Courting Carrie in Wonderland

by Carla Kelly

  “Caroline, where have you been?” he said, crossing the lobby in three steps to take her hand. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”

  She didn’t try to stop her tears, because she knew she couldn’t swallow fast enough or press hard enough against the bridge of her nose. She did know how to cry quietly and she did that as he put his arm around her shoulder and led her to a sofa in an empty corner of the lobby.

  She told him what had happened last night, squeezing back on his hand as he held hers. “I went to the kitchen because the manager said to.” She managed a watery chuckle. “I have a sixth sense about cooks, Ram. I thought she would help me, and she did.”

  She sat up straighter. “Why were you looking for me? Surely she didn’t … She told me to go away and I did. I mean, I’d like to try again, but I don’t know …”

  He put his hand gently on her neck and tugged her closer. “Somewhere along about midnight, someone from the hotel banged on my door and said the guest in Room 25 was having a royal fit. It seems her maid was missing.”

  “Oh, my goodness, Ram. Have you been looking for me all this time?”

  “Almost.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault.”

  His hand felt good on her neck, even though she knew her mother never would have approved, not Mary McKay. She knew she could have sat that way with the sergeant major for hours, or maybe the better part of the summer, but she had to know more.

  “What did she tell you?” Carrie asked, prepared for the worst and knowing she wouldn’t be disappointed.

  He let go of her and leaned back. “When she could speak without foaming at the mouth?”

  “Don’t exaggerate! It’s bad enough,” she declared, and he just grinned at her.

  “There was high drama in Room 25,” he assured her. “She said you were impertinent and then snuck up on her and scared her so badly she dropped her cup of tea. Let’s see: you were making fun of her dear friends …” He grinned at her again. “If memory serves me, there was something about overthrowing a Central American banana republic …”

  Carrie laughed in spite of herself. “Oh, there was not! Is a serious conversation impossible with you?” she asked.

  “Not at all,” he said. “Anytime you want. I would like to know what really happened in that room.”

  She told him, starting with their earlier banter about To Have and to Hold, and Mrs. LaMarque’s over-reaction when Carrie found her reading it and attempted a good-natured tease. “It went downhill from there,” Carrie said. “She ordered me out and tried to pick up the teacup, but her hand was shaking and she spilled it.”

  “That sounds far more truthful than what I heard. Tell me: Did you strew all those clothes around the room, or was that her added drama?” He held up a placating hand. “My goodness, Caroline, your expression tells me the answer to that one. What do you want to do now?”

  “I’m going upstairs to try again,” she said.

  “You don’t have to,” he told her. His tone became more businesslike, more like a sergeant major. “I’m perfectly willing to tell her she’ll be making this journey on her own.”

  “What would President Roosevelt think?”

  “Not sure I care,” he said. “I’m not losing my job, and I won’t have you humiliated like that again.”

  “It’s tempting to throw in the towel,” she admitted. “I can’t, though, because I don’t want to give back the fifty dollars.”

  “That’s yours to keep,” he reminded her. “That was the deal I made with Madame Battle-ax.”

  She shook her head. “Ram, I couldn’t anymore keep fifty dollars I haven’t earned than I could split that tip jar with Jake Trost any way but down the middle.”

  “I figured you’d say that, Caroline.”

  “And my name’s just Carrie. That’s all.”

  “Humor me, friend. I want to call you Caroline, at least when it’s just you and me, because I like it,” he said. He stood up and held out his hand, pulling her to her feet. He steered her toward the front door.

  “You should know that the dragon managed to get herself dressed,” he said, his tone army-brisk now. “With a massively wounded expression, she told me she cleaned up the mess you made. She’s out walking the terrace, Haynes Guidebook in hand. I’ll come with you.”

  “No,” she said quietly. “You probably have work to finish. If I can’t face her alone, what good am I? Is the plan still to leave around ten? Provided I’m still employed?”

  “Far as I know.” He pointed to her carpetbag. “I’ll put that in the coach on my way back to my office. See you on the terrace in half an hour.”

  Brown eyes into blue ones again. This time Carrie touched Ramsay’s Medal of Honor ribbon. “For luck.”

  Without a word, he took it off again and pinned it to her collar.

  Carrie thanked him and left the lobby. She had never been to the terraces. As she walked with purpose, she decided to go up the steep wooden stairs past the Liberty Cap, a distinctive, long-dormant hot spring Ram had pointed out yesterday. She stood a moment in admiration of the odd formation, then mounted the steps.

  Drat it if she didn’t start worrying that Mrs. LaMarque might try this steep route and twist her ankle, or otherwise hurt herself. Why do I even care? she thought as she made her way slowly up the steps, across the boardwalk until she stood in front of Palette Spring and Terrace, according to the marker.

  “My goodness,” she said out loud, which made a dapper old gentleman walking up the path chuckle.

  “It’s that and more, miss,” he said, and tipped his hat to her. “Watch your step.”

  She smiled at him, thankful for his kindly admonition, feeling charitable again. She breathed the sulfur air and let her eyes trail over lovely terraces of dripping water containing calcium carbonate, according to the sign. White, orange, and brown colors had flowed separately and then mingled together, who knew how many years ago, to create the masterpiece before her. She knew it was only one terrace of many, but there wasn’t time for more right now. It didn’t matter. With the whole hundred dollars she was determined to earn, she could take a day off now and then, hitch a ride like the other savages, and see something of the park. She didn’t have to work every single day.

  She felt her whole body relax as she gazed on the glory before her. No matter how badly Mrs. LaMarque continued to behave, she, Carrie McKay, was still in Wonderland and seeing it through a tourist’s eyes this time. In the distance she saw more terraces, some of them deep red, or a blue bluer than blue.

  She also saw Mrs. LaMarque sitting by herself at the end of the long boardwalk stretching east and then rising to another set of steps. She touched the service ribbon and walked toward her employer, if such she still was.

  She knew Mrs. LaMarque saw her because the woman turned away. “So that’s how you feel?” Carrie murmured. “You can’t dismiss me that easily. I have to hear from your own lips if I am fired.”

  She would have to tell Ram when she saw him next—whether it was to continue on this already shaky journey or to say good-bye—that the fear left her the moment he pinned on the ribbon. She did not falter as she came closer to Mrs. LaMarque, who still wasn’t looking at her.

  There was room on the rustic bench so she sat down. Mrs. LaMarque had stated in that lengthy letter that she did not wish her maid to speak first, so Carrie said nothing.

  “You could have stayed in the room last night. I was about to tell you what to do,” Mrs. LaMarque said finally.

  “You told me to go away, and I did,” Carrie replied. “I found a place to sleep.”

  “You didn’t think I would worry about you?”

  “It never crossed my mind,” Carrie answered truthfully. To bluff or not to bluff? she asked herself. “As soon as I can get that fifty dollars from Mr. Wylie’s safe in Gardiner, I will return your money. I’ll leave it in an envelope at the front desk, and you can get it when you finish your trip. Good day, Mrs. LaMarque.” />
  She stood up and walked away, trying to decide whether to go higher up on the terraces to see more, or to retrieve her carpetbag from the coach and find a way to Gardiner, which she knew would not be difficult. Or maybe just stay. The matter was in Mrs. LaMarque’s hands.

  She decided to climb higher. Mrs. LaMarque could continue with Sergeant Major Stiles and the money would be waiting for her later. The elderly gentleman who had said hello to her had been carrying a guidebook. If he didn’t think her too forward, maybe she could catch up with him and look at his guidebook too.

  “Carrie, don’t leave.”

  She turned around. Mrs. LaMarque was walking toward her. Carrie regarded her, feeling no fear, no matter the outcome. She waited, her hands clasped in front of her waist, the way Mam had taught her when she was a little girl. Nothing you can say will hurt me, she thought, and meant it. I have a medal.

  Mrs. LaMarque was wearing her neutral face, the one Carrie trusted no more than her angry face. She hadn’t seen any other side to the woman. That wasn’t entirely true. Carrie smiled a little to remember their give and take over the steamer trunk. That was a nice moment to recall, if she ever decided to think of this person ever again.

  As Carrie watched her calmly, Mrs. LaMarque’s expression softened. In any other person, Carrie might have thought she saw contrition, but who could tell with this woman? She remained silent, waiting.

  “Don’t leave,” Mrs. LaMarque repeated.

  Carrie’s eyes opened wide as Mrs. LaMarque held out her hand. “I will try to do better.”

  Carrie extended her hand, half expecting the old witch to withdraw hers at the last moment. She felt a pang as she saw Mrs. LaMarque’s tremor that ended when they clasped hands.

  Carrie tried to release her hand after a moment, but Mrs. LaMarque wasn’t ready to let go.

  “Shall we try again?” the lady said.

  “I believe we should,” Carrie answered. “Sergeant Major Stiles probably knows absolutely nothing about laying out clothes or cinching up a corset.”

  Mrs. LaMarque released Carrie’s hand and laughed out loud, not a simper but that full-bodied sound Carrie had heard earlier. She knew the lady would never actually apologize. They could stand here awkwardly or they could move on. She doubted Mrs. LaMarque knew what to do right now, because she had probably never been this close to apology in her life and it wouldn’t come.

  “Mrs. LaMarque, you said something at the major’s house last night about teaching me to get more volume when I sing,” Carrie said and changed the subject. She started walking, hoping that the lady would walk with her. “If we have time on this trip, maybe you can help me.”

  “It’s simply a matter of breathing deeper from your diaphragm, and not your chest,” Mrs. LaMarque said as she fell in step with Carrie, apparently willing to close that page in her book of umbrage. “We should have a moment for that in the next few days.”

  Mrs. LaMarque looked up at the terraces above them and shook her head. “It’s too much for me,” she confessed.

  Carrie nodded and gazed at the terraces she wouldn’t have time to explore on this trip. They would probably still be here later. What was another week in the scheme of a few thousand years?

  They walked slowly down the boardwalk. Carrie touched the service ribbon when she saw Sergeant Major Stiles waiting for them by the Liberty Cap. He sat on Xerxes, and the coach was behind him, with the driver standing ready to help Mrs. LaMarque up the single step he had just pulled down. The luggage was already strapped on behind the second seat.

  “I will sit in the second seat, and you will sit next to the driver,” Mrs. LaMarque announced. “And look, are there two linen dusters for us?”

  “I believe so.”

  Carrie looked at Ram Stiles, who touched his finger to his campaign hat. I believe someone is looking out for me, she thought.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Ramsay kneed Xerxes closer to Carrie. “Mrs. LaMarque will want you to sit beside her when we get to the Golden Gate,” Ramsay whispered to her, bending down from Xerxes and keeping his voice low. “I’ll wager you.”

  “Betting what?” she whispered back.

  He blushed and she wished she hadn’t asked. He surprised her then by not looking away. “You dance with me at one of the hotels if I win.”

  This was no time to hang back; she felt it in her bones. “What if I want to wager the same way?”

  “Then we will definitely dance. I don’t change wagering rules. You’re on, Caroline.”

  And the doubt. “I don’t have an evening dress.”

  “We’ll dance on the ballroom balcony. This sergeant major takes no excuses. Offers none, either.”

  He leaned over so close to her, and her heart felt less battered, much less. Any closer and he would be out of focus. She decided this was going to be the best five days of her life so far. When she had a leisure moment, she would study the odd fact that the worst day could change on a dime to the best one.

  He spoke next to Dave, the driver, then led out. Mrs. LaMarque tapped her shoulder. “What was he saying? I want to know.”

  Carrie turned around. Mrs. LaMarque had resumed her superior air. Contrition was obviously not a lasting virtue with the Empress of Washington, D.C. “He said nothing about you, Mrs. LaMarque. He spoke only to me.” She couldn’t help a smile; she knew that road called the Golden Gate. “Better hang on tight. You might even want to close your eyes.”

  She turned back around and caught the driver’s eye. He winked at her. “We could make it a real doozy of a ride,” he whispered.

  “Only if you don’t scare me too,” she whispered back.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He gave her a big grin. “Besides, I’m under orders from Sarge to treat you as I would my own mother.”

  “He never said that!” Carrie exclaimed.

  “Wanna bet?”

  “I’ve been betting enough lately,” she replied, hopefully with at least the semblance of dignity.

  Carrie sat back, content because she had made a wager with Ram Stiles she could not lose, and the air was pine scented. She breathed deep, tired down to her stockings, because it had not been a restful night. She looked ahead at Ramsay on Xerxes, amused to see the sergeant major’s head bowed forward. He had perfected the art of sleeping in the saddle. The poor man had been up since midnight, soothing an irrational woman and looking for a missing one.

  Carrie smiled to herself at the gasps and exclamations from the seat behind her, as they drove through the Hoodoos, where a mountain’s burden of dripping water had collapsed, leaving honeycombed caves. Hoodoos on either side of the road looked as though they had been tumbled there by giants, ready to topple.

  Carrie watched Ramsay sit up in the saddle, wide awake and alert to what she knew was directly ahead, and vanished behind a great block of limestone. Nearly one hundred feet high, the stone loomed over the narrow road, as though trying to crash into an equally tall stone on the other side. Mrs. LaMarque clutched the front seat. “Where did he go?” she asked with a distinct quaver in her voice that bore no resemblance to the singer’s well-honed vibrato.

  “Just around the bend, ma’am,” Dave said as he gathered the reins tighter. “We’re going in now, and up a steep grade. It’s called Silver Gate, in case you’re interested. Here we go!”

  Mrs. LaMarque shrieked and wrenched Carrie back against the seat by both shoulders as Dave took the rise a little faster than he ordinarily would have, if his passenger had been a nice person, and not Louise LaMarque. The coach swayed from side to side, and the singer started to moan.

  “Well, imagine that,” Dave said when they passed through Silver Gate. “Horses are a bit spry today.”

  “Stop. This. Coach,” Mrs. LaMarque demanded.

  “We’re heading into a great view, ma’am,” Dave said. “Right now?”

  “Immediately.”

  With a sidelong glance at Carrie, the driver pulled back on his hand brake and spoke to his well
-mannered horses, who weren’t any more spry than usual.

  “Ma’am?” Dave asked. “We can’t turn around here, if that’s what you have in mind.”

  By now Sergeant Major Stiles had threaded his way back to Silver Gate’s opening. “Is there a problem?” he asked, careful not to look at Carrie or the driver, but at the rocks above their heads.

  “Mrs. LaMarque wanted me to stop, Sarge.” He shrugged.

  “He is driving like a maniac,” Mrs. LaMarque declared. “Do something.”

  “Not much I can do,” Ramsay said, all business. “He’s contracted for your trip and Dave is the best driver with the Yellowstone Park Transportation Company. The road is a bit rough here; that’s all. There’s a truly splendid view ahead.”

  “I have no choice?” she asked, the martyr now.

  “No, ma’am,” Ramsay said cheerfully. “The view is amazing—canyon walls some three hundred feet high, and a drop off to the Gardner River …” He reined in closer to the driver. “What do you think, Dave? About five hundred feet straight down?”

  “More,” Dave said, and spit. “Seven hundred if it’s an inch.”

  “Great view,” Ramsay assured everyone’s favorite tourist. “We should probably move along.”

  “Not until Carrie gets in back with me,” Mrs. LaMarque insisted.

  “Not a problem.” Ramsay dismounted and let down the metal step. He helped Carrie down, squeezing her hand. “Mrs. LaMarque, are you sure? I know from your manifesto … uh, letter … that you don’t like to be crowded or spoken to.”

  “I will make an exception,” she said with some dignity. “Sit with me, Carrie.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Carrie said as Ramsay helped her up, his hand on her waist this time, which meant a little pat when she was almost aboard.

  “All right now,” Ramsay said, the brisk sergeant again. “Dave, you might want to drive close to the edge so Mrs. LaMarque can see the yellow moss above and below the road. One of the many ways Yellowstone gets its name, I believe.”