They were silent for a long time, their mouths occupied in the more crucial acts of kissing and exploring, finding new places and deeper secrets. If Justine had thought McKinley to be awesome, the new peak they scaled was no less than mind-boggling, both in its height and its reverence. Long after, they lay in limb-mingled stupor, savoring the beauty of the act and its underlying emotion. It was nearly noon before they stirred again.
The morning’s mist had long since risen from the lake when they ventured out to walk, to enjoy nature’s splendor. Through the eyes of lovers, the world was that much more spectacular. All thoughts of the Outside were pushed into oblivion in favor of the time they both knew was precious.
Underbrush brittle in the early fall’s chill crunched beneath the soles of their boots. The air was white at every exhalation. Justine could now fully appreciate the clothing that Sloane had suggested she wear, for the layered garments were utterly necessary against the cold.
“It’s hard to believe that this is still August.” She pulled her collar more tightly around her neck. “Is there any real summer here?”
Sloane took her hand, tucking it within his, then into the pocket of his parka. “In June and July, when the sun shines for twenty hours of the day, it can get pretty warm—well into the sixties. But when you stop to consider how close we are to the arctic circle, when you think of those glaciers farther south and look at that snow on the mountains over there, sixty degrees sounds very warm.”
The High One, toward which his eye gravitated, was reflected in perfection on the surface of the lake. Her mind made a photograph of the majestic scene—the peaks, the trees, the ferns, the lake, then the twin image in reverse below. As they walked on, there were other sights, many as exciting to store in memory.
There were cranberry bushes approaching their bright red autumn hue, their fragrance creating a luxuriant bouquet. There were the trees, hovering high overhead, much taller now above them than when dwarfed by the mountains. There were the sounds of the wild forest—the flight of the ground squirrel, the twitter of the birds, the rustle of the leaves as a cool breeze stirred up to play in their midst.
“It’s all so fresh and untouched,” Justine whispered, reluctant to impose the sounds of humanity on the natural bounty.
“That’s precisely what has drawn so many people up here from the lower forty-eight.” Sloane’s appreciation was no less than hers, though he had seen it all before. “They come in search of adventure, of purity and simplicity. Unfortunately, many find themselves in even worse straits once they get here.”
Justine recalled some of the bush villages they had visited. “It must be very different to live here year round than just drop in for a short time, as we are doing.”
“The rugged ones survive,” he spoke his thoughts aloud. “Others are forced to become rugged if they hope to survive. Still others admit failure and either return home or migrate to the cities. The rates of alcoholism and suicide are appalling.”
“That’s precisely why legislation is needed for programs to deal with it.” Justine had made voluminous notes on the topic, based on things they’d seen and learned in the past three weeks. “Is there any hope of passing such legislation? It’s one thing to propose it, to point out the problem, but there must be a commitment on the part of the government to follow through.”
Sloane’s gaze held admiration as it warmed her. “It was the government that hired CORE International in the first place. I’m assuming that if they’ve made the commitment to us, they will be willing to go further. Actually,” he continued, leading her back in the direction of the lake, “the government—at least, this present governor—iscommitted. With money pouring in from the oil pipeline, there should be plenty to fund social service programs such as you have in mind. He would like a legislative commitment before he leaves office. Unfortunately, the windfall has prompted many citizens to spend wildly. That’s where we come in. It’s our job to make specific recommendations … and then hope.”
Later that afternoon they returned to the woods carrying containers which soon brimmed with the largest blueberries Justine had ever seen. Even later the cabin was filled with the delicious aroma of freshly baking pie. In this warm and heady haven, the love they shared knew no bounds. As the heat of the oven warmed the air, their passion sparked, flared, then exploded in a cataclysmic lovemaking that left Justine trembling in awe. How each joining could take her higher than all others before she couldn’t imagine. Yet Sloane knew the ways of love and his Lessons were endless.
“How can a lawyer be such a good cook?” he asked later, their lips moistly blue from the goodies on which they’d feasted.
“How can a sleeptalker be such a good lover?” she teased in return, leaning forward to kiss the last of the sweets from his lips.
And so it went—a bounty of love growing ever larger, ever deeper as one day melded into the next. One early morning found them at the shoreline, admiring the lacy ribbons of ice which the night air had laid there. “Look at those tracks.” Sloane had pointed to the moist dirt at the edge of the ice. “Beaver, muskrat, possibly mink. All wandering freely here.” One dusky evening found them on the dock, sitting quietly in awe of the moose and her calf feeding on the succulent aquatic vegetation beyond their view beneath the surface of the water.
Their days were filled with quiet adventure, their nights with tender love. When they awoke on the morning of their last day in the cabin, Justine knew a regret she would not have imagined three days before. “I wish we could stay here forever,” she whispered against his throat. His pulsepoint raced, as did hers, in the aftermath of a fiercer lovemaking than they’d known yet. It had been as though each had fought for something extra, as though each had known that this might be the last.
“We could come back here every summer,” he spoke more solemnly, “if you were my wife.”
“Sloane—” she began, only to be interrupted.
“I want you to marry me, Justine. Nothing can change my feelings.”
From the far recesses of her mind the subject of marriage sent a chill through her, intruding abruptly on the warmth of the closeness they shared. She remained silent for long moments, as her hands slipped from his chest and she lay back on the bed. When she finally spoke, her voice was hushed.
“It’s unfair to discuss this now.”
“Why?” Sloane loomed suddenly above her, his dark eyes filled with challenge. “Why shouldn’t we discuss it now? These few days should have shown you what it would be like.”
“That’s exactly it,” she argued. “These few days have shown me how much I love you. But these days have been spent in a kind of fantasy. This life, this cabin, these woods aren’t the real world as you and I both know it. The real world for us is back in New York, in the city, with our respective work and offices. I’ve fought a long time to get where I am, Sloane. You have to understand that.”
His jaw moved in, tensing. “I’m trying. Believe me, I’m trying. But I’m beginning to lose patience.”
“Patience? Is that all it takes to make a marriage work? You may have climbed Mount McKinley, but, from what I’ve seen, it takes a lot more stamina, a much longer haul to make a marriage work—really work.”
“And you’re not willing to try?” His lips were thinned, his muscles taut.
“It’s not just me to consider,” she began, then stopped herself in shock at the confession she’d nearly made. Carefully she chose her words. “I’ve seen what a poor marriage, even a mediocre one can do to children. And I’m sure you want children.” Her green-eyed gaze speared him with undue intensity.
“In time. But that’s not the central issue. I will never marry purely for the sake of having children. I want the happiness that would come from spending the rest of my life with the woman I love. And I love you, Justine.”
