Rocky Mountain Miracle. Leona Karr
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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