Edith Shipton remained unaccounted for, and unmentioned. Young Donnie munched on his fourth or fifth muffin, ignored by and ignoring his stepfather. Late-sleeping Gladys Turnbull was still dreaming of the vengeance of the inhabitants of Zzz. Janet was late again and Cynthia's bedside attempt to call her mother in Indiana resulted in unanswered rings, causing her further concern.
Cynthia ambled out as Dean was clearing away the dishes. She apologized for her tardiness to the balance of the accumulated climbers who were tarrying over coffee and herb tea. She responded to Dean's hug, saying she felt better, but was still concerned about her mother.
The climbers grumbled about the negative affect of the snow on their anticipated activities, all except Penny, who considered the weather a new and exciting challenge. Mick asked about the weather forecast and Fred responded that in Ouray, any prognostication was speculative and definitely regional-for real accuracy, one looked out the window or guessed. In the next town over, the sun might be shining. He went on to add judiciously that elevation changed Mother Nature's rules about the weather every few hundred feet. There were markedly different conditions just a few miles away. A typical year saw four hundred inches of snow fall atop Red Mountain, a hundred and seventy-five inches in Ouray, and perhaps a foot in Montrose, all within fifty miles.
Edith emerged, dressed for the great outdoors, ready to accompany her man on his macho adventures. Gladys waddled down, her jaw set like a drill Sergeant, looking as if she'd like to spit in Jerome's coffee. Last to arrive was Donald Ryland. After milling about until nearly nine o'clock, the entire group began to trek up to the ice park and, as Claire Quincy put it, view this craziness. Even Fred O'Connor was taking the day off from his historical research to watch the festivities.
It looked as if the Deans might have more time to themselves, even if Janet's absence meant they'd spend their leisure changing sheets and cleaning toilets. But their wayward helper finally arrived, stomping off snow and apologizing profusely as the others began gathering their mountain of gear and leaving.
Dean answered a phone call-a six-month-early summer reservation-while waving to the departing guests. Ryland shook his hand goodbye as Dean cradled the phone to his shoulder. Ryland was the last to leave, or so Dean thought. As he was finishing his conversation, a loud sound came from the kitchen, followed by a sharp cry in a man's voice, and then laughter. Jerome Shipton passed Dean in the hall, holding the side of his head, and left the building as Dean hung up the phone.