Heartbeat of the Bitterroot

by Janice Mineer

I pushed the chair toward the door. Finally, my curiosity overcame me and I asked, “So what did you give the little girl?”

  “A bit of courage,” he said, “a bit of courage.”

  I wheeled Harrison to the gate where Ben and Jaime waited to take him to the plane.

  As I stooped down to say goodbye, Harrison leaned forward in his chair. Those ice-blue eyes that shone so warmly fixed onto mine. In that moment, the room seemed to remove itself from us, creating a space for us like the eye of a storm. Tickets were scanned under the red light from the beeping machine. Passengers wheeled their bags through the gate door as if from a great distance and in slow motion. The voice on the loudspeaker faded to a whisper.

  “Now, there is something you must know,” he said, his hand on mine. “For you there are infinite possibilities. You have the seeds of a beautiful life within you. They are as real as my hand on yours. No one can take that from you. No one ever could. They are yours. If you nurture them and cherish them, a life better than a dream lies in front of you, and you will draw to yourself all that you need, and all whom you need to accomplish your desires. Do you believe me?”

  Possibilities? A future? It was hard enough for me to imagine what I would be doing next week, next year, let alone anything more distant. It seemed safest to focus on the road beneath my feet. I might lose my balance if I looked too far into the distance. But, looking into the softly lined face of this man I had met only an hour ago and might never see again, I felt a calm assurance seeping into my cynicism. “I think I do,” I whispered.

  “Never doubt it,” he said with a wink.

  He held my gaze for a moment before releasing my hand with a gentle smile. I watched him being wheeled away. I felt my heart beat rapidly in my chest. As his white head disappeared into the body of the plane, I realized that he had left me something too, something intangible yet palpable. Somewhere in the back of my head a small voice was telling me it was time to confront the monster which had haunted me for so long.

  Chapter 5

  dc

  Friday afternoon, I played tag with the shimmering Bitterroot River, which rolled south through the broad valley of the same name. I was heading toward my aunt and uncle’s ranch. My Taurus spun along the curves at the feet of the Bitterroot Mountains. The air was clear. Flames of tamarack trees marched up the mountainside. This was a road I could practically drive in my sleep, which is of course inadvisable, but from the number of wrecks lately on this highway, some had tried. Mornings and evenings, the road was crowded with a long line of commuters. “Pray for me, I drive Highway 93,” declared many of the bumper stickers. Of course, it was nothing like the commute I had in LA.

  Every other weekend, during my two years at the University of Montana, I drove down to the ranch. It was a way to clear my head and escape the drama of dorm life. I helped out with the bison on occasion, rode horses, hung out with old friends from high school, and ate my aunt’s down-home cooking.

  I lived in Missoula now, in a little old house that fit my budget. A dense vine, now a vibrant autumn red, ran up the stone on one wall. It had a restored grace that easily qualified it for the word charm. But I still loved to “run down the valley” to spend some time with my family at the ranch whenever I could.

  My uncle called himself “a gentleman rancher.” When I was still in my teens, he bought a small herd of Plains bison out of Texas. The herd had grown to over two hundred head now and most of his spare time away from his veterinary practice was spent working with the bison. The profit was good when he sent an animal to market, but he seemed to be in it just for the experience of raising these prehistoric animals. “A hobby,” he said. Well, some people collect stamps, I thought.

  I took the Eastside Highway at Victor and soon came up on my uncle’s fields. The bison were close to the fence, woolly masses clumped in silent groups. They grazed quietly, moving almost imperceptibly as they ate, their heads lowered, their backs hunched

  I pulled to the side of the road, got out, and picked my way through the tall, yellow grass toward the barbed wire fence. The bison were mountainous, dark creatures, and when they looked at me with those small black-brown eyes, I could feel their wildness. Their huge heads studded with ivory, curled horns made them look intimidating. Their sheer bulk was imposing. Thick fur bunched along their shoulders and backs. Some of it hung in sheets as if a shearer had abruptly left his job.

  In the past, I had watched my uncle move them, trundling along behind the herd in his Jeep. Dust roiled around their legs creating a river of haze. How did they move on those comparatively tiny feet?

  One of the great bulls slowly turned his black hooded head toward me. He eyed me regally as if to say, “We condescend to be here. These fences do not contain us. We still own these meadows. We simply allow you to build fences around us.”

  I leaned on the top rail of the gate, the rough, papery weathered wood beneath my fingers. A meadowlark sang, perched nearby. The barn was not far off, door ajar, light sifting into the grayed interior. Warm feelings washed over me as I remembered my first day here, a day when I walked in from the cold into a world as strange to me as it was wonderful.

  A

  “Come on. Come play in the barn,” Jack said.

  It was a still afternoon in early July. I was eleven years old. I stood in the yard in front of my uncle’s house, the grass cool beneath my feet, the sun hot on my hair. Without regard for the time of day, a rooster crowed out across the field from a neighboring farm.

  Angela stood behind Jack, waiting, toying with the buckle on her overalls. Strands of blonde hair had slipped from her pigtails. Fine locks caught sunlight, creating a soft effusion of gold around her head. She stared blandly at me.

  I hesitated.

  “Come on. It will be fun.” Jack smiled, his voice reassuring.

  “Are there animals in there?” I asked. My solitary experience with creatures was limited to a guinea pig at school. I remembered less about the downy soft fur, more about the tiny sharp teeth.

  “No. The cows are out in the pasture. Just the cats sometimes,” Jack said. The German shepherd, Shep, pranced playfully at his feet, tail wagging and tongue lolling.

  I was doubtful. I turned and looked back toward the house. I could see my aunt pulling damp clothes out of the laundry basket, her apron pockets full of clothes pins. Shirts and socks were lined neatly in a row above her head. The baby cooed from the blanket on the lawn, her tiny, plump fists flailing the air.

  “Come on,” Jack said again, insistent.

  The air was hot and still. I could hear the reedy call of a cricket, the distant sputter of a laboring tractor. Suddenly, Jack turned and bolted toward the barn, Shep in hot pursuit. Angela eyed me, turned slowly, then shot after her brother. They disappeared behind the barn door.

  I followed them slowly, stopping once to look over my shoulder again at my aunt. I reached the barn door and hesitantly stepped inside. I blinked, trying to adjust my eyes to the dimness. Out of the gray emerged a sawhorse, stacked with gunnysacks and a coiled rope. A battered bucket hung crookedly from a nail over my head, and a row of shovels and pitchforks striped the wall to my left. The sweet smell of fresh hay filled my nostrils. Broken bales lay scattered under my feet, muffling the sound of my footsteps.

  “Hey, up here!” Jack waved from high atop the bales of hay. “Look out! Here come the Indians!” He feigned a blow to the chest, struggled to remove an invisible arrow, finally falling with a moan into a pile of loose hay ten feet below.

  “Oh!” I exclaimed.

  “He’s all right.” Angela appeared beside me. “Come on. I’ll show you the tunnel.” We crawled along the scratchy bales into an hour of sheer bliss, weaving through crevices in the stack and climbing to the top. They taught me those games that only children know and teach each other. For me, it was pure magic, an awakening from a starved dream.

  Later on, hot and tired, I lay on a bale of hay, my chin resting on sweaty arms. I was mesmerized by the slow
turning of tiny particles of dust and hay that sparkled like polished gold, suspended in shafts of sunlight that fell inside the barn. It was a tranquility that was new to me, a welcome respite from a life of quiet desperation.

  With a sudden thud, Jack leaped onto the bales in front of me, sending a new cloud of dust into the air. He bent down, his chest heaving slightly with exertion, and peered into my face. He placed a hot hand on my shoulder. Bits of hay clung to his red plaid shirt.

  “You OK?” he asked.

  I nodded, and in that instant, a seed of trust burst open inside me and began to grow.

  He straightened, adjusted the glasses on his nose, and smiled. “Let’s go get some lemonade.”

  I felt like I’d just fallen into a dream.

  A

  It was a long time ago, but I remembered it like it was yesterday. Time is elastic, I had decided. It stretches to fit your heart.

  Chapter 6

  dc

  As I made my way back to the car, I noticed the cattle in the field across the road and up the draw. A sharp contrast to the bison, the cows were docile-looking animals, seemingly content to live parallel lives in close proximity to their fierce-looking four-legged cousins.

  I drove up the long gravel driveway toward the house. Wooden barrels bursting with petunias sat as usual by the front gate. In the backyard, the tire swing hung, twisting slowly in the breeze beneath the old cottonwood. A dusty bike, abandoned some time ago by my fifteen-year-old cousin, Mackenzie, leaned against the shed door. Sunlight flickered across the moss-green, two-story house through overhanging tree branches.

  As I drove into the barnyard, Freckles, the blue heeler, and Hershey, the chocolate lab pup, jumped into action. They moved swiftly toward the car, wagging their tails.

  I pulled to a stop, gravel crunching under my wheels as the dogs barked their announcement of my arrival. As soon as I opened the car door, they nosed in, searching for my scent, begging for my touch.

  I grabbed my backpack from the back seat and joined the dog parade to the front door.

  “How ya doin’, Freckles?” I stroked his soft, speckled ears. I nearly fell over the lab as I reached for the screen door.

  I edged between the dogs and slipped inside.

  “Hey, anybody here?” I yelled.

  I followed the sound of Ann’s voice calling from the living room. As my eyes adjusted to the dimmer light of the room, a vision emerged.

  Angela stood in front of a long mirror that was propped precariously against a wooden chair. The afternoon sun poured through the tall windows that stretched up toward the vaulted ceiling. Light spun a golden sheen along her soft curls. A cloud of white veil cascaded down her back, resting on a seemingly endless row of pearl buttons trimming a mountain of satin. With one graceful hand, she bunched her skirt, exposing a pair of worn sneakers without laces. She was breathtaking.

  “Jenna!” She grinned over her shoulder.

  “Wait, hold still,” my aunt Ann ordered. She sat at Angela’s feet, steadily pinning the shimmering fabric into a long hem.

  “Hi, honey,” she mumbled, looking up at me with a smile, her mouth full of straight pins. I leaned over and hugged her shoulders.

  “OK. Now, let go of that part, Angie,” Ann said. “Hold still,” she ordered again. She continued pinning with deft hands, reaching up from time to time to tuck a tawny wisp of hair behind her ear.

  “Wow! This is just beautiful, you guys.” I perched on the edge of the well-worn, overstuffed chair that was my uncle’s favorite. The great mahogany clock ticked loudly. Brutus, the long-loved, golden-haired retriever (the only animal permitted in the house), heaved a sigh and thudded onto the floor, his furry snout nestling on my shoe, soulful eyes begging for a scratch behind his old ears.

  A female voice blared from the radio in the kitchen, drawling out a contemporary country ballad. My aunt shifted her little stool from time to time, making her way around the great circle of white fabric. Angela’s nimble fingers tapped out the tune from the radio on her satin drum.

  I had to admit, Angela looked like the perfect bride.

  As I watched the two of them, feelings flooded from somewhere in my gut. Not that I was jealous … OK, I was kind of jealous. But mostly I just felt a sinking sense of loss, a feeling that something I wanted had slipped through my fingers like dry sand. I felt like there was something I had missed. Or more accurately, something I had been trying to ignore, though it was gnawing its way quietly out from inside of me.

  “Do you like it, really?” Angela beamed, catching my eye though the mirror.

  I shook myself inwardly and took a deep breath. The world slowly ceased its spinning and came reluctantly to a stop at my feet. “How could I not?” I mustered a smile. “It’s gorgeous. Wow, Angela, you look amazing. You’re an absolute angel.”

  Ann leaned back on her stool and cocked her head with a sigh. I knew what she was thinking. She had been voicing it for weeks. Whatever happened to that freckled face little girl we knew? The one who carried frogs home in her pockets on hot summer afternoons? Who dangled her feet from a dusty tire swing, singing rambling tunes to her one-eyed doll?

  Angela turned to the mirror and took in a deep breath. “Do you think James will like it? Is it too bunchy here?” she said, pulling fitfully at the flounced skirt.

  I stood up, put my arm around her shoulders, and gave her a little squeeze. Our faces in the mirror looked like variations on the same theme. My straight, deep auburn locks contrasted with her thick blond hair, her fine features appeared bird-like next to my stronger build. But the light dusting of freckles and the same full lips testified that we were cousins.

  “If he doesn’t like it he’s an idiot.”

  Angela smiled nervously, toying with the delicate weave of lace at her neckline, then broke into a grin. She suddenly gave me a rib-cracking hug. “I’m so glad you are here! I’m glad you came home. Especially now.”

  Yes, I was home. Still, I felt the constant urge to fly off in all directions—literally. For years, I’d spent as much time as I could wrenching at my roots, blown to far-flung places. Sandy beaches, noisy streets, quiet pathways. Surging through crowds of people of every color, my ears were filled with the music, the babble of voices. My nostrils were filled with the aroma of exotic food and flowering trees, the smell of diesel and sweat. And still I hadn’t found what I was looking for.

  For Angela, somehow life was always simple. You grow up, you go to school, get a nice job and then you get married. For me, not so much. My life was more like a train rocketing its way through a long range of mountains cut by dizzying rifts, the engineer asleep at the switch. Place of departure uncertain, destination unknown.

  But I had no reason to complain, I thought. I had a great job, people who loved me, and then there was Derek. Yes, Derek …

  But Angela was so happy. I didn’t want to ruin it for her. I vacuum-packed my feelings and set them on a back shelf somewhere in my mind. Actually, I was pretty good at that. I had been for a long time.

  I tried to remember to be happy for Angela. This was something she really deserved, a natural consequence of who she had always been and what she had become.

  “I wish I’d known you’d be here,” she scowled. “You could have been one of my bridesmaids.”

  “I know,” I said apologetically. “I didn’t know for sure when I’d get a transfer back to Montana.” I had known the transfer was a possibility. I had been looking for an opening here for a while. Something I could not really explain, even to myself, tugged at me to return closer to family and old friends. But I was conflicted and dragged my feet in the process. I wondered how much of my reluctance was due to the fact that I might have to bail in the middle of bridesmaid responsibilities or if it was the thought of a room full of well-dressed friends, relatives, and complete strangers watching me precede Angela down the aisle that sent a shiver down my spine.

  “Well, you’ve got Zee,” I soothed.

  Angela’s lowe
r lip pulled into a mock pout. “Yeah, but I had to practically bribe her.”

  “Oh, you did not,” my aunt countered.

  Angela’s eyes rested on the window and she suddenly screamed. “Oh, here comes James!” she said. “I don’t want him to see me in my dress!” A snowstorm of netting and fabric flew in all directions as she made a mad dash for the bedroom. Brutus startled into action and hid behind the couch.

  Three young men walked into the living room. One of them held a football.

  “Jenna, you remember James? And these are his friends, Travis and Walker,” my aunt said.

  “Hey, Jenna, how’s it going?” James, the tallest of the three, had curly blond hair and a thin, stubble of a beard. I had met him last month at the ranch. He and Angela started dating while she was at Idaho State a year ago. Ever since she took the position as a high school English teacher in Butte, he had been regularly burning up the road to Montana to see her. He was a quiet, bright, likable guy.

  I looked at their red cheeks. “Been playing some football?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” James said. “Where’s Angela?”

  “Hiding. She didn’t want you to see her dress,” Ann explained as she rolled up a long piece of tulle that had trailed after Angela in her flight.

  “OK,” James said, removing his hat and ruffling his hair.

  “Did you get the tuxes fitted?” asked Ann, pointing a stern finger in their direction.

  “Yeah,” James said.

  “They look like a couple of penguins,” Walker smirked as he juggled the ball from hand to hand. Travis punched him in the shoulder, and the ball bounced erratically across the floor until it hit my foot. I scooped it up and tossed it back.

  The young men shifted uncomfortably for a while, looking around them at the flurry of feminine paraphernalia. Travis cleared his throat, then started slowly easing backward out of the room as if a rattlesnake had just slithered from under the couch.

  “Nice to see you, Jenna,” James said, replacing his cap. “Tell Angela I’ll be back,” he said over his shoulder as they escaped through the door.