at a hamburger joint on the way out of Redmond. “Put
on all the clothes you brought.”
She took her purse, but left the tote that held only the
schedule for the day, competition rules and her notes on
questions she would drill students on in the expectation
they’d be asked the same ones again someday. Once
everybody was out, she made them line up single file
behind Dieter, bringing up the end herself. Then, feeling
silly, she locked the van.
“Lead on,” she called.
Her face felt the cold first, then her feet. Was this the
right decision? she worried, as they stumbled through
the dark and falling snow led by—God help them—a
sixteen-year-old boy’s memory of a winter vacation.
Well, she had no choice—not after she’d gotten the van
stuck. Within minutes, she was almost too cold to care.
“I see lights!” Dieter exclaimed.
Fiona blinked away the flakes clinging to her lashes and
peered numbly ahead. Was that a dim glow, or a mirage?
“Keep going,” she ordered, her face feeling stiff.
Gradually she saw them: golden squares of windows.
Not brightly lit, but as if there might be lights on deeper
inside the lodge. Or maybe firelight was providing the
illumination.
They were staggering, a ragged line of kids and Fiona,
when they reached porch steps. Freshly shoveled, she saw
in amazement, as if someone had been expecting them.
On the porch that seemed to run the width of the
rustic lodge, her students clustered, waiting for her.
The door was massive, the knocker a cast-iron bear.
She lifted it and let it fall. Once. Twice. Then again.
She was about to reach for the handle to find out if
the door was locked when the porch light came on, all
but blinding her, and the door swung open.
Framed in the opening was a man with a scarred
face who said, “What in hell?”
Fiona’s knees weakened and she grabbed for the
door frame. “Can we please come in?”
WATCHING THEM file past him, not just a couple of
stranded travelers but a whole damn crowd of them,
John felt a wave of incredulity. What kind of idiots had
been taking the pass in this blizzard? How in God’s
name had they found the lodge?
And how long was he going to be stuck with them?
They all went straight to the fireplace and huddled in
front of the fire with their hands out toward it as if asking
for a blessing. None made any move to shed jackets, and
he realized studying their backs that most of them weren’t
dressed for the weather at all. Athletic shoes and jeans
were soaked to their knees and probably frozen, too.
Was he going to have to deal with frostbite?
“How far did you walk?”
One guy turned his head. “Just, I don’t know,
halfway from the turn?”
The voice gave him away. He was a kid. John looked
down the line. They were all kids!
“Isn’t there an adult with you?”
“Me.” The woman who’d been the first to come in
turned to face him, pushing back the hood on her parka.
Dark, curly hair framed a face on which he could read
exhaustion. Her eyes, though, were the pale, clear grey
of the river water cutting between snowbanks. She was
young, not much older than her charges, her body as
slight as those of the teenage girls. “My name is Fiona
MacPherson. Thank you for taking us in.”
“What were you doing out on the road?”
She explained. They’d competed in a high school
Knowledge Champs tournament in Redmond, and were
returning home over the mountains.
“We came over this morning on Highway 22,” she
explained, sounding meek. “But the weather reports
said a storm was coming from the south, so I thought
I’d take a more northerly route back.”
“This highway closes in the winter. You’re probably
the last ones over it.”
“I didn’t know that.”
And parents trusted her to be in charge? He shook
his head.
“You’re damn lucky to have made it.” John waved off
whatever she was going to say. “You all need to get out
of your wet clothes. I don’t suppose you have anything
to change into?”
Eight—no, nine—heads shook in unison.