Now she had the freedom to do anything, to be anything she desired.
His cogitations were interrupted by a scream. He ran back toward the fire, stumbling over rocks and dodging leafless shrubs. When he burst into the small clearing where the fire still burned brightly, he saw her standing beside it, her arms akimbo.
"What?" he demanded. "Why did you scream?"
"It was easier than searching for you. In case you hadn't noticed, Malachi Breedlove, it's dark in the woods."
"You screamed just to bring me back?"
"It worked, didn't it?" She gestured toward the log she'd been sitting on. "Sit down. It's my turn now."
Outraged at her high-handedness, yet amused too, he sat, back to the fire.
"No, turn around and face me. There are no bears in the woods. Or if there are, the mules will give us warning."
Reluctantly he turned. The fire flickered between them, lighting her face and giving it a golden tone. She is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen!
"I love you, Malachi Breedlove," she said, after studying him for several minutes. "I think you love me."
He was too stunned to do more than nod.
"I have responsibilities and so do you. Mine are to complete Uncle's work and to see that what we've learned, what we've discovered this summer is reported. I'm sure there are three or four new species among our collection, and perhaps even more. That's aside from the fact that this is the first collecting that has ever been done in this area." She held out her hands to the fire, and he could see that she was, as she often did when thinking what to say next, chewing her lower lip.
Malachi waited, uncertain what to say. He was still digesting her announcement. She loves me!
"Your responsibility is to build a new life, one without fear. You say you're a target of those who would prove themselves better, faster killers, but I see no reason why you should continue to be."
"I don't have much choice."
"Yes you do!" She sounded exactly like the contentious woman who'd first argued with him about travel arrangements seven months ago. "You have simply been too close to the problem to see a solution."
"I'll go back to being Malcolm Bradley again," he told her, "but there's still the chance someone will recognize me."
"Oh, you!" she said, her voice rising. "You make me sick! Always going on about being recognized. Sometime I think you enjoy being a famous shootist."
Stung, he bounded to his feet, facing her across the fire. "That's not true! I'd do anything to be able to live a life without the threat of facing a would-be gunman. To never kill another man."
"So get lost until you're forgotten."
"Get lost?"
"Of course. Go away somewhere for a year or two. Do something other than guarding gold shipments, something that won't force you to use your guns." She spread her hands in a pleading gesture. "Don't you see, Malachi? As long as you continue to be a shootist, you will have to live as one. But people have short memories, and if you don't do anything to get yourself talked about for a while, they will forget you. And your reputation."
"You make it sound so simple..." If only he could go away until the name of Malachi Breedlove stopped meaning anything to young men who sought to replace him as celebrated shootist.
"You said once that you dreamt of having a place like Luke Savage's. Is there any reason why it has to be close in? Couldn't you homestead a place off the beaten path? Surely you'd be forgotten eventually."
He paced, back and forth from one edge of the small clearing to the other, thinking on her words. Why didn't I think of that? He had, but not seriously. Obvious solutions usually held unexpected pitfalls. Could it work? How long would I have to hide?
And most important of all, "Would you come back to me?"
"If you still want me when my work is done, I'll come back."
He opened his arms and she walked into them. Heart overflowing with hope, he lifted her into his arms, carried her to the tent.
"You didn't answer my question," she reminded him when he lay beside her, burning with need, yet wanting this night to last an eternity.
"Your question?" He thought back. "Oh." Rising on one elbow, he leaned over her, kissed her with all the tenderness, all the love he had bubbling within. "I love you, Nellie Sanders. Now and forever."
She embraced him then, wrapping her legs around him and guiding him into her hot depths. Time stood still as he lost himself in her, soaring with her to heights hitherto unexplored. His shout of triumph echoed her scream of release, and then he sank atop her, sated, drained, filled with indescribable joy and unutterable peace.
Three weeks later, he kissed her goodbye.
Chapter Thirty
Feeling like a student facing a final examination, Nellie took a deep breath and opened the door. Inside the small book-lined room, five men were seated around a heavy mahogany table. They all looked toward the door as she entered.
One smiled.
Three glowered.
The last, the man she most needed to impress, stared at her as if she were a sideshow freak.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen. Thank you for agreeing to review my work." Wonder of wonders, her voice was perfectly steady.
Not so her hands. She hoped they would not notice.
"Miss Sanders, I came here because I respected your uncle." The glower on Dr. Westover's face lessened not a whit. "Please do not waste my time with inane chitchat."
Oh, dear, he is not going to be receptive, is he? Well, I knew he'd be the most difficult one to convince.
She smiled as if he had offered her a pleasantry. "Of course, sir. I will be succinct." She nodded to the others, botanists from Ohio State, Miami and Purdue Universities . "Dr. Slaughter, Dr. Hale, thank you for coming. Mr. Condon, I'm glad to see you."
Jasper Entremont, Uncle's replacement, nodded when she acknowledged his presence. He resented her, but since she was paying the college for the privilege of using its facilities, he was forced to be polite.
Nellie passed copies of her proposal around the table. While the men read it, she did her best not to chew her lip, wring her hands, or show any other signs of the nervousness that had kept her stomach upset and her nights all but sleepless for three days.
Had she outlined each step in enough detail? Were the botanists she planned to consult about her unknown species appropriate choices?
What if these men, like Uncle, saw her merely as a semi-trained assistant, lacking the knowledge and skills to complete his final research?
Stop fretting! You did the best you could. It's in their hands now.
Dr. Westover was the first to finish. His face gave no clue as to his opinion as he folded his hands and set them atop the papers.
When Mr. Condon was done, he nodded at her. His smile told her that he approved her plan. But his was only one opinion. While she knew he would urge the others to accept her proposal, she was not sure they would listen to someone so young.
"Well, now, Miss Sanders, I'm impressed," Dr. Hale said when he was done reading. "You've put together a good plan here, and I'm inclined to support your proposal." He looked around the table. "Anyone else?"
Nellie fought down a surge of joy. Two. Only two out of five. And Dr. Entremont will argue against me.
"What do you plan to do with the duplicate specimens you collected?" Dr. Westover said.
"Those that are of known or widespread species will be used for trade by the department here," she said, remembering how Dr. Entremont had originally questioned whether any other botanists would find them of interest. He was far more concerned with Sonoran Desert plants than those from the northern Rocky Mountains. "Those of more rare species will be deposited in other herbaria at Dr. Entremont's discretion."
"You say here that you suspect there are fourteen new species among your collection," Dr. Slaughter said, tapping the proposal. "Did your uncle concur? And what is your evidence that they are indeed new?"
Patiently she answered his questions and
all the others they asked, until she felt hoarse and limp with exhaustion. Sometime during the questioning, one of the staff had brought in coffee and cakes, but she had not taken any. Now her mouth was dry, her tongue clumsy.
"Well, Miss Sanders, I think you've told us all we need to know. If you'll step outside, we will discuss your proposal," Dr. Entremont said, at last.
His tone told her what he thought of it. She essayed a quick glance around the table. Again Mr. Condon smiled reassurance. The others looked back at her with faces blank enough for any poker game.
She had probably worn a path in the hardwood floor of the anteroom by the time they called her back. Unable to help herself, she clutched the edge of the table. And waited.
Dr. Entremont sat back, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Mr. Condon lounged in his chair, his face expressionless.
They're going to turn me down.
"When can you come to Harvard, Miss Sanders? Our collection of Rocky Mountain plants is probably the most extensive in North America. You would be wise to study it before you go any farther with your assumption that you have discovered new species."
Disbelieving, she stared at Dr. Westover. "To Harvard...?"
"Well, there is really no other way to study our collection." His face, that granite, scowling face, cracked, and he smiled. "This is a remarkable undertaking for a young woman, but I am inclined to think you can do it. These other gentlemen agree."
"You've done excellent work so far, Miss Sanders," Dr. Hale said.
His expression added, For a woman.
At this moment, Nellie didn't care. She looked at Dr. Entremont.
"Yes, yes, Miss Sanders, you will be provided access to the herbarium and assistance as needed. Just see that the quality of your work reflects well on Epimedion College and your uncle's memory."
After more discussion and planning, the men left her alone. They were going to dine together at the Faculty Club where, as a woman, she was unwelcome.
She didn't care about that, either. All she wanted to do was go somewhere that she could scream with joy and dance in circles.
After she wrote to Malachi.
* * * * *
The deep, clear water of the stream that wound through the meadow held trout, some of the biggest trout Malachi had ever seen. Someday he'd have to find time to wet a line. But not until he had Nellie's house built.
The wagon wheels rumbled across the rude bridge he'd built. This was the last load of lumber he and Willard would haul in until spring. Now that the walls were framed and the roof raised, he'd spend the winter finishing the interior. Only two rooms so far, but he'd have a roof over his head and a kitchen to cook in.
He and Murphy unloaded the lumber and stacked it alongside the shed he'd built for the livestock. "Do you want me to stick around through the winter?" Murphy said, when they'd finished. "I've been thinkin'. It ain't as it there's somebody waitin' for me in Reno."
"You're both welcome to stay if you want," Malachi said. He and Murphy followed Willard into the cabin. "I have a feeling it'll get real quiet around here with only that fool cow to talk to."
"I still can't see why you kept it. There's nothin' like a cow to keep you close to home." Murphy laughed. "Next time I'll go to town and you can stay here and milk."
"If I'm going to be a farmer, then I have to have a cow," Malachi said, as he sat on the low stool beside the fire. "I'm thinking that come spring, I'll see about getting chickens."
"Food for the coyotes." Murphy pulled out his pipe. "Fresh eggs, though." He stared into the fire. "I haven't had me a fresh egg for a coon's age."
"You should have come to Ogden with us. Nellie and I had a breakfast at the hotel before her train left. Eggs and ham and strawberry jam and even fresh oranges."
"I don't like towns," was all Murphy said.
"I reckon I'll be takin' off, now you've got a roof over your head," Willard said, accepting the cup of coffee Malachi handed him. "Git a little carousin' done afore Franklin puts me back to work."
"John, I'm obliged for your help," Malachi told him.
"Pshaw! 'Twarn't nothin'. 'Sides, I done it for Missy, so's she'd not have to live in a tent when she comes."
"Well, then, I thank you on her behalf. Just don't forget where we live. We'll expect you to visit as often as you can."
They fell into the silence that filled so many of their evenings. When Willard filled his pipe for the second time, Malachi dug out the latest issue of the Agricultural Bulletin he'd subscribed to and opened it to the article he'd begun reading last night, "Dry Land Farming in the Arid West."
The author sounded more discouraging than anything, with his constant warning about the lack of water for crops. Maybe I should have gone back to Ohio with Nellie. At least it rains back there.
No, he was in the right place. A hundred miles from the nearest post office, thirty from his closest neighbor.
A good place to get lost.
* * * * *
"There. That's done." Nellie carefully set the last sheet on the pile she'd made and breathed a sigh of relief. Except for the eleven plants she had found no reference to in any of the many sources she'd consulted or in the four herbaria she'd visited, she had identified everything they'd collected last summer. All the specimens were mounted and labeled. Tomorrow she would give them to Dr. Entremont for deposition in the herbarium.
Nine hundred forty-three specimens! Who'd have thought we'd find so much? They represented two hundred fifty-one species, almost one-third of which had never been found in the northern Rocky Mountains before.
"Now comes the real work," she said aloud. More than just her opinion was needed that she had discovered new plants. Dr. Westover had taken specimens of about thirty plants she hadn't been able to identify. Just last week he'd written to say that eleven of them were unknown to him.
The same eleven? "I hope so."
She set her work aside and reached for her lettercase. Although she hadn't heard from him in a month, Malachi would be waiting to hear from her. She dipped her pen.
My dearest Malachi,
With the passing of Christmas, I am once again at work. It goes well, although more slowly than I had hoped. Some of my correspondents are slow to respond...
For two pages she told of her activities over the past weeks, of her plans for the near future. Although she worried that he might be bored with her news, she owed it to him to keep him apprised of her progress.
...moving into the farmhouse next week. I've decided to sell the property, but first I must see that it is in good repair and made attractive to potential buyers. I know I shall rattle around in that big house, all by myself, and have thought of getting a cat to keep me company. But any I might find would remind me of Buttercup, and those memories would, I'm afraid, lead to melancholy. I miss Gertie still, as if I had once again...
She paused. This will not do. After copying the first few lines on a fresh sheet, she tore the last one she'd written into tiny pieces.
...a cat to keep me company. However, I would feel badly about leaving it behind when I come back to you, and so I will resist the temptation.
The house sounds very homey. I look forward to the day when I can relieve you of kitchen chores, although I know you are a much better cook than I. I'm learning, though, now that I have to feed myself. So far I have had to bury nothing I've cooked, but some of my suppers have been less than delightful.
Just yesterday I stepped outside into the snow. The sun was low on the horizon, the light golden. I thought of the mountain sunsets we saw together and almost wept. Next winter, please God, we will once more share the sunsets. I miss you more than I can say.
With all my heart,
Nellie
Before her tears could stain the paper, she folded it and placed it into an envelope. After writing his name on the outside, she slipped that envelope into another, which she addressed to Mrs. Kathryn Savage.
Not even the post office knew where Malachi Breedlove was.
* * * * *
Stroking his hand over the smooth wood, Malachi experienced a deep swell of satisfaction. He had done a little wood-working as a boy, but the War--well, anyhow, he was glad to see he'd not forgotten what he'd learned then.
I sure hope Nellie likes a rocker like Gran did. He'd carved a garland of daisies on the curved headrest, not having a good enough picture in his mind of her balloon flowers to do them justice. The golden oak had been hard to carve, but he was pleased with the result.
Now all there was to do was oil it. Next time he and Murphy went to Boise City for supplies, he'd pick up some linseed oil. After one more stroke across the carved daisies, he set the chair aside, in the spot beside the fireplace that seemed to be waiting for Nellie. Sometimes, when he sat alone in here, he could almost see her sitting there, a book in her lap. Or a babe.
How much longer, Nellie?
Winter's coming again. Are you almost done with your work?
* * * * *
Nellie held the bound copy of her monograph in her hand, still not able to believe it real. The rich cordovan leather binding was stamped in gold. "A Botanical Exploration of the Sawtooth Valley, Idaho Territory, 1872, by Octavius Kremer and Elinor Sanders." She traced the letters with her finger, then opened the book.
She could just imagine Mr. Willard's amusement, when she showed him his name and those of the other members of the expedition in the acknowledgements. Mr. Beckett had already parlayed her praise of his professional skills into an assistantship with the new curator of the herbarium. He planned to matriculate when classes opened this fall, now that he qualified as staff.
The next page had taken more consideration than any other. The dedication had troubled her for many months, as she sought and discarded just the right words. In the end, the ones she used were quite simple and straightforward, if a little enigmatic. "This monograph is humbly dedicated to the memory of two extraordinary individuals, who chose to be known only as Gertie and Buttercup."
Knight in a Black Hat Page 37