Faithful (8 page)

The older man wore a rough wool coat and carried a canvas pack; the younger man—the son, I decided, since they looked alike—a plaid wool shirt. I watched the younger man. My eyes were drawn to him.

He was tall enough to look over his father’s shoulder. He had a kind of presence; he looked amused by something, like he was on the verge of a smile. His hair looked like it had been cut with a razor, but he had a strong jaw and broad shoulders. I squared my own, feeling a little blush creep up my neck. He was nice looking, or would have been if he’d been properly dressed. Put him in a suit, or even pressed trousers, and he would have made even self-possessed Kitty swoon.

“Jim!” Uncle John waved like a madman. People turned and stared. I shrank in my seat.

Uncle John grabbed Papa’s arm. “Jim’s with the Survey, he works in the Park. You’ve got to meet him. He’ll be a great help. Jim!” Uncle John strode through the depot, heading straight for the son and his father, extending his hand, waving like crazy, and bellowing like a bull, to my utter humiliation. “Great to see you! Come meet my brother and niece!”

I couldn’t believe it. Uncle John was making a scene. I shifted and turned away; my cheeks were on fire, although I wasn’t sure if that was because of my uncle’s behavior or the fact that he was dragging this particular young man in my direction. I buried my face in my book, wishing I could disappear behind the cover. I pretended to be lost in reading.

“Charlie Bennet, this is Jim Rowland. Good man! And young Tom here, his son.” Uncle John clapped young Tom on the back. “Tom’s got a bit of a reputation in Yellowstone as something of a rebel, though the park superintendent likes him just fine. He’s got a natural love of animals, don’t you, Tom?” Peeking over the top of my book, I watched Tom’s expression, the slight smile and sparkling eyes. He shot them right at me and I felt my heart give a quick jump as I ducked my chin.

His eyes were the color of the sea when it’s stormy, that peculiar changeable gray with a hint of green.

“Margaret?” Papa’s voice startled me. “Please say hello.”

I lifted my eyes again slowly, avoiding Tom’s direct gaze, and shook hands with his father before turning to him. I peered up from under my hat brim and saw that he was smiling at me. Those eyes. When he shook my hand with his firm grip, I felt the warmth even through my glove.

The three men settled into a discussion and I was left gawking up at Tom as the blood settled in my cheeks. One blonde lock fell across his forehead and he brushed it back with his hand without taking his eyes off mine. I’d never been the flirt that Kitty was, but I certainly never had a problem talking to boys. Until now. My tongue was tied in knots.

Tom, however, had no such problem. “I see you’re reading Ward’s latest.” He pointed at my book. “What do you think?”

I didn’t know what to think, since I hadn’t made it past page ten. My mind was a muddle with him standing there. “It’s very popular.”

“That’s important?”

I opened my mouth and closed it again; I thought I must have looked like a fish. The color rose high into my cheeks. I didn’t know whether to resent his implication, or to feel like an idiot for not thinking it myself.

“Been to the Park before?” His tone was easy and friendly, and I relaxed a little.

“This is my first trip west of Philadelphia.” I wanted to impress Tom, Lord knows why. I sat up straight and adjusted my cuffs. Maybe if I let him know where I hailed from; maybe if I tried Kitty’s approach. I knew my eyes were my best asset, so I tilted my head and met his gaze, full and frank. “We live in Newport. That’s in Rhode Island; I’m sure you’ve heard of it? On the Atlantic coast. Though, naturally, we’ve done lots of traveling, just not out west. Several summers ago we were in Europe. And Saratoga—that’s been a favorite getaway. So we do get around.” I meant to sound like I was a sophisticated world traveler; I smiled at him.

I knew at once he was far from impressed. He raised his eyebrows. “Haven’t been to Europe, myself. Or Saratoga either. Or for that matter, Rhode Island.” He hesitated, his eyes bright. “Though I can read a map.”

Tom was making fun of me in a quiet way, and I feared I came across as false and hollow. I squirmed.
Think of something,
I told myself.
Say something.
“Do you live here, in Livingston?”

“In Montana, but Bozeman is home.”

“Bozeman.” Now I really felt foolish; my ignorance was glaring. I had no idea where that was.

He changed the subject for me. “You’re in for a treat.”

The thought of finding Mama flashed through my mind and I spoke without thinking. “It might not be that simple,” I said softly, half to myself. My face was on fire now. I looked up at him from under my hat brim. I really couldn’t help it.

Tom seemed puzzled. “You’re not going into Yellowstone?”

“Oh! That!” Of course Tom knew nothing about the reason for our trip. Had I ever been so hopeless? Edward was easy to impress; I’d never even had to try. With Tom I felt ridiculous. I’d completely lost my senses and yet I didn’t even know him. My thoughts were random; my words tripped over themselves. “Yellowstone! Of course we are. Yes.”

But then he smiled and I melted. My flustered worries floated away. He had a wonderful smile. “It’s the most fantastic place on earth.”

“My uncle said it’s nicknamed ‘Wonderland.’”

He grew almost animated. “Exactly! You’ll see when you get there. The animals, the hot springs . . .” Finally I’d said something right. He was still standing and he was so tall I had to crane my neck to look up at him. That one lock of hair fell across his forehead. Under his measured gaze I felt like a little girl.

I searched for something else to say, anything that would make me sound knowledgeable and like less of an idiot. I thought about what I’d heard about animals in the west, since Uncle John said Tom liked them. “At least there aren’t any wolves. They were so destructive, I’ve read. A problem for everyone. At least the government put that right.”

A shadow crossed Tom’s face. I knew right away I’d said some other stupid thing. My heart sank. All I wanted now was to impress Tom, and I didn’t even truly understand why.

I tried a stupid question. “Are grizzly bears dangerous?”

Tom grinned, and my heart flipped. “You’ll want to avoid them.”

“Yes. Of course. I shall. I should hope I’m not that foolish.” Just this foolish. Utterly unable to say the right thing to Tom. Since now it seemed he took my last words the wrong way.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean an insult.” He flushed a deep scarlet, and shifted his weight. “Yellowstone isn’t a city park, that’s all.”

I was angry at myself now. I’d become a graceless bumbler. “I can take care of myself.”

“I’m sure.”

“I’ve done lots of touring. And I’m very strong. I play tennis all the time. And I ride. Horses, of course.” Good heavens, what was wrong with me? My mouth was running like a leaky faucet. I looked up at Tom. His lips were curling into a smile he seemed to be trying to suppress. I was trying not to melt into the floor.

Uncle John’s voice checked my further humiliation. “Great to see you!” The men were moving apart. Mr. Rowland, a pleasant-looking man with Tom’s wonderful smile, tipped his hat to me.

Tom nodded to me, his own ready smile lighting up his face. “Nice meeting you, Margaret Bennet of Newport, Rhode Island, world traveler. Maybe we’ll cross paths again in the Park.” He started to turn away, then turned back to me, and my heart did a little flip again as his eyes met mine. “Just a thought—watch out for highway robbers when you take the Tour.” And with that, he broke into an outright grin.

I stared as he and his father moved away through the milling crowd. “What did he mean, Uncle John?”

My uncle gave me a startled glance. “What? Robbers? Not to worry. It’s rare.” My uncle and Papa exchanged a dark look. “There are soldiers all through the Park. Why, the fort’s right at Mammoth!” He leaned toward me with an amiable wink. “Young Tom was pulling your leg.”

But I felt his and Papa’s uneasiness and filed that away. Taking the Tour—whatever that was—was not likely. We had other plans, and not much time. I squared my shoulders. In that moment of feeling bewitched by Tom I hadn’t forgotten why we were here—to find Mama and bring her back to Newport.

My eyes went back to the Rowlands. Tom was one of the tallest people in the room. He was surely taller than Edward. I watched him brush away that lock of hair, the way he moved, athletic yet graceful. He looked up, and our eyes met over the crowd. I dropped my head in a flash, my cheeks on fire.

I gripped my book, staring blankly at the page for a few minutes, then I reread the same sentence on page ten at least a hundred times.

June 18, 1904

THE TRAIN LUMBERED SOUTH TO GARDINER, THROUGH what Uncle John said was called “The Gate of the Mountains.”

“Paradise Valley,” he continued, his hands opening to the landscape. “That’s how it looks, doesn’t it? Like paradise?”

I admitted nothing, swaying with the rhythm of the train. But my eyes were drawn to the view. A blanket of clouds hovered over the summits, jagged crests spearing the sky. Mist hung like pale smoke over the deep blue-green forests. The lower slopes were the iridescent green of spring grass, laced with yellow flowers; rolling foothills were dotted with boulders like figs in a pudding. Bald eagles perched in the cottonwoods along the river. My book lay open, unread, in my lap.

Then my mind wandered from the landscape to the realization that a few rows behind me sat Tom Rowland. I’d watched carefully where he sat as we boarded the train, though I’d tried my best not to let on that I was looking at him.

My stomach fluttered. This was unexpected. Except for Edward, no other boy had impressed me. And Edward—he suddenly seemed to pale now. He was like a little boy, whereas Tom seemed so much older. My stomach fluttered again as I thought of Tom’s clear eyes, of his easy smile. I searched for any loose curls to tuck up under my hat. Not that he’d be looking. My sparkling conversation could hardly have left a favorable impression.

“. . . open less than a month!” I heard my uncle say. “You’ll be amazed, Charlie, at the genius of this fellow. What a privilege to work at his side. Even for me, with my humble skills.”

“Nonsense, John. There’s no finer finish carpenter. I’m eager to call on you myself.” Papa twisted the wedding band on his finger, around and around, his eyes glittering with excitement, more excitement and happiness than he’d shown in many months. My stomach fluttered again, but this time with renewed hope.

I was sure that Papa’s happiness was evidence that we were near to finding Mama. We were close now, close to realizing my dream. Soon we’d be a family again. This was the last stage of a journey that had begun almost a year ago, begun with anguish and grief, and might end—today even!—with reunion.

I put my hand to my throat. Today, on my way into Paradise, I wore Mama’s cameo. Somehow it seemed right.

I enjoyed the first half hour of the journey, thinking about Mama and watching the landscape roll past. Then Paradise folded in on itself. The valley narrowed, the clouds lowered, and the train climbed up along the edge of the cliff face. I glanced out the window just as we started to climb. The Yellowstone River lay right below us, dropping into a deep gorge, foaming and churning. My breath caught at the sight and my head spun. Between the drifting clouds and wild water, the train hung as if suspended. I shrank back into the train seat and my legs went limp with fear.

I tried to look at Papa but he was staring out the window. I couldn’t even form words. My mouth was sandpaper. I shrank farther into the upholstery, trying to melt into the leather and find some purchase, clutching the armrests. From deep in my gut a hole formed. It was as if there were no train and it was me, alone, hanging over the void. Then I felt the train buck and sway over the nothingness, and I shut my eyes fast against what I knew was certain death.

I clamped my eyes shut, and didn’t dare open them again until Uncle John tapped my shoulder. “Margaret? We’re here!”

I sucked in a breath. The train car was empty except for the three of us. I felt a moment’s disappointment that Tom was gone, and then Papa took my hand and helped me off the train and onto the platform. We walked, me in my woozy state, at the end of the crowd of tourists, followed by porters hauling our trunks, and made our way to the line of stagecoaches standing ready against the long curve of the Gardiner platform to take us under the great stone arch and into Yellowstone.

FOR THE BENEFIT AND ENJOYMENT OF THE PEOPLE. I read the words carved into the stone from where we stood, waiting to board our coach. I also saw Tom and his father in a private wagon already on their way through the arch. I sighed. Maybe Tom and I would cross paths again before Papa and I left for home. Before we left for home with Mama, I reminded myself, and felt a rush that overwhelmed all other thoughts.

Papa helped me into our Tally-ho coach. Our coach held eighteen passengers plus our driver, who wore a rough, gray duster. Many of the passengers sat on the roof. I was grateful Papa secured a spot for us inside as I rubbed my gloved hands together. Small pockets of snow nestled in the hollows of the rolling hills that hunched against the sky.

The coach was drawn by six matched white horses, and I thought with a pang about Ghost. I missed our rides, the freedom I felt on his back.

“Isn’t it amazing?” said Uncle John as the coach made its way through the arch.

“Amazing. So this is Yellowstone?”