by Janet Fox
Papa held up his hand. “George is a powerful and wealthy man who wishes to make you his wife. It’s not impossible to fall in love after knowing someone for a time. He’ll take you back to Newport. He’ll give you what I can’t. You may come to love him, in time. Graybull is your intended. Your grandfather will insist. And I must insist.”
“But . . .” I no longer dreamed of returning to Newport. I dreamed of something bigger, and I was only beginning to discover it.
“I’m taking you to Tower to give you a final chance to do—” he hesitated—“something you enjoy.”
I stepped back, holding my tongue. At least for the moment, I had what I wanted. I didn’t have to accompany Graybull. I could take photographs at Tower for Mrs. Gale. Papa gave me that. And without knowing it, he’d given me something else. He’d made me aware of the scope of my dreams.
I dreamed of a life I’d never known was even possible. I was drawn to the fearful beauty of Yellowstone. I desired not a marriage of convenience, not an easy life, but something impulsive, unexpected. I wanted to do something extraordinary, not watch and wait. Mama had tried to escape, but she came back for me. I had failed her, but now I understood that I couldn’t fail myself. I did have choices, and in choosing I would be forced to face things that terrified me.
The window of my tower was open, and my unchained soul flew out and away, high over the vast pine forests and broad meadows, high over the precipitous yellow cliffs and billowing plumes of steaming water, high over the narrow ribbons of rushing rivers; fearless, and far, far from the sea.
Chapter THIRTY- FIVE
July 21, 1904
I saw an old Indian go up a hill and pray to the sun . . . he held up his arms, and oh, God, but did he talk to the Great Spirit about the wrongs the white man had done to his people.
—We Pointed Them North: Recollections of a Cowpuncher, E. C. “Teddy Blue” Abbott, 1884
“TRY TO TAKE PHOTOGRAPHS OF THE PEAKS,” MRS. GALE instructed. She and I were going over the last preparations before my trip with Papa. “Panoramic shots are tricky. You must have something that puts the distance into perspective.” She knew that I preferred close-ups and the pattern of detail. “And the sky—the exposure—you must account for it.”
I handled the new equipment with trembling fingers. The camera, which arrived within two days from Bozeman, was less bulky than the one Mrs. Gale had lost. It folded more compactly and used only celluloid film. “I’ll do my best,” I said.
“And please, watch for grizzlies,” Mrs. Gale said. “They’re rumored to be abundant in that part of the Park.” We would be camping on this trip, as the roads were not yet improved and there were no hotels north of Canyon.
Grizzlies. I recalled those flat, black eyes. “I think bears are my talisman. So maybe they like me.” I smiled, trying to be brave.
Mrs. Gale raised her eyebrows. “In that case, definitely watch out. You usually attract your talisman to you, you know.”
I didn’t know. I tapped my fingertips together and pursed my lips. My brave front slipped away.
Kula still avoided me. I wanted her to understand why I hadn’t helped at the accident, to tell her why I’d acted so badly. And I wanted to ask her why she tried to take my cameo.
On the morning before Papa and I left for Tower, I found her walking. I followed her out from the hotel into the woods, to the edge of the canyon. She moved like a dancer, weaving through the woods. She was too fast, far too fast for me to catch up. As I chased after her, I was reminded once again of something about her that troubled me, some niggling memory.
The roar of the falls grew, and I fell back, cursing my fear.
Kula slowed as she reached the edge of the canyon, stopping at an overlook. She was alone for a moment when, coming up the path from the opposite direction, Tom Rowland walked toward her, a broad smile on his face, his lanky arms swinging.
I hadn’t even known Tom was here in Canyon. He hadn’t come to see me.
I couldn’t breathe. He put his hand on her shoulder, and spoke to her, but between the roar of the falls and the thick woods and my distance from them, I heard nothing. I watched his expression of pleasure, saw her tilt her head, her long thick braid hanging behind her like black rope. I turned away, unable to watch more, stumbling through the woods away from the ravine. I was so jealous that I hated myself; I was so jealous that I hated Kula and Tom, both.
I went back to the hotel and sat alone on my bed, my legs bent at the knees, hugging myself and rocking.
About an hour later, Kula came to pack my things. “Don’t fold it like that!” I snapped.
“Don’t shout at me,” she said in an undertone. “You, who can’t even get your precious things dirty to save a life.”
“I didn’t help with Mrs. Gale because I couldn’t.” I didn’t care anymore what she thought of me. I wanted a reason to argue with her.
Her back was to me as she moved from the wardrobe to the canvas packs. “Of course not.” Her tone was smug.
“I was frightened.”
Kula gave a snort. “You’re frightened of everything.”
She was right about that. I held myself back. But I was changing. I fought on. “That’s not true. I went into the lake.”
“Well, there, you were being stupid. Lord knows why.”
I snatched the skirt Kula was folding from her hands, trying to grab her attention. “The only one who’s stupid is you.” I could no longer control my jealousy, my rage.
She turned on me. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Me! What’s wrong with you? You’ve been acting snippy for the past week!”
She stared straight at me with those dark eyes, her expression filled with hate. “You’re rich. You have a good life. You have that rich man. You have all these beautiful things, and still you’re not happy.”
“Take them!” I lifted a handful of clothes out of my trunk and thrust them at Kula. “Take them! I don’t want them!”
Kula paused, staring at me with a half smile. “You said you’d treat me fair and square.”
“And I have.” Tears filled my eyes. I’d begun to try and think of her as a friend and not just a servant. She was my age, my contemporary. But she repudiated me, slapped that attempt back in my face. She’d tried to steal Mama’s cameo. She’d stolen Tom. “You’re nothing but a thief, anyway.”
She was quiet. Then, “I’ll leave now.” She headed for the door.
“Kula.” I reached for her arm, stopping her. We looked at one another for a long moment. I released her arm. I was wrong; she could never be my friend.
She turned away. “I know you were looking for her.”
My blood turned to ice. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve known for a while,” Kula said, looking back at me, her lips curling in a thin smile. “I figured it all out. Your mama’s gone.”
“I told you that when we first talked.”
Her smile grew. “Yes. But you didn’t tell me you were looking for her.”
I took a step back. I couldn’t imagine how she knew this. I hadn’t even told Tom.
“She’s gone but there’s someone else to find, isn’t there? Someone your daddy wants to find? Maybe someone who could really shake up your life.”
I was breathless. “What do you know?” Maybe she knew Uncle John. Maybe he talked openly among his friends. Maybe there were rumors.
“As if I would tell you now,” Kula said. “As if I would tell you that I’ve got some answers for you.” She relished this position of power. She picked up the blue velvet gown, my birthday gown, examining it, holding it up from the shoulders as if trying to decide whether or not to wear it.
“Take it,” I whispered. “It’s yours.”
Kula looked at me. “Why, thank you, miss. I surely can use it.”
I snatched at a small beaded purse, a pair of white leather opera-length gloves. “Here. These, too.” I went to the dresser and took a pearl necklace from my box. “And this.”
I tossed it onto the bed with the other things. I’d give her anything. Everything she wanted if she would only tell me what she knew.
“How kind.”
“Please, Kula.” I moved toward her. “Please tell me what you know.”
Kula held her head up, triumphant. “I’ll tell you this. Your uncle talks a lot. He says things he shouldn’t. He makes assumptions about people. So do you.” She regarded me with dark eyes. “Lots of folks think they know things, by the way someone looks, or by their position. They don’t know anything.” She gathered the dress and other things in her arms. “I can sell these. Make a pretty penny.”
“Please, tell me,” I pleaded.
“You have everything,” Kula said, low. “Money, a rich fiancé, a lazy life . . .”
“My mother . . .” I began.
“My mother’s gone, too, Miss Perfect,” she snapped. “All I have is ghosts, and hard work—something you’ll never understand—and now you, thinking you’re so sad.” She imitated a whimper. “Lording it over me.”
I sank onto the bed. I had no idea she hated me so much. I hadn’t treated her badly; I’d tried to be nice. I couldn’t imagine . . . Tom. She wanted Tom.
I wanted Tom. I couldn’t look up at her.
She moved toward the door. “You were right. I was stealing your pin,” she said. “But it wasn’t for me.” The velvet dress rustled softly in her arms as she gathered it up. “It was for someone I love.”
I sat on the bed for a long time after Kula shut the door. I couldn’t cry, couldn’t move. One soft leather glove lay on the floor where she dropped it, like a disembodied hand.
Chapter THIRTY- SIX
July 22–23, 1904
This flight lasted only 12 seconds, but it was nevertheless the first in the history of the world in which a machine carrying a man had raised itself by its own power into the air in full flight . . .
—“How We Made the First Flight,” Orville Wright, 1903
THE NEXT MORNING, PAPA AND I SET OUT ON A DAY THAT promised to be warm and clear. Our driver, Bill, was a pleasant, older man who’d worked in the Park for years. He drove a small wagon, pulled by two sorrels, a mare and a gelding, all our goods loaded carefully in the bed.
“This is the route we’ll take,” Papa said as we ate breakfast. He pointed to a thin line on the map, and I saw the names Dunraven and Mount Washburn. There were no true roads.
“I’ll see you in a week.” Mrs. Gale smiled. “Your first commission.” She patted me on the cheek. I hugged her tight.
I did not see Kula; no one in the hotel knew where she’d gone.
I was relieved when our wagon pulled away from the canyon. For days I’d felt as if the falls were sucking me into the foaming green water of the river below. Now we rode through peaceful woods, the tall pines towering above us. The track climbed into higher and higher country. Alpine buttercups nodded yellow, mountain gentian, its bells the deepest blue, popped from stone outcrops, and tiny, pink elephant flower, on its dense spike, waved in the slightest breeze.
“The pass ’n the mountain are up ahead,” said Bill.
We rounded a bend and I gripped the side of the wagon. To our right, the meadow slipped away to a deep ravine. Above us rose Mount Washburn, its upper slopes rocky and open. The wind whipped through the wagon now that we were out of the woods, and Bill pulled the horses in to steady them. We climbed higher against the edge of the mountain. When we stopped for lunch, Papa and I rested in the sun, sheltering from the wind against the wheel.
By mid-afternoon, we’d circled the mountain to its north, and Bill suggested that we make camp. While the men set up the tents, I found a stream, and washed myself as best I could in the icy water. Then I sat on the edge of the meadow above the camp and watched the meadowlarks swoop and swing overhead. At dinner, the beans and salt pork tasted better than anything I’d eaten in the finest hotels.
“It’s the fresh air ’n exercise,” said Bill. “Make you hungrier ’n a one-eyed polecat.”
I lay in the dark in my tent and listened to the night sounds: the distant cry of a coyote, the screech of an owl, a high piercing woman-wail of what must be a mountain lion. Despite the rocks that drove points into my back, I slept, and when I woke in the morning, stiff, I heard the men stirring. I lay for a while with a smile on my face, wondering what Kitty would think of me now. I imagined Kitty sitting in this tent and laughed out loud at what I was sure would be vigorous complaining. I’d have to write to her and describe my privations.
I wondered whether Mama had spent many nights sleeping in such a primitive fashion. I suspected she had, and I felt both sympathy and admiration.
I wouldn’t have a proper bath in hot water for at least another seven days, but I didn’t care. The air smelled like frost, and there was a stiff breeze, so I pulled my hair back into a long braid rather than pin it up. We set out again, stopping along the way to take pictures. I tried to frame the shots, but began to have an understanding of the difficulty of depth perception. It was such a huge country.
Huge and extraordinary, and it filled me up with a raw longing, the kind I’d felt on rare evenings in Newport when I looked out across the ocean and watched the seals in joyful play.
We stopped at one vista when the bounce and creak of a wagon came floating up from the rutted road ahead. As the wagon emerged from the trees, my heart did a bounce of its own. Tom Rowland and his father drove toward us from the direction of Yancey’s camp. It seemed that no matter where I went in Yellowstone, there was Tom.
The men greeted one another. Tom strode over to where I stood with the camera. He stood so close that our arms brushed; my stomach fluttered. “Taking pictures on your own?” he asked.
“Yes.” I straightened. I kept seeing him with Kula. I looked up at him, wishing he’d put his hand on my shoulder as he had with her. “I have a job. Mrs. Gale had an accident. She asked me to fulfill her commission.” At least he seemed to show the same pleasure in seeing me as he had with her.
He raised his eyebrows in that familiar, quizzical way. “I heard about that.” From Kula, I was sure.
I stiffened and looked away lest my eyes betray my jealousy. “Oh! I guess the word got around.”
“I guess.” I didn’t want to think about Tom and Kula together anymore.
We stood in awkward silence. I looked at my hands, and quickly thrust them behind my back; my nails had dirt beneath them, and the backs of my hands were beginning to darken from the sun. And then I realized Tom wouldn’t care. Which I liked, enormously. Graybull would care. Edward would have. I needed to stop worrying about what Tom would think and be myself.
“Maggie’s having a last adventure before she returns to Newport to announce her engagement,” said Papa.
Tom turned to look at me with surprise. My heart turned to stone. I cringed that Papa had to plunge me right back into a reality I hated. “Really?” Tom asked. “Who’s the lucky fellow?”
“George Graybull,” Papa said.
Tom started, then looked away, chewing his lower lip. Was that disappointment I saw in his eyes? My heart melted, stone no more, then the blood pounded in my ears. “So, congratulations,” he said.
“Thanks.” I wanted to scream, “It’s not my choice!” I looked at the ground and scuffed my toe in the dirt. I heard Papa talking to Tom’s pa; then I heard Tom whisper to me.
“Are you happy?”
I looked up at him. He leaned toward me and I swam in his gray eyes. I shook my head, no. His smile grew like the sunrise over the Atlantic on a summer dawn.
“Good,” he said softly. “Good.”
I glanced at Papa. He was watching me carefully, no longer in conversation.
Tom said loudly, “Keep that camera handy. You’ll have tons of chances now to see animals in a new light.”
I returned, “You never know what can happen on a last adventure.”
“Ah! The unknown. Yellowstone is famous for its surprises.” His eyes met mine, and he was smil
ing, and I just about burst out laughing.
I tamped down the laugh. “I’m learning all about surprises. I’m learning that I want them in my life.”
“Really?” His eyes were shining now.
“I think the unexpected should be welcomed. Some people are beginning to think I’ve become almost impulsive.”
Tom grinned. Papa coughed.
I went on. “I think . . . I think it’s fine not to have everything you want and expect. Maybe life is richer when things don’t turn out as planned.” I folded my arms across my chest and stood up straight. The wind kicked up my skirt and strands of loose hair fluttered around my face, and I brushed the hair back with my fingers, letting Tom see my grimy hands. I smiled at him.
Tom turned to his father. “Dad—you wanted more samples from this area, didn’t you?” Tom looked at Papa. “I know the Tower region pretty well, if you need a hand.”
Papa surprised me by saying “I could use the company.”
“And we might see some wildlife,” Tom said. “I still haven’t seen a bear this season.” He paused and then said, with a sly grin, “Maybe Maggie can snap a photo of one for her fiancé. Before he snaps its head off.”
“Fine with me if you stay with the Bennets.” Jim Rowland tossed Tom a sample sack, then handed him a rock hammer. “I’ll be back in Canyon by nightfall. You can catch up with me next week.”
“An extra pair of hands will be most useful,” Papa said. “Tom can accompany Margaret while I’m working.”
My heart jumped—no, my whole soul leapt around as if it were newly born. I felt as if Tom knew me better than anyone on earth, that he understood me, even when I couldn’t fully speak my mind. We exchanged another smile, and my heart beat so hard I feared he could see it.
So much had changed in only a few days that I felt as if I were standing on the edge of a new world. And, for me, as always, the edge of anything was a terrifying place to be.
Chapter THIRTY- SEVEN