Every Hidden Thing (20 page)

I
BURST FROM HER TENT TO SEE FIRE SPIKED
across the hilltops. Over a week without rain, and the grass was parched as paper. Flaring in the sagebrush, the flames crackled down the slopes toward the camp. On all other sides, we were cut off by the river.

People were hollering and running around. I was about to hurry away from Rachel's tent when I noticed Professor Cartland standing outside his own, one suspender hitched up. He stared directly at me, then at his daughter, kneeling at the flaps.

Lieutenant Frye ran up and said, “It's the Indians.”

Flickering on the hills, in the growing light from the blaze, were the shapes of horses and riders. They set up a cry that curdled my blood, made it almost impossible to hear or think. Then: a sudden spatter of gunshots.

“Are we under attack?” Cartland demanded furiously, like this was some personal insult.

“Those rifles are ours,” said Frye. “I'm more worried about the flames.”

Ned Plaskett was suddenly at my side. “The flames might not reach us,” he said. “You've already cut down most of the nearby grass for forage; the rest looks pretty trampled. We've got a good buffer.”

“We still need to douse it,” said the lieutenant. To Cartland he said, “Organize your students into a bucket brigade,” and he was off, shouting orders to his soldiers.

Cartland looked at me, then told Rachel, “Stay in your tent,” before heading off to gather his students.

“Come on, “ Ned said to me.

Hurrying through camp, grabbing buckets from the cookhouse and stables. Rachel, hastily dressed, rushed to help us. With our empty buckets we headed to the river. From the far side I heard more violent whooping from the buttes, and it made my knees weak to know we were surrounded. How many Indians were out there?

The three of us were the only people at the riverbank right now. We each filled two buckets and staggered them to the front of the camp. We passed Yalies and shouted at them to form a line. Everyone was up now. I saw Landry the journalist in his underpants, looking petrified. Panicked words ricocheted everywhere.

“—got us hemmed right in!”

“—attack any second!”

“—if the camp catches fire—”

“—damn savages—”

“—the horses—”

“—how deep's the river—”

“—can swim them across—”

“—exterminate 'em's the only way—”

“—move supplies?”

“—no time—”

Soldiers were hunkered down by the outer wagons, taking wild shots into the darkness. Then I heard Lieutenant Frye shout:

“Hold your fire!”

There were no more gunshots—just the wild hollering of the Indians and the nervous snorting of our own ponies.

“They ain't firing,” Ned told me. “Just trying to scare us. They want their boy back.”

“Boy's gone,” the lieutenant snapped. “Got himself free, or someone came and did it under our noses.”

I'd set that boy free, and this was how he thanked me? Trying to burn us alive? I guessed the flames were about sixty yards from the wagons and jumping closer.

Before we could advance with our buckets, the lieutenant stopped us.

“Let my men take them. You keep supplying.”

I admit I was relieved. I didn't want to go into the open, within range of gunfire or arrows. But the soldiers did, crouched low, dumping bucket after bucket onto the grass after first trampling it with their boots. By then more full buckets were arriving from the brigade, and we were busy passing back the empty ones.

Despite the flames, it suddenly got darker. I glanced up. We'd
lost the moon entirely. Clouds blotted the sky. The wind came stronger against my face, hastening the fire. A cottonwood tree, scalded too long, suddenly went up like a torch. From its dry branches and leaves, embers floated over our heads like fireflies.

“No,” I breathed, following the sparks as they shimmied into camp. A cluster landed on a tent and started to smolder.

“Fire in the camp!” I shouted. I took the full bucket just handed to me, rushed to the tent, and doused it.

Everything was built on grass. Trampled as it was, it would still burn. We were backed against the river. We wouldn't die, but the camp would be destroyed.

Moon gone now, the campsite was flickering shadow and smoke and complete mayhem. I rushed back to my post in the bucket brigade, but the line was busted now, everyone rushing to put out the little fires starting all over.

“Sluice the wagons!” someone shouted. I think it might've been the lieutenant but wasn't sure. “Start with the ammunition!”

“Keep the bucket brigade going!” another voice shouted.

No hope of that now. The wind built. My eyes streamed from the smoke. Where was Ned? Rachel? Some empty buckets were coming back to me, but I had no one to pass them to, so I ran for the river, handing them out to whoever reached for one. People loomed out of the smoke and darkness, intent and fierce, and I was suddenly afraid I'd see an Indian burst toward me, club raised. I got a lung full of smoke and hacked.
Rachel, where are you?

Someone seized my arm, and I whirled to see Ned, his face
tilted ecstatically heavenward. For a second I worried he was having a religious vision.

“Listen!” he shouted.

Above the din came a tectonic rumble, and then the wind kicked up from a new direction. Pushing back the smoke. Rain spattered my face, then came good and steady until it was a downpour. Beating on the tents and wagon covers. The grass blaze dwindled, smoking furiously. Embers kept coming, but even those that landed were extinguished fast enough by the rain. We were all of us soaked, still working to douse any last struggling fires. The rain had saved us.

I spotted Rachel and rushed to her, knowing we wouldn't have much time together. Her blouse and skirt were sodden, hair a tangled mess. I wanted to wrap her up in my arms, but there were too many people around.

“Say yes,” I said.

In the rain it took me a moment to realize she was crying.

“He saw you coming out of my tent! He knows.”

“It doesn't matter.”

Her face crumpled. Anguish and anger. “Of course it matters! Everything's ruined! He'll send me home. It's all ruined.”

At first light Papa woke me and told me to get dressed; he wanted to speak to me in his tent. I'd only had a few hours sleep, and my arms ached from carrying the water buckets. My hair reeked of smoke. As I hurriedly pulled and hooked and buttoned my clothes, my hands trembled. I knew what was to come. The camp was still quiet as I crossed to this tent, and inside I was
surprised to see Sam already there, looking bleary eyed and disheveled and damp.

Papa sat in the camp chair, and we two stood before him, like schoolchildren about to receive their punishment.

“I must know exactly what transpired yes yes inside that tent.”

“We spoke,” I told him.

His gaze moved to Sam. “And that is all?”

“That's all,” he said.

“I have a strong inclination to buggy-whip you.”

At this I saw Sam stand up taller, and I hurriedly said, “We're telling the truth.”

Papa inhaled, tilted his head higher. “A man does not typically end up inside a lady's tent without some kind of prior acquaintance.”

“We've become friends,” I admitted. “We spoke on the train journey, and our paths crossed sometimes in the badlands.”

“I see. You never mentioned it to me. And you thought to continue your
friendship
in the middle of the night.”

“I was returning from the latrine,” Sam said, “and saw her outside her tent, getting a breath of air. We were talking. We only went inside because a soldier was coming, and we didn't want him spreading any wild rumors.”

My father's eyes widened. “And you think entering a young lady's tent is less likely to encourage wild rumors?”

Sam had the good sense to keep quiet. I could see Papa was stoking a good temper, and anything we said would just be fuel. His speech was measured, every word a tight little bundle of
fury. “It is fortunate, Samuel Bolt, that we are far from civilization and I was the only one to see this outrage. Or else my daughter's reputation would be irreparably damaged.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam said. “It was very reckless of me. I'm sorry.”

I was grateful he didn't say it was me who'd dragged him inside, and I had no intention of setting the record straight now.

“But what offends me almost as much,” Papa went on, his cold eyes fixed on Sam, “is that you've no doubt been spying on us—”

Sam tried to protest but was harshly cut off.

“—and
pretended
you have feelings for my daughter, in the hopes of gaining information about our work. Do you deny it?”

I was terrified by what he might say next. Deny it or admit it—I didn't know which was worse.

He hung his head, his voice so low it was difficult to hear. “You're right,” he said. “I was pretending. I wanted to find out all I could.” He glanced guiltily at me. “But your daughter never told me anything useful. Nothing.”

I knew he was lying but was surprised by the ache in my throat. A ghost of all my previous doubts flitted through my head. Were his feelings false? Was he really just spying on me? But no, he was playacting, and he'd made the right choice just now. If he'd confessed how close we really were, the fury of my father would have been limitless. This way, there was some small hope Papa might feel sorry for me and let me stay on.

“You've told the truth yes yes at least,” my father said to him, then shook his head. “You are certainly your father's son. I don't
want to see you anywhere near this camp, or any of our quarries, ever again. Understood? Now wake Ned, and be on your way.”

Samuel didn't even glance at me as he left the tent.

“Would you like to take a little walk?” Papa asked me. I felt like a prisoner being asked if I'd like to look at the gallows.

We strolled around the periphery of the camp, just the two of us. On all sides the grass was charred to stubble. In the daylight it was shocking to see how close we'd come to being consumed by the flames. I was too afraid to speak first. When he stopped and put his hand on my arm, I was even more worried.

“I am sorry, my dear, that you were taken in by that scoundrel. A little surprised, too, I must admit. You're far too intelligent to assume his affections were genuine.”

I pulled my arm free. Did he think I was so unworthy of affection?

“What makes you think I was taken in?” I replied coolly. I was not a liar, but I was surprised how easily it came. “My feelings for him were friendly at best. We share some interests, and he was the only person of my age in a hundred miles.”

Papa nodded but looked doubtful. “I am glad to hear it. I would hate to think yes yes that he had trifled with your heart.”

“Not at all,” I said.

“I wish only for your happiness. That boy imposed himself on you most dishonorably. You must try to banish him from your thoughts. It will be easier once you've left.”

I'd been expecting this moment, dreading it like a hangman's noose, but when it came, I felt curiously numb. My eyes rested
on a cottonwood tree, still smoldering in its highest branches.

“You want to send me back home.”

“Fort Crowe first, and then home when a suitable chaperone can be found.”

My anger caught up with me. “I don't want to go home! There's too much work here.”

“Who knows what else the Sioux might do. I was a fool to allow you on this expedition. It's no longer safe for you. That's what I have told the lieutenant yes yes, and that is what Commander Collins and his wife will be told. No one needs to know the other reasons, or else you will be ruined.”

I sighed wearily. “What of it? Hasn't everyone decided I'll never marry because I'm too plain? What's there to ruin?”

His chest swelled. “There is my
name
to think of, my professional standing. And I won't have a harlot for a daughter.”

My cheeks burned as though I'd been slapped. I'd rather have been.

He looked away. “I am thinking of you yes yes.” He cleared his throat. “And I am saving you from yourself. I very much doubt you're being honest with me. You do have feelings for that boy. You have risked scandal for him. And I suspect you may have told him things. Our pterodactylus perhaps? Our latest quarry?”

“You know it was the Indians who smashed it up!” I said evasively.

“My mind is made up. We have a shipment of fossils ready for tomorrow, and you will go with it.”

“This isn't fair!” I said. “I've found
so many
things on this expedition.”

“The pterodactylus was a good find, I grant you. But I wonder if we'd have
all
of it to ourselves, if you hadn't been friendly with Samuel Bolt. As for the brontosaurus, anyone would have found that. You were just lucky enough to stumble over it.”

For a moment I was speechless with hurt at how easily he belittled my contributions. It was as if he wasn't at all proud of me, not one bit. And despite my anger, no matter how hard I tried not to, I began to cry at the sheer injustice of it.

“There, there, my dear,” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Don't be so distressed.”

“I am
not
distressed!” I said. “I am furious!”

“This is entirely my fault,” he said. “This is no fit occupation for a young woman.”

“It's the occupation I want more than anything,” I said, swiping the last tears from my cheeks and glaring at him. “And I am very good at it.”

“I was wrong to be so encouraging when you were little; I can see that now. I've in no way helped you prepare for the life ahead.”