Yellowstone Memories

by Spinola, Jennifer Rogers

  “Precisely.” Taka drew in two more dots, and suddenly the points on the graph began to curve. Straight on the sides and domed at the top, like a candy cane. An arrow, and a small rectangle below.

  “Oh my goodness.” Jersey’s pulse raced, and she nearly dropped her tea as she rushed to set it down on the grass. “Is it what I’m thinking?”

  “You tell me.” Taka drew three more points, completing the curve and continuing downward with another straight line. Making a squared-off arch with thick bases.

  “The Roosevelt Arch.” Jersey’s heart stood still.

  Taka raised his head and evenly met her gaze. “Exactly.”

  “So what’s with all the questions about when Jeremiah Wilde died?” Jersey lifted her paddle in the rust-gold sunset, coppery sparks glittering in the last rays of sun over Yellowstone Lake. The nearest Park Service speedboat lay just a few miles to the east, and Jersey couldn’t row fast enough.

  “It goes along with my theory.” Taka fumbled with the paddle, and his life jacket came open again. He shifted his paddle awkwardly to the other hand and stuffed the two halves of the plastic buckle together again. He leaned too far, and the canoe shifted.

  “Watch it, will you?” Jersey grabbed the side of the canoe, nearly dropping her paddle. “These things can flip on a dime. And with the cold lake temps, you’ve got about … oh, ten minutes to get out before hypothermia sets in.”

  “Sorry.” Taka fixed his lake-water-spattered glasses.

  “Haven’t you ever canoed before?” Jersey laid her paddle carefully across the canoe and reached behind her, tugging his buckle closed.

  “Me? No.” Taka flashed an embarrassed smile.

  “So you can solve matrix codes and sew and ride a unicycle, but not paddle.”

  “I guess.” Taka reached clumsily for his paddle. “I … I can doggie paddle. Is that the same thing?”

  “Not at all.” Jersey’s mouth twisted with laughter. “So what’s your theory about Jeremiah Wilde?”

  “He died shortly after Theodore Roosevelt dedicated the park and laid the cornerstone for the arch, correct?” He flipped a paddle in the wrong direction, spraying water. “The ground was already disturbed from the construction, so no one would notice if he dug up the same spot and buried the gold. It’s near the entrance of the park, so he could get away quickly with the gold without being spotted.”

  “Like maybe he intended to come back and get it later?”

  “That’s my theory.”

  “Well, what about the note in the jar that kid found back in the ‘30s? Didn’t he write his cousin a letter in 1893?”

  “Maybe his first theory was wrong. Maybe the cousin left the letter behind—or Jeremiah never mailed it.” Taka shrugged. “But he seemed pretty certain in his logbook. A matrix takes a long time to write.”

  Jersey twisted her head to see the sinking sun. “For goodness’ sake, Taka—row faster!” She shielded her eyes to see the Park Service speedboat tethered to the shore, just up ahead.

  Starlight glimmered behind Roosevelt Arch as Jersey and Taka pulled up in a Park Service pickup truck, loaded up with shovels and pickaxes and Coleman lanterns. Two other Park Service trucks pulled up behind her, full of Park Service higher-ups, followed by an excavator, a crane, and a local news crew who’d gotten wind of the story.

  The heavy stone arch glimmered in the news crew lights and lanterns, towering into the night sky. FOR THE BENEFIT AND ENJOYMENT OF THE PEOPLE, read the stone inscription at the top.

  Don, the head ranger, scowled as he slammed the truck door shut. “There better be lots of enjoyment for the people when we dig, Jersey,” he growled, “or you’ll definitely lose some benefits.”

  “Trust me.” Jersey handed him a sheaf of papers. Copies she’d made of Taka’s calculations and Jeremiah Wilde’s logbook.

  “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.” Don shook his head.

  “You should never be afraid of truth, Don,” Jersey heard herself say, cool night wind blowing strands of hair across her cheek. Thinking of Tadashi, and thinking of Phyllis. “Sometimes what we cover up needs to be unearthed.”

  Somebody gave the signal, and the excavator roared, lowering the bucket to scoop into dry earth.

  Chapter 9

  So your tour group is gone, Jersey?” Phyllis looked up from the ranger’s office desk in surprise, stacking papers together in a bunch.

  “Yep. Left this morning.” Jersey pulled out the computer chair and swiveled around, enjoying the familiar pine planks and sweet coffee scent of the ranger’s station. “I bawled like a baby.”

  Phyllis crooked an eyebrow. “You didn’t.”

  “I did so. They were amazing.” Jersey switched on the computer. “They finished not just the entire cabin and the grounds, but they asphalted some trails, too—and built some bridges and benches. Picking up trash everywhere they went.”

  She clicked on the Internet icon. “The volunteers left me so many Japanese snacks and packets of green tea I don’t know what to do with them. Here.” She dug through her backpack and produced a foil bag. “Try some of these.”

  Phyllis wrinkled up her nose. “They smell like fish.”

  “I think they are made of fish. Fish … something. Crackers, I think.” Jersey squinted at the kanji characters on the wrinkled label. “They’re pretty good though. Even if they do look like dog food.”

  “I dunno. I’ll try just one.” Phyllis nudged one with the tip of her fingernail, which she’d painted a livid pink. “Hmm.” She stuck one in her mouth and crunched. “Fishy, yes, but not bad. What are they called?”

  “Beats me. Ask Taka.”

  Phyllis gave a sly smirk. “The guy’s always asking you for rides.” She tipped her head. “Funny thing is, Jersey, he never asked me for a ride. Or Nelson, or anybody else.”

  Jersey glanced up. “I think I know why now.” She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.

  “Well, Taka left this morning. I came in early to finish up some work, and he was packing up to leave for Montana. Following the elk, he said.” Phyllis rolled her eyes. “What a weirdo. Is he coming back?”

  “He’d better.” Jersey reached instinctively for the T-shaped necklace around her neck. “He made a few promises to me before he left, and I’ll be here waiting for him to keep them.” A corner of her lips turned up in a smile. “And he fixed our computer, too. Remotely. The little sneak.”

  “Oh, so Nelson was right about you and Taka.” Phyllis shook her head and glanced out into the lobby, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Sore loser.” She turned back to the computer. “And Taka was right about the gold.”

  Jersey’s hands stopped on the keyboard, remembering the sound of scraping metal when the excavator bucket swung deep into the earth. The shouts, and the sprays of light as news crews focused floodlights down into the hole.

  Jersey had crouched, motionless, as the crane lifted a dirty pine box, which was rotting through in several places and sagged open at one end. The lift hoisted the box gently onto the ground, and the pine boards fell apart.

  Revealing a dirty burlap sack, muddied and stiffened from a hundred years of rains and snows. Someone pulled at the mildewed cord around the neck of the bag, and Jersey saw gold.

  Brilliant nuggets, too many to count. Spilling sideways onto the grass as cameras flashed, making a golden waterfall of iridescent yellow bits.

  “So what’s going to happen to the gold?”

  “That’s all up in the air. It’ll probably take them years to determine. But Yellowstone National Park will get a big cut because it was found on park property. Which makes my funding report much easier to write, doesn’t it?” Jersey smiled. “Some of the gold will probably be returned to the Sioux reservations near the Black Hills, where they think the gold originated.”

  “So it was Ezra Kind’s gold.” Phyllis’s eyes widened. “The Thoen Stone was the real thing then, huh?”

  “Apparently so. There’ll probably be all k
inds of people coming out of the woodwork to claim inheritance.”

  “What about you?” Phyllis put her hands on her hips.

  “I’ve asked Don for a raise.” Jersey bobbed her eyebrows. “And we’ll take it from there.”

  “Hmph. I’d ask him for a lot more than a raise.” Phyllis turned on the fax machine and straightened some files. “It’s so exciting, you know that? All this arch publicity makes me want to open the time capsule buried in the cornerstone. What’s in it?”

  “A picture of Roosevelt, some local newspapers, and—wonder of wonders—a Bible.” Jersey turned to look at Phyllis over her shoulder. “Funny how everything seems to go back to the Bible, doesn’t it, Phyllis? Even after all these years.”

  Phyllis didn’t answer. She just pierced Jersey with a keen look, tears sparkling in her eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” Jersey swiveled the squeaky chair to face her.

  “Nothing.” Phyllis laughed and wiped her eyes, turning her back and stacking her papers again. “Forget it.”

  “Not when you’re crying.” Jersey got up and marched over to Phyllis’s desk, resting a hand on a wooden chair back. “What’s going on?” She bit her lip. “More dreams again? I hope not. I’ve been praying for you.”

  Phyllis seemed absorbed in her paperwork, shifting one sheet from the front to the back in an endless succession. Jersey finally grabbed them out of her hands and slapped them down on the table then pulled out the chair across from her and plopped down.

  “Phyllis.” She reached over and took her hands. “Talk to me.” She glanced down at Phyllis’s nails. “Nice nail polish, by the way. Did you do it yourself?”

  “Me? Yeah. Terrance picked it out.” Phyllis gave a shy smile. “I guess you could say I was inspired.” She flicked one of Jersey’s delicate hoop earrings.

  “Great. There goes the office.” Jersey smoothed her hair back over her shoulder. It smelled nice; she’d actually shelled out a few bucks to buy a hot-oil treatment. “So what’s eating you?”

  “Eating me? Nothing.” Phyllis squeezed Jersey’s hands as her tears welled up again. “But I did have another … dream. Like I told you before.”

  Jersey moaned, rolling her head back on her shoulders in frustration. “Not again! I hoped you would find some peace. That God would help you move past it.”

  “No, no. It wasn’t bad this time,” said Phyllis quickly. “It was a good dream. A really good one. I can’t get it out of my mind.” She turned toward the window, the lined curves of her face illuminated in a soft blue glow.

  Jersey waited in silence until Phyllis turned back, playing with a paper clip with her free hand.

  “I saw her,” she finally said, looking up abruptly and meeting Jersey’s gaze with tear-swollen eyes. “My daughter. We never gave her a name.” A tear streaked down her cheek, and she sponged her face with her hand. “She was about twelve years old, and she was … was …”

  “Was what?” Jersey stroked the lines in Phyllis’s hand.

  “She was laughing.” Phyllis gasped the words out. “Laughing, Jersey. Can you believe it?” Her eyes spilled over. “She called out to me. ‘Mom!’ she said. ‘Mom! Can you see me? Look how tall I am. Taller than you, huh?’ ”

  Jersey couldn’t breathe. She sat there, riveted to Phyllis’s tear-soaked face. A glow lighting up the red corners of her eyes.

  “She was beautiful, Jersey. Just like I dreamed. So perfect. So … at peace.” Phyllis gasped back a sob, her tears dripping in wet circles on the table. “She hugged me. It was so real, so …” She groped for words, gesturing with her free arm. “The sunlight. Her curly hair. Everything. So amazing. I can’t begin to describe it.”

  Jersey scooted her chair back and reached for a stash of Hardee’s napkins somebody had stuffed in the computer drawer. She passed some to Phyllis and then wiped at her own wet cheeks.

  “Phyllis. That’s amazing.” She squeezed Phyllis’s hand with trembling fingers. “God answered your prayer. He gave you peace.” She grinned, delighting in the feel of eyelashes wet with joyful tears. “I told you she’s all right. I told you.”

  Phyllis nodded, laughing, her earrings clinking as she tipped her head forward to blow her nose. “And there’s something else I couldn’t figure out, but I guess God knows why He showed me.” She shrugged and wiped her nose again. “It didn’t make sense to me though.”

  “What didn’t make sense?”

  “The boy she was with.” Phyllis’s hands shook as she reached for a new napkin. “An Asian-looking kid. Japanese maybe. Who knows? At least that’s what I thought he was, for some strange reason.”

  “He?” Jersey froze in mid-wipe of her nose. “What do you mean ‘he’?”

  “I don’t know who he was, Jersey. Some little Japanese boy, cute as a button. But my daughter was playing with him. Pulling him by the arm and laughing with him. She said he was her best friend.”

  Phyllis shook out one of the napkins. “These new recycled things don’t soak up water worth anything, do they?” she fussed. “Apologies to the environment, but give me the old tree-shredders. At least I could clean my face with those.”

  Jersey jolted with unexpected laughter. “I’m with you on the napkins. And lightbulbs.” She rolled her eyes. “Please. I hate these energy-efficient beasts.”

  “Don’t even go there.”

  Jersey wiped her nose and balled up her napkin, suppressing the urge to fold it in tiny triangles like the Japanese volunteers. “But tell me more about this boy who was with your daughter. What did he look like? Did he say anything?”

  “I don’t remember much. But the odd thing is that he looked like you, Jersey. I know that sounds crazy.” She put up a hand. “But he did. You’re not Japanese, but he had some of your features. The chin.” Tears filled her eyes as she pointed. “He said to say hi to you—and he blew a kiss.”

  Jersey had been rolling her chair legs to one side while she listened, and the chair dropped with a loud thunk. “He said hi to me?”

  “I know, I know. It makes no sense. But that’s what happened. He pulled up his shirt to show me a little scar on his back, the faintest of lines in perfect skin. It was sweet.” Phyllis twisted her napkin back and forth. “All of it. The best dream I’ve ever had.”

  “Tell me something.” Jersey’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Was his back straight?”

  “Straight? It was just like yours and mine. Perfect.” Phyllis closed her eyes as if trying to remember. “ ‘Truth,’ he said his name was. Isn’t that a funny thing to say?”

  “My living truth,” Jersey whispered, turning the T necklace over in her hand. “Tadashi.”

  She let her breath out. Remembering the green aurora exploding over lake water. “Did he … walk?”

  “Of course he walked.” Phyllis looked up. “He ran! Why?”

  And Jersey reached for another napkin, covering her tears with her hand.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Jennifer Rogers Spinola, a Virginia/South Carolina native and graduate of Gardner-Webb University in North Carolina, just moved to the Black Hills of South Dakota with her Brazilian husband, Athos, son Ethan, and second miracle boy on the way. Jennifer lived in Brazil for nearly eight years after meeting her husband in Sapporo, Japan, where she worked as a missionary. During college, she served as a National Park Service volunteer at Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks. In between waddling to ultrasounds and homeschooling high-energy Ethan, Jennifer loves adoption, gardening (her first garden!), snow, hiking, camping, and—of course—Yellowstone.

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