True to Robert’s prediction, they found the Castaño trail the next morning soon after they had breakfast and set out on their way. The tree markings were higher up than they used to be and the intentionally artless arrangement of stones near the trail head was slightly different, but they soon came across some wagon tracks in the soft dirt and Robert felt confident that they were on the right path.
As they neared town, Robert glanced up from time to time at the mountain slopes. Trees were growing where the old ski runs used to be. The last time he had been here, the trees were small enough compared to the others that one could still make out where the vacationers of another era tested their skills in the snow, but now it was nearly impossible to tell that once there had been wide lanes cut through the forest. When he was younger, those old ski lanes seemed like a scar on the landscape. Now it felt like the forest was closing in and he wished a few of those clear spaces still remained.
“What do you keep looking at?” Sophie asked.
Should he try to explain? Perhaps some other time. She would have enough questions to keep him busy once they got into town. “Just admiring the trees,” he said.
“How much farther?”
“Our lodge is just up ahead. I don’t know if there’s much point in stopping, though. Our store manager has been keeping an eye on things for us, and it should be locked up.” At the look of disappointment on her face, he said, “Okay. It won’t hurt anything to rest our horses for a minute.”
He led her past a few crumbling buildings on the outskirts of town – an old motor court, a gas station that in his teenage years had done a thriving business of making horse-drawn carriages out of old automobiles, and a tall block of a building that had obviously been boarded up years ago.
“That’s the tallest building I’ve seen since we left Lexington,” Sophie said.
“That was the new hotel,” Robert explained. “It wasn’t new in my time, of course, but people still called it new. I believe it was called the Holiday Inn. It was built by outsiders, and the town took it over during the Resource Wars and allowed some of the poorer people from the surrounding area to live there if they needed a place. No one lives there now, of course.”
“Why not?”
“I’m really not sure. I know the older people in town didn’t like that building, though. They said it didn’t fit the character of the rest of the town. They wanted everything to look old and quaint, like a Swiss village or something.” He shook his head in amusement. “Even back in the good old days, Casteños had very specific ideas about how things were supposed to be.”
“Are they still that way now?”
Robert suppressed a shudder. “I hope not, but I’m not optimistic.” At the look of concern on her face, he added, “Don’t worry. They’ll consider us locals. And who knows, maybe we can influence them to open up a little to some new ways of thinking.”
They were coming upon a cross street and Robert turned his horse to the left, toward the mountain slope. They hadn’t gone far before they turned into a circular driveway, partially overgrown with weeds, in front of a dark wooden building with gables and balconies. Each window sported fake shutters, once red, now faded and peeling, and ancient window boxes that contained only birds’ nests and the compost of long-dead flowers.
They pulled up in front of the great double doors and Robert made a small flourish. “Here it is. Home.”
I hope he isn't being too optimistic about their welcome.
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