Exodus 2022 (14 page)

His swing went wide—completely missed the log he was aiming for—and he stumbled forward with a grunt, burying the axhead in the dirt. She laughed—once she saw that he was okay—and continued on with her group.

The remaining days of Joe’s stay proved frustrating. He wanted to talk to the woman with the red hair, but opportunities proved elusive. Their camps were far apart and they worked long hours with their respective crews in different parts of the valley.

When their groups crossed paths, Joe said “hello” or “good morning,” and she always smiled. He thought he saw something in her eyes when she glanced his way; a bit more attention or interest than mandated by ordinary politeness, then decided he was imagining things. The woman with the red hair smiled at everyone. She was friendly. Sweet. Outgoing. What’s more, there were young, fit guys in her group. Joe figured she had to be with one of them. Had to be.

This is a church trip
, he told himself.
Not a singles vacation. I need to get her out of my head.

The strategy worked, sort of, until the Goddess walked by, and his mind turned to mush. The fact that she wore baggy, grubby Pendleton work shirts, mud-caked Carhartts, hiking boots, gloves, and a baseball cap only made her look sexier, Joe decided. There was a radiance about her that no amount of dirt could hide, and her deep-green eyes sparkled, full of life, when she smiled or laughed.

They acknowledged each other, Joe and the woman with the red hair. And that was it. Nothing happened. Nothing at all. Until the final night of Joe’s stay.

Joe liked to look at the stars, especially when he was in the middle of nowhere—where the sky was black and infinite. Where the stars of the Milky Way spanned the heavens like a river of diamonds. He’d intended to spend time stargazing throughout the week, but it hadn’t happened. The work he and his teammates were doing was so tiring that when evening rolled around, it was all he could do to make dinner, clean up, brush his teeth, and crawl into his sleeping bag. He’d gotten up to pee around two o’clock one morning, seen the blazing stars through sleep-filled eyes, and vowed to himself that he would stay up late on his final night in camp.

Full dark that night. Joe pulled his Therm-a-Rest pad from his tent-careful not to wake his tentmates—and followed a game trail through the tall grass, happy to find that there was enough illumination from the sky alone to see where he was going without a flashlight. He wound his way to the middle of the meadow and lay down on the grass, zipping his fleece all the way to the top and pulling on his wool hat. August or no, it was cool at night in the Olympics.

The sky shimmered—a fathomless vault of glittering, iridescent jewels—and soon Joe was lost in a blissful, almost meditative state.

He was aware of the soothing rush of the creek. The murmur of the wind in the trees. If he tilted his head back, or side-to-side, he could see the forest—a dark, impenetrable wall against the luminous, mysterious sky.

He lay there, lost in thought, feeling deeply content. Alive.

And then—an interruption. An intrusion. Someone walking out from one of the other camps, into the meadow. Joe cursed. Already the light from the walker’s headlamp was messing up his night vision.

He lay still, in no mood for company. The meadow was huge and full of crisscrossing deer trails. Surely the person would take another path.

The walker came on, straight for Joe. He sighed and thought about taking his pad and quietly moving to a different area. But he liked the spot he’d chosen and didn’t want to give it up just because of some clueless insomniac.

The walker drew close. A beam of light splashed across Joe’s supine form, and the walker gasped. Stopped cold.

“Hi,” said Joe.

“Are you okay?” asked the walker.

A small shiver traveled the length of Joe’s spine and shot out to his arms and legs, fingers and toes.

It’s her.

He sat up, shielding his eyes. “Yeah. Fine. Just looking at the stars.”

She laughed and turned off her light. “Sorry I messed up your night vision.”

“No worries,” said Joe. “What are you doing?”

“Just walking. Thinking.” She paused. “You’re one of the bridge guys.”

“Yeah,” said Joe, getting to his feet. “I’m Joe. I’d shake your hand if I could see it.”

The woman laughed again, extended her hand, found Joe’s. They shook. Her hand was warm and soft and strong. “Ella,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”

Ella tilted her head to look at the sky and Joe caught a delicious fragrance in the air. Clean skin. Wet hair.

She went swimming
, he thought.
Went for a swim after working on the trail all day. How the hell did I miss seeing that?

The thought of this woman swimming in the creek made him feel light-headed. And then he felt embarrassed, because he knew for a fact that he himself smelled nothing close to fragrant. But Ella didn’t seem to mind or notice.

“Jeez,” she said. “Don’t even need a headlamp at all, do you? It’s so bright, once your eyes adjust.”

“Yeah,” said Joe. “Um, do you want to sit? The grass is kind of wet; but I brought something to sit on.”

“Sure.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “Thanks.”

They sat together, a couple of feet apart, looking at the sky.

She asked how the work was going on the bridge. He asked how the work was going on the trail.

“What group are you with?” Ella asked.

“St. Anthony’s Episcopal Church in Bremerton,” said Joe. “What about you?”

“Washington Trails Alliance. I saw an ad on their website. Thought this would be a nice break between semesters. I live in Seattle.” She explained that she was in a grueling nurse-anesthetist program and wanted to get away—far away—from books and computers. As Joe listened to her explanation, he sensed there was more to it. There was something in her voice. The faintest hint of…Sadness? Loss? Longing? He couldn’t put his finger on it.

It flashed in Joe’s mind that she’d come on the trip because she was looking for something.
Needed
something. He had no idea what the “something” was—he was far from certain that his hunch was even correct—and he didn’t plan to ask about it. Not yet.

Joe’s heart thumped. He was happy—elated—that Ella was there. He hoped she wouldn’t leave.

He scanned the sky and said, “Amazing how much you can see without all the light pollution, isn’t it?”

Ella laughed, “You mean like from morons wearing headlamps?”

Joe smiled. “Not what I meant. I’m
glad
you walked out here.”

“Me too.” The warmth of the moment hung in the air between them.

After a minute she asked, “So do you know many of the constellations?”

Joe shrugged. “Some. My mom was an astronomy buff. Used to drag me and my siblings outside at night. Taught us quite a few.”

“But that’s not why you look.”

Joe couldn’t tell if this was a question or a statement. “I look because it’s beautiful,” he said wistfully. “Because it’s alive. Always changing.”

Ella nodded. 

“I look at the stars because they remind me how most of the stuff we worry about is so…trivial. How insignificant we are in this little splinter of time and space we occupy.”

Ella laughed. “Okay…you don’t
sound
depressed, but that’s kind of a depressing sentiment, isn’t it?”

“Not at all. The opposite.” He leaned back. Spoke earnestly. “Fills me with wonder that I’m a part of something so big, that I’m awake and aware enough to sit here in a meadow in such a beautiful place and, you know, contemplate the mystery.” He turned toward her. “It’s a gift, I think. An amazing gift. Does that sound depressing?”

Ella leaned a little closer. “No,” she said. “I like it.”

He wanted to kiss her. The desire was practically overwhelming. But he didn’t want to scare her away. The silence between them grew electric. 

After a while she said, “The church you’re with—St. Anthony’s—what’s that like?”

“It’s an Episcopal—Anglican—church. Progressive. Everybody’s welcome. Nobody’s excluded. We’re growing.”

“And you joined? You’re a member?”

Joe laughed. “An employee, actually. I’m the vicar.”

“Get out.” She sounded surprised but not put off. “Really?”

“Really.”

“That’s so cool. I’ve never met a young minister. Vicar, I mean.”

“You just meet old ones?”

She laughed. “I guess so.”

Joe anticipated the next question.

“So is it like the Catholic Church?”

“Some things are. Anglican and Catholic Christians follow the same creeds.”

Ella nodded.

“Share the same central liturgy—a communion service. Catholics call it a mass.”

“But I mean, in an Episcopal church can the vicar, you know—“

“Date? Yeah. Get married. Have a family. Definitely.” Joe smiled. “The celibacy thing wouldn’t have worked for me.”

Ella laughed again.

They talked about school and work and their adventures in the wilderness. About Seattle and the Northwest and their dreams for the future. The darkness deepened, the fiery white stars danced their regal, perfect dance across the sky, the river murmured—soothingly, endlessly—and Joe completely lost track of time. Talking with Ella seemed the easiest, most natural thing in the world, like they’d been friends for years. And best of all, it seemed to Joe that she was enjoying the conversation as much he was.

At last, as if waking from a trance, Ella said, “I’m working tomorrow. Better go or I’m not gonna be much good to my crew.”

“I’ll walk you back to your tent,” said Joe.

He stood, extended his hand, and Ella took it and held it, as they walked, side by side in the grass. The feel of her body so close in the darkness made Joe dizzy. He wanted to say something witty or romantic, but his thoughts were a blur. And then, too soon, they were at the edge of her camp. Joe could just make out the tents—inert gray mounds barely discernible against the alders and forest beyond.

She turned quickly, rose up onto her tiptoes, and kissed him on the lips. “Good night, Joe.”

“Good night.”

And then she was gone, moving away, into her camp, into the darkness.

Joe stood a moment, the stars hanging bright overhead, frozen in space; the river soft and muffled now, as if the universe was holding its breath, feeling the magic of the experience as keenly as Joe.

In a daze he walked back into the meadow, retrieved his sleeping pad, and headed for his own tent. He slept, and dreamed of Ella, the woman with the red hair.

When Joe awoke the next morning, Ella was gone. Her entire crew, someone told him, was already out on the trail. The really bad news was that her group had been sent to a new area, far from the route he and his team would take to get back to their vehicles.

Joe and his friends broke camp and readied their packs for the hike out. Joe chatted with his teammates and did his share of the work, but his mind was far away, his body on autopilot. He stayed in that mode for the entire walk, and for the drive back to Bremerton. All he could think about was Ella and the encounter in the meadow.
Ella.
The sound of her voice. The feel of her body. The sweetness of her kiss. He wondered, after a while, if maybe he’d dreamed the events of the previous night. If his friends hadn’t handed him food, he would have forgotten to eat.

Back home, he called the Washington Trails Alliance, got bumped to voice mail, and left a message: “Hello. My name is Joe Stanton and I live in Bremerton. I was working on a trail project in the Upper Big Chinook region of the Olympics and met one of your members—a woman named Ella. I’d like to get in touch with her but don’t have her contact information. Could someone please call me back?”

He hung up, cursing himself for not asking Ella for her phone number—or even her last name—when he’d had the chance. He’d assumed, foolishly, that he would see her again.

The day after he called, he got a message back. Terse. To the point. “Thank you for calling our office, but we do not share any member or volunteer information.”

Joe called back, said he understood their policy and wondered if someone could at least send Ella a message on his behalf. No luck. He searched online. Studied the group’s website for stories and photos that might include Ella’s last name. Nothing.

Distraught, Joe resolved to go to the group’s next meeting and plead his case in person. If that didn’t work, he’d try Ella’s university. In the end, however, neither thing was necessary.

She appeared out of nowhere, it seemed to Joe, during communion, at an early September service at St. Anthony’s.

Joe had said the offering and prayer of thanksgiving. Performed the consecration of the bread and wine. Now he was moving around a wide circle of parishioners, Joe serving the bread, a lay minister following with the chalice.

Halfway around the circle, Joe offered a piece of bread to an elderly retired banker. A longtime St. Anthony’s member. “Body of Christ,” Joe intoned. “Bread of—“

He saw her out of the corner of his eye—two people away. His heart skipped a beat. Several beats. He turned. Looked.

She was really there.
Ella
. Looking his way. Smiling. Winking at him now.

The room spun, the parishioners disappeared, and Joe smiled back. Grinned like a child on Christmas morning. Then he remembered where he was. Regained his composure and finished his sentence. “—heaven.”

The banker cocked an eyebrow but Joe didn’t notice. When he got to Ella, he whispered, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” she replied.

She stayed for coffee hour after the service. Waited in the sanctuary as Joe stood at the door and said good-bye to each member of the congregation.

When the crowd had dwindled to a few volunteers stowing tables and chairs, he found her, took her hand, and led her outside into the garden.

“You look amazing,” he said.

She laughed, “You clean up pretty well yourself. And I like the robe.”

He pulled her close—not caring if the volunteers saw—and kissed her long and passionately.