“Each car was christened upon the funicular’s launch,” North said, and Marigold heard a twinge of genuine distraction in his voice. Not the sort that meant he’d spotted her, but the sort that meant his mind was elsewhere. He was working on autopilot. “The first car was named Elisha after the Reverend Elisha Mitchell, the scientist who proved that this mountain was the tallest in Appalachia. At the time, Dr. Mitchell’s claim was hotly contested, and tragically, he died on an expedition while trying to verify his original measurements. He fell from a nearby waterfall. Later, both the mountain and the waterfall were named after him, and his tomb was moved to the summit.” A thunk indicated North’s foot landing back on the floor. “Now. Did anyone catch the name of the second car—this car—as you were boarding?”
“Maria!” a man called out.
“Careful, sir. No one likes a show-off.” After pausing for the inevitable laughter, North continued. “But you’re correct. This car was named after Dr. Mitchell’s wid—”
He stopped. Midword.
The hair rose on the nape of Marigold’s neck. She felt him staring at her, staring through her, and the sensation was tense and electric and charged. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing him to continue. He didn’t.
The other passengers shifted on their benches to see what was happening. North’s silence was deafening. Her entire body burned as she removed her sunglasses. Suddenly, the mountainside car seemed precarious. She turned, dizzily, to face him.
North stared at her for several long seconds. His expression remained flat. Unyielding.
She grimaced and held up a hand, just barely, in acknowledgment.
He held her gaze for one last, pointed second. Blinked. And then turned away with a blithe smile for his audience. “His widow, Maria. The one left behind.”
There was a collective exhale as everyone settled back into their seats. North didn’t miss another beat, and Marigold knew he wouldn’t deign to look at her again. She angled herself toward the closest window, ignoring the stares of the more curious passengers. North was her friend. She was here to help him. Why was this all so shameful and humiliating?
Since moving away, she must have accidentally said or done something awful to him, but she was flummoxed as to what this transgression might be. North was still talking. Her head buzzed, and her bra was lined with sweat. She wished she could crack open a window. The railway split into two sets of tracks, and they passed the other car—jokes were exchanged and hands were waved and bells were rung—and then the two tracks merged back into one. The ride was only half over. It was agonizing.
When they finally reached the top, she lingered behind while everyone else exited. Several people expressed their gratitude to North. “Save your thanks for the return trip,” he replied with faux merriment. “There’s still plenty of time to be mauled by a black bear.”
The passengers had all disembarked.
For a surreal moment, Marigold thought he’d actually forgotten about her. But then she heard him jump back onto the car’s platform. His movements sounded heavier, not like the easy swing she’d seen earlier. He reentered the car, held out a hand toward the new line preparing to board—a signal for them to wait—and then closed the door.
Marigold stood.
North stared at her with that same guarded expression. “I only have a second.”
“I know.”
“Are you here to see me?”
“Of course I’m here to see you.” Marigold moved toward him, up the sloping aisle. “I wanted to talk.”
“No.”
She stopped. Her heart stuttered. “No?”
North glanced away. “I meant … my break isn’t for another ninety minutes. And there’s a line of tourists out there dying to hear my tremendous farewell speech.”
“Oh. Yeah, sure. Of course.”
They were staring at each other again. A lump rose in Marigold’s throat. She remembered herself, forcibly, and hurried to the door. She waited for North to open it. He didn’t. She glanced at him, hurt and unsure—Am I supposed to do it?—and that was the moment his hard expression crumbled and his warm eyes filled with remorse.
“You’ll wait for me?” he asked. “You have the time to wait? I’m sorry. There’s no one else here right now who could take my place.”
The lump returned. “I can wait.”
North reached for the door, but then, in an afterthought, kicked open the metal box near his feet, grabbed an object from inside it, and thrust it into her hands. “Here. To keep you occupied.” But then he frowned as if he’d said something idiotic. “Meet you in front of the museum at four o’clock?”
Marigold clutched the object to her chest and nodded.
* * *
It was a sandwich. To keep her occupied, North had given her a vegetarian BLT with avocado and imitation B.
This was interesting for four reasons: One, he’d been flustered enough to misspeak. North rarely got flustered and even more rarely misspoke. Two, he’d given her a part of his own lunch. He must not completely hate her. Three, he’d forgotten about her lifelong aversion to the texture of raw tomatoes. This was disappointing to an extent that made Marigold feel uncomfortable. And four, he might be a vegetarian now. North had always wanted to be a vegetarian, but he’d needed the more complete proteins found in meat to do his farmwork without getting tired. Surely it took less energy to do this new job.
Marigold sighed as she rewrapped the sandwich. Her mother would be thrilled. She was the owner of a popular vegan restaurant in downtown Asheville, and she already believed that North hung the moon. This would cement it. Marigold wasn’t a vegan or a vegetarian—she loved meat, probably because she’d always been denied it—but she was understanding toward those who were. Still, the tempeh bacon made her sad. It represented another change in North’s life that she hadn’t known about.
She watched the Maria clank its way down below her line of sight. At least the temperature was several degrees cooler up here. The accompanying breeze was a solace as she approached a cluster of old-looking buildings: restrooms, the museum, a concessions stand, and a gift shop. A wide pathway—asphalt imprinted to look like stone—ran behind them, winding its way up toward what could only be the summit. Marigold had a lot of time to kill, so she checked out each building, starting with the women’s restroom. It had been a long drive.
After taking care of that, she wandered over to the concessions stand, which she found typically Southern in flavor. There were bottles of water and Gatorade, cans of soda, granola bars, candy bars, and those orange-colored peanut butter crackers. But they were also selling mason jars filled with apple butter, chow chow, pickled okra, and blackstrap molasses, and they had an entire shelf of fruit cider—strawberry, peach, muscadine, and scuppernong.
Marigold hadn’t eaten since breakfast, over eight hours ago. North had guessed correctly; she was famished. She bought a package of trail mix and wolfed it down. She stared at North’s sandwich. Then she removed the tomatoes and ate it, too. It tasted better than the trail mix.
Next up was the museum, which turned out to be one dimly lit room. Its displays explained the park’s flora, fauna, geology, and topography. Marigold read each sign dutifully, but without the focus to comprehend any of their sentences, until she reached the corner dedicated to Dr. Elisha Mitchell. A single word jumped out, and her heart staggered.
North. His wife, Maria’s maiden name had been North.
It was a coincidence. A first name versus a surname, and North had been named after—of all the hideous things—the North Pole. His seasonally passionate parents had also named his older brother Nicholas and his sister, Noelle. It was worse than her own mother naming her Marigold Moon. But Drummond Family Trees had been growing and selling Christmas trees for two generations, and they were aiming to extend it into a third. When North’s father had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s, the pressure had been put onto Nick, who’d run away in response. Noelle wanted the farm, but their parents had misguidedly offered it to North instead, because he was male. Then she’d run away, too. North didn’t want it, but he was all they had left. His parents weren’t cruel. However, they’d made an ugly mistake, and now North was the one paying for it. Except … maybe he wasn’t anymore?