Ever Faithful Page 3

  Elsie’s heart raced. How was she supposed to teach these men? They’d never listen to her.

  Her friend drew back. “Well, that’s disappointing.” She turned, placing her gloved hands on her hips. “I guess it’s back to chasing gear jammers for us.”

  “Gear jammers? Hal’s a desk clerk, or have you tossed him over for a bus driver already?” Hal Henderson was a nice man. Mary could do far worse, if marriage was her ultimate goal.

  “I haven’t made any decisions yet. There’s a whole grand summer ahead of me. Besides, Hal’s staying here at Mammoth, and I’m going with you to Canyon.” She shrugged, touching one hand to her hair. “I heard the company’s bringing in some new drivers. They’ve got to be a more hopeful lot than these ninety-pound nothings.”

  Elsie examined the milling crowd. “I’m guessing many of these fellows gave up hope a long time ago.”

  “Hel-lo, ladies!” A short redhead ducked in from the far side of the crates, several more grinning men crowding behind him. “Looking for someone? Me, perhaps?”

  Elsie scooted back until she bumped into Mary. “No. We’re just…”

  Mary steadied the crates she’d just jostled, her pose not unlike a bored Hollywood starlet out for a stroll. “No, boys. I don’t see anything here worth a second glance.”

  The men gathering behind the ringleader laughed.

  He took a few more steps, careful to keep one hand on the suspenders hitching up his sagging trousers—riding breeches that ballooned around his thighs. “Don’t let these stylish threads fool you, Miss. I’m a mighty fine dancer, and I know how to show a girl a good time. Especially when she’s a dead ringer for Jean Harlow.”

  Elsie grabbed her friend’s wrist and tugged her back. “We’re not interested. We’re just—”

  “Leave ’em alone, Red.” A tall fellow with broad shoulders stepped forward and jerked his chin at the other. “Don’t listen to him, ladies. He’s all talk. Red might be able to manage an Irish jig, but that’s about it.”

  The man’s voice tickled in Elsie’s ears. Something about how he said “tawhk.” Where were these boys from?

  Mary yanked free of Elsie’s grasp. “And what about you?”

  He grinned, cocking his head to the side. “No ma’am. I’m here to work, not dance.”

  “I’m Mary Prosser. And your name is?” She flashed him one of her hundred-dollar smiles.

  He looked toward the throng, lowering his voice. “Nate Webber, miss.”

  “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Webber. And for your information, the savages throw some pretty keen wingdings.” Her focus wandered down his puttee-clad lower legs and settled on his work boots. “So I hope some of you boys brought your dancing shoes.”

  “Mary.” Elsie yanked on her arm. “Don’t.”

  Red chuckled and sauntered another step forward. “Savages? I think I’m liking the sound of this Yellowstone country better all the time. We’d love to come to your little clambake, dollface. Name the day.”

  Mr. Webber hooked a hand around the strap of Red’s rucksack. “Sounds a little too hot for you, friend.” He tipped his hat to Elsie and Mary, then steered the group back toward the main assembly.

  Elsie managed a steady breath, clasping the collar tight around her throat. “Now can we go?”

  Mary turned back to her, a familiar glint in her eyes. “I like him.”

  “Which one?” Elsie studied the retreating forms. As the taller man glanced back over his shoulder, the light caught his unusual green eyes.

  “The cute one. Red, was it? I suppose that’s a nickname. I wonder if he really is a good dancer?”

  Elsie sighed and turned to leave, hoping her friend would fall in behind. She and Mary had been roommates for three years, their tiny staff dormitory always either ringing with laughter or hushed with whispered secrets. Mary’s lighthearted antics never failed to amuse, but her obsession with the male of the species had multiplied with each summer that passed. It seemed to have reached a nearly frantic level.

  “He said I looked like Jean Harlow.” Mary bumped Elsie’s elbow as they walked. “Hey, isn’t that your father over there?”

  Elsie’s dad and Ranger Vaughn stood among a group of army officers. Elsie’s breath hitched in her chest at the sight of the younger ranger, but she forced air through her lungs anyway. She refused to be that sort of girl.

  Her father spoke to one of the army captains. “We need to get these supplies loaded and transported. Can your men see to that before we start toward camp?”

  The officer nodded before moving to assemble the ragtag band of recruits. “Follow me, men. Wonderland awaits.”

  Elsie’s father caught sight of the girls and strode over to meet them. “I didn’t expect to see you ladies here. Did you need something?”

  Mary hoisted her bag. “Laying in some supplies at the store, Ranger Brookes.” She glanced over at the CCC crowd. “And maybe getting a sneak peek at the newcomers.”

  Elsie clutched her own satchel to her midsection as Ranger Vaughn wandered over to join them. “An interesting group,” she said. “Where are they from?”

  “This sorry band of tenderfeet?” Her father shook his head. “I thought we were getting foresters from the upper Midwest or ranch hands from Wyoming.”

  Ranger Vaughn chuckled. “No, President Roosevelt sent us a passel of half-starved boys from Brooklyn.”

  “Brooklyn—New York?” Elsie glanced back at them. That explained the odd accent.

  Her father took off his hat and ran a hand through his graying hair. “I’ve never seen a more pathetic lot of misfits. I have no idea what the president thinks we’re supposed to do with these rascals.”

  “Maybe they just need some direction and leadership.” She watched as her father lifted one of the smaller crates. “If anyone could inspire them toward success, it would be you.”

  “I think it’s going to take a lot more than that, Els.” Her father jammed his hat back into place. “But with three squares a day and a whole lot of work, we’ll put some muscles on these boys by the end of the season. That much is certain.”

  Mary winked at Elsie. “Now we’re talking.”

  He tapped the end of Elsie’s nose as if she were still four years old. “And with you teaching them some reading and writing, maybe a few of them will have a future.”

  Ranger Vaughn folded his arms. “Teaching the three Rs to the three Cs? You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

  “I’ll do my best.” She ducked her head, afraid his smile would have her stammering again. “Come on, Mary. I’ve got geysers to monitor.” Chasing data seemed a lot more worthwhile than chasing after men.

  * * *

  Every muscle in Nate’s back and arms ached, and the stiff army cot did little to help matters. He shifted over onto his right side, hoping to ease the pressure on his spine. The mingled smells of damp canvas and sweat permeated the tent, hanging over him like a shroud. Snores punctuated the darkness.

  An empty hollow took up residence in his gut, but for once it wasn’t a lack of food. He’d eaten better in the past two weeks at the army’s conditioning base in New Jersey than he had his entire life. This felt more like a chunk of his soul had gone missing. Two years had passed since Sherm’s death, but sometimes grief still sprang at Nate out of the shadows, like the old pit bull at Barone’s junkyard—especially when he was alone. He’d never figured himself to be the type of sissy to moan over being away from his family, but then, he’d never been more than twenty miles from Brooklyn in his life.

  Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his two little sisters dancing as they waved goodbye at the recruiting station, not really understanding that the day’s excitement would mean he wasn’t returning anytime soon. His mother’s tears, on the other hand, had nearly knocked his legs out from under him. He’d seen her
cry countless times, but he could only remember one other time he’d been the cause—the day he’d been kicked out of school.

  Nate rolled off the cot. Since sleep refused to cooperate, he might as well use the meager facilities they’d dug during the daylight hours. He eased his way through the line of sleeping men, careful to avoid jarring any feet hanging in the aisle.

  He ducked outside, the brisk air stealing his breath in an instant. Glancing up at the night sky, everything else inside him stilled as well. Stars scattered from one horizon to the next, spilling across the dark background like the lights of Manhattan. Nate closed his mouth, but he couldn’t take his eyes away from the scene playing out above his head. The sky back home had never looked like this. He could almost touch it, brush his fingers against the glittering edges of the distant stars. “God.” He breathed the word, more in reverence than in vain. What other response could a man have in the face of such wonder?

  The chill cut through him, icy air curling around his neck and arms. He drew his elbows close and wrapped his hands around them to protect what body heat he had left and started toward the outhouse.

  Although nearly two hundred men had arrived, it had still taken ages for them to erect the massive tents and dig the latrines, not calling off work until well past dusk. The division captain, a brusque man in his late thirties, had warned them that they’d answer to reveille at dawn, just like any of his other soldiers.

  Only they weren’t soldiers. The chaos of the haphazard work had proven as much. After a short couple of weeks at Camp Dix—filled with medical tests, shots for typhoid and smallpox, calisthenics, and hot meals—the men were still ill prepared for the type of work thrust upon them. Nate had done his best, but even he seemed to be tripping over his feet. Likely the oversized breeches and stiff boots they’d issued him were to blame. Why did the uniforms all seem so ungodly large? Most of the men were swimming in their new duds, which was probably why those two girls at the station looked at them with such pity. Or was it contempt? The quieter one seemed to practically jump from her skin when Red came around the corner. You’d think he was a bear on the prowl.

  There had been plenty of jokes about Yellowstone’s grizzlies and buffalo on the train ride in. The thought curdled in Nate’s stomach. He knew how to handle a mugger, but a bear? He wouldn’t have a clue.

  He opened the door to the latrine.

  A pair of beady eyes glared at him from within, a violent hiss cutting through the night air.

  Nate jumped back and lost his balance before landing hard on the snow-crusted mud. His heart jumped to his throat. Had he conjured up a bear with his very thoughts?

  A loud chittering emanated from the confined space as the creature jumped from a shelf and lumbered into the open. A mask covered its pointy face and rings decorated its tail. He’d seen raccoons in Brooklyn hanging out around the trash cans and dark alleys, but rarely ones this size.

  He scooted backward, allowing the perturbed creature to make its escape. As Nate’s pulse slowed, he rolled to his knees and got to his feet, brushing the snow from his trousers. “Sorry, fella,” he called after the critter. “Didn’t realize this one was occupied.”

  “It’s usually a good idea to bang on the side first.” A voice came out of the darkness. “This time it was a raccoon, but next time it might be a skunk.” The camp captain strode up, an unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

  “I’ll keep that in mind—sir. I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

  “Nah. Late meeting with the park service reps. We’re planning the next month’s movements. Got another two hundred men coming in three weeks.”

  Nate glanced around at the sleeping camp. They were already squeezed in like sardines in a half-sized tin. “I hope they’re bringing more tents.”

  “We’ll be moving this company out and setting up two more camps in other areas of the park. More remote.”

  More remote than this? “Whatever you say, sir.”

  The captain tipped his head, taking the cigarette from his lips. “You military? Most of these fellas don’t seem to take the ‘yes sir, no sir’ tack.”

  “No—” Nate bit off his words before adding the sir out of habit. “But my father was a police sergeant.”

  “That discipline will serve you well here. Name?”

  “Webber, sir. Nate Webber.” Discipline. Yes, he’d had plenty of that drilled into him. The real trick had been gauging the old man’s mood before daring to open his mouth. Over the years he’d gotten pretty good at reading people’s faces even though he struggled to read words on a page.

  “Webber.” The captain looked him up and down, seemingly unaffected by the bitter cold of the night air. “Am I mistaken, or do you have a few extra years on most of the guys here? How old are you?”

  “Twenty-four, sir. Not a spring chicken, you might say.”

  “Indeed.” The army man snapped his head in another nod, as if confirming some inner thought he hadn’t bothered to share. “Good to hear. I hope you’ll be a voice of maturity and wisdom here.”

  Nate managed to stifle a chuckle. He’d never heard the word wisdom associated with himself. He must look different in the dark of night. Nate straightened his shoulders, trying his best to meet the man’s standards. If only his bladder would cooperate.

  The captain stepped back. “Don’t let me interrupt. Carry on, son.” He turned and stalked off toward the command tent. “We start on the plumbing tomorrow.”

  Nate ducked in the door and it closed behind him, sealing him in the dark space. A moment later he realized he’d forgotten to implement the captain’s first piece of advice: bang on the side of the latrine before entering. Scraping sounds from the rafters proved the bandit hadn’t been alone. Nate swung the door open and lunged back out into the bitter cold. The last thing he needed in a latrine was an audience. After a few seconds went by, two raccoon kits appeared at the door and bumbled off in the direction of their mother.

  Steam drifted across the stark landscape at Norris Geyser Basin as Whirligig Geyser gurgled and belched water a few feet into the air, the sour smell wafting on the morning breeze. Elsie checked the watch dangling from the pin attached to her blouse. Ten-sixteen. Earlier than expected. She braced a notebook against her hip as she recorded the data, scribbling the time and estimating the small fountain’s height. It had been a long and lonely drive here in her father’s borrowed truck, but it was worth it to visit her old friends and record their greetings.

  Even though snow still lingered on the nearby hillsides, the moist heat rising from the pools made pieces of Elsie’s hair cling to her cheeks. She tucked the runaway strands underneath the knitted tam-o’-shanter as the quiet hissing and bubbling of the springs filled the day with a gentle music.

  Closing the notebook, Elsie took a deep breath. The sulfurous air might send some tourists running, but to her it smelled of home. Not many people could count geyser watching as one of their favorite hobbies. She tucked the pencil over her ear. As she walked, her shoes made quiet thumps against the wooden boardwalk. She was glad the park service had built these paths, allowing visitors to get close to the pools while protecting the crusted-over soil. She could still see places where early visitors had carved their names into the mineralized outcroppings. The sight made her steam like the vents beneath her feet. Why must people destroy the very things they’d come to enjoy?

  She stopped and gazed into the translucent pool of Blue Geyser, an aquamarine jewel in the midst of the bubbling masses. If only her heart could maintain that same placid response in the face of life’s ups and downs. Instead she was more like Whirligig, churning and spouting off at unpredictable moments—even more so after learning she might start college this fall instead of next. School had been just beyond her grasp for so long, she didn’t know what to do with her new reality. Dreams always sound good until they show up on your doorstep. T
hen again, if they weren’t a little scary, they wouldn’t be worth dreaming about.

  Deep voices drew her attention from the pool. A large contingent of men appeared on the edge of the basin. Clothed in rolled-up dungarees, khaki-colored shirts, and neckties with the ends tucked between the second and third buttons, the CCC workers looked much more at ease today than they had in the ridiculous woolen uniforms they’d sported last week on the railroad platform.

  Elsie turned her attention to the geyser. She wanted to catch its next eruption and note the time in her careful row of figures. The eruption cycle on this particular feature was a mystery, but if she collected enough data and kept careful track, maybe she could make sense of it. The group shouldn’t prove too much of a distraction. After all, she didn’t have Mary’s roving eye.

  The men plowed forward, laughing and talking loudly as they tromped down the wooden planks of the walkway in their heavy boots, occasionally stopping to stare and point at the various pools. One of them strayed off the path, bending over to examine a two-foot outcropping of calcified rock like some child’s sandcastle frozen in stone. He dug in his pocket and took out a penknife.

  “No! Don’t you dare!” Elsie hurried toward him, her brown oxfords pattering on the pine boards.

  Fifty sets of eyes turned her direction, stopping her cold. She reached for her collar with one hand and squeezed it closed at her throat. “Get back on the boardwalk—now!” She slapped the notebook against her leg for emphasis. “You shouldn’t walk off the path out here. It’s dangerous.”

  The man smirked, gripping the knife in his fist. “Looks like I just did.”

  Off to one side, Red, the smart-mouthed one they’d met the other day, snickered. “Sounds just like my third-grade teacher.” He scrunched his nose. “Don’t do that.” He pitched his voice up in a mimicry of Elsie’s, the sound carrying over the others’ laughter.