hair swept back from his noble features. If I switched off the critical part of my brain, I could see the attraction.
So we trailed on up to the New Dawn leader’s cabin, where we were caught off guard again.
‘No way do I call this a cabin,’ Grace whispered from a distance of thirty metres.
Trail’s End was way too big for a start, with wraparound porches and main windows looking over the lake towards the distant peaks of the Bitterroot Range. The porch furniture – swings, chairs and tables – were five-star quality with leather cushions and expensive ranch styling. An air-con unit stood next to the log store and the main door was open, showing a glimpse of a living room with a round table bearing the weight of a bronze statue of a bucking horse. So I agreed with Grace – this was no ordinary cabin, more the kind of ranch house you see in realtor ads, with moose heads on the wall and bear rugs on the floor.
‘Come in!’ Aurelie invited. ‘Can I get you iced tea?’
‘Yes, come in.’ Antony Amos stood in the porch. He must have been fifty-five years old, but he’d walked up the steep hill without stopping to draw breath.
‘He’s in good shape – it’s all that wilderness walking,’ I muttered to Grace as Holly stepped forward to accept the offer of tea.
Fifty-five, with thick grey hair swept back from his square-jawed, lined face. His eyes were deep set and dark brown behind small, wire-rimmed glasses, his clothes western style today, but not flashy – jeans, tooled boots, white leather belt but no cowboy buckle, a plain grey shirt with white piping around the collar and across the chest, a gold band on his wedding finger. ‘Which of you three girls wants to help out?’ he asked as Grace and I stepped up into the porch.
‘That would be Holly,’ Grace told him. ‘But I guess we might be interested too.’
We were? Had she forgotten I was heading back to Europe as soon as the doctors gave Mom the all-clear?
‘The point is, you don’t need to know in advance the survival techniques we use here,’ Ziegler was explaining to Holly as we walked into the house. Ziegler with the black Stetson, columbine eyes and white T-shirt that emphasized his pecs – the man with the klaxon.
Self-conscious and hovering in the doorway, I focused on the bucking-horse statue, burnished and big as a lurcher, resting on a polished, dark-wood table with ornate carved legs. The artist had made the mane and tail fly, had sculpted to perfection the horse’s wild eyes and flaring nostrils, plus every muscle in its chest and neck. ‘You learn our methods while you’re out there in the wilderness with our Explorers,’ Ziegler said.
‘All you need is to be fit and healthy, period,’ Amos added.
‘I play tennis, I ski,’ Holly said eagerly.
Ziegler nodded and made a note. He asked Holly more questions in a quiet, relaxed voice, exploring her motivation for volunteering, how many hours per week she could give, how she saw herself relating to the Explorers in her team. She answered meekly and obediently, like a child at a magic show.
‘And what’s your interest?’ Jean-Luc asked Grace, leading her to the window and looking out over the lake.
‘That would be more the theory, the therapeutic approach.’ She plucked up courage and told him she was hoping to enrol in a course as a psychology major, starting next summer. ‘If I could get hands-on experience at a place like New Dawn, it would look great on my resume.’
‘And you?’ Amos turned to me as Jean-Luc concentrated on Grace. ‘What’s your focus?’
‘The kids here,’ I said without hesitation. Jarrold, Channing, the girl with the face studs – all of them.
‘Good answer. Tell me more.’
‘What brings them here to New Dawn? How do they deal with it?’
Amos listed criminal offences on his fingers. ‘They come here for larceny, violence, drug and alcohol dependency, the fall-out from family break-up – you name it. The conventional
So we trailed on up to the New Dawn leader’s cabin, where we were caught off guard again.
‘No way do I call this a cabin,’ Grace whispered from a distance of thirty metres.
Trail’s End was way too big for a start, with wraparound porches and main windows looking over the lake towards the distant peaks of the Bitterroot Range. The porch furniture – swings, chairs and tables – were five-star quality with leather cushions and expensive ranch styling. An air-con unit stood next to the log store and the main door was open, showing a glimpse of a living room with a round table bearing the weight of a bronze statue of a bucking horse. So I agreed with Grace – this was no ordinary cabin, more the kind of ranch house you see in realtor ads, with moose heads on the wall and bear rugs on the floor.
‘Come in!’ Aurelie invited. ‘Can I get you iced tea?’
‘Yes, come in.’ Antony Amos stood in the porch. He must have been fifty-five years old, but he’d walked up the steep hill without stopping to draw breath.
‘He’s in good shape – it’s all that wilderness walking,’ I muttered to Grace as Holly stepped forward to accept the offer of tea.
Fifty-five, with thick grey hair swept back from his square-jawed, lined face. His eyes were deep set and dark brown behind small, wire-rimmed glasses, his clothes western style today, but not flashy – jeans, tooled boots, white leather belt but no cowboy buckle, a plain grey shirt with white piping around the collar and across the chest, a gold band on his wedding finger. ‘Which of you three girls wants to help out?’ he asked as Grace and I stepped up into the porch.
‘That would be Holly,’ Grace told him. ‘But I guess we might be interested too.’
We were? Had she forgotten I was heading back to Europe as soon as the doctors gave Mom the all-clear?
‘The point is, you don’t need to know in advance the survival techniques we use here,’ Ziegler was explaining to Holly as we walked into the house. Ziegler with the black Stetson, columbine eyes and white T-shirt that emphasized his pecs – the man with the klaxon.
Self-conscious and hovering in the doorway, I focused on the bucking-horse statue, burnished and big as a lurcher, resting on a polished, dark-wood table with ornate carved legs. The artist had made the mane and tail fly, had sculpted to perfection the horse’s wild eyes and flaring nostrils, plus every muscle in its chest and neck. ‘You learn our methods while you’re out there in the wilderness with our Explorers,’ Ziegler said.
‘All you need is to be fit and healthy, period,’ Amos added.
‘I play tennis, I ski,’ Holly said eagerly.
Ziegler nodded and made a note. He asked Holly more questions in a quiet, relaxed voice, exploring her motivation for volunteering, how many hours per week she could give, how she saw herself relating to the Explorers in her team. She answered meekly and obediently, like a child at a magic show.
‘And what’s your interest?’ Jean-Luc asked Grace, leading her to the window and looking out over the lake.
‘That would be more the theory, the therapeutic approach.’ She plucked up courage and told him she was hoping to enrol in a course as a psychology major, starting next summer. ‘If I could get hands-on experience at a place like New Dawn, it would look great on my resume.’
‘And you?’ Amos turned to me as Jean-Luc concentrated on Grace. ‘What’s your focus?’
‘The kids here,’ I said without hesitation. Jarrold, Channing, the girl with the face studs – all of them.
‘Good answer. Tell me more.’
‘What brings them here to New Dawn? How do they deal with it?’
Amos listed criminal offences on his fingers. ‘They come here for larceny, violence, drug and alcohol dependency, the fall-out from family break-up – you name it. The conventional
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