Ever Faithful

by Karen Barnett

  The man swiveled his head toward Nate, eyes blazing. “It took a swipe at me.”

  The critter bared its teeth, hunching its spine like a fuzzy Quasimodo.

  “The thing’s probably rabid.” Nowak hoisted the pitchfork, ready to drive it into the creature.

  Nate stepped in front of him, arms spread. “You got it cornered; sure it’s going to fight back.”

  “When I signed up, no one said I’d be showering with flea-bitten vermin.”

  “But you had no problem showering with Red and Val?” Nate got a hold on Nowak’s arm and shoved him toward the door. “Go on, now. Get out.”

  Nowak glowered at him. “Fine. Let it tear you to shreds. I’m not coming to your rescue.” He stalked out without a backward glance.

  “Didn’t ask you to.” Nate kept one eye on the bristling ball of fur. It wouldn’t do to get attacked while trying to save the critter’s life. He turned and edged over to the far wall. “All right, now. No one’s going to hurt you.” He looked at the blood trail under the wary animal. “Not again, anyway.”

  It snarled, wedging itself behind a drain pipe.

  “Yeah, it’s nice to see you again too. We need to stop meeting like this.” He glanced around the steamy room. “You got your babies in here now? Or are you alone this time?” He didn’t spot any small bundles lurking in any of the corners. There weren’t too many areas in which to hide.

  A wooden closet had been erected near the showers. Nate backed toward it, careful not to let the angry critter out of his sight.

  She crawled out from under the sinks and clambered up a set of shelves, dislodging shave kits and toothbrushes and sending them clattering to the wet floor.

  Val poked his head in, still clutching the towel around his skinny waist. “You need a hand, Nate?”

  Nate swung open the closet door, eyeing the cramped space. Maybe he could find a box or something to throw over the animal. A scurrying motion in a crate of cleaning supplies caught his attention. “What were you planning to do, Val—wave your towel at them?” He pushed aside the mop handle so he could get a better look.

  The kid withdrew a few inches. “Them? You mean there’s more than one?”

  The mother raccoon hoisted herself up to the small window above the shelves and scrambled out, leaving a smear of blood along the edge of the windowsill.

  “I’m afraid so.” Nate used the toe of his boot to drag the wooden crate into the light. Two sets of eyes stared at him from tiny masked faces. “Congratulations. It’s twins.”

  Morning sunshine warmed the room as Elsie brushed her mother’s hair. It was hard not to notice how thin and silvery it had become in the past year. “Maybe I should stay here at Mammoth.”

  Mama shook her head, shadows deepening around her eyes. “We’re not that far away, if you want to visit. You could always ride with Graham. He’ll be making the rounds, you know.”

  The thought curdled in Elsie’s stomach. “I wish you’d told me he was coming.”

  The touch of her mother’s hand was soft as a wildflower’s petals. “Your father and I forgave Graham years ago. It’s time you did as well. Holding on to anger will only weaken you, like a tree rotting from the inside.” She brushed fingers against Elsie’s cheek. “Graham pulled you from the fire, remember? I hold on to that.”

  “The fire was his fault.” Elsie gripped the edge of the quilt. “And he should have rescued Dottie—or let me do it.”

  Mama closed her eyes, as if the words struck too close to her weakened heart. After a long moment she opened them, looking into the distance. “If he hadn’t found you that day, I could have lost both my girls.” She shuddered and focused on Elsie. “We can’t live in the ashes, Elsie.”

  “But why bring him here?”

  “Graham lost both his father and the family business this year. What was he to do? There are already too many others dependent on the breadlines and soup kitchens. There was no need for him to join their ranks. Not when he has us.” Mother swung her feet to the floor. “It’s hard for men to be out of work. It wears at their souls, tears them down piece by piece like a crumbling brick wall.”

  “But surely he could have gotten work—”

  Mama stopped her with an upraised hand. “There is so much heartache in our nation right now. We’ve been sheltered here at Yellowstone. We don’t see the worst of it.”

  “That’s what Papa said.” Elsie swallowed against the lump of emotions in her throat. “Only not quite so eloquently.”

  “Your father is a man of action, not of words.” She stood, swaying a little on her feet. “That’s why he brought Graham here.” She paused, lifting her eyes to Elsie’s. “I don’t know if you remember, but when we first arrived in this place, you were so frightened, so beaten down by everything that had happened. Yellowstone helped you grow strong. Let’s hope it can do the same for Graham.”

  “What has he done to earn your forgiveness? How can you put aside your own feelings and think of his needs?”

  “Forgiveness isn’t earned, Elsie. It’s bestowed.” Mama shook her head. “Isn’t that what God did for us?”

  Her parents always made faith sound so easy. Would she ever reach a point in her life where she trusted God so completely? Elsie laid the brush on the table. “I should go. I told Herma I’d stop by the museum this morning.”

  “Oh good. Invite her and George for dinner Sunday evening, would you? Graham will be joining us.” She wedged open the window to breathe in the spring air. “And bring the girls too. It’ll be lively.”

  “Do you really want that many people over? The doctor said to rest.”

  “What I need is life. Life around me. Light inside me. Air to breathe. Laughter to lift my soul from the darkness. Especially on the Lord’s day.” Tiny wisps of hair floated about her face. “Don’t take that from me.”

  “All right. But don’t tire yourself with preparations. I’ll come early and help get everything ready.”

  She leaned against the window frame. “Your father said the same. With the two of you in the kitchen, what do I have to fear?”

  “Food poisoning?”

  “Exactly.”

  Elsie pondered her mother’s words about forgiveness as she made the short walk to the museum. Graham’s actions had cost them all so much, and yet her parents were choosing to help him. It seemed too much to comprehend.

  Two bull elk meandered along Fort Yellowstone’s old parade grounds, a grassy lawn left over from when the army managed the park. Beyond the parade ground, the uniform rows of beige buildings with matching red roofs always seemed a little out of place in the otherwise natural beauty of the park. Elsie liked to imagine the army administrators ordering perfect blocks of sandstone cut from the nearby quarry in an attempt to put their stamp of military precision onto Yellowstone’s messy wilderness. It was almost as if adding order to God’s chaotic creation would somehow reduce it to something they could comprehend.

  At the end of the row, the old bachelor officers’ quarters now housed the park museum. Elsie trotted up the stone steps and let herself in, the door jingling as she pressed through it.

  Ranger Herma Baggley stepped out from the back room. “Elsie! What a surprise.”

  “I wanted to see you before Mary and I head off to Canyon next week.”

  “I’m glad you did. Come on back.” She returned to the cataloging room, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Elsie followed. “How is your mother? Your dad doesn’t say much, and I haven’t had time to stop by.”

  The concern in the woman’s voice nearly undid Elsie. She took a moment to collect her words. “She’s still weak and tired, but in good spirits.”

  The naturalist smiled, warmth in her brown eyes. “I’ll bring some food over, if that would help. You know it’s just George and me rattling around in our quarters. It would be a joy to
cook for a larger group.”

  “She was hoping the two of you would join us for supper on Sunday.”

  “Done. Now what did you want to talk about?”

  Elsie had admired the straight-talking woman since Herma first arrived in the park back in ’29, determined to do what everyone thought of as man’s work. “Did my father tell you I’m going to be teaching classes at one of the new CCC camps?”

  “He did. And working at the hotel too? You’ll be busy.” Herma reached for a plant identification card sitting on the desk. Her passion for Yellowstone’s flowers had made her an expert in the field. “I did my time as a pillow puncher.” She wrinkled her nose. “Cleaning rooms just to earn my keep.”

  “How did you make the jump to park ranger?”

  The naturalist rubbed a thumb over the pen-and-ink illustration on the card. “I volunteered the first summer and designed the nature trail at Old Faithful. The trail crew was never too happy with me. They didn’t think my meandering pathways made much sense. But I wanted visitors to see all the little things they might miss if they didn’t bother to look beyond their own noses.”

  “Did the male crew have trouble listening to you?”

  “At first.” Herma’s brows drew together. “Why do you ask?”

  Elsie rubbed her hands as though a sudden chill had swept over her. “The CCC classes—they’ll be filled with grown men. Not little children. How am I supposed to teach them?”

  She smiled. “Well, that will be quite a picture. Tiny little you standing in front of a classroom of burly men.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You’ve seen me lead nature walks with both women and men. I find the little nuggets of information that catch the group’s interest and then focus on those topics.”

  “But if I’m teaching subjects they’re not interested in?”

  “Children usually accept teaching without question. With adults, you have to look for things that provide value for their everyday lives.” She tapped the illustrated card. “When I point out this flower along the trail, I don’t focus on its life cycle and scientific name—at least not at first. I tell people how the natives in this area used it to make a healing tea for rheumatism. Or if they’re interested in farming, how it enriches the soil. Once you catch their interest, you can delve into other details.”

  Elsie’s heart sped up. “They’ll spend their days working in the woods. Maybe I could teach science by concentrating on things they observe—forests, geology, wildlife.”

  “You’ve got it.” Herma nodded. She leaned close. “Now, can I trust you with a secret? I might be giving up my post.”

  Elsie straightened. “Why?”

  “You know how I’ve dreamed of writing guidebooks for the park. I’m working on The Flowers of Yellowstone. But with being here all day, I just don’t have enough time.” She stacked the cards and added them to the file. “I was thinking, when you’re done with teacher’s college, maybe you could find time to help me put together a geology guide. We could have a whole collection. Think of how many people you could reach through the written word!”

  The thought buoyed Elsie’s spirits. “Let’s see if I survive my first teaching post. Then we can talk books.”

  * * *

  It was nearly dark by the time Elsie walked up the steps to her parents’ house Sunday evening. The idea of entertaining sent a fresh wave of exhaustion through her. She did her best to shake off the selfish feelings as she let herself in. Whatever she could do to cheer up her mother was well worth the temporary discomfort.

  Graham crouched at the fireplace, adding another log. Sparks spiraled upward, casting an eerie glow across his face.

  Elsie froze. It had taken years for her to reach the stage where she could sit near a campfire, but seeing her cousin stoking the flames sent the familiar clutches of panic crushing into her chest. Her stomach roiled as she stepped back onto the front stoop, gulping air. Just breathe. Fighting back the dual urges to run or to be sick, Elsie turned to face the parade grounds and grabbed hold of the porch railing. She wasn’t a child anymore. She needed to control these nagging fears.

  The door creaked.

  “I thought I saw you come in.” Graham’s voice sounded soft behind her, as if he was afraid his words would set her in motion. His fingers brushed her shoulder blade. “Are you all right?”

  She stumbled off the cement step, the touch of his hand another thing she couldn’t tolerate in this moment. “I will be. Just give me a minute.” Elsie turned, keeping him within her sights.

  How could it be that he looked so much like the cousin she remembered—his face awash with concern and warmth. And yet, he wasn’t the gangly twelve-year-old boy anymore. Graham’s shoulders had grown broad and filled out, and his wide-legged stance filled the doorway.

  She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. She thought she’d put Graham out of her mind all these years, but she’d only frozen him in time, his terror-ridden face lit up by the fire’s glow.

  Her skin flushed again, this time the nausea refusing to be ignored. She clenched her fingers over her mouth and staggered a few more steps into the cold evening air and around the side of the house, her stomach rolling.

  The spots dancing in front of her eyes finally slowed, and she drew a shaky breath. She’d spent so many years trying to forget, building walls around those memories to prevent them from seeping in. Now suddenly those barriers seemed tissue-paper thin and capable of being blown aside by the tiniest gust of wind. “We can’t live in the ashes.” Isn’t that what Mother said?

  If only Graham hadn’t stepped into her present.

  Elsie tucked the loose strands of hair behind her ear, retracing her steps to the front of the house. She had a dinner party to host.

  Graham still hovered in the doorway. “I-I didn’t know if I should follow you, or…” He glanced over his shoulder into the house and then turned back to meet her eyes. “Or just leave.”

  “You can’t leave. My parents want you here.”

  His gaze faltered. “I suppose it was too much to hope that you might welcome me too.” He expelled a quick breath, almost a laugh, but not quite. “I should have known better.”

  His sorrow cut through her, weakening the stiffness in her shoulders. “Graham, I wish…I wish I felt differently.”

  Graham nodded and opened the door for her, then flattened his back against it so she could pass. “I’ll leave in the morning.”

  Elsie stepped into the small living room, careful to keep the fireplace in view. She ran fingers around her collar, her knuckles brushing against the ragged scars she kept hidden. “That’s not necessary. I’m leaving Mammoth soon anyway.”

  “And Rose? Is…is she going with you?” The hesitation in his voice spoke volumes.

  “She decided to stay on here when Mary and I transferred south. She took a post as a bubble queen—laundress—for the housekeeping cabins.” Graham and Rose. Another thing she might have to get used to. She hung her coat in the hall closet and headed for the kitchen, leaving Graham in the front room.

  Her mother stirred a large pot on the stovetop, the steam giving her cheeks a rosy appearance she hadn’t sported in months. “Hello, darling. I’m glad you’re home.”

  “Mama, you shouldn’t be doing that.”

  “Stirring?” She lifted the spoon and tapped it on the pot rim. “Herma did all the hard work. And Rose sent over a big batch of rolls earlier. They’re warming in the oven.”

  Herma appeared from behind the door to the tiny pantry. “I’m watching out for her, Elsie. Don’t worry. But we’re going to have far too much food unless you brought reinforcements.”

  Elsie retrieved an apron and tied it about her waist. “Graham is here. The girls should be along soon.”

  “My George is out back with your father and Teddy.” Herma added another pot to t
he stove, dropping in some butter.

  “Teddy Vaughn?” She caught herself before saying more. Thankfully she’d be heading south soon. A little distance would help her get over this silly crush.

  Graham entered the room behind her, Rose and Mary on his heels. “It’s the same everywhere. People gather in the kitchen.”

  Mother laughed. “That’s because it’s where love is cooked up. I’m so glad you could join us. I love it when the house is full.”

  Mary breathed in a deep whiff. “Thank you for having us, Mrs. Brookes. Dinner smells divine!”

  Herma lifted a pan from the oven. “Chicken and dumplings, hot bread, steamed vegetables. Oh, and apple pie. That ought to fill you up.”

  “Sounds delicious.” Graham patted his stomach. “I haven’t had good home cooked meals like this in…” He thought for a second. “I’m not sure how long it’s been, really.”

  Elsie studied him for a minute before turning to gather silverware and plates. Graham had lost both his father and his job in the past year. Her parents’ compassion always put her to shame. “Maybe you can help me set the table.”

  His eyes widened. “Happy to.” Olive branch accepted.

  Mother wiped the spoon with a dishcloth. “I don’t think we have enough space around our little table. Perhaps we’d best eat picnic-style wherever we can find a seat.”

  As often happened, the party divided into two comfortable groups. The rangers, including Elsie’s parents, Teddy Vaughn, and Herma and her husband, Chief Ranger George Baggley, sat at the table, while everyone else took their food into the small sitting room. Elsie was the only one who seemed at ease in both worlds.

  She perched on the small ottoman, letting the others claim the chair and tiny sofa. “This feels like the old days of being relegated to the children’s table at holiday meals.”

  Graham grinned. “I remember. You and your parents would come for Thanksgiving, along with all the other aunts and uncles. I miss those days.”

  The picture hovered around the edges of Elsie’s memory—one pleasant image scarred by the devastation that followed.