River’s End

over, nodded—polite but distant. “Hey” was all he said as he tucked his hands in his back pockets. Behind the dark glasses, he took in every feature of her face.
    She was taller than he expected. Gangly. He reminded himself his image of her was stuck on the little girl with her hands clamped over her ears and her face wild with fear and grief.
    He’d never forgotten how she’d looked. He’d never forgotten her.
    “Noah’s a man of few words these days,” Celia said soberly, but the way her eyes laughed had Olivia smiling again.
    “You can leave your car here if you want while you check in. All the lake-view units were booked, but you have a really nice view of the forest. It’s one of the family units on the ground floor and has its own patio.”
    “It sounds wonderful. I remember taking pictures of the lodge all those years ago.”
    To put Olivia at ease, Celia laid a hand on her shoulder and turned to study the building. “It looks as if it grew here, like the trees.”
    It was grand and old and dignified. Three stories, with the main section under a steeply pitched roof. Windows were generous, to offer the guests stunning views. The wood had weathered to a soft brown and, with the deep green trim, seemed as much a part of the forest as the giant trees that towered over it. Pathways were fashioned of stone with small evergreens and clumps of ferns and wildflowers scattered throughout. Rather than manicured, the grounds looked appealingly wild and untouched.
    “It’s not intrusive at all. Whoever built it understood the importance of working with nature instead of beating it back.”
    “My great-grandfather. He did the original building, then he and his brother and my grandfather added on to it. He named it, too.” Olivia resisted the urge to rub her damp palms on her jeans. “There’s no river that ends here or anything. It’s a metaphor.”
    “For finding rest and shelter at the end of a journey,” Celia suggested and made Olivia smile.
    “Yeah, exactly. That’s what he wanted to do. It was really just an inn at first, and now it’s a resort. But we want that same restful atmosphere and are dedicated to preserving the area and seeing to it that the lodge adds to rather than detracts from the purity of the forest and lakes.”
    “You’re talking her language.” Frank winked. “Celia’s a staunch conservationist.”
    “So is anyone with brains,” Olivia said automatically and had Celia nodding in approval.
    “We’re going to get along just fine. Why don’t you show me around the lodge while these big strong men deal with the luggage?”
    Olivia glanced back at Frank as Celia led her off. Impatience all but shimmered around her, but she did as she was asked and opened one half of the great double doors.
    “I never made it inside during my other trip,” Celia was saying. “I was on a pretty tight budget, and I was busy turning my nose up at any established creature comforts. I was one of the first hippies.”
    Olivia stopped, blinked. “Really? You don’t look like a hippy.”
    “I only wear my love beads on special occasions now—like the anniversary of Woodstock.”
    “Was Frank a hippy, too?”
    “Frank?” Celia threw back her head and laughed in sheer delight. “Oh no, not Mister Conservative. That man was born a cop—and a Republican. Well,” she said with a sigh, “what can you do? Oh, but this is lovely.”
    She turned a half circle in the main lobby, admiring the floors and walls of natural pine and fir, the great stone fireplace filled in the warmth of August with fresh flowers rather than flames. Chairs and sofas in soft earth tones were arranged in cozy groups.
    Several guests were enjoying coffee or wine while they sat and contemplated the views or studied their guidebooks.
    There was Native American art in paintings and wall hangings and rugs, and copper pails that held generous bouquets of fresh flowers or greenery. It seemed more like a sprawling living room than a lobby, which, Celia imagined, had been just the intention.
    The front desk was a polished wood counter manned by two clerks in crisp white shirts and hunter green vests. Daily activities were handwritten on an old slate board, and a stoneware bowl of pastel-colored mints sat on the counter.
    “Welcome to River’s End.” The female clerk had a quick grin for Olivia before she turned a welcoming smile on Celia. “Will you be staying with us?”
    “Yes, Celia Brady and family. My husband