“Of course.” It was the only thing I could say. I stared at the picture. Graybull was giving me what I’d thought I wanted. Papa was instructing me on what to do. I had to obey. “Thank you,” I added, my voice flat.
He moved closer, so that we were face-to-face. I sensed his desire and felt my visceral response. Husband? To share . . . everything with him? He smiled again, but it was a smile of triumph, of conquest, not of love.
Tom.
“My pleasure, my dear Margaret.” Graybull reached out and took my left hand, then brought my fingers to his lips.
His kiss sent me reeling, the pressure of his lips on my bare fingers. “Please excuse me for a few minutes,” I said, and pulled back, withdrawing my hand from his. “I’m . . . overwhelmed.”
“We shall meet right here.” It was not a question. “Say, in an hour?” Graybull said with a smile.
I didn’t plan to run to my room, but my feet moved faster the farther I was from the lobby. Tears streamed down my face and blinded me. When I reached the door I didn’t notice that it was ajar. I stumbled inside and felt a rude shock.
A girl stood in the middle of my room with my blue velvet dress draped loosely over her own rough clothes, turning back and forth, gazing at herself in the mirror.
Chapter TWENTY - SEVEN
July 13, 1904
Today, if you go to Bear Butte, you can still see
the claw marks the bear made when he tried to climb it,
and if the light is right, you can see the moccasin
tracks of the woman and the little boy at the bottom.
It is one place in the old Cheyenne country where
women can go to look for power.
—“The Bear Butte,” story as told by Jessie American Horse, a Northern Cheyenne
“WHAT—?” NOW EVEN MY CLOTHES WERE SUBJECT TO manhandling. I was living a perfect nightmare.
It was Kula. Kula who kept showing up around Tom; Kula who reminded me of something, something I couldn’t put my finger on. I’d seen her at the tent camp; I supposed Gretchen Mills had let her go, and now she worked here.
Kula whirled, dropping the dress to the floor. Her dark eyes were wide with a combination of fear and defiance.
Tears streaked down my face. “What are you doing?” Was she stealing, or just pawing through my things?
Kula bent and gathered the dress in her arms, her long black braid swinging forward of her shoulder, her eyes never leaving mine. Her cheeks flushed and, as she regarded my tear-streaked face, her expression changed to one of puzzlement. “I didn’t mean harm,” she said, sounding perplexed. “I just wanted to try it.”
I sank onto the bed. “Please leave,” I said, my voice breaking. I wanted to be alone with my misery.
Kula hung the dress back on the hanger, her eyes still on me. “I’m here to do your room,” she said. She gestured at the bed, not yet made up, though it was late in the afternoon.
“Not now.” I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes. Thoughts crowded my head. Mama wouldn’t have let this happen to me, a forced marriage, and to such a disagreeable man. Mama would have fought them all—Papa, Grandpapa—for me.
Kula busied herself, straightening the room, picking up the towels that I’d tossed in the corner. “If I don’t make it right the management will have my job.”
I sat bolt upright, my frustration spilling into pointless rage, which I unleashed at Kula. “If you don’t leave, I’ll make sure the management removes you!”
Kula dropped the towels in the middle of the room. Her dark eyes shone with tears, yet she looked more angry than fearful. “Sorry, miss,” she said in a near whisper, and made for the door.
I remembered Tom and how he hated the way I’d treated her; and, after all, my unhappy state wasn’t her fault. “Stop!” I said. “I’m sorry.” She couldn’t be blamed for Mama’s disappearance or for Graybull. “Go ahead and finish. You must have had a long day.” I slid off the bed and sat at the dressing table, putting my head in my hands and letting the tears fall onto the tabletop.
Kula worked quickly and silently tidying the room and making up the bed. I could feel her looking at me. I knew I looked a mess but I didn’t care.
She came and stood by the table. “I’m sorry for mishandling your dress. I didn’t know it was so precious.” She didn’t spend an ounce on humility; but she did sound genuinely sorry.
“You think . . . ?” I began to laugh, and Kula’s eyes narrowed. “It isn’t about you. It isn’t about the dress.” Seeing Kula with my dress was the excuse I needed to let my wretched feelings flow.
“Can I help, then?” I could sense her confusion at what must have seemed bizarre behavior. I felt as though I understood my mother more with every passing day.
“No one can help me.” I dropped my head back into my hands. Kula didn’t move. For a long moment I sat, head bowed, feeling her eyes on me. I felt a shift inside; I was grateful for Kula’s presence. It felt like having Mina back, someone who didn’t care about how proper I was, someone who didn’t try to control me.
“Is it for something special?” Kula asked, twisting toward the wall, toward the gown. “That dress?”
I lifted my head and stretched out my fingers and rubbed the thick, soft velvet. “It’s my birthday. I should be wearing it tonight.” I didn’t say that I should also be preparing for my debut with my mother by my side. That I should be escorted to parties and balls by Edward—charming Edward—or any of the other eligible young men of Newport. That I should be giggling with my best friend, Kitty, at our joint ball at the end of August. Or . . . that I could be walking with Tom through the forests of Yellowstone. Instead I was half an orphan and a prisoner of circumstance and the trophy of a man twice my age. The velvet nap shone, and I let my hand fall against it, caressing it, before I looked up at Kula. “I’m seventeen today.”
She smiled. “Happy birthday,” she said. She stood straight, and pressed the front of her linsey-woolsey skirt with the flat of her palms. “I’ll be sixteen soon.”
I wiped the tears from my face with the back of my hand. “You worked for the Millses.”
“Yes,” Kula said. Her face darkened.
“Is this a better situation?”
She shrugged, looking away. Gretchen had been rough; but Kula was hardly a model servant.
I shifted subjects, sensing her discomfort. “Kula’s a pretty name,” I said. “I’ve never heard it before.” I wanted to get on a better footing with her. We were so close in age. And Tom would appreciate my generosity. And there was that pricking feeling I had each time I looked at her.
“My father’s choice,” she said. “He’s white but his ma was half native.” Tom had been right. Kula’s olive skin and high cheekbones spoke to her ancestry. “I expect you think your birthday should be special. Me, too.” She looked away. “Mothers know how to do things right, like birthdays.” She looked at me. “Mine’s gone.”
I felt my throat close with grief. “Mine, too.” We had much in common, then. Our stations divided us, but still.
“Ah,” Kula said, her eyes keen now, sharp like a dagger.
We remained silent for a moment.
“But that’s not the worst,” I said. No, not the worst. The one had led to the other. The loss of my mother had led to my imprisonment.
Kula waited, regarding me.
“I mean, that’s not what’s wrong now. Now my father is arranging my marriage to someone I don’t like.” Kula was a good listener. I thought about how much I’d missed having Mina, especially after Mama left.
Kula looked at her hands, lacing her fingers together. “Is it that Tom, the geologist’s son? The one who stays at Wylie?”
I sagged. “No.” Oh, how I wish.
“Oh.” A flit of a smile crossed her face before she looked solemn again. “Is he rich? The husband?”
I was startled. I might open up to her with
my
woes, but this was not the kind of question I expected from a servant. “Yes.”
“Then maybe you can put up with him,” Kula said. “Maybe he’ll give you beautiful jewels. And more clothes like that dress.”
I hesitated, not certain how to respond to her plain and forward talk. She was right. Graybull would give me everything: jewels, clothes, and position. Even Ghost. “But I want something else,” I said. Yes, that was right. I wanted something else. I wanted what I’d told Kitty—I wanted love.
“I’d put up with him,” Kula said, and her face darkened again. Before she dropped her eyes I saw the flash of jealousy. I couldn’t blame her; my life must have seemed desirable. “I’d please him well, get him to give me everything I wanted. I’d never lift a finger again.” She laced and unlaced her fingers. “I’d get him to dress me fine,” she said, and nodded her head at the dress. “I’d do anything for a man who’d take care of me right. Lie, steal, anything.”
I stared into Kula’s dark eyes. I found her statements shocking. She’d gone over the line. Had we been at home, she would have been let go on the spot. She was not my equal; she was not my friend; she presumed too much just by saying such things to me. Yet, here in Yellowstone, everything was different. And I understood what she meant. Jewelry, fine clothes, position in society—these had been everything I’d ever wanted. Graybull would give them to me, most assuredly.
Edward could give them to me, too. He was sweet, he was rich. He would dote on me, put me on a pedestal, I would be his fine object. He would have made a fine husband for me. But I knew in my heart I never loved Edward. Liked him, felt secure with him, but never truly loved him.
Tom could give me nothing. No money, no position. No Ghost, no grand house in Newport. Nothing—except the one thing I wanted most. Tom treated me as an equal. He spoke to me as if I had a brain. He would not put me on a pedestal, but stand next to me in the face of all fears so that I could meet them, with him at my side.
He would stand next to me on the edge of the cliff and make it safe. He would be with me for the person I am, not for what I had or who my grandfather was. He was gentle and kind and with his love for all things wild—I smiled to myself—would not try to control me.
Tom.
“Remember, dear heart—nothing is more powerful than love.”
Suddenly I knew what Mama meant. I knew that all the things I thought I wanted, all my Newport life, was worth nothing in the face of having real love. I’d thought I understood what I was telling Kitty those many weeks ago, but now I felt it in my very core. I sat up straight and brushed the wisps of loose hair back from my face.
“I’ll be going,” Kula said. “You have to fight for what you want, miss. No one’s going to fight for you.”
I regarded this presumptuous girl, this honest and right girl. “You can come back in half an hour to finish up. I’ll be at dinner.”
“Yes, miss,” Kula said with a slight smile. She curtsied perfunctorily and left the room, pulling the door shut quietly behind her.
I looked in the mirror. Green-gray eyes looked back, eyes that brimmed with loss.
I let my hair down and shook it loose down my back; then I brushed it and pinned it back up. I would, somehow, fight for what I wanted. It might take time to persuade my father, time to find the right way. But I had time. I dried my eyes and pinched my cheeks. I straightened the cameo—my talisman—that hung on a black ribbon tied around my throat. Now I was girded for my next encounter.
Chapter TWENTY - EIGHT
July 14, 1904
But her passion swept every other thought out of its way. With dim agony and rage she began to perceive that she had been duped.
—Lady Rose’s Daughter,
a novel by Mrs. Humphry Ward, 1903
THE MORNING AFTER MY BIRTHDAY, WE READIED TO LEAVE for Lake Hotel. I began packing my clothes by heaping them in my trunk. I stood back with my hands on my hips. Hopeless. I needed Mina. I’d never even watched her attend to these details, and I felt stupidly ignorant. There was a knock at the door; Kula. The girl clicked her tongue when she looked at the mess I’d made.
“That’s not the way to treat these beautiful things,” she said. She was chiding me. It was forward yet I knew she was right.
“I’m not very good at it.” No, I was pathetic and dependent upon others.
Kula bent over the trunk and began to pull things out, sorting and folding them with care. I kept my eyes on her deft handiwork, watching her work. She glanced sideways at me. “I heard about that pin,” Kula said. “The other girls talked about some silly tourist trying to get herself killed because of some pin, and I added up two plus two.”
I touched the cameo.
“Did he want it that much?” Kula asked, looking at the stack of folded silk shawls and lace underclothes. “That Nat Baker.”
“He wasn’t going to get it even if he did want it.” I watched as Kula moved between the bed and the wardrobe, her skill at folding and packing. She reminded me of Mina, she was so sure-handed. “I wish you could come with us,” I said. “You could help me.”
Kula looked up. “I work here now,” she said.
A thought came to me. “Could you wait? Just a few minutes?” I almost tripped over an elderly couple in my haste to get to the lobby, where Graybull sat reading the newspaper and smoking a cigar. I’d used so little charm on him to this point that it didn’t take any pleading to convince him of my plan. I realized how I might use this to my advantage later, should it be necessary.
“I’ll arrange it immediately,” he said, and raised my hand to his lips. “I have a bit of influence with the management here. It would be my pleasure to treat you to this trifling indulgence.”
I tried not to wince as I slipped my hand from his. I hoped he would think that my blush was charming. How vain his boasts of influence sounded. But my deceit worked. Kula had finished the packing and was tidying the bed and table when I blustered in with the news.
“You’re coming with us. You can be a help to me and Mrs. Gale. A proper lady’s maid!”
“Oh?” Kula said. She seemed annoyed. I stepped back in surprise. I’d expected gratitude. “I have a job, remember?”