Yellowstone Memories

by Spinola, Jennifer Rogers

  “For butter?” Alicia’s eyes welled.

  Thomas pretended to bow, looping his finger from his nose. And he reached down and pulled a fresh tub of butter from his lunch box, placing it, still cool, into her upturned hand.

  “How’s your cheek?” Thomas moistened another napkin and handed it to her.

  Alicia brushed graham cracker crumbs from her lips, still smiling, and touched the cut gingerly. “Don’t worry. I’m used to getting beat up.” She shrugged. “No biggie.”

  Thomas froze.

  “What?” Alicia drew back, shaking the graham crackers back into their plastic sleeve and closing the cardboard box flaps. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Before he could reply, a zooming rumble sounded in the distance, and another Forest Service fire truck appeared around the bend. Light from a break in the clouds gleamed across its smooth finish.

  Thomas laid on the horn, which gave a weak and sickly squawk, and the other fire truck pulled up in a cloud of dust.

  “Tommy, Tommy. You’re broken down again?” Duncan poked his head out the driver’s side window.

  “What do you think? This is Methuselah we’re talking about.” Thomas leaned through the open window. “Can you send us a tow? Please? It’s like the fourth time today.”

  “Sorry we didn’t take your call. Everybody’s out. The fire’s spread over to Canyon, and it’s bad. They’re about to lose a whole new section of the park. Spray helicopters are overrunning the place, and nothing’s taking the blaze down.” Duncan shifted back into DRIVE, and the engine roared. “I’ll radio you in, but it’s gonna be awhile before anybody has time to send a tow.” He slapped the side of the truck. “Hang tight, okay?”

  And he thundered off down the road in a cloud of dust and ash.

  To Alicia’s surprise, Thomas spoke not another word. He just stared out the cracked windshield, the muscle in his jaw clenching. A gust of breeze blew dust up in a cloud from the parched road like a dirt devil, making dry leaves spin.

  “What?” Alicia leaned forward to catch his eye. “You’re upset about the truck or something?”

  “Huh?” Thomas turned, not seeming to see her. Cloud shadows moved slowly in the distance, like a slowly creeping cat.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “The matter?” Thomas gave a weak laugh, avoiding her eyes. “I’ll just be a second. I’ll see if I can get this old thing working again.” And he swung out of the side of the truck, banging the door behind him.

  “So you think this is the end of the road for Methuselah?” Alicia patted the dented dashboard. She’d crawled out of the truck and dug around under the hood with Thomas, toolbox laying open by their feet, but nothing did the trick. She eventually threw all the wrenches, battery testers, belts, and hoses back in the toolbox and crawled up in the cab, grease-spattered and ready to take a nap. Wondering, with reluctance, if she should try to hike back the several miles to spike camp.

  “Methuselah? Who knows.” Thomas slumped back in the seat and rocked his head back, still strangely quiet. “This thing never gives up. And Uncle Sam keeps throwing wrenches and air filters at her. You know what?” He sat up straight, looking so indignant that Alicia covered another laugh with her hand. “How much do you wanna bet that when we get back to the station they’ll make me fix her up again?”

  The truck tipped as air gushed out of the front tire again, and Thomas’s clipboard slid across the seat. Alicia chuckled. “There’s no way they’ll make you fix her up now. She’s headed for the scrap heap.”

  “You’re on.” He held out his hand. “A buck says they do.”

  “Any day.”

  Alicia reached out and shook his hand, surprised at how beautiful his fingers looked wrapped around hers. A slightly darker shade of toffee brown, with smooth pink nails and palms. Warm and large boned, with thick knuckles.

  When she looked over at him, Thomas still hadn’t pulled away.

  “What did you mean by that?”

  “Mean by what?” Alicia’s pulse pounded, trying to tear her eyes away from the image of their two hands together there on the truck seat.

  “That you’re used to getting beat up.” He brushed her hair back from the cut with his thumb. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since you said it. Were you talking about the day you got banged up in the truck?”

  Alicia pulled back, startled. “Used to getting beat up? I didn’t say that.”

  “Yes you did. You said, ‘No biggie. I’m used to it.’ ” Thomas leaned closer, his dark eyes boring into her. “What did you mean by that?”

  Alicia’s mouth went cotton dry, and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

  A vein in Thomas’s throat beat wildly, in fitful shivers. His eyes lay dark like black velvet, almost too beautiful to look at.

  “I think I know what you meant.” His words came out husky, almost in a whisper. “And it kills me. Why do you let people treat you like that? You’re beautiful. You’re smart. You’re … you’re amazing. Why?”

  Something tickled in the pit of Alicia’s stomach, like speeding over a hill too fast, and she started to disentangle her fingers. Keeping her face turned down so he wouldn’t see the flush mounting in her cheeks.

  Except she felt Thomas pulling her—ever so slightly—toward him.

  When she raised her head, his face gazed back at her with twin looks of desire and terror. Flushed and white at the same time, teenager-like. Beneath her palm, she felt his fingers moisten with sweat.

  He’s going to kiss me. Alicia tried to think, tried to turn her mind to anything but the startled rush that tingled through her veins.

  Chapter 9

  Before Alicia could react or spit out a single word, Thomas pulled back. He let her hand go, turning abruptly away to the driver’s side window. He squeezed his eyes closed and rubbed a fist on his forehead.

  “What?” Alicia blurted, her mouth falling open. “What did I do?”

  “Do?” Thomas’s eyes popped open with a wounded look. “Alicia, you didn’t do anything. I’m so sorry.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes again. “Forgive me. Please. I was … terribly out of line.”

  Alicia’s eyebrows shot up, and she decided to keep her mouth shut.

  Thomas rubbed his hand across his face, messing up his hair. “I’m sorry. Really. I had no right to do that.” He slapped his John Deere cap back on his head and fumbled for the gearshift.

  The color drained from his face, and he turned the key in the ignition, pressing vainly on the gas. Methuselah gave a spiteful sputter and died again, leaving only metallic clicks when Thomas turned the key again.

  “I’m not even going to bother with the two-way anymore. Nobody answers. I’m so sorry.” Thomas shook his head. When he put his hands back on the wheel, his fingers trembled.

  “Thomas.” She spoke deliberately and carefully, pressing her nervous lips together. “Why … are you so sorry?”

  “Because.” He swallowed, keeping his eyes averted. “It’s not right. You’re not … ready. I’m sorry.”

  “Ready for what?” Alicia’s heart beat loud in her throat. She crossed her arms stiffly across her chest, trying not to think of the fifty-dollar compass Thomas had bought her, all wrapped in a hamburger paper. For all his generosity, she knew he didn’t earn much more than she did.

  “Me.” Thomas turned to her with a look so raw that Alicia drew back involuntarily.

  She opened her mouth and closed it, feeling irritability creep up her neck. “Doubting Thomas,” she should call him for his naive hesitancy and caution. It even sounded biblical, too.

  “What makes you think I’m not ready?” Alicia turned toward him with a squeak of the seat.

  “Alicia.” Thomas’s eyelids fluttered as he closed them. “I know you. You’re a beautiful woman. One of my best friends. And you’re … broken inside. I can feel it.”

  Unexpected tears stung Alicia’s eyes, and her look hardened. “So that means I’m not good en
ough for you?”

  “What?” Thomas jerked his head around to look at her. “No. Of course not. But it’s not right. You’re not ready. You’re not … healed. To me it’s on the same level as taking advantage of you, if you see what I’m trying to say.”

  “No. I don’t see.” Alicia tucked her arms tighter, crossing a leg rigidly away from him.

  Thomas raised his hands helplessly as if groping for words. “It’s my fault. Ever since I met you, I’ve liked you. I thought it was platonic, but maybe I’ve liked you more than I should.” He curved his fingers into a fist and raised it up to his mouth as he thought. “I’ve just wanted to see you well. Healthy. Whole. Happy. You’re special to me, Alicia. More special than you know.”

  Alicia sat there, not having a clue what to say. Dried Sea-Monkeys and French-speaking ferrets jolted into her mind, making her want to laugh inappropriately.

  “So that’s it?” she asked, attempting to steady her voice. “I’m your charity case now?”

  Even as she said it, Alicia felt herself wince. Thomas might have a million flaws, but he’d never once treated her or his crewmates as anything but equals. Equals with humble preference, even.

  “No.” Thomas’s voice came out as a hoarse whisper, and he covered his face with both hands. “Never. I can’t believe you’d think that.”

  Alicia let out an angry sigh, turning away from him and gazing out over the windswept grasses. Behind her, the road curved, desolate, into endless forest.

  “Okay. That’s not what I meant,” she muttered. “But I don’t get your whole ‘you’re not ready’ speech. Why don’t you ask me if I’m ready?” She turned her head in his direction. “Maybe my answer would surprise you.”

  “But there’s one more thing.” Thomas met her gaze soberly, even tenderly. “I can’t forsake my God.”

  It took a second for the words to register, and Alicia’s eyes bugged out. “Huh? What in the world is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that as much as I care for you, I can’t pair up with someone who doesn’t love Jesus as much as I do.” He let out a long, shuddering breath. “The Bible says that. It’s called being ‘unequally yoked.’ Have you read it?” Thomas turned to her, the rims of his eyes red.

  Alicia shook her head no, speechless.

  “It’s like … two cows plowing.” Thomas gestured awkwardly with his hands. “They have this wooden thing across them. A yoke. If they’re not matched, one goes one way, and the other goes the other way. They never get anything accomplished because they’re … well, unequally yoked.”

  He stuffed his hands miserably in his vest pockets. “For a split second I forgot that, Alicia. Please forgive me.” He drew in a shaky breath. “But after what God’s done for me, I owe Him my life. I have to wait for Him to pair me with someone who loves Him, too.”

  “And if He doesn’t?” Alicia spat, angry color burning her face. Wondering if Thomas, and not her, was the crazy one, blabbering away about plowing at a time like this. Cows? Yokes? Was he out of his mind?

  “If He doesn’t choose someone for me who loves Him, I’ll stay single and serve Him that way.” Thomas kept his voice even, low and husky. “I haven’t always been called Thomas Walks-with-Eagles, you know. I used to be called Thomas Two-Fires.”

  Alicia heard angry blood racing past her ears, thrumming with hurt and disappointment.

  “I dropped out of school when I was twelve and spent my time on the reservation drinking, gambling, and shooting mailboxes. I was an arsonist, Alicia. I set fire to empty buildings and fields, watching behind rocks and laughing as the fire crews scrambled to put out the blaze.” He swallowed deliberately, looking out the window. “Only one time, one of the buildings wasn’t empty.”

  Even in her haze of anger, Alicia gasped.

  “I killed an old man. A homeless guy sleeping inside an old barn I torched with gasoline.” Thomas squeezed his eyes shut. “I saw them pull him out and put him on a stretcher. They tried to save him, but he was too far gone.”

  Thomas blinked faster, and he stayed silent a minute. “I saw him writhe in pain, his body covered with burns.” Emotion choked his voice. “He struggled to breathe, and then he just … stopped. Like my grandfather in the hospital. Only this time it was my fault.”

  Thomas traced the steering wheel with his fingers. “The police swore out a warrant for my arrest, but federal law only goes so far on the reservation. The tribal council declared me innocent, even though everybody knew I’d done it. They said the old man was a public nuisance anyway—a drunkard and a fighter.” He hung his head. “But I saw him try to breathe. I saw his clothes burned black, all the way to his flesh. And it was my fault. I killed a man.”

  Alicia sat unmoving, unable to tear her eyes from Thomas’s face. Carlita was right: He wasn’t much to look at, per se. He wasn’t handsome. His nose was too big, and dark brows protruded over deep-set eyes. But as he sat there against a shaft of sunlight, holding back tears, his chiseled face and high cheekbones looked, for a moment, more beautiful than she’d ever seen on a man.

  Sunlight gleamed on his shiny, sand-pink lower lip as he opened his mouth to speak again. “I ran away. I stayed for months on top of a cliff, in a little lean-to shelter I made out of sticks, barely eating. I wanted to die, to return to the earth like some of the old men of my tribe claimed we did—and complete the spirit’s circle of life. And I prayed.” He stared out over the whispering fields. “Day after day, I prayed for the spirits to forgive me. I named all the gods I knew—the gods of water and sun and harvest. When nothing happened, I prayed to the God who hung on the cross—the white man’s God I’d seen in a painting once in a book on my grandmother’s bookshelf. And still nothing happened.”

  Thomas chewed on his lip a minute, and the bright shine disappeared. “And then one windy day a man came to me, climbing up the mountain. Over boulders and rocks, knocking off rattlesnakes with a hiking stick. I figured he’d come from town to arrest me, so I went out to meet him, with my clothes all tattered and my hair matted. To turn myself in. But you know what he said?” Thomas turned to her with eyes wide and earnest. “What?”

  “That I needed Jesus.” Thomas reached into his vest pocket. “He gave me this: a little Gideon New Testament. He said he was a traveling preacher, and God had sent him to tell me He loved me.”

  Thomas flipped the pages of the little Bible with his thumb. “And that was it. He shook my hand and climbed back down the mountain, and I never saw him again. I thought maybe he was crazy, but he didn’t look crazy—so I read. Day after day, by firelight, by sunlight. I read it through fifteen times in two weeks.” He rocked back in the seat, his face calm. “And that’s how I came to know about Jesus. I gave my life to Him. I washed my hair and cut it and cleaned myself in the stream, and I went back down the mountain to my relatives’ house.”

  “And?” Alicia looked up hesitantly.

  Thomas smiled. “They didn’t recognize me at first, after all the weight I’d lost. They said my eyes were clear and bright, and the haunted look had fled from my face.” He chuckled. “They thought I’d been smoking peyote.”

  Thomas shifted in his seat. “I asked them to take me to the library to find the rest of the Bible because I knew there had to be more. And there was. The entire Old Testament. I devoured it, like a man who hadn’t tasted food in months. And that’s when they changed my name. They said I walked as a man with my head in the clouds.”

  “A compliment?” Alicia asked hesitantly.

  “Sort of, but not really.” Thomas shrugged. “Nobody really knew what to make of it.”

  A puff of wind scratched lonely grasses against Methuselah’s metal side, and something dripped under the hood.

  “So you gave your life to firefighting to pay for the old man’s death.” Alicia drew one knee up on the truck seat and hugged it.

  “Not to pay for it, because that would be impossible.” Thomas took off his baseball cap and ran his hand through his hair. “No on
e can pay for a life. But I can take what was once a setback and turn it into a blessing. Because of Jesus, I can fight fires instead of setting them, and I can save lives instead of taking them. And that’s what I plan to do for the rest of my life.”

  Alicia turned to look at him. “That’s noble, Thomas. But I still don’t understand why we can’t … be together. What’s wrong with that?” She twisted her fingers together, dropping her gaze. “We don’t have to get married or anything. We can just … be together. Sort of.”

  “Be together?” Thomas sighed, stretching out an arm across the seat. “It doesn’t work like that. A love relationship is like … fire. It flares up when you least expect it, and before you know it, it’s out of control.” He swallowed, keeping his eyes down. Color flushed his cheeks and nose. “And then you’re left with … with this.” He swept his arm toward a stand of blackened pines, their naked branches hanging helplessly askew.

  Alicia stared at the scorched clearing, her jaw tensing with anger.

  “I can’t do that to you.” Thomas shook his head. “Or to God. I’m sorry.”

  “Why, Thomas?” Alicia’s eyes blazed. “Why can’t you just love me?” She clenched her fingers tighter under her folded arms. “You could be a blessing to me, just like you said about that man you killed.”

  He waited a long time to answer, scuffing his short fingernail against a scratch in the steering wheel. “You don’t understand. I can’t be with you because I do love you.” Thomas’s eyes pleaded. “You need to be whole first—through Jesus. Otherwise you’ll always lean on me to heal you. And as much as I’d try, I could never do it.”

  He lifted his eyes to hers, so dark she couldn’t see where his brown irises and pupils separated. “I can’t save you, Alicia. I’m only a man.” He lifted a hand hesitantly and touched the edge of her shirtsleeve with one finger. “You need someone far greater than me to fix what’s hurting.”

  Alicia sat there in silence, feeling an icy slash through her heart, as if he’d opened his Thermos and thrown his stale morning coffee at her.