Faithful (35 page)

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Authors: Janet Fox

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The pinto shifted his weight, but Kula didn’t move. “Thanks,” she said, not unkindly.
I looked at Nat. “You were the love of her life.” I heard the quick intake of his breath. I turned again toward the building. I felt light, unburdened.
Nat swung into the saddle and urged his horse around to block my path. He leaned over me from the saddle, reaching down and taking my hand in his own. “Take care of your pa,” he said.
I could just make out his eyes in the moonlight, and knew that shade of blue even in the dark. Then he and Kula turned and disappeared into the shadows.
“I’ll see you,” I called after them.
I could feel Tom’s eyes on me, but I walked past him, then began to run, calling for help.
Chapter FORTY - ONE
July 27–August 10, 1904
. . . the impressions made upon my mind . . . one evening as the sun was gently gliding behind the western mountain and casting its gigantic shadows across the vale were such as time can never efface from my memory . . . I almost wished I could spend the remainder of my days in a place like this where happiness and contentment seemed to reign in wild romantic splendor.
—Journal of a Trapper
, Osborne Russell, 1835
PAPA MADE A SLOW RECOVERY. HIS LEG WAS BROKEN IN several places, and there was the danger of infection. It’s a wonder he’d survived at all. The surgeon thought at first that he would have to amputate the leg at the knee, but he grew more optimistic, due, he said, to my vigilance in changing the dressing. For the first few days I barely slept, only dozing in the chair next to Papa’s bed, where I remained, day and night.
Tom’s arm and rib were broken, and he had a slight concussion, but I heard from the surgeon that he was improving quickly.
Graybull had not returned from his hunting trip, to my relief. I had to think about how I would deliver the news that I would not become his wife, and how to handle the outcome. I sighed as this reality settled on me. I worried that Papa would lose his job here at the Park, since Graybull was so connected. My grandfather would be furious. We’d be penniless, Papa and I. But as I watched Papa’s face while he slept, I knew we’d also be all right.
The same young lieutenant who had questioned me one month earlier at the Old Faithful Inn after our stagecoach robbery came to question me about the accident.
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand. How exactly did you make it all the way back here with an unconscious man and an injured friend on a single horse?” He looked up from his pad, pencil poised to take notes. “Not to mention the deceased,” he added, meaning Bill.
I looked him straight in the eye and gave him a broad smile. “It must have been the excitement of the moment,” I said. “I guess I had a superhuman strength, from being so worried.”
His eyebrows lifted, but he wrote on his pad, tipped his hat, and excused himself.
Later that same day, Uncle John came by, with the news that the park superintendent had taken care of all of our expenses—and provided Papa with permanent employment, if he would accept. Papa seemed pleased, and I, well, I thought that was the best news I’d heard in a while.
Five days after the accident, there was still no sign of Graybull, but Papa was ever improving. Mrs. Gale arrived—her own arm in a sling—and, to my relief, took charge of the hospital room. She bustled me off to rest on a proper bed, and slipped a letter from Kitty into my hands as I left the room.
Dearest Mags,
Engaged! And to George Graybull. Quite a catch! He’s
quite rich, I’m told. I’m so thrilled for you! Now you can
take your place again in society and we can be friends.
We can, can’t we? Even though—and you will be happy
for me now, Maggie—Edward has become my constant
escort. He told me that your father and grandfather
closed all doors between you and him. That’s why I
feel no guilt, and know that we are still friends. Why, I
believe Edward and I will announce our engagement by
Christmas! . . .
I stuffed the letter into my pocket.
I walked through the August sunshine from the infirmary to the cottage, feeling dazed and exhausted. I hadn’t had much sleep these past five days, and relished the idea of a soft bed.
Though I saw Gretchen Mills on the walk, shaded by a parasol, walking with a gentleman, I didn’t realize until I was almost upon them that the man with Gretchen was George Graybull.
It had only been two weeks since he’d left on his trip and I’d left with Papa on ours, but it seemed a thousand years since I’d seen him. When he spotted me and turned in my direction, I knew it was time for me to do what I had to do.
He called to me from a distance. “Margaret! I’ve just returned and your kind neighbor has been informing me of this accident business. Dreadful! Knew it was a bad idea! Had I been along, I would have taken care of the bear myself!”
I stopped dead in my tracks. He was an outrageous, arrogant cad. I remembered Tom’s words, and they bolstered my spirit: “The bears were here first,” I said, almost too soft for him to hear.
One of Gretchen’s girls flew past us. “Milly! Honestly! Behave like a lady, please! Where is that Susan?” Gretchen turned to me. “You’ve been so attentive to your father, I know you haven’t been eating properly. I’ve had my cook make dinner for you. It’s waiting in the icebox.” Before I could muster a “thanks,” Gretchen darted off after her daughter, leaving me alone with Graybull.
“Now Margaret,” Graybull said. “Heard some things that frankly I find difficult to believe.” He drew himself up, squaring his powerful shoulders. “Is it true that a young man joined your party when you reached Mount Washburn?”
I folded my arms and stared at him, silent.
“I’ve been told that Tom Rowland was with you and your father as you made your way toward Yancey’s.”
“He joined us, yes. He was collecting rock samples. Papa thought it would be good to have his company.”
“I’m shocked, to be honest, that your father would permit such a thing.”
“What ‘thing’ do you think he permitted?” I was irked and tired, and wanted to end this conversation.
Permitted
was a word I vowed to strike from my vocabulary.
“The mere fact that a single young woman was accompanied in the woods by a young man—”
“Oh, for pity’s sake! My father was there, too,” I interrupted.
“And poor Bill, God rest his soul. And, I might remind you, if you’d had your way, I would have been with you on your little hunting excursion, even without my father present!”
“That’s quite another matter,” he retorted. “We’re engaged.”
Not for much longer
, I thought to myself. I could almost hear Mama laughing.
“Well, Margaret. There will be no more of those shenanigans. Made some plans.” Graybull cleared his throat. “My sister will be here in a week. By that time your father should be well enough. You’ll come back to the East Coast with us. Leonora will take you in as her ward.” He looked at me, reaching for my hands, gripping them both in his. “This is one way I can keep an eye on you.” His tongue slid between the gap in his teeth. I had had enough.
I yanked my hands away. The surprise on his face was gratifying. “I’m not going anywhere with your sister, or with you.”
He hesitated for a moment. “If you’d rather wait until your father is back on his feet . . .”
“Not now. Not ever.” I began to smile and I stood straight and put my hands on my hips, defiant.
Graybull frowned. “Obviously, you’re tired. You look . . . disheveled. We shall finish this conversation tomorrow.”
I almost laughed in his face. “No, we shall not. Not tomorrow. Not ever.” If Kitty had been there, she would have fainted. If Mama had been there, she would have clapped.
His eyes narrowed. “Arrangements have been made, Margaret. Your father and I have an agreement. Have you forgotten your precarious situation? You are spoken for.”
“I speak for myself. My wishes are . . .” I paused. “My wishes are that I’m staying here, and I won’t marry you. I don’t want to see you again, in fact. Moreover”—I took a step away from him—“I plan to pursue a career in photography. I plan to be an artist. I don’t want to be engaged to anyone just yet. You were right. I am impulsive. And I’m going to do extraordinary things.” I enjoyed his expression of shock. In fact, I laughed right out loud at the look on his face.
He looked me up and down. “I’ve clearly misjudged. Made a grave error. Thought you were of the right class. Can see now I was wrong.” He drew himself up. “Tell your father I sever my ties, terminate the engagement.”
I thought I was floating, I felt so light. “Tell him yourself. We don’t need you.” I turned my back on Graybull and marched into the cottage. I went straight to my room and fell onto the bed, into a dreamless sleep, without even removing my muddy shoes.
When I woke, many hours later, I felt the pleasure of knowing that I had dismissed Graybull. And then worry crept back into me: I would have to tell Papa that I’d done away with his careful plans. No more Graybull; no inheritance from Grandpapa; we’d have to make our own way, here in Yellowstone. I sat on the stairs of our cottage staring out the window at the parade ground, chewing my lip, thinking.
I’d handled bigger things than this in the past few weeks. Wealth and society hadn’t saved my father—I had.
But I wasn’t sure if Papa could take such a shock in his state. And so, for a time, for his health’s sake, I put off having the discussion with him.
Two weeks passed before Papa was well enough to move about. I was relieved when the surgeon concluded, definitely, that he would not lose his leg.
I decided it was time. I sat by his bedside, took a deep breath, and began. I started with the most important thing. “I know you came to Yellowstone to find someone. And it wasn’t Mama you were looking for.”
Papa gazed at me, silent.
“Uncle John told me everything. About Mama, and the kidnapping, and the child. Everything.” I waited again. “Papa, I found the child.”
He tried to lift himself from the bed, his eyes bright, his hand grasping the quilt. “Mags . . .”
“Now, stay put and listen. It’s not the news you wanted. I’m sorry, Papa. She didn’t have a son. She had a daughter. Nat Baker’s daughter, Papa, not yours.” I watched him, anxious, as he lay back, sinking into the pillows, his eyes closed, digesting this news. “I’m sorry, Papa.”
“Ah.” He lay very still, tears dampening his eyelashes. Then he opened his eyes and reached for me, the tears slipping down his cheeks. “But I have you, Mags.”
“Yes, Papa, you do.”
“And you are so much like her. All I wanted was to have her back, in some form. All this time, I had you.” He closed his eyes again. “All this time. So. You have a half sister.”
“I do.” I didn’t need to tell him that Mama loved Nat Baker; I was sure he knew. I hesitated for a moment before continuing, “Papa, there’s something else. I sent Graybull away. I ended the engagement.” I leaned back in my chair. I hoped he’d understand; I hoped he knew that it was my life and he had to let me live it. I hoped he knew that I needed to live a true life with true love.
He did. His eyes were still closed, and he only nodded, but he also smiled.
Not many days later, on a brilliant August afternoon, Papa lay in the hospital bed, still weak, but improving, accepting the soup that I spooned into his mouth.
Mrs. Gale bustled into the room. “My dear, it is too lovely for you to stay inside. You go out. I have no work to do at the moment.” She shrugged. “No camera.”
I felt bad even though I knew she wasn’t blaming me. “I’m sorry I lost it. And all those pictures.”
“Ah, but now we have a reason to work harder,” said Mrs. Gale, perching in the chair next to the bed and helping Papa to some soup. “That is, I was hoping you’d become my assistant until you must return to school.”
I looked at my father. His eyes met mine, and then he reached for my hand. It was what I wanted more than anything, and my heart beat so fast I was sure he could hear it.

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