Ever Faithful

by Karen Barnett

  “Nate Webber?”

  “Yeah, he’s one of the foremen now. Most of the fellows are happy with that choice, though we’d all jump at the extra fiver that comes with the job.”

  “Will he be in the high school class? For those finishing their degree?”

  “I don’t think he signed up.”

  She reached into the box and drew out a handful of readers. Levels one through three. She’d hesitated before adding these to the stack. Chances were, most of the men could already read far above this level, but she wanted to be prepared for anything.

  Red sat on the edge of the table. “So Mary…she’s thinking about me, eh?”

  “Some.” She should have kept quiet. There was no need to set up this man for more heartbreak. Mary might be fascinated with him, but she had her heart set on a rich husband. Red didn’t look like someone who’d ever had more than a dime in his pocket.

  “And she’s working at the Canyon Hotel?”

  “We work long hours. There’s not much time for socializing.”

  “So do we, Miss Brookes. But Yellowstone’s moon seems particularly romantic, if you know what I mean.” A dopey grin crossed his freckled face as he dug into her box and retrieved an old poetry collection, flipping through the yellowed pages.

  She took the book from his hands. “Let’s focus on reading and writing. Romance is outside the scope of the class.”

  “Since this is an all-male class, I imagine you’re right about that. Plus, the captain read the riot act to the boys about keeping our eyes on the books and not on the teacher.”

  Her hand went to her throat out of habit. She hadn’t even considered that any of the men would look at her in that way. “I’m not Mary, so I don’t think it will be a problem.”

  He shrugged. “Not for me, but maybe for a few of the other fellows. It gets pretty lonely stuck here with a hundred other men. But I’ll let you know if any of the fellas are going to be trouble, Miss Brookes.” He finished unloading her box. “Since I got my cap set on another, you can trust me. I’ll watch out for you.”

  She pulled her collar tight, suddenly keenly aware of her awkward status here. “Thank you, Mr.—” She hesitated.

  “It’s Walsh, ma’am. But everyone calls me Red. And I’m happy to look out for you. My mama would expect little else. I got sisters, you know.” He brought up his hands and fisted them in front of his face. “I’ve done battle in the schoolyard plenty of times for their sakes.”

  The door slammed open and a dour-faced soldier stepped into the entrance, legs spread. “Walsh? Are you threatening our teacher?”

  Red dropped his hands and jumped back. “No! No sir.”

  The instant change in his demeanor startled Elsie. “Mr. Walsh was simply demonstrating proper fighting technique. I had asked him a few questions.”

  The officer strode forward. “I’m Lieutenant Stone. You must be Ranger Brookes’s little girl?”

  Elsie steeled herself against his patronizing tone. She held out her hand to him. “Miss Elsie Brookes.” She resisted adding, “At your service.”

  She’d expected a vise grip, but he barely put any pressure on her fingers at all. “Just so you’re aware, the men are here to work. School is extraneous.”

  She pulled her hand back and pressed it to her ribs. “They’ll be better workers if you exercise their minds in addition to their bodies.”

  His brows lifted a hair. “This whole program is an experiment. The president thinks he can shape this generation of loafers into a better class of Americans by giving them work, food, and schooling.” He gave a scoffing laugh. “Discipline is what they really need.”

  Red remained silent, but his gaze faltered.

  She hoped the military man would leave before her students assembled. He probably expected her to teach with a wooden rod in her hands at all times. “But these are not soldiers. They’re good men looking to help their families. Education can only help them.”

  “Miss Brookes, we’re feeding them, clothing them, putting roofs over their heads. In exchange, we expect hard work.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  The snap in her voice might have been a little too strong. The lieutenant narrowed his eyes at her before striding out the door, his muscular frame evident in every step.

  She blew out a long breath as he departed. “Well, isn’t he a bundle of fun!”

  Red chuckled. “I don’t think you’re going to need my protection, Miss Brookes. You seem perfectly capable of standing up for yourself.”

  * * *

  As the others headed off to class, Nate took refuge in the new showers. The cold water cascaded over his aching spine like a waterfall. They’d visited the Tower Fall the previous week and seen the creek tumble free from its bed between giant stone spires jutting toward the sky and cascade into the forested ravine below. Nothing he’d experienced before could have prepared him for that sight. No one in Brooklyn had told him the country contained such magnificence. Apparently he had a lot to learn, and Yellowstone would be his teacher. A young woman armed with a handful of books couldn’t hope to offer him that sort of education.

  Nate tipped back his head and let the water cool his sunburned face. They’d spent today on the slopes of Mount Washburn. A lot of the snow had melted since they first visited, but there were still some lingering patches. Tasked with marking the dying trees, he’d tromped up and down the steep slopes with a paint can, scampering over rocks and fallen trunks while his crew practiced with the long two-man crosscut saws. It seemed a shame to fell the pines, but Ranger Brookes had assured him leaving the sick trees would endanger the whole forest. Best to cut out the weaklings and let the strong take their place.

  Out in the forest, he finally felt like one of the strong. The men had listened, following his directions with hardly a word of opposition. They’d put in hours of good work. When one would falter, he’d throw out a few encouraging words and the man would double down on his efforts.

  He turned the faucet, cutting the flow of icy water. A quiet evening stretched out ahead of him as most of the fellows hit the books. He’d spent a few pennies on a notepad and pencil at the Pryor Store over by the campground. He couldn’t write his family, but he could draw them some cartoons detailing his existence here. The girls would love that. He wasn’t a great artist, but he’d drawn caricatures since he was a boy. He’d already managed to capture Red, Val, Mutt, and Dahl.

  He’d spotted Miss Brookes the moment he walked into camp tonight. She stood in the doorway to the mess hall, her green skirt fluttering in the evening breeze. The sight had stolen his breath. How would the men learn anything while looking at her? It almost made him want to join the class. Almost.

  Maybe that’s what he’d sketch tonight. A cartoon of Elsie Brookes with that notebook in her hand and the pencil tucked over her ear—like he’d seen her that first day at Norris Geyser Basin. His sisters might not recognize her as a teacher right off. He’d have to make her a little more stern. She was far too sweet to be a schoolmarm. Maybe he’d make the image a mixture of Elsie and some of the teachers from his past. That might be a little more believable.

  He toweled off and pulled on his clean pair of dungarees. These CCC duds were finally starting to feel like a part of him. Maybe because he no longer had to cinch his belt to the very tightest notch in order to prevent them sliding off his hips. The combination of good food and hard work was throwing on muscle and weight at a rapid clip. Even Val was starting to fill out, looking less like a walking skeleton. Nate draped the towel over his bare shoulders and leaned into the mirror to study the red tinge in his cheeks. Shaving tomorrow would be a painful business.

  Val appeared in the doorway, his hair slicked back as if he’d combed it special for the teacher. “The lieutenant told me to fetch you.”

  Nate reached for his shirt. “Did he say why?”
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  The young man bobbed his head. “He wants you to sit in on the class tonight. See if the teacher can hack it. You know, if she can keep control.”

  A wash of cold swept over Nate as if he still stood in the showers. “I didn’t sign up.”

  Val shrugged. “I’m just the messenger.”

  Nate shoved his arms into the sleeves, his damp skin sticking to the fabric. “Captain Dahl told me to supervise the men on the jobsite. He didn’t say anything about running roughshod over some schoolteacher.”

  “You want me to say that to the lieutenant?”

  “Absolutely not.” Nate chuckled.

  “Good, because I value my life. And yours.” He offered a mock salute before ducking out the doorway.

  Nate gripped the sides of the porcelain sink and stared into the mirror, no longer focusing on his own reflection. Instead he saw all the teachers who’d scoffed at him over the years. He certainly wasn’t going to give Elsie Brookes the chance to join their ranks.

  Elsie fell onto her bed, her arms and legs weighing at least a million pounds each. The clear evening promised a brilliant sunset at Artist Point. Normally she loved watching the fading light paint the canyon in various shades of orange, pink, and purple as Lower Falls rumbled in the distance. But tonight? She had no energy left—not even enough to stop for dinner in the employee cafeteria. She curled on her side and closed her eyes. And tonight had just been a short class to meet her students. How tired would she be when she started teaching them for real?

  How long had she dreamed of her own classroom?

  Never once had she imagined it would be an unfinished mess hall filled with hulking men in folding chairs. She’d stared at them for several dizzying moments before gathering her thoughts enough to speak. Why did her father believe she could do this?

  Rather than run screaming from the building, she’d reached a shaking hand into her book bag and drawn out a tablet of writing paper. Mrs. Williams from the Gardiner School had encouraged her to start the class by finding out where each student was academically. Elsie placed a sheet of paper in front of each man and asked him to write a little about himself. His name, birthplace, school experience—and just for fun—his long-term dreams and goals.

  Some of the men had launched right in, but others stared at her with big eyes. Eventually they put pencils to paper. All but one. Nate Webber pushed the paper back at her. “I’m just here to observe.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can’t tell me a little about yourself.”

  He shook his head, eyes dark. “Reading my chicken scratch would be a waste of your time. I’m not one of your students.”

  Elsie had left the paper in front of him regardless, hoping he’d change his mind. She’d love to know a little more about the quiet, green-eyed man. Red said he led by example, but by refusing the assignment, he’d proven otherwise. Even if he’d already earned a diploma, it wouldn’t hurt him to scribble a few lines to encourage the others.

  She’d had trouble not being distracted by his sullen presence in the back of the room. He’d obviously made an effort to spiff himself up for class, but his demeanor screamed that he’d rather be anywhere else.

  Most of the papers were a wild mixture of misspellings and half-finished compositions. A few stood out, like the eager, young fellow she remembered from Norris Geyser Basin—the one who’d answered her question about the boiling point for water.

  Elsie sat up in her bed, reached for her bag, and pulled the papers out into her lap. Val Kaminski. His writing was smooth and well organized, and he said he hoped to write books like his heroes, Mark Twain, Henry James, and Upton Sinclair. This young man had read The Jungle? She’d have to be at the top of her game to stay ahead of him.

  She walked over to her shelf and slid out Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms and added a few Jack London novels. Maybe she could make a separate class for a few students who showed promise and were interested in literature and creative writing. Mr. Kaminski would be an obvious choice. Maybe Nate Webber would even join. Obviously, she’d insulted him by asking him to write a simple theme about himself. Even if he’d already finished high school, it didn’t mean she couldn’t find a way to challenge him.

  Elsie added Moby Dick to the stack. What red-blooded American male could resist an epic quest for a mythological whale? She’d get Nate Webber into her class if it took all summer. She tapped her fingers on the cover, her mind again drawn to the man who’d sat in the back of the room with his arms folded.

  Mary opened the door, a plate of food balanced in her hands. “With an armload of books and that frown, you look like a teacher already.” She laughed. “I brought you some dinner, since you missed it. Cook said you could return the dishes tomorrow.”

  Elsie stacked the novels on the floor by her bed. “I had too much on my mind.”

  Her roommate shoved the plate into her hands. The rich fragrance of chicken and potatoes made Elsie’s stomach rumble. She carried it over to the small desk and sat down.

  “Busy first day? Lots of eager pupils?” Mary plopped onto Elsie’s bed and picked up the stack of papers. “Look at this atrocious handwriting. What is it with men and scrawl? Only a handful of the fellows I’ve dated could write a legible love letter. Not like your Teddy.”

  “He’s not my Teddy.” Though receiving two letters within a few days had been flattering. Teddy’s notes weren’t quite love letters, more like accountings of his daily responsibilities. Still, it was sweet of him to think of her. “I’m not sure a man’s penmanship is an accurate indicator of his potential.” Elsie took the silver lighter from the box on her desk and ran her finger across the engraved flower. She still hadn’t had the courage to use the thing, but just holding it made her feel brave.

  Mary fanned the papers across the bed. “Only a couple of good prospects among them. Oh, look…” She lifted one messy sheet. “Red is in your class?”

  Elsie dropped the lighter into the box. “You probably shouldn’t look at that.” She stood and reached for the essay.

  Mary scooted out of reach, reading as fast as she could. “He says he went to school through ninth grade. That’s not so bad.”

  “Mary, give that to me.” Elsie lunged forward. “It’s private. I didn’t assign this theme so you could spy on your boyfriend.”

  She smiled, never taking her eyes from the lined paper. “He’s not my boyfriend—yet. Oh, he wants to build radios. My father says there’s a lot of money in radio.” Mary lowered it an inch, catching Elsie’s eyes above the top margin. “Did he ask about me? He knows we’re friends, right?”

  Elsie snatched the sheet from her roommate’s hand. “He’s there to learn, not to make dates.”

  “Can’t he do both?” Mary slid back to the edge of the bed and lowered her feet to the floor, leaving Elsie’s quilt rumpled. “Besides, I’m a fast reader.” She hopped up and snatched her pink sweater from the back of the chair. “Good night, Els. Don’t wait up.” She dashed out the door, slamming it behind her.

  Elsie shook her head, her gaze dropping to the paper with Red Walsh’s name scrawled in large letters at the top. She skimmed through the lines, settling on the last two sentences.

  “My dream is to kiss a girl named Mary under the Yellowstone moon and then spend my life proving myself worthy of her. I’ll be waiting outside the lodge tonight, if she feels the same.”

  The few bites of food settled into Elsie’s gut. Passing notes in class was one thing—but passing notes through the teacher? She tossed the paper on top of the stack and reached for her cardigan. If she was somehow responsible for this Romeo and Juliet love affair, she’d better go make sure they didn’t drink the poison.

  * * *

  Nate adjusted the pillow bunched behind his back as he sat cross-legged on the bunk, drawing tablet balanced on his lap. The stink of Red’s aftershave made him choke. “Where are you going so lat
e?”

  Red drew a comb through his hair, studying his reflection in a small hand mirror. His lip quirked. “What makes you think I’m going anywhere?”

  “Call it an educated guess.”

  “Well, a little education can take you far.” He dropped the grooming tools back into the open footlocker and slammed the lid. “I intend to see if that’s true.”

  “Red, if you’re planning to do something foolish—”

  “Foolish would be not chasing love when it knocks at your door.” Red shrugged into his jacket.

  Nate got up and reached for his own jacket. “You’ve already had your bell rung once over a girl. If you’re heading off for another beating, I’m not letting you go alone.”

  Red scowled as Nate followed him outside. “Three’s a crowd, you know.”

  “And ‘A threefold cord is not quickly broken.’ ” Red seemed determined to look for trouble wherever he went. Nate was reminded of keeping an eye on Charlie. Look how well that turned out.

  “Just so you know when to make yourself scarce. And if anyone asks, we’re just taking a walk.”

  “Trust me, I have no desire to see you make a fool of yourself, but I also want to be sure you arrive back in camp in one piece. We’ve got a lot of work to do this summer.”

  Red punched Nate’s arm. “I knew you cared.”

  “Hey, fellas!” A breathless voice came up behind them, accompanied by the thudding of boots. “Where are you going?” Val loped up to them, like an overgrown puppy on the loose.

  Red groaned. “Go home, kid. It’s past your bedtime.”

  “Let him come.” Nate thrust his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “We’re just taking a walk, right?”

  Red shot him a pained look.

  Val fell in beside Nate, his long-legged gait setting a good pace. “I like it here in the forest better than all that sagebrush in Mammoth. It feels friendlier somehow.”