Rocky Mountain Miracle

Allie glanced at Scott’s face, expecting a brief smile, but his expression was as tight and full of pain as any she’d ever seen. Stunned by his response to the photo, she stammered, “What…what is it?”

He turned hard eyes on her. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“You don’t know about Jimmy?”

Her mouth was suddenly as parched as a desert. Living with her parents in the east and going to college there had cut her off from any of her Colorado contacts, and since she’d been back at the start of the school year, she hadn’t heard anything of the Davidsons until the church letter from Scott. “What is it? What happened?”

She saw him clench his hands so tightly that the veins stood up like purple chords. “He was murdered.”

“Murdered,” she echoed, cursing herself for not knowing. Oh, dear God, why hadn’t someone told her?

“Two years ago.” He drew in a deep breath, trying to control the raging anger that was still there. “Jimmy was killed in a street fight that broke out during a demonstration against drug houses.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

Scott’s lips twisted bitterly. “If it hadn’t been for me, my brother wouldn’t have been killed that night.”

“You can’t blame yourself for something that was out of your control.”

“Oh, it was under my control, all right. When some Christian young people from various churches were trying to get a handle on some of the street gangs, I talked Jimmy into helping. He always did what I wanted him to do, and was my shadow growing up. My mother kept telling me whatever happened to him would be on my conscience. She was right. It should have been me, not Jimmy, who died in the streets.”

“But you couldn’t have known what was going to happen.” Allie tried to take his hand but he jerked it away.

“I decided not to go on the demonstration because I had a religious seminar that night, but Jimmy went. If God wasn’t going to protect him that night, I should have been there, watching out for him. Instead of wasting my time listening to someone preach about God’s goodness.”

“God is good. Jimmy was a victim of the free choice between good or evil that all people have—why blame God?”

“Because the shape the world’s in is proof enough for me that God is an absentee Lord. I’m through believing that there’s a divine power interested in me or anyone else. Someone else can carry the banner high—and get killed for it. Not me.”

“Aren’t you being a little self-indulgent?”

His jaw tightened. “Save your Sunday school lectures, Allie. I’ve heard them all before.”

She searched for some way to help him through the guilt that was obviously eating him alive, but her master’s degree in counseling seemed totally inadequate in the face of his bitterness. Not only had he changed on the outside, but a loss of faith was like a malignancy eating away at his soul.

He stood up. “I’m sorry you made the trip for nothing, Allie. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to working on a hundred details that have to be cleared up before the property sells. You can see for yourself how impossible it would be to get the camp in any kind of shape in less than two weeks.”

She grabbed the objection like a fish to a hook. “That wouldn’t be a problem. I know we could get a working crew from the church to come up and put the place in order.”

“I don’t have time to oversee—”

“I do,” she said brightly, standing up and facing him. “I’m on my summer break from my school counselor’s job. You could leave everything to me and go about your business getting ready to sell the place. You see, there’s this little boy, Randy Cleaver. He’s been on the streets most of his life because of alcoholic parents and there’s a little girl who’s losing her hearing—”

“Save it, Allie. I told you I’m way past trying to fix the ills of the world.”

“I know.” She paused, searching for guidance, and suddenly divine inspiration like a heavenly butterfly flitted through her thoughts. She knew exactly what approach she should use to touch his conscience. “I was really thinking about Jimmy and your dad. This place has always been special to them.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Even now, Rainbow Camp really belongs as much to your father and brother as it does to you, doesn’t it? If Sam and Jimmy were here, I don’t think they’d disappoint a bunch of kids who have their hearts set on coming to summer camp.”

“But Dad and Jimmy aren’t here, are they?”

“I believe they are, in spirit, and you know what they would want you to do,” she countered.

Of course he knew. Anger built up in Scott that he was the one who had been left to deal with the past.

Abruptly he walked away from her, and as he let his gaze travel around the room, his heart tightened. Jimmy’s worn baseball glove lay on the shelf where Allie had removed the photo albums, and in a nearby corner of the room stood several fishing rods where his dad had left them.

Scott put his hand on the mantel of the fireplace, and bent his head as his ears were suddenly filled with remembered sounds; his dad thumping out a hymn on the old piano, and Jimmy’s boyish voice on the stairs. His shoulders went slack.

You know what they would want you to do.

Finally, he lifted his head, turned around, and looked at Allie with those intense eyes of his. She drew in a prayerful breath as she waited for him to speak.

Please, God.

“All right, Allie. You win,” he said in a thick voice of surrender. “In memory of Dad and Jimmy, you can have your church camp one more time.”

“Thank you.”

She could have hugged him in joyful relief, but he was already walking toward the door, opening it, as if anxious to have her gone.

Chapter Two

Why did you agree to her request? Scott asked himself as he endeavored to put his thoughts in order after a restless night.

His time plan for turning the property over to a Realtor for immediate listing had been ambushed by a blue-eyed charmer from his past. When he’d heard Allie Lindsey’s voice on his answering machine, he’d felt an undefinable quiver of excitement, but as soon as she had stated her business, the joy had died. The few days he’d spent in the old house had been trying enough, but enduring a two-week church camp would only create a situation that he’d been trying to avoid. The last thing he wanted to do was to surround himself with a past that had promised so much, and delivered only heart-wrenching disappointment.

The camp was, also, far from being ready for twenty kids and their chaperones. His father’s death six weeks ago had put an end to any preparations for the summer. Scott had been slow in picking up the reins and canceling reservations because his father had not kept any kind of organized records. Fortunately, the Irish couple, Patrick and Dorie O’Toole, who worked for his dad had filled him in on the summer schedule.

The O’Tooles had helped Sam run the camp for more than fifteen years. They’d been friends with Scott since he was eleven years old, and all the summers that he and Jimmy had spent in Colorado, the couple had been almost family. The boys had spent lots of nights at their house, listening to Patrick play the guitar, and eating Dorie’s good cooking whenever they got the chance. Patrick was a raw-bone handyman who did everything from handling the camp’s maintenance to supervising exuberant youngsters during the summer and playing a mean game of chess with Sam. His chubby, outgoing wife, Dorie, ran the camp dining room, and her plump figure was a testimonial to her own cooking. She always had a ready hug and smile, and having children around her seemed to make up for the lack of her own. Scott knew how much his dad depended upon the O’Tooles to keep things in the camp running smoothly.

A sense of urgency suddenly overtook Scott. Right after the funeral, Scott had told them that he was closing down the camp and selling the property. They seemed to understand that it was the only thing he could do. Property values were at a premium in this mountain area because of the developing ski areas close by.

What if Pat and Dorie had already sold their own house across the river and moved away? How on earth will I get the camp ready by myself? he asked himself with a start. The last time he’d seen them at the funeral, the grief in their eyes and the slump of their shoulders had told him how much they loved his father. With so many other things on his mind, Scott hadn’t given them a thought—until now. With a jolt, he realized that he hadn’t seen either of them in the few days that he’d been back.

Throwing back the bed covers, he slipped into a pair of cords and a sportsman’s pullover. A valiant sun was breaking through the low, misty clouds as he left the house, and the promise of a lovely June day was in the offing. Breathing in deeply the high mountain air, he drew in pungent smells of pine resin and tangy cedar. He’d almost forgotten how beautifully clear and fresh everything looked with the sparkle of sunshine deepening nature’s tapestries. His ears were filled with the sound of rushing waters lapping and sucking over rocks in the swift-flowing river, and he remembered early morning fishing treks with his dad along the banks. They’d catch their breakfast, and the taste of fresh rainbow trout cooked in butter would always linger in his memory. He’d tried ordering trout in fancy Los Angeles restaurants, but the meal had always been a disappointment.

Just like life, he thought, and he stiffened against memories that taunted him. He should have handled everything through a Realtor. Coming back was a mistake, a big mistake.

He broke into an easy run and his footsteps echoed on the planked bridge as he crossed the river. Patrick and Dorie’s log house was built on the side of a hill on the opposite side of the river from the camp. He bounded up the roughly hewn steps, and knocked briskly on the thick pine door. Homemade chimes hanging from a porch rafter moved in the early morning breeze, making sounds like the muffled notes of an organ.

“Well, saints preserve us, look who’s here,” Dorie said, wiping her hands on her voluminous apron as she opened the door. “We were thinking that you were still in Californy.”

“I’ve been back a few days. I’m trying to go through some things at the house.” He knew his excuse was lame for not coming by and seeing them.

“Pat! Pat, we got company,” she called to her husband. Then she winked at Scott. “Sure, and I knew there was some reason for making a batch of buttermilk pancakes. It isn’t every day a handsome fellow comes calling.”

“You must have heard my stomach growling all the way here,” he teased back, his spirits suddenly made lighter by her laughter. He remembered all the times that he’d found comfort in her good humor. More than once through the years she’d put loving arms around a lonely boy who missed his mother. She’d never met Madeline Davidson, but Scott could tell Dorie didn’t hold much with a mother who could be away from her sons three months out of the year.

“Come on to the kitchen,” she said, leading the way.

Patrick was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a mug of coffee. He was a lanky fellow with a short, reddish beard that covered his bony chin, and a thatch of sandy-colored hair that never wanted to smooth down. There was a surprised lift to his eyebrows as he looked at Scott, but his expression wasn’t friendly like his wife’s. “We didn’t expect to see you in these parts again,” he said gruffly.

Patrick’s briskness made it clear that he didn’t look upon a visit from Scott as a cause for celebration. “What you come over for? Need some help tearing down the place? Can’t them high-flying land speculators bring in their own crews?”

The gravel in his voice warned Scott that he’d put himself in the enemy camp by deciding to sell out to investors. He knew that Pat was like a lot of people who had homes in the canyon. For years they’d fought to keep out any kind of modern developments. They didn’t like progress or change, and his father had been one of them.

“Now, Patrick,” Dorie said with a warning shake of her pancake ladle—she always called him by his full name when she was irritated with him. “Don’t you badger Scott. He’s just trying to do the right thing.”

“I’m here because I need yours and Dorie’s help,” Scott said frankly. He knew better than to try and outfox the Irishman. As plainly as he could, he told them about his visit from Allie Lindsey.

“Oh, that’s the pretty little lass that you took up with one summer,” Dorie said eagerly. “I remember her.”

Scott ignored the speculative look in her eyes. “We haven’t been in touch for years. Anyway, I wrote a letter canceling her church’s camp reservation, and Allie came to see me, hoping to talk me into honoring Dad’s commitment.”

“Oh, my,” Dorie said, a frown creasing her round face.

“You can see the difficulty.” Scott looked Pat straight in the eyes. “The cabins aren’t ready. The buildings need all kinds of cleaning. I frankly don’t see how we could get the place ready in a week, do you?” Somehow he knew he shouldn’t tell the Irishman that he’d already committed himself.

Pat took a slow sip of coffee from his mug without giving Scott any indication that he had even heard what Scott had been saying. Then he turned to look at Scott, and he said in a non-committal tone. “I reckon it could be done.”

“Sure it could,” Dorie jumped in eagerly. “All the bedding is clean and ready. Glory, I could make a list of things we need in the shake of a cat’s tail.”

“What do you think, Pat?” Scott asked in a deferential manner. They all knew that the decision rested with him. Dorie was wife enough not to push him, and Scott knew better than to pressure him.

Pat leaned back in his chair, his broad forehead creased in a thoughtful expression. “I reckon me and Dorie could handle things all right. I don’t hold with the idea of disappointing a bunch of young ’uns.”

Scott felt a heavy weight roll off of him. “I appreciate it, Patrick.” Now, he could leave the whole camping thing in good hands and tend to his own business.

Dorie beamed. “It’s funny how the good Lord works things out, isn’t it? You and Allie together again after all these years. Such a cute couple, you were.”

Scott said rather shortly, “Don’t try and play Cupid, Dorie. I doubt that we’ll even see much of each other.” He could have said that he had no intention of interacting with the church group. As far as Allie was concerned, he’d already told her how he felt about her strong religious convictions. He knew that she disapproved of his worldly lifestyle and anti-religious convictions. “We have nothing in common anymore.”

“It’s Jimmy’s death, isn’t it?” Dorie said gently. “Sure and I can see why your heart’s broken. T’was a horrible thing to have happened.” Then she touched his arm with her gentle hand, and said softly, “Your father grieved over the loss of his son, but it didn’t destroy his faith in God.”

“I’m not my father,” Scott said firmly.

Patrick nodded. “No, you’re not, more’s the pity, lad.”

He left their house, knowing it was true—you can’t go home again. Too many things change.

When Allie and Trudy arrived at the camp early in the morning a few days later, Allie couldn’t believe how different it looked from her first visit. There was a hint of expectancy all over the place. A grocery delivery truck was parked at a side kitchen door, some of the cabins were open and a load of wood had been dumped nearby, waiting to be distributed among the buildings.

Scott had called her, reporting that the O’Tooles had agreed to take charge and get the camp ready. He told her that an extra pair of hands or two would be appreciated, but he was emphatic about not needing an invasion of church people. “They’ll just be in the way,” he said ungraciously.

“Okay,” she responded without further comment, relieved that he hadn’t found some way to back out of their agreement. “If it’s all right with you, my friend, Trudy, and I will come up for a couple of days and see how we can help out.”

“Good. Dorie will appreciate the extra hands.”

“It’ll be nice to see the O’Tooles again. I remember them as a very nice couple who really enjoyed having all of us around.”

“Dorie remembers you, too,” he admitted but omitted in what context.

“Don’t you remember the picnic box Dorie fixed for us the day we decided to hike up to the top of Redridge?”

“I remember,” he answered flatly. “See you in a couple of days.”

Such enthusiasm, she thought as she hung up. He obviously didn’t intend to engage in any watercolor memories of “the way we were.” Fine. He could chill out all he wanted, she decided with a spurt of pride—or was it disappointment? All she cared about was making sure the kids had a wonderful outing. Anyway, she doubted that Scott would stick around for the whole time, unless making arrangements for selling the property kept him at the camp.

“I can hardly wait to meet this ogre,” Trudy confessed as they drove into the camp. “He sounds like a real loser.”

“Oh, Scott’s not really all that bad,” Allie said quickly, surprised that she was so ready to defend him. “I told you what happened to his brother. Scott’s carrying around a heavy load of guilt, and I suspect his mother isn’t helping much.”

“Uh-huh.” Trudy’s tone was noncommittal. She’d lost a young husband in a car accident when a drunk driver plowed into them one evening after church services. Instead of blaming God and giving up, Trudy had used her anger to help in the campaign against drinking and driving.

“Don’t rock the boat, Trudy,” Allie warned as she stopped the car in front of the old house. “Scott agreed to let us have our camp, and that’s all that matters. Don’t be attacking him. We really don’t know what happened and what kind of wounds need healing under that crisp veneer of his.”

Trudy studied her friend’s flushed face, and let out a slow whistle. “Are you still carrying something around for this fellow?”

“Of course not,” Allie said quickly. Maybe too quickly, she told herself, wondering why the question made her feel defensive. Why was she letting Trudy bait her? “We haven’t seen each other for years. And the last time we were together we were just teenagers.”

“Some first loves are deep enough to last a lifetime,” Trudy warned.

“I wouldn’t think a little hand-holding, and one adolescent kiss in the moonlight could be called a deep first love.”

“But you haven’t forgotten him.”

“No, I suppose I haven’t. But at the time, I was naive enough to believe that Scott and I were soul mates. I guess that’s why I felt differently about him from all of the other fellows I’d dated at that time.”

“Okay, a word of warning from an older and wiser woman—”

“You’re a year older than I am,” laughed Allie.

“Right. Heed your elders. Don’t tear yourself up because the young boy who kissed you in the moonlight is now a man who has turned against himself and God. Just remember, Allie, life has a way of giving us lessons that we need, and Scott Davidson may be in for more than his share.”

“It’s so sad that he’s lost his dad and his brother. The place must be filled with painful memories for him,” Allie lamented as they got out of the car and walked up the steps of the house. In spite of herself, she felt a faint flicker of apprehension as they waited for him to answer their knock.

No sign of life at the windows. Allie tried to deny a wave of disappointment when it was obvious that he wasn’t there and wasn’t going to open the door. Maybe he’d already locked up the house, turned the camp over to the O’Tooles and gone back to California.

“Let’s check in at the dining hall. I bet Dorie has a bunch of chores lined up for us to tackle.”

A row of cabins stretched along the river, and an L-shaped dormitory stood next to a large building that was divided into the dining hall and activity room. Allie could see that even though Sam had tried to keep up with needed repairs, all of the buildings were showing the effects of time.

“See that stand of huge spruce trees?” Allie pointed ahead. “Right in the middle of them, there’s a natural grouping of rocks around an open space that makes a wonderful setting for early-morning worship services. It’s great for private meditation too, although my favorite spot is a large boulder just around the bend of the river.”

She drew in a deep breath of pine-scented air, and time sped backward to the wonderful hours she’d spent walking through the trees and listening to the musical roar of the rushing stream.

“You love this place, don’t you?” Trudy said with a smile.

Allie nodded, “I didn’t realize how much I really do. I can hardly wait to walk some of the old trails and check out some of my favorite spots along the river.”

“Well, I’m glad we’ve got a good cook,” Trudy said. “The outdoors always makes me ravenous.” She stuck her hands in her ample overalls. It was clear that having lots of good food for a healthy appetite was the most important thing as far as Trudy was concerned.

“Hiking over some of these hills will give you an appetite, all right.”

“Hiking?” Trudy mimicked. “Who said anything about hiking?”

Allie laughed as they mounted the steps to the dining room, and then sobered as the door flew open and Scott came out.

“Oh,” she said with a start of surprise. “I thought you weren’t here. I mean, we stopped at the house and I was thinking that you might have left the O’Tooles in charge, and locked up the house, and—” she caught herself. Quit babbling. What was there about him that flustered her so much that she sounded like a ninny?

“I’m still here, obviously.”

“Yes, obviously,” she said collecting herself. “This is my friend, Trudy Daniels.”

“Nice to meet you, Trudy,” Scott said politely.

“And you,” Trudy responded with a smug smile. Allie could tell that Scott didn’t look like anything Trudy had imagined. He wore jeans and a tight knit shirt that molded his well-conditioned muscles, and a deep tan testified to hours on the beach or on the water, and skiing. The veiled look she sent Allie, said, “Wow!”

“Wouldn’t have missed it, Mr. Davidson.”

“Scott,” he corrected.

Trudy cocked her head and studied him with her large guileless eyes. “I have a feeling this will turn out to be the best outing our church kids ever had.”

Allie hid a smile. Leave it to Trudy to put a positive spin on his reluctance to have them here.

“I hope that’s the case, but we’re playing catch-up,” Scott answered honestly. “I’m really depending upon Pat and Dorie to run things.” At that moment a sleek Mercedes came into view on the river bridge. Scott frowned as he looked at his watch. “I guess hauling in that load of firewood took me longer than I imagined. I’ve got some business appointments that will keep me busy. Why don’t you check with the O’Tooles and see what needs to be done? Please excuse me.”

With a thin smile, he brushed by them, and strode quickly toward the house where two men in business suits were getting out of their car.

“So that’s the heartthrob,” mused Trudy. “He’s got a way about him, all right. No wonder you’re having trouble closing the book on young love.”

“I told you, we enjoyed an adolescent friendship for one summer. That’s all, for heaven’s sake. Will you quit trying to make it into some Romeo and Juliet drama?”

“I will, if you will.”

“What?”

Trudy laughed. “I’m betting that the shiny flush on your face has nothing to do with the sun, nor is the high mountain air responsible for your quick breathing. You like this guy.”

“Sure, I like him,” admitted Allie. “At least, I used to, but that’s water under the proverbial bridge. Scott’s gone his way, and I’ve gone mine. Really, Trudy, I don’t want to discuss it any further. We’re here to help get things ready for the church camp. What Scott does or doesn’t do isn’t any concern of mine.”

“Uh-huh,” Trudy said.

“Let’s go see what they have for us to do.” She led the way into the dining room, and her breath caught as she looked around. The place looked as if a whirlwind had swept through it. Nothing was set up for the feeding of a crowd of hungry campers. Chairs were stacked, tables shoved together and all the counters loaded down with stacks of trays, cups and dishes. Only the floor looked bright and shiny from a recent scrubbing.