In the clear sunlight the houses seemed close at hand. They could count eight, maybe ten. Judy recalled the description of Ashcroft described in her library book, “The giant mountains guarding their silvery treasure.” She wondered what there was to guard in that desolate spot now. She was eager to go there at once. The tour could wait. Judging by the crowds already arrived, there would be a number of tours. Besides, if Karl did come, he would expect to meet her at Toklat.
Lynne agreed, but Allen preferred to remain in the hope of having a few words alone with Stuart Mace. They would meet later “over there,” meaning Ashcroft.
“And don’t forget the lunch,” Lynne cautioned.
Crossing the rough fields overgrown with wild, prickly grasses, they soon came close enough to see the houses—large, three stories high, the frames of gray, weather-beaten timber, ageless. Two of them had wooden signs nailed over the entrance, “Groceries,” “Drygoods.” They tried to look in and discover if anything remained of the boasted merchandise. But the windows were barred. They walked down to another house further down the field, but that too had the doors and every window boarded up.
“You’d think from the care with which they closed the houses they expected to return,” Lynne said wonderingly.
All had the sad, forlorn look of houses long empty and deserted. But one house, larger than the others, gaped wide open. Glad of the opportunity at last to satisfy their curiosity as to what the interior might be like, they stepped inside. Had vandals carried away the staircase to the upper chambers, or torn out the partitions that must have once divided this huge room?
The window frames in the upper portion of the house were hung with vines through which no ray of sun could penetrate. From the heavy beams under the roof, wisps of clothes waved weird and ghostlike in the slight wind. The two girls stood huddled together and felt like intruders as they talked of the people who once must have lived there. Judy, her imagination in full flight, pointed to the tattered garments.
“Look, I can make out a miner’s cap—and there’s an old bearskin coat. They probably had to shoot the bear, eat the meat—bear meat is very good, you know—and then use the fur to keep from freez—”
She stopped in the middle of her rhapsody. A pair of small beady eyes looked down on her. She could distinguish a wing—then another. It moved! more wings—more beady eyes. Wings fluttered—began to circle near them.
“Bats! The place is full of them. They can attack us—get into our hair!”
Without a moment’s delay, they flung hands over their heads and rushed to get out, stumbling over the ancient doorsill in their hasty exit.
Once out in the sunny meadow, Lynne laughed at herself. “I feel like a goose running out the way I did. Who ever heard of bats attacking anyone?”
“Is that so?” Judy said warmly. “One night a few summers back a bat got into my bedroom. It flapped around horribly, looking for me. I still get the creeps when I think of it. If Grandpa hadn’t come in—”
“O.K. I’ve heard of bats in the belfry,” Lynne said dryly, “but never mind. Have it your own way.”
They walked on to examine the few remaining houses. Except for the ruins of a fence and an upside-down hut that was probably once an outhouse, nothing remained to indicate that people once lived there.
“Ashcroft is sure a ghost town,” they both agreed.
They started to trudge back. They had gone further than they expected and found the walking hard and tiring. When they stopped once or twice to rest, they thought they heard the unmistakable chop chop of an ax. Following the direction of the sound, they came upon a cabin, no larger than a good-sized woodshed. Near it stood a man swinging his ax with an easy, steady rhythm.
He looked up as they approached and said, in answer to their greeting, “’Tis a fine morning.” He nodded and smiled at them.
They could see at once that he was old, very old. His face was crisscrossed with fine lines, but his blue eyes were bright and he held himself so erect that Judy involuntarily straightened her slumping shoulders.
“Isn’t that pretty strenuous?” Lynne asked, pointing to the huge tree he was splitting.
He smiled again. “I’m eighty-two and never felt better. We’ll need all the wood we can cut.” He spoke with the pride of the very old whom the years have used well.
Judy walked closer to the cabin and the door being ajar, she looked inside—two cots, some shelves sparsely stacked with cans of soup, some other foodstuffs.
“You don’t live here, do you?” she asked, her voice incredulous as she again faced the old man.
“Yes. My pal and I, we live here. We’re the only two natives left in Ashcroft.”
“You are?” Lynne and Judy said in one voice.
“Let’s stay here for a while,” Judy whispered. “The meadow’s so flat, we can’t help seeing Allen when he comes looking for us.”
Lynne nodded. “May we sit here a little while and rest, Mister? We expect to meet someone later.”
He seemed pleased. “I’m glad of your company.” He picked up his ax and placed it against the woodpile.
“Set yourselves down. Make yourselves comfortable—the logs or the grass.”
He sat down on the fallen tree and Judy, on the stiff undergrowth, looked up at him with deep, commiserating eyes.
“I don’t see how you can bear to live in that little cabin all winter. I should think you’d die of lonesomeness or freeze to death!”
“It’s never that cold, Miss. The sun’s good and hot even on the coldest days. And I’m used to it.”
He looked at Lynne. “Came here as a boy when my father worked in the silver mines and I’ve stayed here, off and on, ever since.”
He fished out a pipe from his shirt pocket and the girls watched the gnarled fingers first clean it and then stuff it with some yellowish weed.
“Was Ashcroft ever like Aspen? You know what I mean, well populated, with lots of mines?” Lynne asked, as the old man puffed contentedly on his pipe.
“Well, yes and no. Ashcroft was built up before Aspen, but Aspen got ahead faster.”
“Why?” Judy asked.
“I’ll tell yer. For one thing, the mines out this way were hard to work and new mines weren’t easy to locate. At Aspen things were different. New veins kept on being opened all the time and they weren’t so hard to mine. Nature favored it more, or maybe it was better equipment. Anyhow, prospectors and settlers both got discouraged. They gradually took off. Yep, they just moved away. A lot of them dragged their houses with them by mule team.”
“What about Montezeuma and Tam-o-shanta? They were here. Horace Tabor made a big success of his mines.” Judy wagged her head in the manner of one who had spent her life in the bowels of the earth.
Lynne looked at her in surprise. “How do you know?”
“Oh, I’ve been reading up about it,” she answered with a superior smile.
But the old man saw nothing strange in Judy’s erudition.
uncaptioned
“The young lady’s right,” he said. “Montezeuma had plenty of good ore and it did well. Made Tabor a tidy fortune. But it was too high. Nearly thirteen thousand feet. Dragging supplies out there was hard, but only a man like Tabor could make a good thing of it.” He nodded at them and a great smile spread over the wrinkled face, deepening the two well-marked furrows around his jaw.
“Tabor built a mansion out here, real elegant, gold paper on the walls. Built it for Baby Doe. That’s the second Mrs. Tabor that maybe you heard about.”
“Yes. Did you ever see her?” Judy asked, with mounting interest.
“Well, in a manner of speaking. Saw her coming and going. The day she came out to see Montezeuma, Tabor was that happy he declared a twenty-four-hour holiday for everyone working in the mine. He was a real silver king.” The old man shook his head appreciatively. “He treated everyone that day to all the liquor he could drink.”
But his smile quickly faded. “Augusta got that mine too.” He sat thinking for a moment. “Not that you can altogether blame her, the first Mrs. Tabor. She’d helped him when he was—well, nobody. And now that he was rich and famous, she wanted to hold on. Guess she loved him, so she said right out in all the newspapers.”
“Augusta seems to have done very well for herself,” Judy commented sternly.
Again Lynne lifted her eyebrows. She was certain now Judy had been boning up not only on the history but on the gossip column of those days.
“Well, did Horace Tabor and his new love live happily ever after?” Lynne asked lightly.
Judy brushed aside the question. “What happened after the Silver Panic, Mister? Did Baby Doe leave Tabor when he became poor?”
“No, Miss.” The answer was emphatic. “She stuck to him through thick and thin. Nobody expected it of her—she was that young and handsome. When she married Tabor, the biggest people in Washington came to the wedding. Tabor was an important man, not only rich. He’d done a lot for Leadville—the opera house and then at Denver, built a hotel and lots more.
“The State of Colorado was grateful and he become a Senator for a while.” His words came more slowly as if the embers of his excitement had died out like his pipe.
“Well, Augusta made such a scandal of his leaving her that she spoiled his chances in politics. Then comes the Panic—1893! Baby Doe, from being the millionaire darling of a silver king, came down to even taking in washing. She proved herself a good wife and faithful.”
“I knew she would,” Judy said triumphantly. She wanted to know more. “Is that all?” she asked.
“No.” The old man shook his head gravely. “As I was saying, Tabor lost everything and what he didn’t lose, he’d given to Augusta. She was rich and stayed rich. All that remained to Tabor was one mine. He still owned Matchless. It wasn’t paying any but he had great faith in it. When he was on his deathbed, he tells Baby Doe, ‘Hold on to Matchless. It’ll make a fortune yet.’”
“And did it?” Judy asked anxiously.
The old man shook his head. “She held on to it because Tabor told her. She become that poor, she didn’t have a roof over her head. So she moved out to the mine. Lived alone in a one-room cabin.”
He leaned forward, holding his young listeners.
“Gettin’ enough to eat wasn’t all her trouble. Tax collectors came out to the mine and she held them off with a gun. But she had friends who stuck by her, respected her grit, like that Jacob Sands of Aspen and some others, I forget the names. They spent money to clear her title to Matchless so that she could hold on to it, to the very end. She held it for forty years, but it never paid any.” He sighed deeply.
“They found her one day, her body dressed in rags, her feet covered with newspapers to keep out the cold—found her frozen to death.”
For a while no one spoke. Then as if wishing to break the pall of sadness that engulfed him, Lynne asked, “Do you ever get to Aspen?”
“Sometimes. We have friends over there,” and he pointed in the direction of Toklat.
Looking across the field, they saw Allen coming toward them with great long strides. “Had a wonderful time with Mr. Mace,” he said as soon as they were within earshot. Then coming closer he noticed the old man. Allen’s eyes seemed to ask, “Where did you pick up this ancient?”
“Allen,” Lynne said quickly, “this gentleman is one of the two natives of Ashcroft—and still lives here.”
“I’m happy to know you,” Allen said, shaking his hand.
They repeated the Baby Doe story for Allen’s benefit as they spread their lunch, which they insisted the old man share with them. When they left, he stood there waving, a tall spare figure, framed by the deserted houses and the brooding mountains.
Allen hurried them along. “What an extraordinary man Mace is! What skill he uses in handling his dogs!”
“What’s so special about that?” Judy asked, still ruminating about the ups and downs of Baby Doe. “Horses pull wagons and dogs pull sleighs. Why is Mr. Mace so wonderful?”
“For one thing, kid,” Allen said, annoyed at Judy’s lack of enthusiasm, “he was with the ski troops that saw Arctic duty in World War II. He learned about dogs the hard way.”
Allen turned to a more appreciative audience. “Lynne, I guess none of us realized what these mountain troops went through out in that wasteland of snow and ice. The pilots they saved, the planes and cargo they salvaged—”
“What had the dogs to do with the pilots?” Judy asked.
“Fierce storms often forced the planes down,” Allen explained patiently. “Mace was in charge of a division whose job it was to search for and rescue the flyers and, of course, to save the air cargo on which their lives depended. You see, Judy, only dogs and dog-sleighs can travel over that sort of country.”
They moved along at a snail’s pace as Allen became more and more engrossed in his subject. “Mr. Mace had to train the dogs, keep the drivers from fighting each other. Tempers get ugly under such conditions. The war went on. Sleighs wore out. He had to make new ones—new equipment.” Allen shook his head. “Mace is a modest man. You have to drag the story out of him.”
“How did he happen to get to Ashcroft?” Lynne asked.
Allen laughed. “I asked him that myself. It seems that when the war was over, they didn’t know what to do with those wonderful dogs. The top brass ordered them sold. Mace said he’d grown to love working with dogs. The thought of giving it up made him wretched. He saved some money and he bought all the top-strain dogs he could afford. He and his wife decided to take their dogs to Aspen to breed and train them, as a hobby.”
“What did he do before the war?” Lynne asked.
“Some kind of research on flowers that grow on the Rocky Mountain slopes. But when he came back, there was no interest in that sort of thing. And there weren’t any jobs that he could find to do around Aspen. So he decided to move out to Ashcroft. Land was cheap and snow lay on the mountains seven months of the year. Dog-sledding and skiing had become a great national sport. So he decided to turn his hobby into a job! He and Mrs. Mace worked through one summer and a long hard winter to build the log and stone lodge we passed. Guests can stay there and enjoy long trips into the mountains with the dog-sled teams and—”
Lynne, interrupting him with a laugh, said, “You’re so wound up talking about Mr. Mace, you forgot about the tour. I can see from here people crowding through the gate.”
They made the remaining distance on the run. They arrived in time to join the twenty or thirty others all trying to squeeze as close as possible to the owner and guide, while Judy unabashed scrutinized every likely or unlikely person that might be Karl.
Stuart Mace was dressed in well-fitting khaki trousers and a plaid shirt open at the throat. His sturdy bronzed neck suited the finely molded features of his face and his smile was warm and friendly.
“As you see,” he began, “we have a great family of dogs, bred for hard work in the mountains, ice and snow. From our original nine dogs we have eighty, among them some of the finest leaders and teams in the country.”
He motioned the group to follow him. Individual kennels shaded by trees extended in all directions. The dogs, tied by long leashes, had a great deal of freedom. They looked at the visitors unmoved. None barked. Mr. Mace pointed out common characteristics: their large, long-haired bodies, the markings on their bodies, their intelligent faces, their long pointed ears and bushy tails. As Mr. Mace passed the dogs, he fondled them and those who were by chance overlooked snuggled up to him and their eyes begged for his caress.
“Let’s have a look at some of the very young dogs,” Mr. Mace said, the crowd at his heels. He picked up a beautiful furry puppy and held him in his arms like a baby.
“This Alaskan dog is only three months old. We know by this time that she will never do the work our dog teams must do.”
“How do I know?” Mr. Mace smiled at the man who asked the question.
“We have our way of knowing. When I decide that such is the case, we sell them as pets. They make good watch dogs and are gentle and affectionate.”
“What does it cost to buy such a puppy?” Allen asked in a low voice.
“About a hundred dollars, only what it cost us to raise and feed the dog for the three months.”
Judy looked at Allen, who was whispering something to Lynne.
In that momentary lull she could hear Lynne’s answering whisper, “But what would we do with him when you’re away on tour for eight weeks and I’m busy teaching?”
“When do you throw them the meat?” a little boy asked as they went on among the older dogs.
“We’re not in the zoo, my little friend. No lions or tigers here,” Mace replied with a grin. “These dogs are never fed any meat. Up in the Arctic regions, the dogs get walrus and chunks of seal. But here, it’s not necessary. See that box of food next to each kennel? When a dog is hungry, he goes over and eats what he wants of it. It’s a mixture of the best scientific foods these dogs require.” He pointed to the pans of water near each kennel. “They need lots of water during the summer months, but in the winter the snow is enough.”
“Gee, these dogs are kind of lazy—the way they just sit around.” Mr. Mace overheard the little boy’s complaint.
Mr. Mace smiled at the boy. “Don’t you think these dogs deserve a rest after working hard from November through April? This is their vacation, son,” he said kindly. “That’s how we keep them fit and happy.”
They were now among the full-grown dogs selected for their team work. “Eight, ten, sometimes twelve dogs make a team,” Mr. Mace explained, “depending on the distance to be traveled and the load to be pulled. The dogs are harnessed in pairs, but the leader runs in single harness in front. Teams must be well matched, not only for beauty and appearance, but in strength and size. But the leader is the prize of the pack—like this one here.” Mr. Mace bent over to pet him.
“He’s pure Malamute strain. That’s one of the best. See his powerful chest, his long bushy tail, like the others, only longer and bushier. Look at his feet, those powerful nails, the short hair cushioning the toes, the long hair between. He is sure-footed, intelligent, and has a fine sense of smell. Never forgets a road once he’s been over it, never forgets commands once they’ve been mastered. And he has character! Don’t laugh,” he smiled at Judy. “This dog has got character. He demands obedience from his team. Where he goes, the team must follow.”
Mr. Mace turned his attention to a large handsome dog that seemed unresponsive to his petting. “She’s Eskimo, and she’s brooding. We took away her puppies some days ago and she’s still unhappy.”
A little boy, more venturesome than the others, went over to her. “Don’t go near her,” Mr. Mace said. “She’s not vicious, none of them are, but she’s best left alone at present.”
The crowd moved on. The boy who had just been admonished stood in front of the kennel watching the sulky animal. As Judy tried to pass, the boy stood talking to the dog.
“What’s the use of being sore?” He stepped closer. “Come on, let’s shake hands.”
The dog lifted her leg and gave the boy’s chest a shove. He went down as if hit by a load of bricks. The boy lay there, stunned. Judy screamed, “Mr. Mace! Mr. Mace!”
It was her frightened call that brought Mr. Mace loping back. He picked up the frightened boy and said severely, “You’re not hurt, but I warned you to let that dog alone.”
Mr. Mace walked on and the group, a little sobered, followed.
“How much cold can these dogs stand?” Lynne asked.
“In the far north they can take a temperature that goes to sixty or seventy degrees below zero. We, of course, haven’t such extremes of cold here, but it’s plenty cold in the mountains in the winter. When we take people on our sledding trips over snow-covered trails, we stop overnight at a cabin we’ve built. Our riders enjoy a good fire, a comfortable bed and a meal.
“But,” he went on, “the dogs are just unharnessed, fed, and go to sleep in the snow. You’ve noticed these Huskies have thick coats of fur and nature further protects them with a wool matting close to their hide. So you see,” and he smiled at Lynne, “these dogs can stand all kinds of weather.”
“Look at that dog there,” a woman exclaimed. “I’ve never seen such a handsome dog! His black markings on the forehead and nose are so striking against his white coat!” All turned to look. “See how he stands there as if he enjoyed our admiration.”
“Of course, she does,” Mr. Mace said. “She’s our prima donna, one of our famous movie stars. She’s only completely happy when she’s in front of a movie camera.”
“Can she do some tricks for us now, please?”
“I’m afraid not. Our dogs have performed often right out here in these very mountains. You’ve probably seen them on your own TV’s at home, thinking they were made in the Arctic! But most often when Hollywood needs our dogs, we just board a plane and go there.”
There was more, much more. Eighty dogs are a lot of dogs to see and Judy must have looked as she felt, very weary. The tour was over.
As they neared the exit, Mr. Mace turned to the crowd still following him. “Like to hear my dog concert?”
“Sure!” everyone said.
“Kyloo,” Mr. Mace addressed a powerful Husky whose kennel was near, “how about some music for these nice people?”
Kyloo didn’t seem interested.
“Now come on, Kyloo,” Mr. Mace’s voice was coaxing. “Don’t be shy. I’ll start you off.”
Mr. Mace thrust back his head and a loud, prolonged wail came from his throat.
Kyloo didn’t need any more urging. He tilted back his head, opened his wide jaws and the same powerful, prolonged note issued from his throat. It re-echoed through the grove and grew in volume as the wail was taken up by the eighty dogs.
It was a strange, primitive call, high and piercing. Yes, it was a kind of song, the dogs’ farewell to the visitors, farewell in music.
While Allen stayed on to take some snapshots of the dogs, Lynne and Judy followed others into the Arctic Trading Shop, a lovely log cabin displaying rare and unusual things. When at last Allen joined them, they returned to the car to drive back to Aspen.
It was only as they drove through Main Street past the Ski Lodge and Chairlift that Judy suddenly remembered.
“Allen,” she said, putting her hand on the wheel, “aren’t we going up the Chairlift? You promised!”
“Judy, I hate to say it, but the answer is ‘no.’”
“Why?” she asked, unable to hide her disappointment.
“Well,” Allen said slowly as if to lessen the blow, “chiefly because Lynne and I went up last Saturday.”
“You went up?” Judy repeated, reluctant to believe such treachery, going up without her!
Allen nodded. “You see, a lot of Festival people planned the trip, getting some special rate and Lynne and I couldn’t resist a bargain! But, Judy,” Allen smiled sheepishly, “I think we’re sort of glad you weren’t along to witness our disgrace. We got off at Midway!”
“How could you get off when the chairs keep moving all the time? The machinery never stops. I’ve watched it a hundred times.”
“Well, it takes a bit of agility, but everyone has to get off at Midway for a few minutes. The mechanism changes direction at that point. You walk a few feet and leap on again. That’s where the chair immediately swings out over a bottomless chasm! I decided I had enough! Dangling like a clothes hanger from that slender cable was too much for me. I had no stomach to ride over that yawning abyss and then ascend to thirteen thousand feet!”
Judy looked at Lynne. “Is he joking? He gave up just like that?”
“We gave up, just like that,” Lynne said laughing. “Allen shouted to me, ‘I’m getting off at Midway. Not going further. You keep going if you wish, but I don’t think it sensible.’
“Jouncing along, my nerves a bit jittery, I guess I was secretly glad and yelled back, ‘I will too.’ My young campers were below me, swinging along, waving their hands and laughing. I knew we would have to brave their jeers, if not their scorn. But we did.” Lynne and Allen exchanged glances as if there were some reason for their lack of hardihood.
“So like a cautious young couple with good reasons for our caution,” again that special smile for Allen, “we walked down a steep mining road that took us back to Aspen. It was wonderful even if we didn’t get to the top.”
Allen patted Judy’s shoulder. “I guess it isn’t so bad when the mountains and the chasm are blanketed in snow. Leave something for another time or another year. You’ll be coming to Aspen again. Everyone does.”
“I hope so,” Judy said with forced resignation. Then she remembered Ashcroft and the dogs. “It’s been such a perfect day. How can I ever thank you!”
The car pulled up in front of Judy’s house. “I’m sorry we can’t stop in—marketing, and dinner still to get,” Lynne said. “We’ll see Mother and Dad in a few days—we have something very special to tell them.”
Judy wondered.
Lynne went on, “You know, Allen and I feel flattered. You didn’t mention Karl’s name once all day!”
“But that doesn’t mean that I didn’t think of him. Everytime I looked at those gorgeous Eskimo dogs with their sad, dreamy eyes, I thought of Karl. Isn’t that strange?”
“Truth is stranger than fiction,” Lynne laughed. “I’m afraid you’ve got a real case! Good-bye, dear!”
“Good-bye!”
“Something special to tell them?” Judy repeated to herself as she slowly mounted the porch steps. “Maybe that’s why Allen didn’t want Lynne to go further on the Chairlift. After all, they are married two years—”
“... and so, dear Grandpa, I’ve brought you up on all the latest news. One or two things more. Mother is still hopeful for an early audition for the City Center Opera Company. Father continues to write incomprehensible notes on his music sheets—and literally walks on air when it goes well. Other times he just looks black and frustrated, staring into space as if listening. But his work at the school is fine. And his quartet is making a name for itself in this oasis we call Aspen. There! That’s enough about them!
“I can see you look at me in that way you have and say, ‘What about you?’
“That’s not so easy to answer. Part of me is getting along swimmingly. Lynne says I have a gift with children! Imagine, I who during those first days at camp felt like wringing their individual and collective necks!
“Happy as I am to have that wonderful job, that’s not the important thing in my life. Mother is blind and so is Father! The great change in my life—in me, has come since I’ve known Karl! When I first wrote to you about him, I told you of his looks, his love and knowledge of music, his almost unnatural devotion to his mother! But our friendship, oh so necessary to both of us, has deepened, has matured into something quite wonderful! Please don’t smile. I couldn’t bear it and somehow I know you won’t or I wouldn’t be writing as I do.
“When I see him, his nearness gives me a joy I can’t explain. We see each other nearly every day—if not at his Uncle Yahn’s Swiss Shop, then he drops in here. We never finish all we have to say. I know his character, his thoughts, his dreams. I weep for all his father has been through. Remember the prophets of the Old Testament you used to read to me? I listened with only half an ear. But Karl knows a lot of Jewish history and I’m learning fast. When Grandma hears of this phenomenon, she will be glad that all her efforts to fill the huge gap in my ignorance has at last born fruit. I’m beginning to glimpse what she used to call ‘our great heritage.’
“But Mother sees little of all this greatness in Karl. She treats him like any other music student.
“‘How are things going, Karl?’ Then she’s off to the kitchen or marketing or sometimes, more lately, to rest. Father is more interested, but he too is preoccupied with his own work. So I have become more necessary to Karl as he is to me.
“I love him! There, I have written the word. I dream of what he’ll be some day, how I can help and how I can become that which he seems to see in me. Will our discovery of each other in Aspen flower into something as wonderful as the present? Don’t tell me I’m young! Juliet was only fifteen! Happily for us, there are no Montagues and Capulets with their senseless feuds to try to keep us apart!
“I know my own feelings, but how can I know that Karl loves me? I do know he likes me a lot, but even so, there are complications!
“Karl works with a pianist and she’s fiendishly clever! She’s pretty, very superior, and treats me like a child! She’s old, at least twenty. For all that, she looks so dainty and petite. And I’m awkward, stupid and tongue-tied when I’m with her.
“Karl asked me to meet her. I was terribly curious about her and agreed although I knew in advance I wouldn’t like her. Twice was enough! I’ll not subject myself again to such humiliation. I asked him why he allowed her to order him around and make jokes about the most serious things?
“His only answer was, ‘She knows her piano. I don’t. I’m lucky to get that ribbing. It helps to keep one’s feet on the ground. Besides, she’s fun to be with!’
“He looked at me in surprise. ‘You used to have a sense of humor, Judy. What’s become of it? I hoped you’d enjoy Marian as much as I do.’
“I couldn’t tell him I never want to see her again! She stirs up the ignoble in me. I know, at least I feel, she’s trying to entice Karl, trying to get him in her clutches, away from me. Probably, she recognizes the genius he’ll become some day! I try not to think of her and often I forget her completely, especially when Karl and I are together, alone.
“Good-bye, Grandpa. Keep well and know I love you. This letter is for you only. I won’t mail it until I’ve written another for Grandma with all the concerts, lectures (ugh!), recitals and rehearsals—in short, with all the news that’s fit to print. O.K.?
Lovingly and confidentially yours,Judy”
It was the middle of August and the season in Aspen was drawing to a close. In a little more than two weeks, the students of the Festival would begin to trickle back, some to college, others to jobs. The artists and faculty members were already speaking of their fall engagements to travel all over the United States, Canada, and South America.
But in the meantime, as if the planners of the Music Festival wished to end the Festival in a blaze of glory, life in Aspen increased to a furious tempo. Lectures, recitals, concerts, music in one form or another filled the days and nights. No one seemed to feel the strain except Judy. She wondered sometimes, did the nearby mountains ever tire of this constant paean of music?
One evening Mrs. Lurie casually announced at dinner, “We’re all going tonight to a lecture at the Seminar Building.” She turned to Judy. “You remember that attractive ultramodern building near the Tent? You loved the paintings exhibited there on those circular walls.” She shook her head meditatively, “Those paintings by American artists were given by Mr. Paepcke. He’s certainly been very generous.”
“Allen and Lynne are going to pick us up in their car,” her mother went on cheerfully. “Oh, here they are!”
After the usual greetings, Mrs. Lurie said, “Judy’s coming with us. The lecture will be over by ten.”
“What’s the lecture about?” Judy asked.
Her mother answered, “‘Modern Trends in Disharmony.’ It should be wonderful!”
Judy shuddered. She remembered other “wonderful lectures” through which she had sat bored and rebellious. In that brilliantly lighted hall one had not even the small luxury of being able to fall asleep!
“They’re playing a wonderful Western at the Isis,” Judy said desperately.
“A Western!” her mother and Lynne said. “They’re dreadful!”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Allen said quite unexpectedly. “Daredevil riding on magnificent horses, hairbreadth escapes, mountain scenes like our Rockies—” His eyes flashed. “They’re packed with excitement—loads of it.”
Judy looked at Allen, then shifted her gaze to her father. In his eyes too there was more than a glint of interest.
“Come to think of it,” Allen went on, “it’s funny, we haven’t been to a movie all summer.”
“What’s funny about that?” Lynne asked with marked disappointment at Allen’s bourgeois taste in films. “Of course, we haven’t been to a movie, nor have we seen any television. And we certainly haven’t missed either.” She looked for encouragement to Mr. Lurie as she went on.
“Who wants to see gun-shooting, Hollywood cowboys tearing up and down mountains when one can enjoy a delightful evening listening to ‘Modern Trends’!” She smiled at John certain of his unqualified support.
Instead of an answering smile, he cleared his throat and said with a deprecating air, “I agree with Allen. There’s something to be said for these Westerns. The sight of horses leaping from crag to crag, men hurled from saddles, climbing inch by inch over backbreaking trails—” He laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “It fills me with a nostalgia.”
“But this lecture, John,” Minna said in a quiet, determined voice, “is by one of the foremost musicologists.”
“One of the greatest,” Lynne added.
Allen placed his large, friendly hands on Judy’s shoulders. “Have a heart, Lynne. This kid has listened to music and lectures without let-up for seven long weeks. Sure, it’s been great, but maybe she’d like a change of diet.”
There was a flurried consultation between Lynne and Minna. Then with a martyrlike smile, Lynne said, “Allen, dear, since you feel so strongly about Judy’s state of mind, of course, we’ll go to the Isis.”
Allen brazenly winked at John. Then everyone laughed. Judy was unable to see the joke. As they walked along the quiet streets, seeing her father and Allen in such high spirits, she wondered. Had they made all that fuss on her account or were they satisfying some secret desire of their own?
The very next day John Lurie announced his decision to climb Maroon Peak on Sunday. All summer he had been promising himself one good climb. The movie did it! As Judy phrased it, “The close-up of the mountain trails whetted his ‘blunted purpose,’” something she had culled from her favorite play of Shakespeare. Whatever the reason, John Lurie cleared his calendar and made his plans.
Fran accepted the role of guide, since he knew the trails well. Karl was invited “to please a certain nameless young lady,” he said. “Oh, Father!” came ecstatically from Judy at this bit of news. Minna was invited but refused as she didn’t feel equal to so difficult a climb and might spoil the day for the others.
The final arrangements were discussed. Extra jackets and sweaters were to be taken in their knapsacks as the summit was often bitterly cold, even in summer. Each one was to provide his own sandwiches and a drink of some kind or water in a canteen and heavy socks and shoes were to be worn. The agreed to meet at eight o’clock in the morning at the foot of the trail twelve miles from Aspen. Judy and her father were getting a lift through the kindness of a neighbor, but Fran cheerfully volunteered not only to get Karl and himself to the trail, but also to have a car meet them at seven that night to take them back to Aspen.
The night before the climb Judy lay in bed unable to sleep. A whole day with Karl ahead of her! She felt like a general mapping out her strategy. Her father would race ahead with Fran, but she, affecting an air of languor (lovely thought, she hoped she could bring it off!) would set a slower pace and Karl, with his usual consideration, would be beside her. She sighed luxuriously. There would be hours and hours to talk! And at the summit, resting amid the clouds, they would read poetry! She had slipped a volume of her grandfather’s poems into the knapsack, just in case—although she knew a few of them by heart.
As she tossed on her bed, the thought of Marian crossed her mind. Karl hadn’t mentioned her name in days, yet her pretty face still troubled Judy. Jealous! Of course not! That was over and done with. “Jealousy was degrading,” she muttered into the pillow, turning it for the tenth time. It was good to feel cleansed and serene. But a sweet and consoling thought lulled her to sleep. The words repeated themselves like a lullaby: “Marian would soon return to Chicago. Soon, soon—the sooner, the better!”
“Judy, you’re a fine one to depend on! I thought you’d be up at dawn.” It was her father, fully dressed, ready for their trip.
They reached the trail long ahead of the scheduled time. During the half-hour wait the crystal-clear air gave Judy such an appetite that she consumed a sandwich and was nibbling on a hard boiled egg when her father rescued what remained of her lunch and replaced it in his knapsack.
At the sound of a motor Judy jumped up, “Here they are!”
A beautiful, shiny, black convertible roared toward them, swung into the brush and came to a stop. She stared at it. Every car in Aspen was laden with weeks of dust. No one they knew ever bothered to clean a car that would get just as dusty an hour later.
Fran stepped out of the car and walked toward them. His face was shining, his heavy boots were laced to the knees, and a coil of rope and knapsack were jauntily slung over his shoulder.
“Where’s Karl?” Judy asked as he came nearer.
“He’s here. Like a real gentleman, he’s helping the lady.”
“The lady?” Judy repeated stupidly, her eyes fixed on the car.
Yes! There she was walking with Karl, a hand on his arm, a dainty figure in dark blue jeans, a cap to match and a bright red sweater. It couldn’t be—No!—that was impossible!
They approached slowly. Karl, with a battered old rucksack borrowed from his uncle, heavy-booted and heavy of tongue, smiled feebly, “I hope you won’t mind. Marian begged to come along.”
Marian gave Judy a little nod and held out her pretty manicured hand to Mr. Lurie. “I know I’m just an interloper, but to be in the heart of the Rockies and not able to boast of one little climb—” She gave Mr. Lurie a ravishing smile.
“Little climb,” Judy muttered under her breath, but she noticed that her father looked as pleased as Punch and said, “We’re delighted to have you come along.”
“That’s sweet of you, Mr. Lurie.” Then as if just remembering Judy’s existence, she said, “How are you?” And without waiting for an answer continued, “I bet you’re glad not to be the only girl in the party!”
“Well, let’s get started,” Fran said. “We’ve a novice with us,” he chuckled. “Marian may look like an ad for the ski patrol, but, brother, she’s never climbed a mountain except in a car. Well, there always has to be a first time. Besides, if we hadn’t Marian’s car, we would have had to hike the twelve miles to get here. The guy who was to take us found himself with five passengers for Denver. A break for him, but—”
Judy stood in the circle and except for a hollow “Hello, Marian,” had been too numb to say anything. Her heart was sore with all her useless, foolish planning. As her grandmother remarked when an irrepressible neighbor invaded her privacy with stupid visits and more stupid conversation, “This neighborhood was always so lovely. Nowshehas to move next door. There’s always a fly in the ointment!”
Mr. Lurie was laughing at something Marian was saying. He turned to Fran, “Maybe you’re right about the stylish outfit, but why didn’t you tell Marian to wear heavy shoes?”
“I did tell her.”
“They both did,” Mirian said with a careless shrug. “But I don’t own a pair of delightfully sensible cowhide boots such as Judy is sporting.”
Only Judy noticed the subtle sarcasm, “delightfully sensible.” She looked at her thick socks, the mud-colored boots inherited from her mother’s climbing era. She clenched her teeth.