Knight in a Black Hat

by Judith B. Glad

  Two days' work reduced the volume of Uncle's collection to about half. The pile of discarded specimens outside the common tent would have filled at least two bushel baskets. Nellie vowed to herself that she would replace what they'd discarded with collections from the high benches and slopes. Even in her limited explorations, she had seen so much that had been new and unfamiliar.

  "You folks have been busy."

  She turned and smiled at Mr. Willard. "We have indeed. Now we have a much better idea of where we want to go and what we want to collect."

  "Startin' tomorrow?"

  "I don't think so. We need to plan carefully, so we can cover as much ground as possible in the next six weeks. I think tomorrow I'll ask you gentlemen to join us while we plan. Your experience will be invaluable."

  He cocked his head at her. "Ahuh! Your uncle never thought so."

  "Yes, well, perhaps he felt his experience was sufficient that he didn't need advice. Mine is not, so I will welcome it. I want to do the best possible job I can."

  "You'll do fine, Missy." He eyed the untidy pile of plant material. "What's all this?"

  "Oh, these are specimens that we found were unnecessarily duplicated." She hoped the duplication was unnecessary. Last night she'd had nightmares about discarding something of incalculable value. "I suppose we should put them somewhere out of the way."

  "I'll take care of it." He bent and gathered a great armful of the dried plants. "Mules, they don't much care what they eat, long as it tastes like hay."

  Oh my! Uncle must be spinning in his grave right now. Feeding his specimens to the mules! The very idea!

  * * * * *

  The next several weeks passed without incident. Nellie often encountered Gertie, who seemed to be watching over her, but the old woman seldom spent more than an hour or so visiting with her. She seemed almost to fear Malachi, who accompanied Nellie whenever she was away from their base camp. When Nellie asked him to keep his distance any time Gertie appeared, he did so, but she knew he never went so far that he couldn't keep an eye on her. His caution seemed unwarranted to Nellie, but she had learned not to argue with him on this topic.

  Mr. Beckett turned out to be a competent field botanist--something Nellie had suspected for some time, despite Uncle's disparagements--and she soon gave him free rein to explore to the east side of the river. They met in the base camp each Sunday and compared notes. As the weeks passed, Nellie looked with satisfaction on the growing collection of pressed specimens. They truly were adding to the sum total of human knowledge.

  Another source of great satisfaction to her was the relationship she and Malachi were forging. He had said no more about leaving her at the end of summer, and she had refused to think about her own responsibilities. For now, she was content to live each day without thought to the past or to the future, and she thought he felt the same.

  What did amaze her was her shamelessness. She and Malachi openly shared a tent now, and no one had said a word. She rather thought that Mr. Beckett disapproved, and she knew that young Tom Ernst would still like her to pay more attention to him, but both had kept silent.

  The weather continued clear and warm. Reading back through her notes one warm afternoon in early August, Nellie realized that there had been no rain whatsoever in July. The grasses on the valley floor finished flowering and turned from green to golden. Huckleberries and blackberries began to ripen, and the occasional elderberry along the river drooped with heavy clusters of powdery-blue fruit.

  At higher elevations, where she and Malachi spent five of every seven days, the forbs and grasses were at the peak of their flowering season. Pocket meadows were carpeted with color, and often alive with bees and butterflies. Once Nellie found herself face to face with a small black bear, feeding on the low-growing Vaccinium Mr. Willard called squawberry. Both she and the bear let out yells and escaped in opposite directions. Her heart pounded for a long time afterward, and she had to endure a scolding from Malachi for not watching where she went.

  "I'm seeing a pattern with my balloon plants," she told him one night, as they sat beside a dying campfire. "As near as I can estimate, there are four different forms--I hesitate to call them species, but they could be."

  "I don't understand this species thing, but I'll take your word for it." As usual, Malachi refused to destroy his night vision by staring into the fire. "You've sure collected a lot of them. I thought you were trying to limit how much of any one thing you took back."

  "Well, yes, I am, but this is a special case. I need to have several specimens of each of the different forms so I can send them to other...to botanists for their opinion. I haven't the credentials to publish them myself, not without an 'expert's' opinion." She grimaced. "Uncle's notes mention that I had found an unusual plant, but there's no description and no opinion of how unusual it might be."

  "Seems to me he didn't think much of your ability." Malachi stood and stretched. "Let's get to bed. Tomorrow could be a long day."

  On this trip to the high country, they had followed a new route, up a hitherto unexplored creek. It eventually led them to this high hanging valley. Unless they went back the way they'd come, they would have to scramble across a talus slope, then cross a perilous divide that looked, from here, like a knife edge against the sky.

  "Anybody with the sense God gave a goose would take one look at that divide and go back the way we came," Malachi said.

  "You've said that all botanists had to be insane," she reminded him. " If the map bears any relation to reality and my distance calculations were correct, we could emerge into the upper reaches of the drainage to the lake where the base camp is."

  He stood a long time, studying the steep, rocky reach ahead of them. At last he said, "We'll try, but I want your word that if I decide it's too dangerous, you won't argue."

  "I promise," she told him, smiling. "Thank you, Malachi."

  "I'll probably regret this," he said, scowling. Several times, as she explored the fell field at the base of the rocky hillside, she saw him studying the route they would have to take, always with a frown on his face.

  They woke next morning to drizzling rain. Visibility was no more than twenty yards, and the talus slope across which they'd thought to travel looked slick and dangerous. "I admit I'm almost relieved," she said, when Malachi informed her they were going back the way they'd come. "Several times last night I woke to the sound of falling rock. Each time I wondered if I shouldn't change my mind about crossing there." What she hadn't said was that she'd heard Gertie's voice calling to her, had seen Gertie's face far, far above her, framed in the mouth of a deep, vertical pit. Almost as if I remember falling down the chasm. How strange.

  She shivered. In memory of the dream? Or because there was a chill to the damp air and her bonnet was already damp? Why didn't I bring my wool cap? It weighs next to nothing and would have taken up practically no space.

  Their descent was far more difficult than the ascent had been. The rain, a fine, almost misty drizzle, wet their clothing and chilled their exposed skin. Nellie's gloves were soon soaked. She finally removed them, for her hands seemed warmer without the clammy leather covering them. As the rain continued to fall, it clung to the tree branches, and gathered in large droplets at each drooping tip. All one had to do was come near and the branches released their splattering burden, which usually landed square in a face or at the top of a collar, thence to run down inside.

  They camped that night at the edge of a marsh, both too wet and cold to travel farther. For once the tarpaulin lean-to that let her see the stars all night long seemed a wholly inadequate shelter. It did nothing to protect them from mosquitoes. They both slathered their faces with slimy mud from the marsh, which helped a little.

  Nellie knew she had only herself to blame, for she had suggested to Malachi that they leave the tent behind, since they so rarely pitched it. They made a cold supper and crawled under the canvas, while it was still light. The small fire Malachi had coaxed into life smoked before the p
itiful shelter, giving them some protection from the mosquitoes, but no warmth.

  "At times like this, I wonder why I didn't take Aunt Temperance's advice and find a husband," Nellie said, striving to keep her teeth from chattering. "She went on one expedition with Uncle, when they were young and newly married. She swore she never would again, for she had suffered the entire time." She snuggled against Malachi and sighed in contentment when his arm tightened around her. "In two weeks, she was never warm, never dry, and never noticed."

  "Never what?"

  "Never noticed. Apparently Uncle was just as single-minded back then. Sometimes he seemed to forget she was his wife and treated her like his assistant. She told him that she would do her weed pulling in her own flower garden, thank you very much, and from then on he could go in the field without her."

  "So you think you should have married?" His voice sounded--what? Strained?

  Be careful how you answer, she told herself. "Well, of course I've thought about it," she said, striving for a casual tone. "I'd like to have children, someday. But all I have to do is look in a mirror and know that it's a hopeless dream." Well, that certainly sounded like self-pity, Elinor Sanders. What is the matter with you tonight?

  He tipped her chin up so that she looked him in the face. "I noticed your skin at first, but I never see it now. What I do see is a beautiful woman, with speaking gentian-blue eyes, a mouth that would tempt a saint to kiss, and a spirit that is strong and true as a sunbeam." He kissed her, then held her close against his chest.

  "Ah, Nellie, I wish I could be the man to show you what a fine woman you are. I wish I could give you children, could be beside you as they grow into folks as able and good as their mother."

  Burying his face in her hair, he murmured, "I wish I really was Malcolm Bradley."

  Nellie slid her arms around his waist and held him. She wished so too, but she knew it would not be enough for them. Malachi was too honest a man to live a lie for long. Besides, come summer's end, they would go their separate ways. He might go unrecognized in Ohio, but he could never be happy there.

  She had promises to keep. To herself.

  * * * * *

  Gertie had herself a nice, snug little shelter on the hill overlooking the camp. She should have stayed there until they all took off the other day, instead of goin' huntin' with Buttercup. Now Her Girl was off somewheres with the dangerous fella and Gertie wasn't along to keep an eye on her.

  She watched old Willard. Her Girl had told her all their names but Willard's was the only one she recalled. He was milkin' that fool cow. "Craziest thing I ever did see," she said, "bringin' a cow all this way just so the old man could have milk in his tea."

  She remembered what milk tasted like, all warm and frothy from the cow. Back on the farm, she'd never thought much about it, 'cept to complain about havin' to do the milkin'. Now she'd give a pretty piece to have a cup of that milk. Nudging Buttercup, she said, "You keep an eye on where he sets that bucket, hear?"

  The cat ignored her, intent on cleaning between his toes.

  Willard carried the bucket inside the big tent, and Gertie calculated her chances of getting inside without being seen. "Goin' on for full moon," she said. "I might do it."

  For the first time in many years, her mouth watered for something besides haunch.

  * * * * *

  August passed far too quickly to suit Nellie, but she kept telling herself that they had all of September yet. Willard had assured her that the passes would remain open well into November. If they began their return journey the first part of October, they would reach Boise City before winter set in.

  The first warning that their idyll was coming to an end occurred a few days after the full August moon. Nellie and Malachi were camped at one of the high lakes, a deep, cold body of water caught in a hanging valley. Two-thirds of its shoreline comprised sheer, rocky slopes falling almost vertically from towering peaks to the water's edge. Only on the south shore was there more or less level ground, a quarter-mile wide bench dense with leathery-leaved shrubs, scattered with narrow firs of the sort only seen at very high elevations.

  Nellie spent the day after their arrival clambering among rockfalls on the north and west shores, seeking more of the mat-like balloon plants. She found three clusters, as well as several other interesting alpine plants that were unfamiliar to her. One was a gentian, each leafy stem bearing a single large flower of a deep, pure blue. She touched a fringed petal almost reverently, remembering how Malachi had called her eyes gentian-blue.

  "You're being foolish," she told herself in a whisper, yet knowing she would always cherish his words.

  Feeling almost sinful, she collected the gentian, hoping she was right and that it was different from the others she had seen at lower elevations. Even known species, when found isolated in an area like this, were worthy of interest.

  The third morning in their alpine camp, they woke to a cool wind and clouds. Before noon the clouds had lowered to sit athwart the peaks above them. "How upset would you be if we started back this afternoon?" Malachi asked her as she was carefully digging another matted plant.

  Nellie brushed the few crumbs of clinging soil from the stout taproot and held the plant close so she could examine the tiny blue flowers. With their yellow eyes, the flowers could be nothing but forget-me-nots, yet she had never seen any with such hairy leaves. Once she had it safely stowed, she looked up at Malachi, who stood on a boulder almost as tall as she was. He looked worried.

  "Not at all, if you think it best," she said. She had long since stopped arguing with him when he suggested a change in their plans, for he was never unreasonable.

  "I smell snow," he said, jumping down to stand beside her. "Not much, and not lasting, but it could be a problem if it catches us up here."

  "Then let's go. I've explored the entire shoreline, and doubt that I could climb much higher anyway." She eyed the precipitous slopes above, what she could see below clouds that had moved even lower than the last time she'd noticed them. While she had no intention of standing on any edges, trying to stay upright on those nearly vertical hillsides would be almost as bad. "Let's go back," she said again. "We can always stop over somewhere lower, if the weather clears."

  "It won't," he told her. He led the way as they scrambled back along the narrow, rocky shore toward their camp.

  It didn't. That night they camped in a small clearing several miles down the trail and several hundred feet lower. The clouds spat rain as they were setting up camp, and the wind howled among the treetops. This time they had a tent, though, and were warm and relatively comfortable.

  With the tent walls shaking in the wind, neither of them wanted to chance a candle. Once the light grew too dim for reading or note-making, Nellie decided this was as good a time as any to propose her idea. "I want to take Gertie back to Ohio with me."

  "You what?"

  "I want to take Gertie back to Ohio with me," she repeated patiently. "She is an old woman and shouldn't be left alone here. She'll be far better off with me."

  "I thought you said you wouldn't even have a job when you get back. How will you take care of her?" His voice was curiously even, as if he was holding his emotions in check.

  Emotions? She couldn't be sure whether he felt amazement or anger. Or something else.

  "I have some money from my parents' estate. And Aunt Temperance left me a small acreage with a house. It isn't much, but we could get by if I can find some sort of work." She wasn't at all certain that the administration of Epimedion College would hire her to be anything but a domestic. "We won't starve."

  "Nellie, you said yourself she isn't exactly of sound mind. What will you do if she..." His pause lasted for a long time. "If she goes berserk," he finally said.

  "Gertie? She's not a violent person. Just one whose mind has been turned by all the hardship and tragedy in her life."

  "She kidnapped you."

  "Well, yes, but she didn't treat me unkindly. She believed I was her daughter
, and she was rescuing me from you men who held me captive."

  "That's proof enough," he said. "She's crazy."

  "Maybe she is, but it's a gentle sort of crazy. I don't think she should be punished for it. Besides, who knows that she won't recover, once she's back in civilization?"

  Malachi held his tongue, knowing that this wasn't the time or the place to talk her out of anything. He had his own suspicions about the old woman, conjectures that sometimes gave him nightmares. If he were to voice them to Nellie, without any thing to back them up, she would think he was the crazy one. "Let's go to bed," he said. "If it clears off, we can get an early start tomorrow."

  While Nellie was opening their bedroll and rearranging the tent's contents--having all her collecting gear inside with them made for cramped quarters--he went out to check the livestock one last time. Sheba and the two horses were standing in a tight cluster under the spreading branches of several close-spaced trees. He hoped the stock would give the alarm if anything threatened, for the wind would mask any sounds.

  Before he went back in, he circled the campsite pausing to listen to the night every few yards. The old woman was out there somewhere. The back of his neck had itched both yesterday and today, as if he was being watched. So far she hadn't come out to speak to Nellie on this trip like she had on others, but he had no doubt she'd been with them every mile of the way from the base camp.

  I sure hope she keeps that cat of hers away from the stock tonight. The last thing I need is for them to kick up a ruckus if they smell it.

  He wasn't absolutely certain Gertie's big panther had been the one that killed Tom's horse, but it seemed likely. According to Willard, the big cats ranged wide, and didn't often poach on each other's territory.

  And if it was him that did it, Malachi mused, not for the first time, then I may be right about who took that haunch.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Malachi smelled snow as soon as he opened his eyes. He rolled over and twitched the bottom of the tent flap aside. Sure enough it lay several inches deep, heavy and wet. As he watched, a gobbet detached itself from a nearby branch and fell with a sodden plop. The branch rebounded and dislodged more snow from its neighbors.