Chapter 8

Had the snowboarder disappeared behind that line of tall pine trees? Or had she imagined the whole thing? She felt as though she was coming out of a dream-like state.

In the reflection of the window she saw a broad-shouldered man wearing a bright red jacket. This time she definitely wasn’t dreaming. The man came through the front door and headed straight toward Kendal’s father and wrapped his arms around him.

“Jeremy Jacobs!” Kendal’s father said, laughing and stepping back to get a look at his old friend. “I didn’t recognize you with that beard. You look like an old man.”

“Augie Doggie,” Jeremy said. “You look like an old dog.”

“Augie?” Kendal said. She’d only ever heard her mother call her father by that name. Everyone else she knew called him August. Or Captain Gibson. Her father didn’t look like an Augie.

“How have you been?”

“Good,” her father said, then nodded toward Kendal. “I don’t think you’ve seen this kid since she was about two feet tall.”

“Ahh,” Jeremy said, reaching out to shake Kendal’s hand, “your dad goes on and on about you. The apple of his eye.”

“Really?” Kendal said. “I thought I was more like a kiwi or banana.”

Jeremy laughed. Her father didn’t. He’d always been puzzled by her when she said silly things.

The woman behind the counter stepped around the desk.

“This is Marion,” Jeremy said. “She and her husband have been running this lodge for nearly forty years.”

“Forty-two,” Marion corrected. “Ready to retire after this year, though.”

“What rooms are open?” Jeremy asked.

“Nearly all of them,” Marion replied. “The place emptied out after we shut the chairs down. I’m going to give your friends the Twin Pine Suite. Best view in the place, but it isn’t quite ready yet.”

“Thanks,” Kendal said.

“You’ll sleep well there,” the woman said with a smile. “And it sounds like you’re going to need your rest.”

The three of them sat down at a wooden table, and Jeremy went into the kitchen and brought back a plate of nachos, two beers, and a Coke.

“What’s been going on?” Kendal’s father asked when Jeremy sat down.

“One freak accident after another,” Jeremy said, popping the cap off his beer. “Today, the cable on the lift just snapped.”

“We’ve heard the mountain is cursed,” Kendal said, stirring her Coke with a straw.

“We’ve had some bad luck,” Jeremy said. “Mostly, I just don’t think people come here prepared. The mountain makes the rules, and the rules can change at any time.”

Kendal bit into a piece of ice. The whole idea of climbing the mountain suddenly seemed insane.

Jeremy peeled the label off his beer. “I’ll get the two of you prepared. Before we begin our summit, you’ll understand whatever rules the mountain throws at us. How’s that sound?”

“To preparedness,” her father said, lifting his beer up in the air.

“Training begins at 0500,” Jeremy said.

Kendal’s father clinked bottles with his friend. But Kendal wasn’t in the glass-clinking kind of mood.

Marion came over with a set of keys and told them she’d show them up to their room.

“Go ahead,” Kendal’s father said. “You better get some sleep. I’ll be up in a bit.”

“Rest is one of the best ways to prepare for any climb. If you’re tired, you are more likely to make a mistake,” Jeremy said.

“Then I think we should meet at 8:00 a.m.,” Kendal said.

“How about 7:00?” Jeremy said.

“7:30?” Kendal countered.

“7:30 it is,” Jeremy said. “See you tomorrow, kid.”

“Goodnight,” Kendal said.

She was exhausted after all the traveling. She followed Marion’s swinging, silver braid and with each swing, she seemed to get sleepier. An image of the snowboarder slalomed around her brain.

They climbed the staircase. Kendal noticed that when Marion stepped, the stair did not creak, but when Kendal stepped, there was a loud creak.

“You need to know where to step,” Marion said, turning around and giving Kendal a crooked smile. “You need to know the structure of anything you climb.”

“Sounds like it was a bad day around here,” Kendal said as they made their way to the top of the stairs.

“It’s been one bad day after another,” the woman said. “The mountain has been bitter this year.”

“Why do you think that is?” Kendal asked.

“I don’t know, not for sure, but bad things started happening when a sixteen-year-old boy went missing a year ago. He was off back-country snowboarding and never made it back down.”

“They still haven’t found him?” Kendal asked.

“Sometimes volcanic gas will melt through ice and snow and create a sudden hole where the gas has escaped. After a day or two, ice will freeze over the top.”

“Volcanic gas?”

“You are standing on a volcanic mountain,” Marion said. “Didn’t you know that? Just like St. Helens.”

“No,” Kendal said. “My father told me we were going mountain climbing, not volcano climbing.”

Kendal followed Marion down to a room at the end of the hall.

“There are two bedrooms,” Marion said as she pointed to the doors on each side of the sitting area. “I think you should take the one on the left. It’s a bit warmer than the other one and the bathroom has a tub.”

Kendal followed her into the bedroom and noticed how quickly Marion shut the plaid curtains.

“Why is a volcano covered in snow?” Kendal asked.

Marion began to answer—something about geology and climate—but then said, “The library downstairs can probably do a better job answering any questions you have. There’s a whole shelf dedicated to Mount Hood.”

Kendal wanted to run straight down the stairs, but she thanked Marion and waited for her to leave. She wanted to go down to the library alone. She didn’t like it when people talked to her when she was looking through books.

After Marion left, Kendal peeked out the door. The hallway was empty, so she headed down the stairs. In the lobby, she could hear her father and Jeremy laugh. She thought about how much she missed the sound of her father’s laugh when he was away. She wished he laughed more, but every time he returned home, he seemed to grow more and more serious.

The library was behind the staircase and down a short hallway. Books stacked on shelves up to the ceiling, comfy leather chairs, a gas fireplace, and green reading lamps.

Each shelf was labeled: Mysteries, Classics, History, Nature, Romance . . .

Kendal grabbed a few paperbacks from the mystery shelf. She was looking for a book about Mount Hood on the history shelf when a large, red book caught her eye. The color reminded her of a hot coal.

The Atlas of Cursed Places was written in bold, black letters down the spine and across the front. She thought it was strange that there was no author listed. No copyright date, either.

There was a faint smell of cigar smoke as if someone long ago had sat smoking as they read. Kendal looked through the table of contents, and one chapter caught her eye: “The Curse of Mount Hood and Nellie Bly.”