Touching Cottonwood

by Randall Simpson

  Without even needing to think, she immediately knew the answer to the question, but part of her didn’t like the answer. The part of her that had been hurt rejected the answer that had come so quickly, so easily, to her heart. She wanted to have let go of him already. The many painful days and nights of worrying, that turned next to feelings of rejection and then finally to loneliness, had to count for something. They did count for something.

  She decided not to answer him yet. She needed time to explore which part of her was now stronger—the love or the pain.

  “You hesitate and have to think about it,” said Matthew, once more studying her eyes. “That’s not a good sign.”

  “Well, it’s not an easy question to answer, you know,” Rebecca replied, feeling the tension in her own voice. “There are crosscurrents going on here, and they’re not all that easy to resolve into some quick and simple answer.”

  “I agree with that,” said Matthew, “and I understand all about crosscurrents. They’ve taken my life in directions I never anticipated, but through all those changes, I know my love for you has been constant.”

  She knew he was still waiting for an answer. She would meet him halfway. “Well, I know I didn’t have to think very long about chasing you down the street like this. It just happened. I also know my heart was pounding the whole time I followed you, and still is. I know it felt wonderful to hug you. So I guess part of me must still love you.”

  “A part of you is a good start,” he replied. “And now we just need to get the other part to see the rightness of that love….”

  Before she could think about pulling away, Matthew reached over and kissed her gently on the lips. The touch of his lips on hers sent a warm, rippling tingle out through her body like waves moving out from a pebble tossed into a pond. The warmth ignited something hidden in Rebecca for three long years. This time she didn’t pull back, though part of her wanted to. All resistance had melted away. She breathed deeply of the moment and let his face linger near hers.

  “I am so sorry I caused you pain,” he whispered in her ear as he held her once more and then kissed her once more, longer and more deeply. This time the ripple was a wave of pure sensation. Reasoning was now a phantom floating a million miles away. She loved the ocean she was drowning in; she was lost in the waves passing over her. But a last bit of the dying energy of three years of pain reached out to her like a small dry island in the middle of that ocean.

  She pushed him away and looked into his eyes. “I…appreciate hearing that you say you’re sorry…but I need to see your eyes when you say it.”

  He held both of her hands in his as he looked cleanly into her eyes. “Rebecca D’Arcy, love of my life, I’m deeply sorry for causing you pain these past few years.”

  She remembered those eyes and the years she’d always looked to them whenever doubting the words that had come from his mouth. She had eventually learned not to doubt them, and that confidence now returned.

  “That’s a good start,” she said. “Apology accepted. But you still have a whole lot of explaining to do. Hospitals and prisons?”

  “And I will,” he replied, his eyes not wavering. “You just need to know that I have thought only of you for three years, and that if even any part of you still loves me, things are going to work out.” Matthew then looked over at the storefront near where they stood and then back to Rebecca. “We didn’t just happen to stop here in front of Rhonda’s Bridal and Floral. This is not a coincidence, remember that.”

  Rebecca turned and looked at the sign and then back to Matthew. She was flustered by his sudden awkward suggestion and chose to mostly ignore it…mostly.

  “It’s where my quick tiny steps caught up with your slower, longer steps—that’s all it was,” she said. “Besides, don’t you think you’re getting way ahead of yourself, Mr. Duncan? Despite the fact that you still remember how to kiss me quite nicely, you can’t just expect to appear like magic after three years and pick up right where we left off. You’ll need to start with the explaining first. I’m all ears,” she said, putting her hand up to her ear and holding it there for a moment.

  Matthew gave her a wide grin. “Well, if you’re all ears, then do you hear that?” he asked, still smiling.

  Rebecca heard nothing unusual and shook her head. “Uh, hear what?”

  “That!” he repeated, glancing out toward the street and then back at her.

  She turned toward the street, looking up one way and then the other, and then back to Matthew who was still looking at her.

  “I don’t hear anything,” she said.

  “Exactly,” he replied. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

  Rebecca took one more look up and down the street and this time realized that all the traffic previously rumbling by them was now at a standstill. The street had grown silent. Along the entire length of Main Street, as far as Rebecca could see in both directions, cars, trucks, and even motorcycles had stopped. Some of the drivers of the cars were getting out of their vehicles and popping up the hoods. A motorcyclist got off his silent bike and put the stand down. Instead of traffic sounds, all she heard were the scattered voices of confused and stranded motorists talking to each other.

  Rebecca looked back toward Matthew. “That’s strange,” she said. “All the cars and trucks, they’ve—”

  “And what about that? Matthew asked, cutting her off. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” she asked. “I was just saying about the traffic, it—”

  “Just listen,” he said, smiling and putting his hand up to his ear.

  Rebecca tilted her head to one side, trying to hear.

  Just then, the sound of a meadowlark drifted in softly from a nearby tree. Its notes were pure, bright, and sweet:

  Tweeta…tweet…tweet…tweetatweet.

  “That bird?” Rebecca asked.

  “It’s a Western Meadowlark. I think it’s the male.”

  Rebecca glanced up toward the tree as the meadowlark called again. She then looked back to Matthew. “I didn’t know you knew so much about birds.”

  “My forest ranger days,” he said.

  A new and strange feeling came over Rebecca at that moment. It was like a dream, or more like being near a dream—like waking from a dream with the flavor of it still lingering in her mind. She could sense the nearness of the dream, but was unsure if she was waking or falling, coming or going—from or into a dream. She so desperately wanted the moment to be real. The love of her life was now standing so solidly in front of her, but the strangeness of the silent traffic and the singing of the meadowlark were out of character with what she knew as the waking and real everyday life of Cottonwood, and she feared that the solid and real Matthew in front of her might once more disappear into some stark and lonely morning. But the strangeness and fear inside of her went deeper, for some primal part of her knew this was real, and even more so, it was beyond real. It was more real than anything she’d known. This moment meant something. Like a new parent holding a child for the first time, this moment meant something deep and ancient, hidden and eternal.

  “Hold me,” she said to Matthew, pulling him to her and closing her eyes. Her heart was beating next to his strong warm body, and his arms surrounded her. She felt safe there, as if she’d come home after being away for a very long time.

  Ten

  Mount Rainier

  The Native Americans called the mountain various names, including Tahoma, Takhoma, and Ta-co-bet. These names roughly translate as “big mountain,” “snowy mountain,” or “place where the waters begin.” It was Captain George Vancouver who took it upon himself to rename the mountain for his civilization when he sailed into Puget Sound in 1792. He renamed it Mount Rainier after his friend Rear Admiral Peter Rainier of the Royal Navy, a man who, by the way, never visited or even saw the mountain renamed after him.

  It was a shame that Admiral Rainier never had the chance to gaze upon or become entranced by his namesake. The active and snow-covered volcano majestic
ally dominates the landscape in central northwest Washington State. One cannot love nature and not be continually awed by Tahoma. She is a wondrous mountain, and like all great volcanoes, she is one that talks in her sleep. In her slumbering moments, Tahoma simply says, “I am here. Notice my majesty and see that nature is beyond your control.” But there are also times when Tahoma is wide-awake, and in those moments she says, “I am here! Notice my majesty! See, nature is beyond your control!”

  Though she is sleeping now, someday Tahoma will awaken, as she has many times before, and the people of the Northwest will once more hear her waking voice. The lesson here is that Tahoma is always saying essentially the same thing, though sometimes while sleeping and sometimes while awake.

  The day was clear and warm as Agent Westmore left Seattle around sunrise and drove straight to Mount Rainier National Park. He called ahead to make certain someone would be available at the park’s main ranger station to answer questions he had regarding a former park employee. Before the forest service employee on the other end of the line could complete the standard response of not being able to release any information about current or past employees, the agent made it clear he was from the Washington State Bureau of Investigation and reminded them that the U.S. Forest Service had long ago drafted a memo of understanding and adopted a policy to fully cooperate in all official Bureau investigations.

  Agent Westmore parked in front of the main Mount Rainier ranger station, and before he could fully exit from his vehicle, he heard footsteps to his right. He turned to see a female ranger in her late twenties or early thirties approaching him. She was dressed in full ranger attire, including the standard green, wide-brim hat. She stopped about ten feet from the car, smiling slightly while waiting to greet him. Agent Westmore closed the car door and approached her.

  “You must be Agent Westmore,” said the ranger, reaching out to shake his hand.

  “I didn’t expect such curbside service,” responded the agent, shaking her hand firmly. She had a strong grip and looked directly into his eyes.

  “I’m Trish Kenton, the senior ranger supervisor here at Rainier,” she said. She had nearly perfect teeth, a clean bright smile, and glimmering clear eyes. Even with her red hair pulled back and hidden under the wide-brimmed hat, her natural beauty radiated from her.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Ranger Kenton,” said the agent, her name seeming vaguely familiar. “I appreciate your willingness to talk to me on such short notice.”

  “I’d like to take credit for being so cooperative,” said Ranger Kenton, “but actually I was ordered to give you full cooperation. That’s why I’m here.”

  Her honesty and candor surprised the agent but somehow seemed to match the bold statement of her brilliant hair.

  The agent gave a small smile and looked up toward the ranger station. “Maybe we ought to go inside to talk? This could take a while.”

  Ranger Kenton motioned over toward an empty picnic table under a large Douglas fir tree. “If it’s all the same to you,” she said, “I’d prefer to sit out here. I’d hate to waste this warm dry weather. The rain could come back any day.”

  Agent Westmore retrieved his briefcase from the backseat of his car and joined Ranger Kenton at the picnic table where she was waiting for him. She had a calm expression on her face with her arms crossed and resting on the table as he sat down across from her.

  “Well,” began Agent Westmore as he pulled out a small notepad and pen from his briefcase. “Since they chose you to speak with me, I assume this must mean that you knew Matthew Duncan?”

  “Yes, I knew him,” said the ranger. “He and I worked together here at the park about three years ago…or actually, a little more than three years ago now.”

  The agent then recalled why he knew her name. It was in Matthew Duncan’s case file he’d started reading the night before.

  “Tell me a little bit about that,” said the agent. “How long did you work with him?”

  “We worked together for about four years. I started at the park a little after he did, I think.”

  “Did you get to know him pretty well—I mean, were you good friends?”

  The ranger paused and took a deep breath. “Yeah, pretty good friends, I guess,” she said. “But you know, I’ve been told to fully cooperate with you, and I will, but I guess there’s just one thing I’d like to find out first. Maybe you can’t tell me, and that’s fine, but I’d at least like to know why you’re asking me all these questions. Is he in some sort of trouble or something? Wasn’t he in prison?”

  The agent assumed the entire park staff would have known that Matthew Duncan had gone to prison. “Yes, he was serving time here in Washington State,” he replied.

  “And was he released?” asked the ranger.

  The agent studied Trish Kenton’s shining green eyes closely. Her asking that particular question intrigued him. “Let’s just say he got out of prison and leave it at that,” he answered.

  “He escaped?”

  “Ranger Kenton, I think it would be best if I do the questioning here…if you don’t mind. I can tell you that I am looking for him, and that, yes, he escaped from the Monroe Correctional Complex.”

  The ranger nodded and glanced down at the table and then back at the agent. There was something in her look; he’d seen it so many times before—a person knowing something, but trying to hide that knowing. His ability to spot that look was one of the key tools of his profession.

  “My experience,” continued the agent, “is that fairly often you can figure out where a person might be headed, if you know where they’ve been. We all seem to duplicate and retrace the same paths in our lives more often than we think. I guess that makes us all pretty predictable. Knowing this fact helps me out in my job every day.”

  Ranger Kenton remained silent, but the agent could see that her eyes had changed. They weren’t as bright as before. She glanced frequently down at the table.

  “I’ve read a report that said you were involved in helping Matthew Duncan after he’d been injured here in the park. Do you remember that incident?”

  “Of course, I remember it,” the ranger replied. “It was really the beginning of his problems, at least that’s the way I see it.”

  “Problems?” asked the agent. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, he’d been an outstanding ranger up to that day—a real role model for the rest of us. He cared so much about the park and spent a lot of time educating visitors. He knew so much about the history of the region and could name every flower, tree, and bird. It was just such a shame what happened.”

  The ranger paused, looking back down at the table.

  “Go on,” the agent encouraged her. “Tell me about that. What happened? Are you referring to his accident?”

  She looked back up at him. “Well, if you’ve read the report, you must know that he took a fall off some rocks. Even though I was one of the first to get to him, no one really knows exactly how he fell. It didn’t make much sense to us—I mean it didn’t make much sense what he was even doing up on those rocks.”

  “You said that was the day his problems started?”

  “That was his last day as a ranger here at Rainier. He was taken down to Edgewood, to the hospital, and that was the last time any of us saw him. The next thing we knew, he was in jail, and then later we heard he’d gone to prison.”

  Trish Kenton looked back down at the table and didn’t look up.

  “Ranger Kenton,” said the agent, “I’ve got to be honest with you. Based on my experience, there is the possibility that Matthew Duncan might come back here. At least this is as good of a place as any to pick up his trail. Do you understand?”

  “It’s amazing I’m even still here,” the ranger finally said as she looked up at the agent. “I think that most everyone who knew Matt when he was here has moved on to other parks. I’ve stayed because they promised me the supervisor position.”

  The agent said nothing but studied her carefully
. Silence was his favorite interrogational tool. Honest people want to confess, and he could see she was honest.

  “I was so surprised to see him again,” she finally said, looking down at the table once more.

  The agent’s heart jumped. “He was here and you saw him?”

  Ranger Kenton now looked more like a small girl, rather than the radiant beautiful woman she was.

  “Yeah,” she said very low while raising her head up slowly to look at the agent. “The two of us sat right at this table, in fact.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “A couple of weeks, I guess.”

  “And he’s left the area now?”

  “Oh yes, I’m pretty sure he has,” she said.

  The agent stared directly into her beautiful but now sad and retreating eyes. “I need to know everything you know about Matthew Duncan—everything the two of you spoke about,” he said. “I need every detail, Ranger Kenton.”

  Agent Westmore received more information from Ranger Kenton than he would normally expect from multiple sources over multiple days of an investigation. He learned that Trish Kenton and Matthew Duncan had started working at the park at about the same time. He learned that Ranger Kenton was originally from Ohio and Matthew Duncan from Colorado. The agent asked her directly if they’d ever been romantically involved, to which she answered no. She said Matthew had someone back in Colorado he was involved with, and this young woman had even visited Matthew at the park on one occasion, a few months prior to his accident.

  Ranger Kenton also revealed the reason Matthew had returned to the park—to retrieve some personal items she’d been holding for him. He had phoned her once—from the Edgewood jail—and asked her to hang on to some personal items from his cabin until he came back for them. The items he wanted consisted of a few photographs and some jewelry, all of which fit into a small, blue and green backpack that was also his. She had returned this backpack to him when they met.

  By far, the most important information Trish Kenton shared with the agent was the fact that Matthew Duncan had told her exactly where he was headed. She revealed this information only during the end of his interview, after the agent could sense she was holding something back. With a great deal of tears, Ranger Kenton told Agent Westmore that Matthew Duncan was headed back to his hometown of Cottonwood, Colorado.