Her Beautiful Mind Page 28

  On the cover of the album are the words:

  Appalachian Trail

  March 11, 2003 - September 12, 2003

  Siler crawls into my lap, settling between my crossed legs. Both children have seen this album before, particularly Cori, who loves looking at the old photos. So, I’m surprised when our normally restless, can’t-sit-still daughter flops down beside Hudson.

  She grins at his questioning glance. “I want to see it again, too. It’s a good story.”

  “It is,” he agrees before opening to the first page. Springer Mountain, Georgia is written at the top. There are several photos looking down into the green valleys below the summit. An older, middle-aged couple smile at the camera in two of them.

  “Who are those people?” Siler asks. “Should I recognize them?”

  “They’re Dreamer and Allday, two people your mom met on the day she started hiking. She took those pictures, and they took the others. When their hike was over, they sent copies to us. And no, Siler, you’ve never met them.”

  “Will they be at the wedding tomorrow?”

  “Yes, they’ll be there. They’re part of our little hiking family.”

  “She’s the one who gave Mom her trail name,” Cori adds, leaning over to tell Siler. “She thought Mom said Ella, like in Cinderella.”

  “And then she named me Mr. Easy,” Hudson adds. “Because your Uncle Liam was mad at me and put rocks in my backpack, and it wasn’t easy to carry them.”

  “But you should have been called Prince Charming, like in the fairy tale,” Cori continues grinning. “Look,” she says, already jumping to another topic. “There’s Uncle Travis and Uncle Markham standing behind Mom.”

  I wasn’t aware of it at the time, but Dreamer snapped several photos of me as I stood on the summit. One of those captured Travis and Markham in the background as they prepared to leave.

  “Why do you look so sad, Mother?” Siler whispers, examining the photo more closely.

  “She was upset with me,” Hudson answers. “You know how we’ve always told you to talk and share your feelings so there are no misunderstandings? Well,” he continues after Siler nods, “I forgot to share things with your mom, and the misunderstandings made her sad.”

  “Oh,” he says, wide-eyed. He glances first at me, and then at his father. “Then you were not really a Prince Charming.”

  “No, I wasn’t.” Hudson chuckles at his observation before winking at me. “She didn’t need a Prince Charming to rescue her, though. She’s the one who rescued me.”

  He continues to turn the pages while our children look at the photos, pointing out and discussing places they’ve been to or heard us talk about. I’ve labeled most of the photos, adding short notes describing what I did or saw. Most of the early pictures were taken by Dreamer and Allison. We added a few after Hudson was released from the hospital.

  “There is Uncle Liam’s store at Neels Gap, and Great-grandmother Dobbs’ backpack hanging on the wall.”

  Siler leans over, examining the photos more closely. “I like his store, Father.”

  Our son has always been fascinated by Mountain Crossings. If we’d let him, he’d spend hours examining the merchandise sold there.

  “When will Uncle Liam, Aunt Emma, Brandon, and Bryan get here?” Cori asks.

  “Sometime this afternoon. Did you help your mom get their rooms ready?”

  “Yes, sir,” she answers. “And I picked up all the toys around the pool, too.”

  “Thank you. That was a nice thing to do.”

  My daughter grins back at her dad, her dark-blue eyes sparkling. “But Mama says you have to clean it and do the chemicals.”

  “Oh, she did, did she?” He laughs at her teasing, then smiles at me. “Well, then we should hurry up and look at the rest of the pictures.”

  While Hudson and the children examine and discuss more of the photos, I let my mind wander to those first few months after he was released from the hospital in Gainesville. His parents flew us to New York, and we spent the next two months taking care of all the business details that were put on hold when we’d both left. One of the first things I did was give Oliver and David each a ten-percent share in the company. Then, we’d lured Susan away from her law firm with a generous salary and a ten-percent share. Hudson became the CEO, but I was still the single largest shareholder.

  We were excited about moving from New York and eagerly began researching sites in and around northern Georgia. We finally settled on Asheville, North Carolina. The weather, the thriving art scene, and the proximity to a wide variety of outdoor activities made the town a perfect choice. With several colleges and universities in the area, we were guaranteed a skilled labor force when we began expanding. The expansion came quickly.

  Before Hudson left New York to find me, he and Susan met with representatives of the US military. The war with Iraq highlighted the need for better computer security. They turned to our company for help. Suddenly, we had more work and more contracts than we could handle. We hired staff, then hired more staff.

  We also signed a very lucrative contract with Banca Italia Internazionale the week after we returned. Hudson speculated Vincent wanted to forestall any legal actions we might take against him and his niece.

  Gia was arrested. Her assets were seized, and eventually, through a long, drawn-out plea bargain, everything was sold to reimburse the people she cheated. The rest of her family distanced themselves from her, and she was sentenced to fifteen years in federal prison. Both of us were questioned and gave statements about our interactions with her. Hudson never saw her again, but I did.

  I never told him I went to her sentencing. I needed to see if the haughty, designer-clothes-wearing bully still existed, and, if she did, could she still affect me. From the back of the courtroom, I watched her shuffle to her place in front of the judge. What I saw was a broken, disheveled young woman in an ill-fitting prison jumpsuit who meekly admitted to her crimes and read the apology to her victims that her plea bargain required. I stood as she was leaving, and my movement caught her eye. For several long moments we stared at each other. Her lips clenched, and for a brief second, I saw resentment on her face. Then, the jailer pulled on her arm and she was led from the room.

  I felt nothing. Her power was gone, and I felt neither anger nor bitterness, only a slight sense of sadness at a life wasted because of greed. We dismissed her memory from our lives and never spoke of her again

  “See this.” Hudson’s voice brings me back to the present. He’s pointing to a photo of a wide-open grassy meadow. “It’s the top of Max Patch. Your mom and I hiked up one evening. The wind was blowing so hard we couldn’t keep the tent up, so we cowboy camped under the stars.”

  “Did you get cold?” Siler asks.

  “A little, but it was beautiful. We watched the full moon come up, and then the fireflies came out and danced for us.” My husband glances at me with a smug smile. Our memories include another type of mating dance on top of Max Patch, but we don’t share those with the children.

  “Fireflies are awesome,” Siler whispers.

  “I like this one,” Cori declares, indicating another photo. “You’re feeding the wild ponies, Mom.”

  “That’s Grayson Highlands in Virginia. Some people think it looks like the Scottish moors. We thought you and Siler might like to go next month when the weather gets cooler. They have lots of fireflies there, too,” I add, smiling at my son.

  “Oh, look at this one,” he says. “It looks like a flying saucer taking off. See,” he adds, pointing to the curving ramp leading up to the observation deck on top of Clingman’s Dome in the Smokies. “These are the centrifugal force lines. If they kept going around and around and faster and faster, it would just whoosh, pop up into the air.”

  Siler illustrates his words by spinning his arms around and around before throwing them up into the air.
For a fleeting moment, I see the serious science professor he will probably grow up to be, but then he giggles, and he’s our little boy again.

  Hudson turns the page, and there we all are.

  One weekend toward the end of June, I surprised him with a much longer road trip. This time, we drove to Harpers Ferry. The historic town at the confluence of the Potomac and Shenandoah Rivers is considered to be the halfway point of the Appalachian Trail. It’s also home to the Appalachian Trail Conservancy, a nonprofit organization dedicated to managing the trail.

  We drove to the historic rock building housing the organization’s offices, and standing there in front getting their photos made for the 1,000 miles thru-hiker album, were the six people who saved my husband’s life on a cold snowy day outside Franklin.

  Although we were in touch by email and the occasional phone call, I hadn’t seen any of them in almost three months. Except for Ghost and M&M, Hudson didn’t really know the girls or Curly Dan and No Filter, and barely remembered them through the haze of pain and confusion. There were hugs, tears, slaps on the back, talk, and more talk. We booked rooms at a nearby hotel, checked in, cleaned up, and explored the small town.

  My children examine the photos taken during the three-day reunion. No Filter has kept his head shaved, but his mustache is longer and drooping below his chin. Dan has hair again, and it’s curly. Travis and Markham are both sporting beards. Rosemary’s hair is longer and in braids, but Allison has kept hers short. Everyone is much thinner than they are now.

  “They look so different,” Cori says.

  “Where are Dreamer and Allday?” Siler asks. “I thought you said they were part of the hiker family.”

  “Oh, they are,” his father reassures him before turning the next few pages. “They hiked in right before we left.” The last photos are taken in front of the headquarters as we were saying goodbye. The older couple are with us, grinning as they have their picture made for the halfway mark.

  We met our friends several more times during their journey to Katahdin. Each visit is captured in the pictures, carefully labeled, and preserved in the album we study.

  The only train station on the AT is located just north of Pawling, New York. All four couples caught it one weekend and met us in New York City. We invaded the Calders’ home, the laundry and showers in almost constant use. To thank them for their hospitality, No Filter cooked dinner one night. It was a four-course feast complete with wine, coffee, and digestifs. Hudson’s parents were so impressed they began serious discussions about helping him open a restaurant. His successful restaurants in New York and Asheville are the result of their collaboration.

  It was cold and rainy the day we met them on Mt. Washington. We opted to ride the cog railway to the top rather than risk the sometimes-dangerous hike up the mountain. Siler leans closer to the photos, carefully examining the train and its trailing plume of black smoke. “I want to ride that someday, please.”

  “It was fun,” Hudson tells him. “Especially when the hikers we passed dropped their pants and mooned the train.”

  “Hudson!” My husband just laughs at me while Siler glances between us, confusion on his young face.

  “I’m sorry, son, your mom’s upset with me for talking about mooning. You see, when someone bends over and sticks their bare bottom up, it’s called mooning. And it’s a tradition for the hikers to moon the people riding in the train as it goes by.”

  I’m not surprised when Cori starts giggling so hard she can barely sit up. “Mooning,” she gasps. “Bare bottoms are moons.”

  Siler frowns and shakes his head. “That is disgusting.”

  “You’re right, it is,” I tell him. “Now let’s get back to the pictures and the story. Uncle Liam and his family will be here soon. I’m sure the boys will want to get into the pool. And, by the way, not a word to anyone about mooning.” Siler solemnly nods. I know he’ll never say a word, but the glint in Cori’s eyes tells me she’ll soon be sharing the story with Brandon and Bryan.

  Hudson turns the pages, describing the pictures taken by Allison at places along the trail. Mountain views, rivers, streams, a few photos of shelters, both new and old. In some pictures, they are carefully crossing streams, hip-deep in the rushing water. Sometimes, the trail is cut logs crossing a swampy, boggy area; in others, it crosses wide-open mountain summits.

  She’s documented their hours’ long, torturous journey through the boulder-strewn, infamous Mahoosuc Notch in Maine. Looking at them brings back painful memories of my husband’s fall. There’s a sign announcing the start of the Hundred Mile Wilderness. It warns hikers to enter only if they are prepared and carrying enough food for ten days. Allison included photos of wildlife they encountered: a moose or two, birds, snakes, and even a black bear.

  As the weeks and months pass and they travel north, spring turns to humid summer, and summer to magnificent fall. The lush forest greens change to reds and yellows, oranges and gold. Our friends traveled from winter to spring, from summer to fall.

  And then they arrived at Baxter State Park in Maine.

  As soon as the doctor declared Hudson’s leg well enough to resume normal activities, his goal had been to rebuild his strength and fitness levels to the point he could climb Katahdin. Under a therapist’s guidance, he’d worked hard, knowing the ascent of the northern mountain would probably be the physically hardest thing he’d ever done. And it was.

  Our friends arrived the evening of September 10th. We were waiting for them in the two shelters we’d reserved. We partied late, eating, drinking, talking, and listening to the stories of their great adventure. Although I was delighted for our friends, there was still a part of me that envied their hike. Hudson must have sensed my longing for the trail because later that night, he promised we would make the journey together, and we did. Two years later, we spent our honeymoon hiking from Springer to Katahdin.

  It took us almost five hours to reach the famous sign at the northern terminus of the Appalachian Trail. The dirt pathway gradually changed to a steep rock climb. In some places, foot and handholds made of steel rebar were drilled into the sheer cliff face. In others, the men formed a chain, passing and hauling the women over rocks taller than we were. We pulled, pushed, and scrambled our way to the top.

  The weather was perfect. The sky a crystalline blue, dotted here and there with pure white clouds. Below us, forests and mountains painted in the glorious hues of autumn stretched as far as we could see, broken only by the shimmer of small lakes and ponds.

  There was a sense of awe, an almost reverence, as we approached the iconic sign. We touched it, each person wrapped in their quiet thoughts as they reached the long-sought goal. Dreamer had a small pebble with her that she had picked up and carried all the way from Springer. Physically exhausted and overwhelmed at the completion of her journey, she broke down and cried when she added it to the rock cairns near the sign.

  Then it was picture time. Allison and Dreamer took photos of each person, then each couple, then the group as a whole. There was a moment of silence for Rock Dancer when No Filter and Curly Dan placed his memorial stone near the last white blaze at the base of the sign.

  “Why is Uncle Markham down on his knee?” Siler asks, pointing to one of the last pictures on the page. “Did he fall?”

  Before I can answer, Cori explains. “No, he’s proposing to Aunt Rosemary. When a man wants a woman to marry him, he gets down on one knee and asks her.”

  We were gathering our things, getting ready to start the long descent back to the shelters, when Markham surprised us all by dropping to one knee and asking Rosemary to marry him. Over the months of the hike, their relationship advanced from pen pals to lovers, but no one suspected how serious their love had become. When a shocked Rosemary gasped out a tearful, “Yes,” Markham pulled out a ring made from duct tape, wire, and a bright yellow M&M candy. At their marriage six months later, he presented her w
ith a more permanent version fashioned from platinum and a large canary-yellow diamond.

  The original ring is preserved in a small cube of clear resin. It sits in a place of honor beside their official wedding picture on a shelf in her law office in Blowing Rock, North Carolina where they moved as soon as Markham finished his medical studies. Their son, Henry, is Cori’s best friend.

  Allison and Travis settled there, too. Attracted to the small town and its beautiful surroundings, she eventually went to work with Markham. His dream to provide affordable, quality healthcare to his childhood community became a true success story. Their twin girls inherited Travis’s looks and Allison’s love of the water. I knew they, too, would be in the pool as soon as they arrived.

  Travis stayed true to his dream of teaching art. After completing his educational training, he joined the faculty at the small local school, teaching 7th through 12th grade art classes. An art gallery on the city square exhibits his paintings, and they’re attracting attention from galleries as far away as Los Angeles and New York. Once a week, he still drives to Asheville to teach an art class to local veterans.

  “I can’t wait until Aunt Rosemary gets here tomorrow,” Cori interrupts my memories. “Henry is going to teach me how to do a somersault off the diving board.”

  “Not without an adult watching,” I warn my water-loving daughter. “You and Henry are still too young to be in the pool by yourselves.”

  “I know, Mom,” she replies before jumping up and running from the room when the doorbell rings.

  “That’s probably Liam and his family.” Hudson stands. “I’ll help them with the suitcases and get them settled. You two okay?”

  Siler is still studying the last of the photos in the album, but he glances up and nods before returning to the pictures. “We’ll be down in a minute,” I tell him.

  There are only a few more pages of photos in the album. They show us hiking back down the mountain and saying goodbye the next day. Everyone will be here tomorrow when Ron and Daniel get married. We’re expecting a larger crowd for the party afterward. Some are friends from the college where Dan teaches, and some will be from Ron’s restaurants. Hudson’s parents will be here, too. My little boy is quiet, lines creasing his forehead as he examines them closely.