Every Hidden Thing (25 page)

We didn't speak much that night, and when he turned away from me, I turned away too. I was furious with him, for treating me like a dim-witted student, for ignoring my body. Where was all his passion now, all his beautiful words?

In the middle of the night, when I felt my monthly bleeding start, I was glad I wasn't pregnant.

P
APA WAS WAITING FOR ME WHEN I RETURNED
to
camp.

He sat on a crate near our cookstove, his saddlebag near his feet. Aside from his slouch hat, he looked like he might have just given a lecture. Leaning against the shady side of our wagon was the Pawnee scout, Duellist. I couldn't see any soldiers. Their two horses were cropping nearby.

“Where is Samuel?” he asked, standing. His gaze flicked over Withrow and Browne.

“Still out prospecting. Why are you here?”

“To ensure the welfare of my daughter.”

I was surprised at the pang I felt, the sheer familiarity of his sturdy shape, the shining curve of his forehead. My whole life, with scarcely an exception, he'd been the one person I'd seen every day.

“We knew you hadn't taken the train, and Samuel abandoned his horse in Crowe. I had a hunch you meant to continue prospecting on your own, but you'd need some help.”

“We're helping each other,” said Withrow. “Your daughter is a fine fossil hunter.”

Father glanced at Withrow with barely veiled disdain, and then returned his gaze to me.

“I am absolutely fine,” I told him. “I'm sorry you worried. I would've written a note if there hadn't been such a scene in the hotel.”

He lifted his chin, as if he was too dignified to think about it. “Shall we walk a bit?” he asked.

“Are there handcuffs clipped to your belt?”

“Ha,” he said, and pulled back his jacket. “No handcuffs, you see.”

I looked at Ethan Withrow, and he tipped his head gently
. Go.
Papa and I walked to the edge of the camp; I made sure the others were in plain view. Ethan kept his eye on us.

“My dear,” Papa said, and lifted his hands in entreaty. His fleshy hands had handled geological hammers and picks and shovels. They'd held pens and written journals and lectures. They'd hefted me up into a wagon when I was little, helped me shape my first letters. “You can't mean to continue like this. Come back with me.”

I said nothing.

“You don't need to ruin the rest of your life because of one youthful misadventure.”

“You're saying I should abandon my marriage?”

At the word he winced as though someone had put something unpleasant into his mouth. I saw his eyes counting the tents. “Whether you're married yes yes is debatable.”

“We are
married
,” I said, “in every sense of the word.”

“That being as it may, I simply want you to come back with us and think things through. You may find some time alone will be clarifying.”

I almost smiled at his attempts to be cunning. But I was ashamed at the pull I felt. Even for the most mundane things: a softer bedroll, a tent to myself, my clothes, a better washbasin. I wished Samuel were here. Where was he?

I inhaled. The words were surprisingly hard to say. “I'm not leaving.”

“That boy can't offer you a respectable home. He's had too poor an example from his father. A known philanderer.”

“So you say.”

“The stories of his womanizing are numerous. He makes a mockery of his faith.”

I thought of the woman on the train. “Samuel is not his father.”

He sniffed. “You will come to grief if you stay with him. You will most certainly be very poor.”

“Is that a threat?”

He sidestepped. “My dear, he cannot support you.”

“We've hired our services to Mr. Barnum. If we make a find, we will be paid.”

“Samuel's plan no doubt. He shows the same poor judgment as his father. I'm not hopeful of your prospects with this lot.” He tilted his head toward camp. “They look about as skilled as grave diggers”

“We'll find something.” Where was he? Why wasn't he here to stand beside me?

“He will not love you, my dear.”

“How can you dare say that?” I retorted, and then realized I'd just asked a question.

“He's only a boy. A rash boy from a rash, obsessive father who will soon ruin himself. All I'm asking is for you to come back with me and think it over, and
then
make your decision when you're clearheaded.”

“I'm perfectly clearheaded.”

“I would take care of you.”

My voice was hoarse with anger. “So I can be your helpmate?”

“So you can go to university and become a paleontologist.”

I faltered a moment, then sniffed. “Last time we spoke you said I was unsuited for university.”

“I did say that, and I was mistaken. I was speaking out of anger, and concern for you. But I've given it a great deal of thought since. And I think the world of science would be the poorer if you were not properly trained.”

I watched him like he was an unfamiliar reptile. “I want to make sure I understand you. You're offering to send me to university
if
. . .”

“Yes,
if
you choose to put this foolishness with Samuel Bolt
behind you. You'll be free to pursue your true passion. I know you, my dear, better than you think. Right now you are in the throes of a passion yes yes, I know, even I know. But it will wane, and your circumstances will become a terrible burden. Poverty. A feckless, restless husband. Perhaps he's made you promises of education and opportunity. But I can deliver these things much more reliably.”

I couldn't speak and knew I was on the verge of tears.

“There, there, my dear. Don't cry. Things can be made right.”

“I am crying,” I said, “because you would never have offered me these things normally. Even now I don't know whether to trust you. And you're unkind to try and tempt me when I've already made a hard choice.”

“Look, there's something I brought to show you.”

He'd taken my elbow and was leading me back to the camp. Withrow looked at me questioningly. I smiled weakly. Father bent down to his saddlebag.

“We've made some very promising finds near our new camp.”

“You've moved?” I asked.

He undid the buckles. “Downriver. We needed better forage for the horses. And so I decided to take the Sioux boy at his word. His directions, you remember. We found the hoodoos he described and started digging. And look.”

With both hands he lifted out a single bone, a massive vertebra. But what I noticed most was its color—the same silvery black as the Black Beauty's tooth.

“Who found that?” I demanded.

I'd just walked into camp, and there were Withrow and Browne huddled together with Rachel and Professor Cartland. The mere sight of him made me angry—and angrier still when I saw what he cradled in his hands.

Withrow answered, “The professor's showing us a bit of bone they dug up.”

“Manganese oxide in the rock, no doubt,” said Cartland, talking to Rachel like I wasn't there. “Reminds me yes yes of that tooth of yours? Seems that Sioux boy might have been telling us the truth.”

I stepped closer, drawn by the black bone. I felt hollowed out, like some gutted bit of taxidermy. My mouth went dry. By the looks of it, it was a caudal vertebra from some creature's mighty tail. I wanted to touch it so badly. Our
rex
?

“How much have you dug up?” I heard Rachel ask, like she was in a trance.

“We found this only yesterday,” Cartland replied. “We're just turning our full attention to the site now. We could use your help, my dear.”

I looked at him sharply, then Rachel, waited a heartbeat, then another, for her reply. When it didn't come, I said, “Rachel's not going anywhere.”

It sounded bullying, and when she turned to me, I wasn't sure if there was relief or dislike in her expression. I realized I'd never been very good at reading her.

“Or were you planning on kidnapping her?” I asked Cartland.

“If there was any kidnapping,” the professor replied, “it was not done by me.”

“We eloped,” Rachel said. “I wasn't abducted.” She glanced at me. “And I don't think Papa means to try now.”

“I'm very encouraged by this find,” Cartland said placidly, replacing the vertebra in his saddlebag. “A shame we lost the tooth, though. I suspect the Sioux boy took it when he escaped. Incredible that he knew to look in my tent!”

Cartland was watching me as he said this. I pretended my face was a fossil, and I was only looking out through the eye holes.

“He must have been very stealthy,” Rachel said.

“The Sioux heads went missing too. The lieutenant thinks he likely had an accomplice. Setting free an army prisoner is a very serious offense.”

“Why would anyone do that?” I asked.

“Maybe they were hoping to get something in return,” Cartland replied.

I was good at staring. I learned it playing cards with my father. If Cartland knew, he had not a scrap of proof, or the lieutenant would have been here to arrest me. Cartland looked away first.

“Well, my dear, I must be off. Shall I wait while you gather your things?”

He smiled at his daughter, and I realized I'd never seen a smile on his face before. It contracted soon enough when Rachel slowly shook her head.

“I see. I want yes yes the best for you, but you must know it's
impossible as long as you remain with young Bolt here. Quite impossible.”

Her eyes were wet. “I am staying here.”

Stiffly he said, “Well, if you change your mind, I'm not far.”

As her father walked away to his horse, I went and put my hand on her shoulder, but she felt stiff and far away from me. She watched Cartland ride off with the Pawnee scout.

Withrow said, “What was that bone he showed us?”

“A vertebra. Maybe a piece of the lower spine, the tail. It could've come from all sorts of dinosaurs.”

“The Black Beauty?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. I didn't measure it.”

“Looked pretty big to me.”

“Yes, it was big!”

“The color,” he said.

“The color was right,” Rachel said.

I said, “Doesn't mean he has the Black Beauty.”

“We sure don't have it,” Withrow said.

“Not yet,” I said.

“You didn't tell us the Sioux boy spouted out two maps.” He said it casually enough, but there was accusation in his voice.

“Because he was lying the first time,” I replied. “Why would he tell the truth to someone who'd beaten him and tied him up?”

“To get untied maybe,” said Hobart, who looked like he'd probably been tied up a few times himself .

“But
I
untied him,” I insisted. “And got his things back. Why would he lie to me?”

Withrow stared into his tin cup. “I'll be honest; I'm starting to worry that your Sioux boy just made some squiggles in the sand.”

Starting
to worry. I'd been worried for days. Every time I took a break and stared out over the blistered landscape, I worried. The noise of the cicadas had become a song of worry in my head. I worried in time to the beat of my heart. I was a little boy again in my father's house, everyone watching and the clock running out and me not being able to piece the bones together.

I said, “There's still plenty of ground we haven't covered.”

Of the three buttes, we'd prospected two of them pretty thoroughly, and the third we'd only started working.

“Maybe another two or three days,” said Withrow.

I nodded.

“And if we don't find anything?” he asked.

“I could retrace the routes of your men—they might have missed something.”

Hobart smiled at me unkindly.

Withrow said, “And after that we're in the shit, aren't we?”

When he touched me beneath the covers, I said, “It's my time of the month.”

“Oh.” He withdrew his hand. “Does it matter? Neither of us is squeamish.”

“I'd rather not.”

He pulled away and turned over, and I thought what a clod he was for not even holding me. He could still have kissed me,
wrapped me up. I thought he was already asleep when he said, “Were you tempted to go with him?”

“No,” I lied.

“I think you were.”

I said, “Of course I was tempted.”

“I could tell.”

“He isn't much of a father, but he's the only one I have. My whole life he was the only person who took care of me!”

He turned over to face me. “
I
take care of you!”

“I
stayed
, didn't I?”

“Am I supposed to thank you? I'm your husband.”

“And I stayed for
you
.”

“I can't believe you were even tempted.”

“Maybe it's easy for you to part with your father, but for me it's a wrench. Is that hard to understand?”

“He would've put our baby in an orphanage!”

All of a sudden my eyes welled up. My face crumpled. He kissed my eyes, put a hand to my cheek.

“It's all right,” he said, his voice gentle at last. “He's not coming back. I'm going to take care of you. Our baby will not end up in an orphanage.”

Before I could stop myself I said, “I don't want a baby.”

The touch of his hand on my cheek changed. A sudden stillness, a stiffness, like something dying.

“What do you mean?” he said. “Why not?”

“I'm . . . not ready. Once I'm pregnant I'd have to stop
working, and I don't want to stop working.”

“Only for a bit . . .”

“We were supposed to be partners. But when the baby comes, I'd have to look after it. I'll become just another person in a room. I didn't want to go from my father's rooms to yours. That's
not
what I wanted.”

“All right,” he said. “You don't want a baby yet.”

“Every time we lie together I could have a baby.”

“I can withdraw myself and . . . when we get to town I can buy a rubber.”