Faithful (28 page)

It was a beautiful afternoon, the wind had kicked up even more, and little whitecaps foamed on the lake. I sat and watched the water sparkle in the sunlight, and cried for everything I had lost.

July 17, 1904

“THEY FEED THE BEARS EVERY EVENING,” SAID GRAYBULL.

It was two days since, as Graybull put it, I’d made a spectacle of myself on my Dot Island excursion. Papa had just returned from Canyon, and Mrs. Gale, Papa, Graybull, and I walked out behind the Lake Hotel before dinner. We hadn’t yet experienced the bear feedings and Graybull had finally insisted on it.

I’d kept to myself these past two days, feigning illness and taking meals in my room. Kula had disappeared without informing me; but I owed her a debt. She’d disobeyed Graybull for my sake. So I’d been alone, not even seeking out Mrs. Gale’s company. I needed to think, sort things through.

Mama was gone. Truly gone. And I missed her. I spent hours sitting at the window of my room overlooking the lake. Each afternoon, the clouds gathered into great lenticular stacks, then settled into the red dusk. I let myself think about Mama as I watched the lake spark diamonds, but I knew I had to let Mama go.

I had a brother. Would I like him? A year younger than me—we might be friends. He held a piece of Mama.

I was still trapped—Graybull had a hold over me through his hold over Papa. I couldn’t spurn Graybull; Papa, Grandpapa—both either needed or wanted this attachment. This part of my life was a house of sticks: pull one out and the rest fell down.

First, I had to try to determine what Papa knew about my brother. I hadn’t told him that I spoke to Uncle John, nor that I knew about Mama. I couldn’t talk about Mama yet. As we gathered in the lobby to walk out for the bear viewing, I set in: “How was your trip? Was it productive?” I almost never expressed an interest in his affairs; I could sense his surprise at my questions.

“It was fine,” he said.

“Is the hotel there attractive?”

“Not really. A new one is to be built.” He pulled on his mustache.

“Any other interesting news?”

“No.” I waited; he pressed his lips together, the discussion closed. I would learn no more from him.

There was plenty of afternoon light as Papa, Mrs. Gale, and I followed Graybull to the stands set up to overlook a grassy clearing where they fed the bears. A soldier kept us from walking farther, and we settled onto the benches. Then I saw why we were held back. Four black bears scavenged at a pile of rotting food. From time to time they stopped and sat on their haunches, or stood up sniffing the air. We were close to them, but it wasn’t like seeing the grizzly.

“Isn’t this marvelous?” Graybull asked. “At Canyon there’s even a captive bear on a chain for our entertainment.” Our entertainment. I thought about Tom and what he’d think about a captive bear. Just the passing thought of Tom sent my stomach into somersaults.

I watched a cub scampering around its mother, bleating. The sow turned over a large log and stuffed her nose into the scraps. Then she looked up, staring into the crowd.

“I don’t like it,” I said. I remembered the doe and her bleating fawn.

“What?” said Graybull. “Why ever not?”

“They shouldn’t eat our food,” I said. They were Tom’s words, and I was proud to use them.

“Oh, come now, Maggie,” said Papa. “They’re animals. It can’t hurt them. Aren’t they scavengers, at any rate?”

“Quite,” said Graybull. “This helps to keep them happy and well fed. And, it’s a park attraction.”

“And why do we have to interfere with nature?” Interfering men were wearing a groove on my nerves.

“My dear Margaret,” said Graybull, as if he were speaking to a small child, “it is up to the superior human race to control nature.”

“Control?” My voice was sharp. “Why do men always want to control everything around them? In fact, why do they think they are
able
to control everything around them?” I had to be careful; I was stepping over the bounds. I still had no place to turn. I bit my lip and looked at my hands before looking back up.

Graybull gazed at me, frowning. “Believe that splash of cold water the other day has made you a bit snappish, my dear.”

Papa gave an embarrassed laugh. “Maggie’s mother had some radical ideas. I’m sure she didn’t introduce them to Maggie.” He looked at me and ran his fingers over his mustache. Yes, she did, Papa. More than you know. I grew impatient again.

“Ah,” said Graybull. “Can’t have that, now, can we?” He smiled, his tongue dashing through the gap. I felt my face burn.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Mrs. Gale placed her hand on my arm. “Margaret, please come with me,” she murmured. “I’d like your help with a photo.”

I turned away from the men, my skirts swirling in a frustrated flounce.

Mrs. Gale set up the camera and asked me to shoot the picture. I waited until one bear turned its head toward me, then captured it. Its animal eyes were right on me. Those flat animal eyes meeting mine. Then I felt the weight of my own captivity. I was alien to the bear; I was akin to the bear. As much as I feared the bear, we weren’t so very different.

“The right time will come,” Mrs. Gale said as she put away the film, “for you to stand up for yourself.”

“Why not now?” I knew why not now. But I wanted to hear her thoughts.

“You are very young. Your father will come around. Remember, he’s still grieving.”

“So am I,” I whispered, furious. In fact, I was grieving now in a way I’d never admitted before.

“Of course you are. But he doesn’t know how to handle it, nor how to handle you.”

“He can’t wait to be rid of me.” I fought for words. “He wants me out of the way.” Now that he’d found a son, I was only a burden. Marry me off to someone rich—that solved every problem.

“All your father hopes is that you will be cared for. Give him time.”

I felt anger rising unchecked. I was seeing things around me with a different eye. I was alone, and feeling more betrayed with every moment. I watched the bears as they foraged, and then, one by one, they drifted like ghosts into the woods. The tourists began their return to the hotel, and the men rejoined us on the path back to our own dinner.

We walked in silence until Mrs. Gale spoke. “Margaret may have a point. It is a new century, after all. Maybe it’s time for some new ideas.” I glanced at her quickly, grateful.

“Possibly,” said Papa. He looked at me, and I saw in that look something of the way he had sometimes looked at Mama. Uncle John was right: Papa feared I was like Mama. Maybe I was. Maybe each day I grew more like Mama. And now that I knew she was gone—maybe I had to acknowledge Mama in me.

“I think it’s high time. High time for new ideas.” I said it loud, and tore off my hat to punctuate the comment, so that the breeze caught loose tendrils of hair and chucked them about my face.

Graybull took my arm. “Dangerous,” he said, dismissive. Then, abruptly, he leaned over and kissed my cheek, his coarse whiskers scratching my face.

I recoiled, appalled, feeling branded. I was nothing more to him than a possession. Like Ghost. Acquired.

He took my gesture the wrong way. “Such an impulsive thing.” He sounded pleased with himself.

“I think you mistake me,” I said through gritted teeth. I could barely control myself. This man repulsed me.

He raised his eyebrows, his smile now frozen.

“Maggie, dear . . .” Mrs. Gale began.

“I’m not impulsive,” I said, for the second time in a few days. But now I meant it in a different way. “I know exactly what I want.”

Graybull’s eyes darkened. “I’m all for spirit. So long as a woman knows her place.”

My feelings welled up. “Spirit is one thing I have in spades.” Inside me, rising from a hidden part of me, kept under wraps for far too long, grew the spirit of my mother. Not the madness, but her strength, her fortitude. I’d unleashed it in the water. I unleashed it now, when I admitted to myself that she was gone from me forever. I held my hat in one hand; I reached up with the other and pulled out first one of my hairpins, then another, until my hair flew loose in the evening breeze; as my hand worked I never took my eyes off Graybull’s face.

Graybull regarded me for a moment, uncertain, then turned away. Papa stared and I couldn’t read his expression, and he, too, turned away. Mrs. Gale gave me a wry smile and followed the men.

I waited for a few minutes as they went on ahead. I turned and looked after the bears. They had all disappeared into the darkening woods.

I would discover the answer to who I was, who I wanted to be, on my own. The deep blue of Yellowstone dusk hung over me like an arch.

July 18–19, 1904

THE NEXT AFTERNOON, GRAYBULL, MRS. GALE, AND I SET off to travel to Canyon. Papa was to remain at the Lake Hotel. Kula arrived back in my room just as we were preparing for departure; I was proud of my newly acquired packing skills until I saw how quickly she stepped in and, with her deft hands, finished the job. I asked for no explanation of her absence and she offered none.

We arrived at Canyon Hotel in the early evening. At dinner I looked furtively around the dining room. My brother might be among the waiters, or perhaps he was a diner at one of the other tables. There—that dark-haired boy who looked like Papa; no, he was too young. Or there—he had a mouth like Mama’s, a little . . .

It was like searching for a needle in a haystack; and it hurt like a needle driven into my palm, thinking of what Mama had suffered in never knowing what had become of her own child.

I retired to my room after dinner. When I opened the door, Kula was standing at my dresser. She whirled around and I spied something clutched in her hand.

I put my hand to my throat; for once I was not wearing the cameo, and now it was not on the dresser where I usually placed it. “Kula?” I was puzzled. “What’s that?” I pointed to her hand.

Kula’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t open her fist. She acted like a cornered animal, angry and defensive.

“What are you doing?” I whispered. Hurt rose in me, the pain of betrayal. I trusted her; I didn’t understand.

Kula’s mouth curled in a sneer. She squared her shoulders. “I was going to take it to someone. For a gift.” She turned and dropped the cameo, with a hollow rattle, onto the dresser, where it caught the light. She walked to the other side of the room. “It wasn’t for me. I don’t even like it.”

I went and picked up the pin, still warm from her hand. I was bewildered. My voice came out in a whisper. “How could you do this to me, Kula?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” She shook her head. “You are thick.”

“What are you talking about?” My throat swelled. She had turned on me with no explanation. She’d been my ally, my . . . not friend. No, she was only a servant.

“I think I’ll let you figure it out on your own.”

Kula pushed past me out the door and slammed it shut. Jealous—was she jealous? All the things I had—all the things she wanted. I could only think she must hate me out of jealousy.

The next morning I tried to act as though nothing had happened. I sneaked glances at Kula, who ignored me. But I wore the cameo all the time now. I could not risk losing it—it was all I had left of Mama. Everything had changed between Kula and me, and I could only guess as to why.

“Shall we have a look at the canyon now?” Mrs. Gale asked after breakfast. “I’d like to try for a photo or two in the early light.” I moaned. I’d seen the paintings; the canyon was deep and sheer. The very thought of it made my head spin and my stomach drop. I trailed along at the tail end of the group, following Mrs. Gale, Kula, and Graybull. I decided I would only walk so far and wait for them well back from the edge.

From far up the trail I heard the thunder of the falls. The trees opened to the view, and I stopped at once. I could only look between the pines, and even that was terrifying.

We were at a point where the river ran slow, upstream of the canyon itself. The canyon walls were yellow and white, glowing in the early sun. The river plunged over the edge into the depths below. Deep in the gorge, the river rushed away, a narrow ribbon. The falls themselves were not so broad as Niagara, but almost as high. The cliffs rose straight up, a series of steep edges and angles and points of rock.