Maggie's Turn by Deanna Lynn Sletten Read Free Book Online Page A

pulled through the gates, after paying the entrance fee, and headed off to the parking ramp. Once parked and off the bike, Bill noticed the frown on Maggie's face as she lifted the helmet from her head and shook out her hair.
    "Something the matter, Calamity?" he asked, lightheartedly.
    Maggie pursed her lips. "I don't remember having to pay to see the monument before," she said. Her eyes assessed the parking ramp they were in. "I don't remember a parking ramp, either. The last time I was here, it was all outdoor parking."
    Wild Bill hung his helmet over the handlebars and smiled. "You haven't been here in a long time, I take it. Wait till you see what else is new here."
    Maggie grunted.
    Bill suggested they take their leathers off and stow them in the saddlebags since the day was warming up. Maggie did. Clad in a yellow T-shirt and jeans, her camera hanging from around her neck, she walked with Bill, heading out of the ramp and toward the monument.
    The day was absolutely gorgeous. The sun shone brightly as a gentle breeze blew the mountain air. The late September air had tipped the leaves with a hint of the approaching fall, giving the onlooker a glimpse of the beautiful colors soon to explode over the entire valley. Maggie reveled in the fresh mountain air and the clear blue sky, as Bill led her up the new stone steps toward the monument's entrance.
    As they reached the top of the steps, Maggie stood and stared, amazed at the sight before her. Bill hadn't been kidding when he'd said things had changed. The sight before her would have done a tourist trap like Disney World proud. But here, in the majestic quiet of the Black Hills, it seemed ostentatious and extreme. She stopped, staring straight ahead of her, then slowly turned to face Bill.
    "They've commercialized it," she said, her voice a soft whisper.
    Bill turned to her, nodded slightly, and shrugged. He felt the same way she did. She could tell by the look of sadness in his eyes. Giving her a small smile, he took her hand in his, and, together, they walked up the stone path.
    Where once there was only a stone-lined viewing terrace and a single gift shop and restaurant, now was a flag-lined entryway, immense viewing terrace, and even an amphitheater right below one of the most majestic monuments in America. Apparently, the mountain scenery hadn't been enough for someone, because the ambiance held a whole new look now, the look of money. Not a dollar of the nation's taxpayers' money had been spared to update and ornate a national treasure, which could have easily held its own as it once had. And as impressive as the Avenue of Flags and Grand Viewing Terrace were, Maggie couldn't help but feel saddened by the ostentatious presentation of such a majestic monument to our four great presidents and this nation. It proved to her, once again, that progress and change weren't always best.
    It wasn't busy, unlike summer days when tourists flocked everywhere for that one special picture of the monument. This left Maggie time and space to snap photos of the granite faces, undisturbed, against the rich, blue sky backdrop. She and Bill stood on the main terrace for quite some time, then with a little exploring, came upon the old viewing terrace.
    "Now, this I remember," Maggie said appreciatively, as she began snapping a whole new set of pictures. Bill watched her, amusement in his eyes.
    "What?" Maggie asked when she noticed him grinning at her.
    "I've never seen anyone appreciate a little sun and a view as much as you do," he told her. "It's nice for a change."
    Maggie turned back to her picture taking, a smile on her lips.
    At one point, Bill wandered up to the stone wall, leaning his palms against it, staring up at the monument. Maggie watched him a moment, then began snapping pictures of him. Wild Bill, a national treasure in his own right, standing in awe of Mount Rushmore. It was a great portrait, and at that very moment, Maggie was elated at being here, with this man she