As I walked from Gambit peak, I was tired, tired as I could be, but in a way floating, for I had just climbed my first over 14,000 foot peak. Yes, Gambit peak was mine. I had gone up from the East and now was descending the West slope, walking into the small mountain village of Gambit. It was not a large community, maybe thirty or forty houses and trailers, all showing signs of the rough winters. I had been told there was a small bed and breakfast where I could get a shower and spend the night. The mail carrier for a nominal fee would give me a ride down to Squatters Flat where I had left my car.

I was whistling and walking along at a good clip when the trail turned and I saw two houses about a hundred yards apart, small houses, maybe four or five rooms, one log and the other sided with that late 40s or early 50s type siding. I saw someone working in a small flowerbed. The flowers I do not know what kind, were small, but had the most deep and vivid colors. I yelled out ahead. "Morning, looks like spring is going to stay long enough for summer to find us."

The person stood, and as they did they brushed the dirt from their knees. It had on a dress. She turned and this brown-faced woman smiled and said. "Good day, yes it is a nice one. I wonder if the frost will try to do these little flowers in."

"Never know in this country, never know," I replied. I noticed her dress was old, faded, and sack-cut. Her hair was straggly, her fingernails were all broken and had black dirt underneath. She surely would not have to worry about any pervert bothering her I thought. I walked to within four or five feet of her, stopped and again spoke. "There is a bed and breakfast, could you point the way?" She smiled. "I went up the other side yesterday and came down this side of Gambit peak. I need a place where I can shower and wait for the mailman. My car is down in Squatters Flat.

"You found it. This is it. The only place in town." Her eyes had a twinkle, and oh my. They were a shade of blue, beautiful blue eyes. "That is unless you strike Carmella's fancy and she will let you stay in her shed."

"I am Kerry Zeigler, from over near Denver. May I get a room?" Her eyes twinkled, looking like a blue sky filled with sparklers. Wow, looking at her eyes and hearing her pleasant voice made me forget her hair, her dress, and her dirty hands and broken nails.

"Sure can. Room, shower, supper, and breakfast will run you $62.50," she replied.

I swallowed, thinking that was a little steep for a place like this a little room in a shack; but it was in the back woods.

"Fine, and could I get some lunch. Or is there a store in the village? I ate everything I had in my pack." I still could not believe her eyes.

She looked up at the sun. "Well, it is about eleven-thirty, and sure, you can share my lunch."

I took my pack off and followed her into the house. She was nearly as tall as I, standing straight and with large hands. And oh, those long fingers. She was wearing sandals and left them just inside the door.

"Just a habit because I am always tracking in mud," she said, as she lead me into the house. The inside was all wood-paneled, and the kitchen cabinets were all hand-made, and of hard wood, which is a rarity in this part of the country where pine is king. We went through to a small desk where she sat down, took out a guest book, and a registration form. She stood again, and offered me the seat, so I sat down and quickly jotted everything down. I handed her my charge card, which she took it. She swiped it through, and wrote on the receipt. Had me sign it and stuck the slip in the desk drawer. "I will show you to your room," she said, and escorted me to a small hall.

The house that had looked so small was much larger on the inside. "Here you are, my room is next door and we share the bath in between." She paused. "And please unlock my door after you use the bath room. Nothing like waking up in the middle of the night and find the door locked."

I grinned, "Yes of that I am familiar," and I put my pack on the floor. "If it's OK I will shower before lunch. I feel grungy." She smiled and went back toward the kitchen. I opened my pack and took out my spare clean clothes, then went into the bathroom. There were two towel racks. Above one, it had a little wooden frame with the words, "Guest," and an arrow. I laughed and soon was clean, making sure to clean the floor and hang everything up.

As I came out of the room, I heard a symphony playing. It was coming from the kitchen. "Oh, hi, you feeling better?" she asked. She reached over and turned the music down. "Apple, cheese, saltines and a cup of coffee or tea. Is that OK for lunch?"

I thought, oh lord not a vegetarian, not a kook. "Yes, that is fine. Make that coffee please." We sat and slowly ate. Again, her large hands and long fingers were second to those blue eyes.

After lunch, I wandered around the village, just looking, taking pictures and nosing around. There was a small store, and the word must have been passed around, for the storeowner, said, "Would you tell Yvonne that her order is in?" I must have looked at him in a funny way for he added, "The tall lady who owns the B & B."

I felt silly. "I did not get her name, but we were chatting." I grinned. "Yvonne?"

"Yes Yvonne Zmoski," he replied.

"Well I could take whatever it is she wants. I am spending the night and have been just wandering through your village. It is so bucolic, so quiet. Unbelievable," I said.

"Ok, if you don't mind," he said as he went into the other room. He returned with a brown paper grocery bag. "Don't squeeze it too hard, and please don't drop it."

I took the bag, went outside and took more pictures. Then I started slowly ambling toward her house. I looked at my watch. It was quarter to five and I had not asked her what time supper was. I did not want to miss it. However, I did see that there was a small Café, which did not close until nine. I went around back, knocked, and went in. She had a blue gingham cloth tied over her head and a big long apron on, over her dress. She thanked me and said, "What time would you like to have dinner?"

I shrugged and held my palms up. "Well there is just you and I tonight. Is six-thirty okay?" she asked.

"Yes, that is fine," I replied, and I again looked at those eyes, those blue twinkling eyes. "Oh, I bought two bottles of wine, could we, er, ah, do you allow wine? And if so, would you share a glass with me?"

"Oh I would love one, but let me put the supper on and take a shower, I have been enjoying the dirt." I saw her look at me. "The feel of rich loam in the springtime, and working it with one's hands, the thrill of planting things, and hoping they will grow." She wrapped two potatoes in foil and stuck them in the oven. I could not tell what was already in the oven. She had an old fashioned cook stove, the wood and coal kind, but beside it was a small gas range.

"Glasses?" I asked.

"Last cupboard on the right. Ice is in the fridge, that is if you like ice in your wine. There is a radio and phonograph in the den. Feel free to use them. Shower time for me." She removed the apron, hung it on the back door and disappeared.

I poured a glass of wine, drank it, and poured another. Then I started to browse, well to nose around in the den and living room, mostly admiring the workmanship of the things therein. I sipped my wine and looked at the stack of 78s and LPs on the table beside the phonograph: a Telefunkin, a very expensive system. Then I heard her behind me. "I would like a glass of wine now please," she said in a voice which would melt most any man.

I turned and my eyes got large for before me stood this tall creature in a long dress, and with long curly brown hair. And with just enough makeup on to make sure you knew she was a woman. I hastily got her a glass of wine and topped off mine. We chatted about my mountain climb, where I lived and what I did, never mentioning or broaching the topic of her.

Finally, we sat down to dinner: a small green salad, veal cordon Bleu, a baked potato, and broccoli florets covered in a cheese sauce. She put the food on the table and I held her chair. Just as she sat down, a sound came from the other room. Piano music. Dinner music by Chopin. We chatted but never about her. "I like that recording, who is the artist? I asked."

She lowered her head a little. "It is I."

"Oh you play lovely, oh so lovely. Are you a concert pianist?" I asked.

She hesitated, raised her left hand, that lovely hand with the long fingers. "I was until my husband smashed this."

I cringed for you could see those large hands and those long fingers were made for a keyboard.

"Don't look like that," she said, "For if it had not been for this, I would not have ended up here."

I poured more wine and we continuted to talk, mostly about the weather. Then following morning I said goodbye, and again, she was in that plain old sack dress, with her hair tied back. "May I come again?" I asked. "And if I do, will you dance with me?" I felt somewhat stupid after I asked.

"You are on," she replied, "And thank you for a lovely evening."

I took her hand, kissed it, and headed for the Post Office to catch my ride.