She laid the book aside and went to the window. Her work was done. It had taken far longer than she had estimated, and now another winter was almost over. Today was the second anniversary of the day she had first laid eyes on Malachi Breedlove.
Had he given up waiting for her? The last letter she'd received from him had come in September. In November she had written that she might not be able to leave here until spring, and he had never replied. Of course, his homestead was two long day's ride from the nearest post office, and he went to town as seldom as possible, but still....
She could stay here. In an unprecedented move, the Trustees of the college had offered her an adjunct faculty position. It would not pay much, and she would probably never be able to participate in another expedition far afield, but she would be working as a botanist.
Few women in this day and age could say as much.
Outside, wind whipped the leafless branches and rain spattered against the windowpane. She could see no farther than a few hundred yards. But even if she could have seen for miles, there would have been no towering, snow-streaked peaks, no forever sky filled with fluffy clouds each afternoon, and no lonely wolf call to serenade her to sleep.
How I miss the mountains. Oh, Malachi, have you forgotten me?
When she got home that night, her landlady handed her a telegram. "Sure hope it's nothing too awful," Mrs. Evans said. "I don't know why they always bring bad news."
Nellie ripped open the yellow envelope.
WAITING FOR YOU STOP SEND LUKE SAVAGE ARRIVAL DATE AND PLACE STOP I'LL BE THERE STOP LOVE YOU STOP
"This time it's not bad news, Mrs. Evans. In fact, if it were any better news, I might die from sheer excitement." She hugged her landlady, then rushed upstairs. She'd put most of her possessions into storage when she'd sold Aunt Temperance's farm. Now all she had to do was arrange for them to be shipped. The rest of her packing wouldn't take more than an hour or two. If she could get tickets, she could leave on Tuesday.
* * * * *
The train emerged from Devil's Gate. Far ahead Nellie could see the town, more spread out than she remembered. She forced herself to sit still. Pacing the aisle, as she'd done more than once since leaving Ohio, would not make the train move any faster.
As if to reprove her impatience, the whistle blew. The train gradually slowed. At a crawl, it threaded its way among raw, unpainted warehouses and into the rail yard. The depot, still gleaming white against the dreary brown landscape, was just ahead. Nellie checked about her, making sure she had her book bag and her small valise. She set her bonnet on her head and started to tie it, then remembered how Malachi had complained about the deep poke. A bit of sunlight won't hurt me. Heaven knows, I've had little enough of it, buried in the herbarium as I've been.
The windows were streaked with rain and soot, so that all on the platform was a blur. Nellie rose and made her way down the aisle, wishing she had hurried to the end of the car before the other passengers reached it. They seemed to be moving as slowly as possible.
Malachi leaned against the wall of the depot, watching the stream of passengers unload. Had he read the telegram wrong? Was it next week she'd be here?
The windows of the train were gray with rain-washed soot, so that all he could see were dark shapes inside, a long line of them, moving like cold molasses toward this end of the railcar.
He counted emerging passengers. At fourteen he decided she wasn't on the train. At nineteen, he gave up hope. Then he saw her.
For an instant--and the longest moment in his life--she stood in the doorway, one hand extended toward the Conductor, the other holding the upright bar beside the door. Her head was bare, her coat wine red, her narrow skirt rich blue. The white patches on her face were plain, as was the streak of silver at her left temple.
Her lower lip was caught in her teeth as her gentian-blue eyes scanned across the crowd.
Then she saw him.
She ignored the Conductor's outstretched hand and jumped from the train. He met her halfway across the platform, caught her in his arms and swung her around.
"Take me home," she cried, just before he kissed her. "Oh, Malachi, take me home."
Epilogue
"There, how's that look?"
Nellie came to stand beside Malachi. The long narrow frame fit nicely on the wall between the bookcase and the door. "I still think it's silly to frame a newspaper clipping."
"Not when it's one like this." He laid the hammer on his rolltop desk and put his arm around her. "I want the world to know how proud of you I am. I thought about having it posted on a billboard, but the children wouldn't let me."
"Thank goodness. Can you imagine what people would have said?"
"When did you worry about that? Not since I've known you."
"Well, perhaps it's time I should. I'm too old to be shocking people."
Pulling her close, he wrapped his arms around her waist and looked over her shoulder. In a voice still strong, but roughened with age and emotion, he read aloud.
Germantown, Ohio. June 1, 1936. An honorary Doctorate of Humane Letters will be conferred on Elinor Sanders Breedlove when she delivers the commencement address next week at Epimedion College.
The small, private, liberal arts institution enrolls 1,300 students from around the world.
Mrs. Breedlove, a former assistant to her uncle, Octavius Kremer, who made significant contributions to the flora of transmontane North America in the last century, completed his last great work after his untimely death. Following the publication of "Sawtooth Valley Flora" in 1874, Mrs. Breedlove spent many years collecting plants in the Northern Rocky Mountains and the Intermountain West. Her frequent correspondence with botanists throughout the world has led to a greater understanding of the distribution of plants in NorthAmerican alpine and subalpine habitats.
Among the many new plants described by Mrs. Breedlove, the most remarkable are those in the genus Odontoros, discovered by her during her first expedition into Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains. These brightly-flowered members of the Buttercup Family are elevation specific, and are often useful to climbers and explorers in the Northern Rocky Mountains.
Although Mrs. Breedlove was never formally affiliated with an institution of higher learning after leaving Epimedion college, she often served as a guest lecturer in Botany in both of Idaho's public Universities and in several regional private institutions, as well. In 1928 she published "A Guide to Idaho Plants," which is illustrated with her incomparable drawings, and has enjoyed great popularity in her adopted state. She continues to contribute to herbaria in Idaho and elsewhere. Recently she presented the University of Idaho with her comprehensive collection of plants from the Snake River Plains.
Nellie found she could not speak for the lump in her throat.
"I've believed all along that you're a fine botanist. It's about time the rest of the world recognized that." Malachi tipped her face up, smiled. "How does it feel, being famous?"
"Not as good as being loved," she said, lifting her mouth for his kiss.
THE END
About the Author
Among her varied careers are a couple Judith B. Glad actually chose, rather than falling into. With her children in school, she decided it was time for her to follow her own dreams, so she went back to school and studied botany. After completing her M.S. research, during which she discovered two new species of plants, she became a botanical consultant, and spent the next twenty-odd years picking flowers for a living. Well, it was a little more complicated than that, but she picked enough flowers to keep her happy.
Consulting is not always steady work, so one slow winter Judith decided to spend a little time at her second career choice. Now she'd done a lot of writing as a consultant, but somehow describing proposed mine sites and interpreting statistical data wasn't the kind of writing she wanted to do. So she wrote a book. And another, and... Before she knew it, she was spending more time writing than picking flowers.
Judith lives in Portland, Oregon,
where flowers bloom all year 'round and the long, rainy winters give her lots of time for writing. Visit her website (www.judithbglad.com) for samples of her stories.
* * * * *
Uncial Press brings you excellent electronic fiction and non-fiction. Put a world of reading in your pocket.
www.uncialpress.com
Knight in a Black Hat Page 38