Faithful

by Janet Fox

  “His . . . ?” I stared at Nat. I tried to speak but couldn’t find the words. I sat back, helpless. The bear’s place. I thought about what Tom had said. The bears were here first. But my father lay down there waiting . . .

  The sun was a thin line in the west, while the men sat on horseback around me, letting their horses graze. I felt like the bear was eating me, devouring my insides. I edged the mare around in a circle, moving, constantly moving. It was only minutes but they ticked by like hours.

  Kula reclined on the pinto like she was on a chaise. “So, you want to save your pa?” She nodded at the wreckage.

  “Of course!” I felt hot and wanted to scream. How could Kula not understand that—she, who wanted her mother, our mother, back. The bear had not moved off the carcass, but the carcass was only a short distance from my father.

  Kula looked at me with those level, dark eyes. “I thought you wanted to be rid of him, ruling your life.”

  I looked past Kula, at the bear that was wrenching away pieces of raw flesh. She was right: I had wanted him to quit ruling my life. I still wanted that. But not like this. I loved him. I kicked the mare again, making her move in a tight circle around Kula. The pinto lifted his head and snorted.

  “It doesn’t matter what Papa’s done. Would it matter to you? He’s my flesh and blood. He’s all I have.” My mouth felt dry, my legs tired from gripping the mare in tight fear. My back ached.

  “Hold up.” One of the men pointed.

  The bear had caught our scent, perhaps; it lifted itself off the ground, nose in the air. For a minute it didn’t move. Then it dropped to all fours and moved away from the carcass, nosing down toward the overturned wagon, down toward where Papa lay helpless underneath.

  I couldn’t stop myself from crying out.

  There was a rifle in a holster behind my left leg. Without thinking, I reached across with my right hand and yanked the rifle from the holster. I urged the mare forward into the meadow so I could see the bear more clearly. I propped the rifle against my shoulder and squinted, taking aim at the bear, sighting over the mare’s neck, my finger on the trigger, hearing George Graybull’s instructions in my ear.

  But before I could pull the trigger, in my narrowed vision I saw Kula, who had swept down from the pinto and run into the sun, into the meadow, arms raised up, Kula between me with a rifle and a grizzly who could be across that meadow and on top of her in seconds flat.

  Kula was an offering, a sacrifice, a prayer. Time slowed to a single heartbeat.

  I saw my mother in my sister, a girl with black hair and eyes like deep pools reflecting moonlight. Saw her in the rolling hills behind the girl, the hills that rimmed the horizon. In the lodgepole pines, in the sea of grass, in the small white asphodel that dotted the green.

  I saw Mama in the bear, whose head snapped up at the sight of the girl with arms raised high, the girl who stood in a narrow pane of sunlight at the edge of the meadow, her fearless back to the bear.

  Mama rested in the great brown eyes of a dying deer. She lay in the nascent life arrayed at the edge of a hot spring.

  She blew in a breath that kissed my cheek, a breath so gentle it was easy to mistake for the wind that settles the day’s end.

  I sat on the mare, marking the soft working of her jaw as she pulled at the fresh grass, tears rolling down my cheeks unchecked. Mama was everywhere. You’ve found me. You were right: I was here all the time.

  Nat Baker hissed, and I lowered the rifle, as if Mama’s hand were on the barrel, pushing it away. No, Maggie. Let it be. He’ll be all right; the bear won’t bother him. We sat poised until the imperceptible moment when it was over.

  The grizzly dropped its head and moved back to the horse’s carcass to feed again, away from Papa, and Kula lowered her arms. I felt hot tears on my cheeks as Nat gently took the rifle from my hands. Kula walked back to the pinto and pulled herself up. She looked at me with something like pity; I looked at her with respect. I loved her, in that moment.

  It was another quarter hour before the bear stretched, then rolled on its back and left its scent, and wandered off into the woods away from us. The men waited, listening and watching, until Nat let out a breath. “Okay.”

  I kicked the mare, trotted her down the slope to the wagon, jumping off the horse before she even stopped moving, grabbing the reins and tossing them over a branch as I ran to the wagon and Papa, the men and Kula behind me.

  “Papa?” I reached my hand to touch his cheek, feel for breath.

  He was alive but unconscious. The men worked as a team, cinching ropes around the wagon, cutting away as much of the wood as possible before they heaved the wagon’s bulk up and away from him.

  “Whew,” whistled Nat, peering over the cliff edge. “Lucky guy. Nice work, tying it off like that, so it didn’t go over the edge and take him with it.” I turned my back to the cliff edge, shaking.

  “His leg’s broke bad,” one of the men said. I could see the splintered bone in Papa’s shin sticking through the torn flesh. I suppressed a gag, and Nat wrapped a cloth gingerly around the wound. Papa’s arm bandage was holding, the cameo still fastened tight.

  Nat touched the cameo. “Nice dressing,” he said. I caught Kula’s sharp look, her raised eyebrows, before she turned away. Kula and one of the men pulled apart lumber and canvas from the wagon to fashion a litter. I watched as Kula wove rope, her deft fingers flying.

  “A travois,” Nat explained. “We’ll be able to lay him out flat this way.” Kula lashed the travois to Nat’s mare.

  One of the men took Bill’s body across his saddle. “Not going to leave this fellow to old Griz,” said the man, and he spat on the ground.

  I followed the travois carrying Papa, watching his face, so white, deathly white. It felt like it took forever to get back to the camp. When we arrived at last, Gus came over and lifted the blanket covering Papa’s leg.

  “I cain’t do nuthin’ with this,” he said. “Got to get him to Mammoth. They got a army surgeon there.”

  I went to Tom. He was sitting up. Gus had done his arm in a sling that looked professional.

  “Yeah, he’ll be okay,” Gus said from behind me. “A little coffee, some rest. Gave him something for the pain, that’s what’s worked good.”

  Tom smiled, a woozy off-smile. “I guess I got a nasty bump on the head. Gus here says I have a broken rib, too. That and the arm. I’m okay. Just tired. Go look after your dad.”

  Nat was working on the travois, and packing more gear. One of his men was speaking to him in a low but urgent voice.

  “. . . go to Mammoth and get arrested? Didn’t sign up for this. Don’t want no part of it.”

  “You don’t have to come,” said Nat. “I’ll take my chances.” He raised his voice so that everyone in the camp could hear. “I just need two to come with me. We need to get this man to Mammoth if he’s going to live. We don’t have to get caught doing it, but I can’t go alone with the girl.”

  The men shuffled and muttered. Gus stepped forward. “I’ll go,” he said. “Me, too,” said a younger man. Kula stepped forward, saying nothing. Nat gazed at her, then gave a slight nod.

  “Saddle up, then,” said Nat. “We got a four-hour ride crosscountry, and it’ll be dusk in one and a half.”

  Kula pulled herself up onto the pinto and I held the mare’s head. Tom stood unsteady, looking between us.

  “I think I need to hitch a ride,” he said. He put his good hand on my arm, leaning against me.

  I felt my face turn scarlet, and I grew bold. “You can ride with me.” His hand on my arm felt warm, and I looked up and met his eyes, those gray eyes that I wanted to look into forever.

  Kula turned the pinto’s head and walked off. Gus and I helped Tom onto the mare, then I settled in front of Tom. He slipped his good arm around my waist and I felt his chest inches from my back, his fingers on my waist. We rode single file through the woods.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  “What for?” he ask
ed.

  “For being, I don’t know, not who I really am.” I didn’t know how to say what I meant. My tongue tied into knots. I almost smiled; Tom still made me feel foolish. I looked at Kula, riding ahead. “I’m not a snob. Maybe I was once. But I’m not now. At least, I don’t want to be.”

  “Who do you want to be, then, Maggie Bennet?”

  Who did I want to be? “I’m my mother’s daughter,” I said. “My sister’s friend.”

  We rode in silence a while.

  “You sure surprised me,” he said. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

  “Didn’t have what?”

  “What it took to get your father help.”

  “I didn’t know either,” I said. “I couldn’t have done it without you there.”

  Standing next to me on the edge of a cliff, I thought. Not rescuing me. I wasn’t afraid, because Tom was there. I put my left hand on his arm that was looped around my waist, and squeezed it. He leaned his cheek against my head and I felt his breath in my hair. I heard him whisper my name and thought I’d never heard anything so sweet.

  In the waning light I caught a glimpse of Papa. He was unconscious and his face was still, but he was breathing.

  It grew darker still, and I tried to follow by shadowing Kula, the white of the pinto’s rump showing even as the night fell. The moon rose—luckily, a full moon—and the landscape around us appeared foreign, huge, and ghostly. We seemed to ride forever, sticking to level ground as much as possible, but at times we had to stop and lift the travois across streams or over rocky terrain. I dismounted to help, my feet soaking in the cold water of the streams, bruising on the rocks as I stumbled in the moonlit dark. I was grateful for Tom, steadying me when I climbed back on the mare. Each time I sat back he circled his arm once more around my waist, gentle and firm. Each time he touched me I knew that, though I had much to discover, right now I had found what I’d been looking for.

  “Almost there,” said Nat.

  We rode through a gap in the hills and I saw the lights of Mammoth below us in the darkness. Steam curled up above the hot springs into the cool night air. I wanted to urge the mare faster, but I held back and followed Nat down through the trees. As we approached the first set of buildings, Nat slowed.

  “Gus, you and Johnny stay here,” said Nat. He mounted the horse pulling the travois and took Bill’s body from Gus.

  I looked at Gus in the moonlight. “Thank you.”

  “Good luck, miss,” Gus said, one finger to his hat brim.

  Nat, Kula still by his side, led us past two frame houses and then stopped just outside the circle of light from the windows of a large building I knew to be the infirmary. “The surgeon’s in this one,” I said.

  Tom and I slid off the mare’s back, and Nat joined us. We lowered Bill’s body to the ground. I bent over Papa. His breath was ragged, but he was breathing. Nat unfastened his horse from the travois and rested the litter on the ground. Tom knelt beside Papa.

  The cameo caught the light, shining. I bent, and pulled the pin from the dressing on Papa’s arm. I stood, and handed the cameo up to Kula. Mama would have wanted me to. Because it was all of Mama that I had left. Because I wanted Kula to know that I was her friend. I could feel Kula’s eyes on me, sharp, as she took it, looked at it. From the tree behind the building I heard an owl, its hooting mournful in the still air. Then came the sound of men’s voices, and I turned to go.

  “I don’t need it,” Kula said, her voice crisp. “I have what I need.” She leaned over to hand it back to me, but I stepped away, and she sat back, tightening her hand around the cameo.

  I tried to see her expression in the darkness, but her face was shadowed. “I know you have a place,” I said, “but if you ever, you know, want . . .” I let my voice fade. “I want you to have it. She would’ve wanted you to have it.”

  The pinto shifted his weight, but Kula didn’t move. “Thanks,” she said, not unkindly.

  I looked at Nat. “You were the love of her life.” I heard the quick intake of his breath. I turned again toward the building. I felt light, unburdened.

  Nat swung into the saddle and urged his horse around to block my path. He leaned over me from the saddle, reaching down and taking my hand in his own. “Take care of your pa,” he said.

  I could just make out his eyes in the moonlight, and knew that shade of blue even in the dark. Then he and Kula turned and disappeared into the shadows.

  “I’ll see you,” I called after them.

  I could feel Tom’s eyes on me, but I walked past him, then began to run, calling for help.

  Chapter FORTY - ONE

  July 27–August 10, 1904

  . . . the impressions made upon my mind . . . one evening as the sun was gently gliding behind the western mountain and casting its gigantic shadows across the vale were such as time can never efface from my memory . . . I almost wished I could spend the remainder of my days in a place like this where happiness and contentment seemed to reign in wild romantic splendor.

  —Journal of a Trapper, Osborne Russell, 1835

  PAPA MADE A SLOW RECOVERY. HIS LEG WAS BROKEN IN several places, and there was the danger of infection. It’s a wonder he’d survived at all. The surgeon thought at first that he would have to amputate the leg at the knee, but he grew more optimistic, due, he said, to my vigilance in changing the dressing. For the first few days I barely slept, only dozing in the chair next to Papa’s bed, where I remained, day and night.

  Tom’s arm and rib were broken, and he had a slight concussion, but I heard from the surgeon that he was improving quickly.

  Graybull had not returned from his hunting trip, to my relief. I had to think about how I would deliver the news that I would not become his wife, and how to handle the outcome. I sighed as this reality settled on me. I worried that Papa would lose his job here at the Park, since Graybull was so connected. My grandfather would be furious. We’d be penniless, Papa and I. But as I watched Papa’s face while he slept, I knew we’d also be all right.

  The same young lieutenant who had questioned me one month earlier at the Old Faithful Inn after our stagecoach robbery came to question me about the accident.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t understand. How exactly did you make it all the way back here with an unconscious man and an injured friend on a single horse?” He looked up from his pad, pencil poised to take notes. “Not to mention the deceased,” he added, meaning Bill.

  I looked him straight in the eye and gave him a broad smile. “It must have been the excitement of the moment,” I said. “I guess I had a superhuman strength, from being so worried.”

  His eyebrows lifted, but he wrote on his pad, tipped his hat, and excused himself.

  Later that same day, Uncle John came by, with the news that the park superintendent had taken care of all of our expenses—and provided Papa with permanent employment, if he would accept. Papa seemed pleased, and I, well, I thought that was the best news I’d heard in a while.

  Five days after the accident, there was still no sign of Graybull, but Papa was ever improving. Mrs. Gale arrived—her own arm in a sling—and, to my relief, took charge of the hospital room. She bustled me off to rest on a proper bed, and slipped a letter from Kitty into my hands as I left the room.

  Dearest Mags,

  Engaged! And to George Graybull. Quite a catch! He’s

  quite rich, I’m told. I’m so thrilled for you! Now you can

  take your place again in society and we can be friends.

  We can, can’t we? Even though—and you will be happy

  for me now, Maggie—Edward has become my constant

  escort. He told me that your father and grandfather

  closed all doors between you and him. That’s why I

  feel no guilt, and know that we are still friends. Why, I

  believe Edward and I will announce our engagement by

  Christmas! . . .

  I stuffed the letter into my pocket.

  I walked through
the August sunshine from the infirmary to the cottage, feeling dazed and exhausted. I hadn’t had much sleep these past five days, and relished the idea of a soft bed.

  Though I saw Gretchen Mills on the walk, shaded by a parasol, walking with a gentleman, I didn’t realize until I was almost upon them that the man with Gretchen was George Graybull.

  It had only been two weeks since he’d left on his trip and I’d left with Papa on ours, but it seemed a thousand years since I’d seen him. When he spotted me and turned in my direction, I knew it was time for me to do what I had to do.

  He called to me from a distance. “Margaret! I’ve just returned and your kind neighbor has been informing me of this accident business. Dreadful! Knew it was a bad idea! Had I been along, I would have taken care of the bear myself!”

  I stopped dead in my tracks. He was an outrageous, arrogant cad. I remembered Tom’s words, and they bolstered my spirit: “The bears were here first,” I said, almost too soft for him to hear.

  One of Gretchen’s girls flew past us. “Milly! Honestly! Behave like a lady, please! Where is that Susan?” Gretchen turned to me. “You’ve been so attentive to your father, I know you haven’t been eating properly. I’ve had my cook make dinner for you. It’s waiting in the icebox.” Before I could muster a “thanks,” Gretchen darted off after her daughter, leaving me alone with Graybull.

  “Now Margaret,” Graybull said. “Heard some things that frankly I find difficult to believe.” He drew himself up, squaring his powerful shoulders. “Is it true that a young man joined your party when you reached Mount Washburn?”

  I folded my arms and stared at him, silent.

  “I’ve been told that Tom Rowland was with you and your father as you made your way toward Yancey’s.”

  “He joined us, yes. He was collecting rock samples. Papa thought it would be good to have his company.”

  “I’m shocked, to be honest, that your father would permit such a thing.”