by Elise Broach
“I don’t know. Let’s call her and find out.”
Tyler sat back, his brow furrowing. “What, now? You can just call her and she’ll answer?”
“Sure,” Lizzie said. “I mean, she may not be there. She’s pretty busy, and she has her bridge group today, I think. But let’s see.”
Lizzie took the phone from its wall-mount in the kitchen and sat on the couch with her legs curled under her. She punched her grandmother’s number.
Grandma May picked up on the third ring.
“Lizzie!” she said happily. “It’s nice to hear your sweet voice. How is your summer going without Margaret?”
“Pretty well, actually,” Lizzie said, and she realized to her surprise that she hadn’t been missing Margaret as much as she’d feared. And then, because she felt disloyal, she added, “But I’ll be really glad when she gets back from Australia.”
Tyler whispered, “Who’s Margaret?”
“My best friend,” Lizzie explained softly, with her hand over the mouthpiece. She thought he looked annoyed, though whether it was about Margaret or how long it was taking to get to the point of the phone call, she couldn’t be sure.
“Grandma? Do you mind if I put you on speaker?”
“Not at all,” Grandma May answered. “I do that to you all the time.” Her grandmother claimed that she could hear Lizzie better through the speakerphone, though Lizzie herself thought it made the conversation more halting and awkward. But she wanted Tyler to be able to hear what Grandma May said and she couldn’t think of any other way to accomplish that, so she clicked the speaker button and set the phone faceup between them on the couch.
“I’m up in the apartment,” Lizzie began.
“Getting ready for my visit?” Grandma May asked. “I can’t wait to see you! And your father. Just a couple of weeks now.”
“I know! I can’t wait, either,” Lizzie told her truthfully. “But I wanted to ask you about some pictures I found. You know that photo of your cousin Clare Hodges?”
“She’s your cousin, too,” Grandma May replied. “And yes, of course, I know it—the one on horseback? She was an extraordinary horsewoman.”
“Yeah, that one, Grandma. Well, there’s another one of her, but it’s not framed—it’s in a blue folder in the bookshelf—and she’s with some other woman in a fancy dress, standing by a river. Do you remember that one?”
“Yes, yes. That was taken by George Fiske, before Clare was even a park ranger. He was a very famous Yosemite photographer, took all sorts of wonderful pictures in the park.”
Lizzie hadn’t thought for a second about who might have taken the photograph. She’d been way too interested in who was in it. But Grandma May continued, “There are other pictures of his on the bookshelf—did you see the one of John Muir’s cabin?”
Tyler nudged Lizzie.
“You mean John Muir’s lost cabin?” Lizzie asked eagerly.
“Well, it wasn’t lost to John Muir,” Grandma May corrected her. “He certainly knew where it was.”
“Yes, that one—that’s what I was calling to ask you about.”
“Muir had two cabins in Yosemite, supposedly,” Grandma May continued. “Nobody knows exactly where they were.”
“But they might still be there, right?” Lizzie asked.
“Oh, I doubt that,” Grandma May said dismissively. “They probably rotted away a long time ago. I expect they were just shacks, really … not built to last. But I’m so glad you’re interested in those photos of Clare Hodges! Your mother was named for her, you know.”
“Yes, Grandma, I remember,” Lizzie said impatiently. “The thing I wanted to ask was, in the other photo of Clare Hodges, by the stream, it looks like John Muir’s cabin is in the background. Do you remember that?”
“No, I can’t say that I do,” Grandma May said. “I’ll have to look at it again when I visit. But it wouldn’t surprise me. As I said, George Fiske took the picture of Muir’s cabin, and he took that second picture of Clare and Kitty Tatch.”
“Is that the other woman in the picture?” Lizzie asked. “Because that’s what we—” Tyler jabbed her and Lizzie caught herself. “I mean, that’s what I was wondering.”
“Kitty Tatch? Oh, she’s a legend!” Grandma May exclaimed. “You can still buy postcards of her dancing on top of Overhanging Rock.”
Tyler squinted at Lizzie in bewilderment, but she only shrugged. She was used to her grandmother’s conversational detours.
“But who is Kitty Tatch?”
“Well,” Grandma May began. “She was a waitress at the Sentinel Hotel around 1900, and boy, oh boy, was she something. Everybody in the park knew her name. She and her friend Katherine Hazelston would dress in their ruffled skirts and dancing shoes and go up to Overhanging Rock, at Glacier Point—do you remember Overhanging Rock, Lizzie? I took you there, but it was four or five years ago.”
“I don’t think so. What is it?”
“Just what the name says. It’s a ledge of rock that sticks straight out over the valley, very, very high up.”
“Oh, now I remember,” Lizzie said. She had a vague recollection of holding her grandmother’s hand and standing on top of a huge, flat rock, looking out over the immense depth of the valley.
“Well, it was popular with tourists to have their pictures taken on top of it, because it looked so dangerous. And it was so dangerous—if you slipped off, you would tumble thousands of feet to your death. So, anyway, Kitty Tatch went up there with her friend Katherine and they danced and did the can-can—you know, high kicks—with their feet sticking out over the edge. And George Fiske took their photograph.”
“He did? Way up on that ledge?”
“Yes, and it was turned into a postcard—a very famous one.” Lizzie could hear the smile in Grandma May’s voice. “You can still buy it. Kitty Tatch would sell signed copies of them. If you look under my bed, you’ll find one. There’s a stack of books and I use the postcard as a bookmark.”
Lizzie raised her eyebrows at Tyler. “Really?”
“Yes. It’s a magnificent picture.”
Tyler sprang up and trotted down the hall to the bedroom. He returned with a delighted grin flashing across his face, waving a shiny, brown-tinted postcard. He held it out to Lizzie, who caught her breath. The photo showed a high bluff in the distance, with a sharp ledge sticking out horizontally over a deep valley. On top of it, very close to the edge, were two tiny female figures in long skirts, each kicking a leg out over the void.
“Wow!” Lizzie exclaimed. “I’m looking at it now.”
“Isn’t it remarkable?” Grandma May said. “Even in our day! Think how it must have seemed to people at the time. Women led lives that were so limited back then. They couldn’t work at most jobs; they weren’t allowed to vote. And here were these two common waitresses living in the valley, all dressed up in their finery, dancing on the edge of oblivion.”
“It is a great picture,” Lizzie said. Now she felt as curious about the photographer who had taken it as she did about the two women dancing on the ledge, thousands of feet up in the air.
“Yosemite at that time,” Grandma May continued, “was chock-full of characters. So many free spirits! Including our cousin Clare. It was still the frontier, really, so society’s normal rules didn’t apply.”
Lizzie considered this. It was hard to picture a place where you didn’t have to follow the rules. It seemed like every place she had ever been, from the zoo to school to church to the doctor’s office, had some set of rules that restricted behavior. A place without rules—what would that be like? She glanced at Tyler and she could tell from his wistful expression that he was thinking exactly the same thing.
“Ask about the cabin,” he whispered to her.
She nodded and leaned over the phone. “Clare knew Yosemite really well, didn’t she, Grandma? Since she was a park ranger?”
“Oh, yes. She rode all over the place on that horse of hers, even before she was a ranger.”
&n
bsp; “So she must have known where John Muir’s cabin was. I mean, we have a picture of her there. Did she ever mention it to you?”
“Not that I recall,” Grandma May answered. “But it wouldn’t surprise me if she knew its location. There weren’t that many houses or buildings in Yosemite in the early 1900s … and obviously, George Fiske knew where it was, since he photographed it.”
Lizzie thought for a minute. “I want to go to Yosemite when you come to visit. Could we do that? Camping?”
Tyler tugged her sleeve and pointed at himself. “What about me?” he mouthed.
“I might bring a friend,” Lizzie added quickly. “And could we look for John Muir’s lost cabin?”
“Oh, honey, I think my camping days are over,” Grandma May said with a sigh. “But I would be happy to take you to Yosemite and stay in a hotel in the park. And then we could explore wherever you want. Though I doubt we’ll find anything left of John Muir’s cabin.”
“That would be great, Grandma.” Lizzie smiled into the phone. “I can’t wait for you to come.”
“I can’t wait, either, Lizzie—I miss you way too much! Oh my goodness, it’s nearly two o’clock. My bridge group will be waiting.… They are all very punctual. Love you, honey. Bye!”
“Love you too, Grandma,” Lizzie answered. “Bye.” She hung up the phone.
Tyler was watching her, his expression puzzled.
“What?”
“You and her sound … tight,” he said finally.
“We are,” Lizzie replied. “She’s my grandma.”
“I know, but it’s not like she lives here. How often do you even see her?”
“Well, she used to live here when I was little. Now she’s in a retirement place in Arizona, but she still comes to visit every few months. And I talk to her a lot.” Lizzie slid the phone into the kitchen wall-mount and turned back to him. Something in his face made her feel like she should apologize. “Maybe it’s because of my mom,” she said. “I’m all my grandma has left of her, you know?”
Tyler didn’t say anything.
Lizzie joined him again on the couch, resting her feet on the coffee table next to his. “What’s the matter?” she asked.
When he didn’t answer, she said, “Do you miss your mom?”
He still didn’t answer, so she tried again. “I miss my mom sometimes.”
At that, his dark eyes flashed at her. “What are you talking about? You never even knew your mom.”
She recoiled, stung by his words. Then suddenly she felt mad. “Well, your mom is still alive, right? And you’re here. So if you’re missing your mom, it’s your own fault.”
Tyler’s hands balled into fists. “That’s a lie,” he snapped. “None of it was my fault. And what do you know, anyway? You think you’ve got it so rough, cuz your mom died when you were born. My mom’s still alive but it’s like she’s not even there. It’s worse than her being dead.”
“What are you talking about? What’s the big secret about your mom?” Lizzie demanded. “I told you how my mom died. And you even said it was my fault! Which it wasn’t. But your mom is still alive. How can you say that’s worse?”
Tyler was sitting opposite her with his face crunched in a furious glower. It reminded her of how he’d looked when she’d first confronted him about the stolen food tray … which was only a couple of days ago, she realized with a start.
“I’ll tell you how it’s worse. Cuz your mom can’t be with you. If she was here, you know she’d…” He lapsed into silence.
“What?” Lizzie asked.
“She’d take care of you.” He looked away suddenly. “My mom could do that, but she won’t.”
He was breathing heavily now, and Lizzie saw him blink hard, twice. She felt suddenly cowed, afraid he was going to cry.
“Okay,” she said. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
Tyler jumped up and went over to the kitchen, his back to her. “I’m just saying,” he mumbled, his voice steadier, “that mine is worse.” He took a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water at the sink, guzzling it down.
Lizzie watched him, overcome by an almost unbearable sadness. She didn’t know anything about her mother, really. Clare was a shimmering mirage, a person she had never even met. But the thing she was sure of, had always been sure of for as long as she could remember, was that her mother had wanted her and loved her, from the very first beat of her heart. Was it because her father had always told her that? And her grandmother, too? Lizzie wasn’t sure, but she realized, for as many things as she didn’t know about her own mother, the things Tyler did know about his mother were much, much worse. She thought of the photograph in his backpack, the smiling teenager with the long blond hair. What could she have done that was so terrible? Why wasn’t she here, taking care of Tyler?
Tyler set the empty glass down on the counter with a clack. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “We can check on the wolves.”
“Sure,” Lizzie agreed, feeling exhausted herself. She gathered the old photographs together and settled them back in the blue folder. “This one is pretty cool, though, right?” she said, lifting the postcard.
“Yeah, it is,” Tyler agreed. “Crazy.”
“And Grandma May will take us to Yosemite! To look for the lost cabin.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
Lizzie knew they were both wondering how that could ever happen. How would she explain him to Grandma May?
She touched his shoulder. “We’ll figure something out,” she said.
Together, they thudded down the stairs to the door. Lizzie pushed it open, and they walked out into the afternoon sunlight.
And there, coming down the driveway, was Mike.
Chapter 15
RUNAWAY
THEY FROZE IN their tracks as Mike walked toward them, a questioning look on his face. Lizzie could sense Tyler’s fear. She knew he was ready to bolt. “Stay put,” she whispered.
“Hey,” she called, trying to sound as normal as possible. “What are you doing here?” Her father almost never came home in the middle of the work day.
“Hi,” he said. “Were you in the apartment?”
She nodded. “This is my friend Tyler. I was showing him those old pictures of Yosemite.”
Mike came to stand in front of them, still looking puzzled. “Hi, Tyler,” he said.
“Hey,” Tyler mumbled, looking at the pavement.
Mike turned to Lizzie. “A friend from school?”
“We ran into each other in the zoo,” she said. That part was true at least.
“Oh.” He paused, looking at Lizzie, and she could see from his face that something was wrong.
“What’s the matter? Why are you home so early?”
“I’m not. I have to go back. I just came to tell you…” He glanced at Tyler. “Karen called. Tamarack died.”
“What?” Lizzie gasped, biting her lip. She could feel her eyes filling. “But we just took her to the clinic a couple of hours ago! How could she have died already? I thought you were calling another vet.”
Mike wrapped his arms around her, hugging her close. “We were, honey. But she had a fever, and I don’t know … maybe the move traumatized her.”
“You said she was going to be okay.”
“I thought so. I was wrong. And Lizzie…”
She buried her face into his rough coveralls, breathing the dense, musky animal smells. His arms tightened over her shoulders. “Lobo is throwing up.”
She pushed back from him, staring.
“I wanted to tell you myself.”
“No.” She could barely speak.
“Karen and Ed isolated him, and she’s talking to a vet up in Seattle. We’re trying to figure it out.”
“But he was fine this morning! You saw him!” Her heart was pounding, the sound filling her ears. Not Lobo.
“Lizzie, whatever it is, it comes on quickly. Karen, Ed, and I need to move him to the clinic. Then I have to go back to check on the other
wolves.”
She stood still, not looking at him. She could feel her father and Tyler staring at her.
“Honey,” Mike said, “we’re doing everything we can for them.” He rested his hand on her head, and the heavy warmth of it anchored her. “You stay here. I just came home to tell you.”
She nodded mutely, her throat aching. All she could think of was Lobo, watching her with his pale silver eyes. The whole summer, whenever she sat close to Wolf Woods looking at him, she’d felt connected to something deep and mysterious and wild. She couldn’t bear to think that he might die.
“I probably won’t be back till late,” Mike said, “but you can get something to eat at the snack bar. You too, Tyler, if you want to stay for dinner.”
He squeezed her shoulder, glanced again at Tyler, then turned and walked away.
As soon as he had disappeared around the curve of the driveway, Tyler turned to Lizzie, his face panicked. “I have to go.”
Still overwhelmed with the news about Lobo, she could only stare at him blankly. “Why?”
“Because he knows I’m here!” Tyler cried.
“What’s wrong with that? I’ve had friends over before. He doesn’t know you’re staying in the apartment.”
Tyler was pacing back and forth, running his hands over his springy crop of black curls. “This is how it starts. He’ll ask questions. He’ll figure it out.”
Lizzie took a deep breath. “Tyler, calm down. He’s too worried about the wolves right now to think about anything else. I am, too. And you should be,” she added reproachfully.
Tyler collapsed in the grass at the edge of the driveway, covering his face with his hands. “I knew it was too good to be true. I knew it.”
“You’re freaking out for no reason,” Lizzie protested.
Tyler shook his head, breathing hard. “You don’t know what it’s like.”
Lizzie squatted next to him and looked straight into his anxious eyes. “No, I don’t. But Tyler, listen. We won’t let anything bad happen. We won’t.”
“It won’t be up to us.” He jumped to his feet and ran across the yard toward the apartment.
“What are you doing?” Lizzie chased after him.