come get me later? I feel so weak.”
“Here. Eat this.” He handed her some jerky.
She obeyed wordlessly and hobbled on. She found if she curled her toes a certain way, she felt momentary relief, and it gave her something to think about, like a mini goal, a bit of a distraction.
The sun slid lower, and Mary began to think they would actually make it. She felt revived, as if the best of her energy was reserved for the final sprint. The forest was thinning, the trail only turning upward for short distances before going downhill, then following level ground.
The temperature dropped as evening fell, a stiff breeze bending tops of pine trees, scattering leaves in shimmering waves.
On the horizon, the sky darkened above the mountain. Steve pointed, said there would be a thunderstorm.
“I think we can beat it if we hurry.”
Amazingly, she found she could move even faster.
And finally, he announced they were on the final mile, if his calculations were correct. Mary’s spirits rose like campfire sparks, with a fresh burst of adrenaline propelling her over stone, through mud and gravel, the burn in her feet only an irritation now. She glanced down at her sneakers, knew the folly of having worn them, and regretted the quick decision she’d made against hiking boots and wool socks. At the time, in the stifling heat, it had been unimaginable, but now, well, she’d learned a lesson.
No matter. There would never be another time. As long as she lived, she would never attempt a hike. Nope. Never again.
He spied the van first, pointed and yelled. She looked up, found the blue vehicle parked just beyond the gate, and started to run, catching up to Steve, catching his hand, lifting her grimy sweat-stained face crowned by filthy perspiration-soaked hair, and shouted, “Yes!”
“Yes!” was his resounding answer.
Hand in hand, they made it to the gate, swerved around it, laughing, Mary half crying, hysterical with the great relief of having finished. They faced each other, high-fived, then did it again, before Steve caught her in a triumphant hug of victory.
The driver opened his car door and extended his own congratulations, his smile wide and welcoming. Mary had not imagined the sheer luxury of sliding off her heavy backpack for the last time, or stowing it in the back, hearing the door click shut behind it, then sitting on a soft seat, her legs bent at a comfortable angle, the sliding door closing, a resounding click.
Jagged ropes of lightning were sighted above the mountain, and the wind picked up simultaneously. Steve exulted in this, saying it was a grand send-off, a signal of having been successful. Mary was close to tears, so she said nothing, only watched the streaks of lightning and sat back in her seat, overwhelmed with gratitude in its purest form.
Thank you , she whispered, then stayed in quiet solitude as Steve relayed their days on the trail to the driver.
The vehicle wound its way along dirt roads, then onto a macadam one as the first drops hit the windshield. Steve raised a fist, pumped. The driver grinned, then they both burst out laughing.
Mary was quiet, immersed in her own thoughts. She had finished, had walked those miles in rough terrain, steep unforgiving hills, painful descents, uncomfortable nights lying on the ground. Yes, she had done it, but now that it was over, would she lose Steve?
She’d been deeply disappointed over their failure to connect, to feel united in their goals, their faith, their dreams. As if that wasn’t enough, there was the episode at the falls, which would take the rest of her life to untangle. She was a disappointment to him, and he to her.
When Steve announced an open diner ahead, Mary tried to smooth her hair, but realized the futility soon enough. She followed him eagerly and sailed happily ahead of him as he held the door for her.
The first sip of a Diet Pepsi was everything she’d imagined, and the mashed potatoes and hot beef melted in her mouth. Steve ate chicken and stuffing, and they both had pie and ice cream as the rain was driven against the window of the diner, the neon red sign shining through in spite of it.
“Can you imagine, Steve?” Mary asked wide-eyed.
“Sure can. I’ve been caught in worse than this. You just accept the fact you’ll be cold, drenched, and miserable.”
“I cannot wait to get home, take a shower, and sleep in my bed,” she said quickly.
He sighed, his eyes going to the lashing rain, the red sign swinging in the wind, the hissing tires of moving vehicles on the highway.
“Yeah, I’ll head home in the morning.”
“Yes. Guess you will.”
He ordered coffee and another slice of apple pie, told Mary he was considering chocolate cake. Really, he was just trying to extend the time.
He started in tentatively asking if she’d do it again, but was not surprised when she shook her head no. Absolutely not. It was grueling, a genuine hardship.
“But think about it, Mary. What if I’d ask you again? Like to go to the west coast or go to Georgia and walk the Appalachian Trail?”
She looked at him, said nothing, then lowered her eyes and toyed with her pie crust.
“You wouldn’t ask me.”
“I would.”
“I was a grouch.”
“No, no. We just had a misunderstanding.”
Hope sprang up as they exited the diner. Real hope of perhaps having seen her at her worst. And he thought about the presence of God, how pure and unblemished, but how with people, nothing stayed pure and sweet and simple, everyone ruined by the warring nature within us all. The anger and disappointment had taken place at almost the same spot as the uplifting presence of God, but that was the way of living in an earthly body.
After they arrived home, the summer storm had blown itself out, and Mary busied herself opening windows, pushing doors open to let the night air in. They cleaned up with showers and clean clothes, then talked far into the night, till Mary could not keep her eyes open.
He asked her to come to Lancaster to meet his family, but she shook her head, saying they still weren’t dating. And besides, she looked much too plain for his family.
No. She would not go.
“I wish you would. You need to visit your aunt and cousins.”
“Looking like this?”
“If you’re doing it for God, Mary, then why are you ashamed?”
For a long moment, she was completely still, then became agitated, one hand wringing the skirt of her dress, another hand going to her throat as if to quell the pounding of her heart.
“Am I doing it for God?” she whispered.
A raw vulnerability passed over her features, as if she’d peered into her own soul and saw the unlikely portrayal of her own motive.
“You must know,” he answered.
“I don’t know. It could be God isn’t even really involved. It’s my father. The voice of my father. Perhaps the two are inseparable.”
And Steve realized she was cautiously picking her way across a frightening chasm, placing one foot, then another, on a swinging bridge, with no one to tell her to keep her eyes on her Savior.
“Steve, before you go home, I have to be honest. This thing about Jesus. Well, it’s complicated. I’m scared of Jesus, the way He’s absolutely perfect, so far above me in every way. And I’m afraid of those verses in the Bible printed in red. Why are they printed in red? And how can you ever understand the way He talks? He doesn’t know me, and I have no idea who He is. Not really. So when you say he died on the cross for me , I don’t really get it. I mean, it’s always spoken in German in church, and I understand it very well—the words, you know—but somehow, I just can’t grasp it.”
She stopped, then faced him with honesty, her face softened with defenselessness. There was only the raw truth, spoken from the turmoil in her soul.
At that moment, an understanding awakened within him. Her anger and rebellion were the shield she used to protect herself from revealing the frightened places, the unguarded hurts and betrayals.
“You are being open and so refreshingly honest, Mary. For real. And it makes me love you more than ever.”
“But you can’t say that, Steve. You have no right. I don’t love you.”
“I know. But I can say what’s on my heart, honestly, just like you have, and hopefully our friendship will be based on that.”
“But . . .”
“Mary, I’m going home, but I won’t let you go. You can talk to me about your deepest fears, and I will never make fun of you. I’ll listen, and not judge you, okay?”
“But you can’t come here again.”
“Why can’t I?”
“The church. My father.”
“Your father is dead.”
She began to weep softly, her face hidden from him.
“But his teaching, his disapproval of you, of us. That still stands, and it still condemns me in our sinful actions.”
“How are we sinning? Just tell me what it is that you call sin.”
She blinked, wiped her eyes, then her nose.
“I don’t know. Being together? You being seen here. It would not be allowed.”
“Mary, this is an endless circle with no common sense to be found. Do you, for yourself, before God and in your conscience, feel it is a sin for me to visit once in a while?”
She shrugged. “What do you think?”
“You know what I think.”
She nodded, then asked when he was coming back, and he told her it was whenever he would be welcome. He said that if she was willing, he’d like to meet more of her siblings. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and said he could come for a visit in two weeks, when there were no church services, if he promised he would not plan another hike. He laughed, then lifted her chin and looked deeply into her eyes, allowing his own to shine with the pure and tender love he felt for her.