Her Beautiful Mind Read online

  “The People forgot their sadness, and the women began to feel strong and beautiful again. Just as the plant protected its blossoms, they knew they could protect the children who would form a new nation in the west. The wild Cherokee rose still grows along the route of the Trail of Tears into eastern Oklahoma. To honor our heritage, the state of Georgia chose the rose as its state flower.”

  It’s quiet when I finish. Finally, Wonderland whispers, “Thank you. It was beautiful.”

  “Yes, it was. Thank you,” Yellow agrees. “You know,” she adds after a long pause, “I think you need a new trail name. Something that honors the beautiful stories you tell us. Maybe Bella instead of Ella. It suits you, and I don’t think Cinderella does anymore.”

  Wonderland and Yellow fall asleep quickly, but I lie awake in the dark for a long time, listening to the wind moaning in the pines and thinking about their words.

  Chapter 24

  The Calm Before

  Date: Monday, March 24

  Starting Location: Siler Bald Shelter

  Destination: Siler Bald Shelter

  Total Trip Miles: 110.6

  It was late when I finally went to sleep and early when I woke. I tossed and turned in the still dark shelter, trying to find a comfortable position on my sleeping pad, which did little to soften the hard, wooden floor beneath me. Maybe I was spoiled from two nights’ sleep on a real bed, or maybe I missed the luxury of cool, clean sheets against my body. Whatever it was, my sleep was fitful at best.

  When the sky lightens enough I can barely make out my surroundings, I crawl from my sleeping bag, visit the privy, and begin packing my gear. I’m quiet, for the most part, until I take my food bag off the mouse-proof hanger. The chain rattles enough to wake Yellow, who peeks at me with one eye, then rolls over, and immediately goes back to sleep. Wonderland never moves. Hitching up my backpack, I adjust the straps, grab my poles, and start hiking.

  The eastern horizon is a soft predawn gray when I reach the summit of Siler Bald Mountain. At almost 5,000 feet, the grassy bald has beautiful views in all directions. With the stars above me and the lights of Franklin in the dark valley below, I feel like I’m suspended between heaven and earth, an outside observer floating between the two, separated by space and time. As the sun rises and the sky turns pink then gold, I watch the stars dim and finally disappear, conceding their dominance of the sky to the bigger star we call the sun. Granny was always a dawn watcher. I think of her as I eat my breakfast and watch the new day begin.

  I don’t know why I’m so unsettled, so uneasy, why my thoughts keep returning to her. Finally, with a sigh, I begin hiking again.

  Time goes by.

  The trail drops down off the top of the mountain and skirts the side of the ridges, staying on their protected east side and under tree cover. I snack, drink, and focus on the trail, enjoying the solitude of hiking by myself after being with friends for so many days. At heart, I’m an introvert. I had fun hiking with my new companions, but it’s nice to be alone for a while.

  The sound of running water grabs my attention, and I turn onto a short side trail leading to a fresh spring bubbling out of the ground. The source itself has been enclosed to protect it from contamination, but a pipe funnels the water from the spring to a small pool. Pulling out my water bottle, I fill it from the pipe, adding a purification tablet and some powdered drink to flavor it.

  It’s while I’m sitting on a nearby rock, sipping my drink, that I realize something is wrong, seriously wrong. The air is too still, too quiet. It has a heaviness about it that makes me feel like I’m being watched. Standing up, I whirl around, scanning my surroundings for a glimpse of someone or something. There’s nothing there. No breeze sways the branches above me. No birdsong fills the air. No small animals scurry through the dead leaves at my feet. A chill settles around me. Quickly donning my backpack, I begin to run up the trail.

  I’ve almost reached the top of Wayah Mountain when I round a bend in the trail and I’m hit with a gust of cold wind. It’s not just cold—it’s freezing. Even as I stand there catching my breath, I can feel the temperature dropping, and the first drops of sleet hit my face.

  There’s a stone observation tower on top of Wayah Bald. The vistas are amazing, and it’s a great place to spend some time on a warm, sunny day. When I emerge from the forest into the open area around the tower, the strength of the wind catches me off guard, and I’m almost knocked over. The sleet is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It falls in a solid sheet of ice, accumulating quickly. Even as I struggle to reach the shelter of the tower, each blade of grass, each twig, each rock is encased in its frozen grip.

  Inside the protected base of the tower, I quickly scramble into my warmest clothes and cap, then cover them with my rain pants, rain jacket, and hood. I don’t have any gloves, so I use a pair of wool socks to protect my hands.

  And then I think.

  Panic kills, and so does this weather. In these conditions, it wouldn’t take much time for either one to do the job. I can go north, or I can go south, or I can try to get off the mountain.

  There’s a dirt forest road that leads to the top of Wayah Bald and this observation tower. It’s closed from November through March. The chances of meeting any vehicle or person who could be of help are practically zero. No one in their right mind would be out driving in this. Following it would mean miles and miles of walking in the storm.

  Going north means walking into the storm, which is intensifying even as I sit here. According to the guidebook, the trail stays close to this elevation for most of the next seventeen miles until it drops down to the Nantahala River and the Outdoor Center. The only smart thing is to head south, either back to the shelter or back to Franklin. The idea of trying to cross the rocky ridgeline in this storm makes me shudder with the thought of how dangerous it would be in these conditions. So, it’s back to the shelter. At least, it’s somewhat protected from the brunt of the wind, and I know what to do to make it more comfortable and safer until conditions improve.

  The final deciding factor, however, is Yellow and Wonderland. If I head south, I’ll meet them. If I head in another direction before they get here, I can’t be sure they’ll make the right choice, and I can’t leave them alone to survive in this storm.

  Trying to navigate across the open clearing to reach the trail is almost impossible. Several times, a gust of wind pushes me to my knees, and the icy ground is so slick I can barely stand. The wind shrieks and moans, the ice a constant din as it hits the ground. At times, it seems more like hail than sleet.

  Finally, I resort to crawling back to the path. As soon as the trail descends below the summit and I’m out of the worst of the wind, conditions improve. It’s still bitterly cold, but the sleet gradually changes to snow, and it’s easier to keep my balance as I hurry back down the trail.

  Forty-five minutes later, I meet Yellow and Wonderland. They’re huddled under a rhododendron tunnel, the thick mesh of leaves and branches giving them some protection from the worst of the storm. I’m relieved to see they’ve layered up in their warmest clothes. They’re obviously arguing. Wonderland is waving her arms around, but I can’t hear them over the howling of the wind.

  “Thank God, you’re here,” she says as soon as she sees me. “I told Yellow you were smart enough to turn back, but she wouldn’t leave without trying to find you. Now, can we please get back to Franklin?”

  “We’ll never reach Franklin. Remember those boulders we climbed over yesterday? They’ll be lethal in this weather. One slip and—” I shrug, throwing up my arms. “No, the best thing, the safest thing, is to go back to the shelter.”

  I can tell it’s not the answer they’re hoping for.

  “Ella, it’s going to get really cold tonight, and who knows how much snow is going to fall. It could be several feet before it’s over. I don’t see how we can survive in the open shelter.” Yellow�
�s concerned face matches her words.

  “I know it’s not ideal, but trust me, please. I know what to do.” With a worried nod, they follow me back down the trail toward the shelter.

  Rather than hike over the top of Siler Bald, we take a shorter side trail that bypasses the summit and leads directly to the shelter. During our rushed hike south, I make sure we take a couple breaks to drink and eat and to regulate our body temperature. We’re practically running, and it is important not to overheat and sweat too much in our layers.

  We’ve almost reached the shelter when a loud, male voice stops us in our tracks. “Oh, hell. We just missed her. She was here last night. Hurry up, Ghost. Maybe if we leave right now, we can catch her.”

  His voice fills the clearing in front of the shelter, and we instinctively slow our progress, stopping right at the edge of the forest where he can’t see us.

  “Did you hear me, Ghost?” he shouts again. “Wonderland signed the shelter register last night. She was here with her friends. Get a move on, man. We need to hustle if we’re going to catch them.”

  At the mention of her name, Wonderland glances at Yellow and me, a worried look on her face. Most of the time, signing the register is a good thing—it can help the authorities track a missing hiker. But it can also make it easier for a stalker to find you, and the man with the loud voice in the shelter sounds a little obsessive about finding Wonderland right now. The path to the privy is off to our right, and with a tilt of her head, Yellow begins to lead us quietly toward it. The privy door opens, and then slams shut as a tall man exits, yelling an answer to the guy in the shelter.

  “I heard you, M. Calm the fuck down. I’ll be there in a minute.” He’s busy zipping up his pants and almost runs into us before looking up. He comes to an abrupt halt when he sees the three of us silently watching him. I hear Wonderland gasp beside me. “Well, well, ladies,” he drawls, a smirk on his face as he blatantly eyes us up and down before settling his gaze on Wonderland. “This is an unexpected but very welcome surprise.”

  He’s tall and lean, with startling blue eyes. Short blond hair peeks out from under a weather-stained cowboy hat. His smirk has morphed into a predatory gleam as he swaggers toward Wonderland, who has remained frozen beside me. There’s something familiar about him, and then it clicks. Ghost and M&M are the Marines who were at Springer the day I started, and they were staying in one of the cabins at Neels Gap. But why is he acting like this? His aggressive actions don’t seem to match the little I know about him. My instincts are screaming at me to run, and I find myself lifting my hiking poles in front of me defensively.

  Before I can say anything to Wonderland, however, she’s running toward him screaming, “Travis!” She throws herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. He catches her, holding her with one arm while he tries to fend off Yellow, who is now slapping at his head and shoulder and calling him an asshole.

  “Quit, Rosemary. That shit hurts,” he yells in between laughing and kissing Allison. “I’m sorry, okay. Is that anyway to greet your dear brother?” And then they’re all laughing, and crying, and hugging each other, and it makes me smile to see them so happy.

  Finally, after they’ve calmed down a bit, Yellow turns to me. “Ariella, I’d like you to meet my infuriatingly obnoxious but very charming older brother, Travis.”

  Travis, who now has both arms wrapped around Wonderland’s ass, holding her close to him, gives me a sweet, genuine smile before apologizing for his rude behavior. “I’m really a good ole Texas boy,” he claims. “Just ask my girl here. She’ll tell you.” He gives her one last kiss before setting her back down on the ground. “Now, ladies,” he asks in a suddenly serious voice. “Can you tell me why you’re hiking in the wrong direction?”

  A blast of frigid air roars overhead, and the snow, which has been falling steadily, increases dramatically. Pings of ice begin to bounce on the ground around us. Before I can say anything, Travis answers his own question. “Ah, the storm, right. I bet it’s much worse farther up the mountain.”

  “It is. I made it to the top of Wayah and could barely stand. We need to start making plans and taking precautions right now before it gets any worse.”

  “So back to Franklin?” he asks.

  “No, too dangerous. Remember the ridgeline between here and Franklin? As soon as this ice starts coating those rocks, they’ll be impassable. Our best bet is to ride it out in the shelter. Its location protects it a bit from the wind, and I know some things we can do to make it more comfortable.”

  I watch Travis closely while I speak, looking for any indication he doesn’t want to take advice from a woman he’s just met. Although he’s apologized for his behavior, he still makes me a bit nervous. He seems to accept what I have to say, nodding while I explain things we need to be doing.

  As we walk toward the shelter, I tell him I was on Springer the day he started with M&M. “Is that who’s in the shelter and was yelling at you a few minutes ago?”

  Suddenly, Rosemary stops walking. When we turn around to see why, she’s glaring at Travis. “Tell me Markham isn’t with you,” she demands of her brother.

  “Now, Rosemary—”

  “No, Travis, no. I’m not ready for this.”

  “Dammit, you’ve been writing to the guy for two years. You know him, probably better than he knows himself, and he knows you. Hell, the guy’s half in love with you already, even though you refused to send him a photo. You can’t put off meeting him any longer.”

  Travis steps closer to his sister, reaching out to take her hands in his. “He saved my life, sis; you know this. He’s my best friend, and he’ll be my best man at the wedding. He’s going to be around a long time. I want my best buddy and my best sister to be best friends, too.”

  Rosemary gives her brother a wry smile. “I haven’t had a bath in two days.”

  “It’s been longer for him.” Travis laughs.

  “It’s been hours since I brushed my teeth or combed my hair.”

  “Then don’t kiss him.”

  “Bubba.” Rosemary’s voice drops to the barest of whispers. “I have scars.”

  “Oh, sis,” he says, hugging her to him and kissing the top of her head. “We all have scars, inside and out, and Markham has his fair share, too. He won’t care.”

  Another gust of wind rocks the branches above us, sending snow cascading down. Rosemary and I begin heading toward the shelter while Travis and Allison follow behind.

  “You know, Al,” we hear Travis drawl. “My old war wounds have been bothering me somethin’ fierce. I think I might need me some lovin’ nursing care.”

  “I’m an emergency room nurse,” she answers. “I only treat emergencies.”

  “Oh, darlin’, you can be sure this is an emergency.”

  I bite my lip to keep from laughing, and when I glance at Rosemary, she has the same smirk on her face. Both of us begin giggling. “We may have to put them outside in their own tent tonight,” she says.

  “Too cold,” I reply.

  “Not sure they’ll notice,” she whispers, glancing at the two behind us.

  Wonderland and Ghost are locked in a tight embrace, kissing each other as if their very lives depend on it. We watch them for a moment before smiling at each other.

  “I love my brother,” Yellow says as we make our way toward the shelter.

  Chapter 25

  The Storm

  Date: Monday, March 24

  Starting Location: Siler Bald Shelter

  Destination: Siler Bald Shelter

  Total Trip Miles: 110.6

  As soon as we leave the cover of the woods, we’re exposed to the full force of the wind. It’s not quite as bad as the top of Wayah, but it’s getting there. Snow and ice pelt us, and the wind shoves us as we run across the open meadow toward the shelter. Yellow and I are hanging on to each
other, slipping and sliding, shrieking and laughing, as we struggle across the icy ground. I can hear Travis and Allison doing the same behind us.

  The big Marine I remember from Springer is busy stuffing his food bag back into his pack when we burst into the shelter. “Damn, Ghost, took you long enough,” he complains without looking up. “Thought maybe you fell in. Come on, we need to hurry. This storm sounds like it’s getting worse.” He turns toward us, swinging his pack on, and freezes so suddenly, and with such a confused look on his face, we all start laughing again.

  “Three?” His gaze darts questioningly between the four of us. “You go to the privy and come back with three—” Before he can finish his question he leans closer, peering at Allison, who is taking off her hood and cap. “Al, is that you?”

  With a nod and a laugh, Allison steps forward to hug M&M, laughing at the pleased surprise on his face. “Yes, you finally found me.”

  “Thank God,” he replies. “Travis has been driving us all crazy, trying to catch up with you and your friends.” He grins at Ghost, who’s still standing off to one side next to his sister.

  Yellow slowly reaches up to take off her hood and cap, carefully watching M&M, who’s staring at her, a puzzled frown on his face. It’s easy to see the resemblance between brother and sister as they stand next to each other. There’s a hushed silence in the shelter as they gaze at each other. Emotions flash across M&M’s face: confusion, surprise, hope, and finally, excitement and anticipation.

  Travis is the first to break the quiet. “M, I’d like you to meet my—”

  “Rosemary?” he interrupts. “Oh, Rosie, is it really you?”

  She nods slowly, a small, almost timid smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “M,” she whispers.

  Two long steps and he’s in front of her. He reaches out with both hands, almost trembling with his need to touch her, but he stops himself, content for the moment to study her face. “You know,” he finally says, “I knew you’d probably look a lot like Travis, but I had no idea you’d be so beautiful. Oh, God, Rosie, can I please hug you?”