Every Hidden Thing (15 page)

A
T FIRST LIGHT WE WERE UP AND LOADING
the crates onto the wagon.

Over the past five days we'd finished quarrying out the monoclonius and the mosasaur. Father had us working such long hours, I hadn't seen Rachel for nearly a week.

Five days, my hands carefully prizing bones from million-year-old rock. But my mind on Rachel's mouth. Or the small mole on her neck. Or the light beaming out from her eyes. Thoughts of her punctuated every tap of my awl and hammer, like the spaces between heartbeats. That bit of bone I'd quarried out, that was for Rachel, and the next bit too. Inside my head I was narrating my entire life for her, making lists of things I wanted to ask her, things I wanted to tell her. And always thinking ahead to the
moment I'd next see her. That moment when, finally, I'd hear her say she loved me.

The night before, we'd packed the bulky bones in buffalo grass for the journey back to Philadelphia. I'd already helped Father label them and make diagrams of how they were found, so we'd have an easier time reassembling them when we got home.

As Hitch harnessed the team, Father gave Ned the note to be telegraphed to the
Transactions of the American Philosophical Society.

“Can you read his handwriting?” I asked Ned.

“The professor's gone over it with me enough times.”

“Our finds should appear in their next issue,” Father said jovially, “before we're even home! This is how we do it, gentlemen. We may be outnumbered, but we work faster.”

He looked grave, though, as he counted out money to Ned. After the cost of freight, the sizeable telegram, and another month of supplies and food, we'd be lucky to make it through the summer. And get ourselves home at the end of it. If we sold the team for a decent price, we'd be all right. Still, made me think again about Withrow and his offer.

Father winked at me. “We may have to play some more billiards in Crowe, eh?”

Which did nothing to ease my mind. He still thought I'd won all that money. Another thing he didn't know: I'd held back some of what Mrs. Cummins had returned to me. Partly I didn't think it was safe for my father to have it all. He might lose it or pack fossils with it or kindle a fire with it. Partly I just wanted to have some money of my own. All my life I'd been dependent on
him, and it made me feel good to be more self-reliant.

After a hasty breakfast, Hitch and Ned loaded the last few items onto the wagon.

“I've left my revolver in your bedroll,” Ned told me quietly. “I know your pa doesn't approve. Just between you and me, all right?”

“Thanks,” I said.

“See you tomorrow.”

I felt a bit nervous watching the wagon disappear. I was worried about their safety and also our own. I thought of the Sioux boy. I thought of wavery lines of smoke rising beyond the badlands. Yes, we were only an hour away from Cartland's cavalry, but still, our camp had just been cut in half.

In the last light of day, a group of soldiers arrived with a bag of mail from Crowe. To my surprise there was a letter for me from Aunt Berton. It was a single sheet of creamy paper, on which she urged me to return home and expressed her concern for my reputation as a lady, spending so much time among soldiers and savages and dead things. I laughed aloud and was about to read it to Papa, but he was engrossed in his own letter.

“Who's that from?” I asked.

“The postmaster yes yes in Crowe.”

His eyes marched across the lines. “It seems our friend Bolt has been most active.”

“What is it you're reading?”

Without looking up, he said, “I came to an arrangement with
the postmaster to let me know when Bolt was shipping freight or sending telegrams back east.”

“Papa! That's private business!”

He glanced up irritably. “Not in Crowe it seems. He's been kind enough to send me a transcript here.” He looked back down. “Bolt has a mosasaur, nothing new there . . . oh, and yes yes he's been
naming
species already . . .
Monoclonius crassus
, very nice . . .”

His voice was calm, but his high domed forehead was flushed, and I knew he was furious that his rival had claimed a new species before him.

“. . . working in his usual slapdash way. I should have known this would be his modus operandi. Laying claim even before he left the field. It'll all have to be redone properly by others like myself at some point—”

When he stopped abruptly, brow furrowed, I knew something had upset him even more.

“What?” I demanded.

“. . . partial skull, scapula, humerus, ulna, fourth metacarpal, four phalanges . . .” He looked up, his face suddenly drained of color. “He has a pterodactylus with a wingspan of possibly thirty feet. He has a wing
and
a head! And he has named it
Quetzalcoatlus
Bolt!”

“No.” Samuel would've told me if they'd found a pterodactylus. Unless all this had happened in the last five days when I hadn't see him. Could they have found and quarried out an entire specimen in so few days?

In a clenched voice my father said, “He has
poached
my fossil!”

“What?” I said, still so bewildered I wasn't even sure what he meant. “Stolen it?”

“From our quarry.”

“No one would do such a thing!”

“No? Perhaps this explains why we found no skull and only
one
arm.”

“We would've noticed, wouldn't we?”

“Not if he came in the night yes yes. I wouldn't put it past Bolt. He's a skillful digger; we might not have noticed his workings. The Yalies kept the quarry so messy there was debris everywhere.” He looked at me sharply. “Have you seen his boy? Told him anything?”

“Of course not!” I was shocked by his insinuation—and my own quick lie.

The doubt had always been there, dormant in my mind, and now it began to germinate and send out tendrils. Had everything I'd told Sam been relayed straight to his father? Was he just spying after all? What else had he lied about?

“Isn't it possible,” I said hopefully, “they just found one of their own?”

My father paced. His head rode atop his shoulders like a fierce cannonball. “I find that very hard to believe. I'll confront him!”

“And admit you've been reading his telegrams? I think that's a crime.”

“There are no Union laws out here yet,” my father said evasively, but his temper seemed to cool. “Bolt's a thief, no question, but it's impossible to prove right now. No point pursuing it. In any event, he'll find all his rash haste is fruitless.”

“Why's that?”

“Before we left Crowe, I telegraphed the editor of
American Philosophical
, and we came to an understanding he'd publish only
my
finds during this season. Bolt will have to secure publication elsewhere.”

My face must have radiated my astonishment, for he said, “Don't worry, my dear. There's nothing nefarious in it. It's a perfectly yes yes legitimate arrangement. Bolt will have his finds published, only in some other journal, and later than he might like. Much later perhaps.”

He walked off, leaving me tangled up in my own thoughts and wondering who was less trustworthy: my father or Samuel Bolt.

I'd barely said hello to her before she asked, “Did you find a pterodactylus?”

Her piercing look made me feel instantly guilty. “No. I would've told you!”

“And you didn't tell your father about ours?”

I shook my head. “What's wrong?”

She looked miserable. “I don't know if you're telling the truth.”

“I am! What's going on?”

Suddenly
she
seemed like the guilty one. “My father . . .” Her
eyes dropped, and she tried again. “He's paid the postmaster in Crowe to show him your father's telegrams.”

“What!” I'd always thought my father was exaggerating, the way he raged about Cartland's scheming. But this was despicable! Before I could say anything else, Rachel was lifting her hand, beseeching.

“I know, it's terrible, but please listen. In the telegram your father says he found a new species of pterodactylus. It sounds exactly like ours, except he has the head and left wing—the parts
we're
missing.”

I felt a hot rush of outrage. “And you think my father
stole
from your quarry?”

“Why didn't he tell you he found a flying reptile?”

“The only thief's your father!” I countered. “Has he ever told you what he did at the New Jersey marl pits? No? Going behind my father's back with the pit owner to sneak out the best fossils?”

“I don't know anything about that.”

Both of us went silent. My head raged. Was Cartland inventing some crime of my father's? To explain his incomplete skeleton? If yes, it was a wicked lie to hammer together and tell his own daughter.

“Some of the students say they saw him from a distance,” she said.

“All right, let's say my father saw the quarry. How could he dig it up with your people there all the time?”

“At night.”

It stung me, her assumption my father was guilty. But already I
was rummaging through my memories. And came to those nights I'd woken and Father hadn't been beside me in our tent. That one time especially I'd found him poking at the campfire, bedraggled and dusty, before even Hitch was awake. He was always an early riser, and a restless sleeper, and I'd just assumed he was getting some fresh air.

“I don't believe it,” I said, furious at the possibility. “The only thing we know for sure is your father's breaking the law to spy on my father. Because he's
jealous
we'll claim things faster. And that's exactly what we're doing!”

She looked away. Haltingly she said, “There's something else,” and told me how Cartland had fixed things with the journal before he'd left Crowe.

“This is too much!” I said. “I've got to tell my father.”

She stared at me balefully. “Go ahead. And you can ask him where he got his pterodactylus.”

Again we fell silent. She was right. If I told my father, everything would come spilling out. My meetings with Rachel. All our traded secrets.

“Our fathers . . . ,” I began, and trailed off.

“It's awful what mine did,” she said. “I'm ashamed of him. But yours—you have to admit, it looks suspicious.”

Miserably I nodded. I knew my father was rash, but the idea of him stealing outright was too painful.

She was quiet a moment, then looked me square in the eye. “You really didn't know anything about this?”

I squinted. “You're asking if I
helped
him now?”

She took her time. “Did you?”

“No! How can I prove it?” I asked, feeling helpless. “Whatever my father did, or didn't do, I had nothing to do with it.”

I felt like she was watching me from a long way away, and I wanted to bring her back to me. I needed to fix things but didn't know how.

“I have to go,” she said abruptly. “I think they're getting suspicious.”

Desolate, I said, “Not yet, not like this.”

“I have to,” she said, and left.

That evening Father was in high spirits. He'd found articulated bone, and so had Ned, who'd returned from Crowe in the early afternoon. As we washed up by the river before dinner, the two of them eagerly traded details, debated which one we should quarry out first. I said nothing, still deep in the rabbit warren of my own thoughts—until I heard my father say:

“At this rate, we'll have another three to claim soon.”

Another three
. Monoclonius. Mosasaur. And . . .

With a sick feeling I asked, “What was the third?”

My father's smile contracted. Then he chuckled. “I was thinking about our
rex
tooth, I suppose.”

“You mentioned the tooth to the journal?” I asked. “A bit early, isn't it?”

I shot a look at Ned. He looked like he had a big greasy meal sliding around inside him. He said nothing.

“So what was the third?” I persisted.

Ned's head drooped like a whipped dog. He was too honest to hide a lie.

“I found a partial skeleton of a pterodactylus,” Father said, “and shipped it off last minute. I forgot to tell you.”

This lie hurt me almost the worst. So half hearted. Did he think I was an idiot? Everything we found we talked about. At night we made measurements, imagined anatomy and function. He would
never
forget to tell me about a find—unless he was hiding it on purpose.

“Where'd you find it?” I demanded. If he was going to drag this out, I wanted to make it as painful as possible.

Father buttoned his shirt, pulled his suspenders up over his shoulders.

“Ned?” I asked.

“Professor,” he said miserably, “I'd feel better if you answered this.”

Father swiped water droplets from his eyebrows. “I found it in one of Cartland's quarries. They'd made a mess of it. They'd scrounged out a wing and the rear limbs, a fragment of pelvic girdle, but it was obvious they weren't going to find anything more. Ned and I just had a poke around and caught what they'd missed. We got the skull and another wing.”

“At night.”

“Certainly at night. I wanted to see how he was making out, just have a look. I wasn't planning on touching anything—but that pterodactyl. It was huge. Nothing like the European ones.”

“What about the agreement? No interfering with each other's quarries?”

Far from apologetic, his expression was almost pugnacious. “I didn't tamper with what they'd already uncovered. He's welcome to his find.”

“I'm sure they would've found the skull on their own!”

A dismissive wave of his hand. “Likely I saved those pieces from being forgotten, or mashed to chalk by his ham-fisted students.”