Alpine Pursuit An Emma Lord Mystery

One My brother, Ben, and I had flown into Rome on a dark October morning. A heavy rain fell all the way into the city from Da Vinci Airport, making it almost impossible to see through the train windows. It was eight-thirty in the morning when we got a taxi at the stazione to head for the Hotel Bramante near the Vatican. The buildings in the oldest part of the Eternal City showed their age, with bright colors dulled, wavery glass, worn wrought iron, and cracked stucco exteriors. Rome seemed as gloomy as Alpine, where it had rained for a week before I left. If this trip was my brother's effort to raise my spirits after Tom's death, I was afraid Ben had made a big mistake. *** An Alpine winter is even gloomier than most autumns, but I'm used to it. Changes in the weather pattern during the past century have raised temperatures, however. No longer is the mountain town snowed in from October to April. The current fall had accumulated to over four feet, but it was the third week of February and that was ordinary at the three-thousand-foot level of the Cascades. Seventy years ago Alpine was completely isolated except by trainwhen the locomotives could push through. We still had the trains, but we also had roads and streets, and we usually had access to the highway. Stories were still handed down about snow up to the housetops and how close the community of two hundred hardy souls became when there was virtually no contact with the outside world. Listening to the legends, it almost sounded like fun. But the good old days weren't always so good. I was reminded of that fact when a group of Alpine residents decided to revive a theatrical tradition that had begun before World War One. Forced to rely on their own resources for entertainment, the diversions included lectures, musicales, sports competitions, and plays starring local amateurs. Judging from cast photos, the actors had a wonderful time. I'm sure the audience did, too. Maybe everybody was juiced on moonshine. "Very professional productions," declared my House & Home editor, Vida Runkel. "That is, given the limited amount of talent." Vida hadn't been born until after the troupe shut down along with the original mill in 1929. But as a native Alpiner, she was loyal to the core. As a non-native, I was skeptical. Looking at the pictures of people in outlandish wigs and grotesque makeup, I sensed that the productions had been god-awful. But the locals couldn't leave goodor badenough alone. They had revived the tradition after World War Two, only to abandon it for a second time when the logging industry was hit hard in the early 1980s by environmental concerns. Then, two years ago, a group of misguided souls again reverted to tradition. Aided and abetted by the drama professor at Skykomish Community College, The Alpine Council Dramatic Club was resurrected, original name and all. I'd seen only one of the first four playsthey did two a yearan uncut version of Long Day's Journey Into Night. It certainly was. I felt as if I were nailed to my seat for twenty-four hours. At least Eugene O'Neill could write. The current rehearsals were for a play called The Outcast, written by Destiny Parsons, the aforementioned college prof. It was described as a ". . . black comedy, revealing the inner struggle of a young woman to find herself in a small town." I could identify with the concept. Thirteen years ago, I'd come to Alpine as a thirtysomething woman. Despite my best efforts, it had been difficult to fit in. It wasn't just my controversial status as editor and publisher of the local weekly, but that I'd committed the unforgivable sin of being born elsewhere, and in the big citDaheim, Mary is the author of 'Alpine Pursuit An Emma Lord Mystery', published 2004 under ISBN 9780345467157 and ISBN 0345467159.