They had no watch by which to measure the passing hours, but when the moon lighted up the dismal, fearsome darkness, they cheered! They knew how much the moonlight could ease it for those who, guided only by lantern, must make the steep, hazardous climb to reach them!
In one of the quiet lulls between sleep and wakefulness, Judy, no longer able to bear the increasing pangs of hunger as well as the weight of silence said, “I know a poem. It’s called ‘The Trail’ and it’s symbolic too. My grandfather wrote it for my grandmother.”
“Good,” Marian drawled from under her heap of jackets. “We’re the helpless victims. We’ll listen.”
“I’m not sure I remember it exactly—”
“So you’ll skip a few lines. We won’t know the difference.”
“Want to hear it, Karl?” Judy asked, suddenly feeling shy.
“Of course I do.”
“You know,” Judy said half defensively, “my grandparents climbed mountains all their lives, even went up Mt. Rainier.”
“Never mind the build-up. Just begin,” Marian ordered, like a stage manager.
Judy cleared her throat.