Yellowstone Memories

by Spinola, Jennifer Rogers

The bench creaked slightly as Phyllis rocked back and forth like the swaying pine boughs outside the window, painfully brilliant in a shaft of summer sun. “The nurses told me she wouldn’t … feel a thing. That she wouldn’t know … wouldn’t …” She groaned, bending over double at the waist.

  Jersey sat there like a chunk of granite, stupid, her eyes tear-glassed. Staring. Then she shook herself awake and hugged Phyllis tighter, letting their heads press together.

  “It’s okay, Phyllis,” she whispered, tears streaking down her cheeks. “We all make mistakes. You were nineteen. What could you have known about life back then?”

  Phyllis didn’t answer, the graying threads in her caramel-colored hair standing out in ashen tones. “She’d be twenty-three years old, you know that?” She raised a wet face and turned pale eyes to Jersey. “A college graduate by now. Beautiful. Taller than me, probably, and eyes just like Terrance.”

  “Just about everybody’s taller than you, Phyllis,” Jersey said lightly, hoping she didn’t sound flippant.

  To her relief, Phyllis gave a brief smile before her face clouded again with fresh grief. “But I’ll never know, and neither will she. Because I never gave her a chance.”

  Jersey swallowed hard, her heart beating in her throat as she searched for the words to say. To tell her own tale of agony—that began—and ended—much the same as Phyllis’s but with a slightly different wrench of pain between the two.

  “Phyllis, I know some of what you’re talking about,” Jersey whispered, forcing her tremors down her throat. “That’s what my mom was calling about. I finally talked to her, and it wasn’t pretty.”

  Phyllis didn’t seem to hear. She pressed a trembling tissue to her eyes, rocking back and forth. “I took her life, her future. Everything. The nurses said she wasn’t alive, really—that she was little more than a blob of tissue. But I felt her kick me. Here.” She pressed tear-wet fingers across her abdomen. “She wanted to live, Jersey. Her heart was beating strong on the monitors. So strong I could almost feel its pounding in my own blood.”

  Without warning she looked up at Jersey with red, bleary eyes. “You’ve never done something like that, have you?”

  Jersey’s mouth went cotton-dry, and she thought she’d vomit. “No,” she finally whispered, hugging herself with her free arm to keep from trembling. Hating herself for not being able to relate in just the way that would comfort Phyllis. “Not exactly.”

  Phyllis’s eyelids fell closed. “I knew it.”

  “But I know what it feels like to lose a child.” Jersey’s lips felt so stiff she could hardly move them. “Don’t assume that my life is any squeakier clean than yours. We’ve all done things we’re sorry for.”

  Jersey saw, out of the corner of her eye, Pastor Jeff ease silently to a kneeling position in prayer, his hand covering his eyes. A gentle breeze made the pine walls around them groan lightly as if lifting up compassionate voices in sympathy, and a flutter of pine needles tickled the window glass.

  “They told me my life would be better.” Phyllis’s voice came so soft and crushed that Jersey could barely hear. “But she was my life. I didn’t know that then. And I still dream about her—even all these years later. The smell of the antiseptic. The hard table, and the nurse’s cold hand squeezing mine. The frightened flutter in my belly, and the kick of her feet.” She wheezed. “She knew, Jersey. I’m sure of it. And until the day I die, I’ll never live down what I’ve done.”

  “Phyllis.” Jersey’s whisper seemed to echo against the hushed walls of the chapel. “God forgives.”

  She didn’t reply, so Jersey laced her arm through hers. Drawing out a fresh tissue and wiping Phyllis’s cheek. “God forgives. Do you believe me?”

  Phyllis’s shoulders jumped slightly as she shook her head. “God. My mother told me I’d go to hell for what I’d done.”

  Jersey winced. “For … for …?”

  “For getting pregnant before marriage. She called me all kinds of names. My dad threatened to beat me within an inch of my life. He told our church congregation I was a sinner, headed straight for hell, and I wasn’t fit to set foot inside a church so long as I lived.” Her breath contorted, pale eyelids fluttering closed. “I guess he’s right, but I felt safe here for some reason.” Her hand squeezed Jersey’s. “Like maybe I could make it all right again somehow. But the dreams keep coming. Maybe that’s my penance—God’s way of punishing me when I dared to think I could go on with my life instead of paying for what I’ve done.”

  Jersey blinked, horrified. “But you said they wanted you to have the … operation.” She licked her lips nervously, afraid to say the word abortion out loud. So harsh and raw it sounded.

  “Sure they did. They said I ruined their ministry, and since my child was conceived in sin anyway and with a man of … well, a different race, the best thing I could do was finish the mess I’d started.”

  Jersey’s mouth fell open despite her best efforts, and she took a deep breath and said a prayer for wisdom. Sense. Anything to keep from mangling what she wanted to say.

  “Phyllis, your daughter didn’t ruin your parents’ ministry. And two wrongs certainly don’t make a right, no matter what they told you.” Her fingers gently massaged Phyllis’s shoulder, and she wished she could draw out the ache like one drew out rattlesnake venom. “We all make mistakes. But God didn’t see your daughter’s life as a mistake. She was His creation. His joy. He loved her. And He loves her still.” Jersey bit her lip as it wobbled. “Your parents called you a sinner, but they’re forgetting that we’re all sinners. Every one of us who’s ever lived—except Jesus Himself.”

  Phyllis sniffled, playing with the tissue in her hand.

  “What about Terrance’s race? What about it? What about yours?” Jersey felt angry bile rise in her chest. “The Bible says nothing about marrying someone of a different race—only a different religion. If you think about it, we’re all descended from the same Adam and Eve. Race is a human label—not a genetic one. Why, if you ask geneticists, most of them say there’s actually no such thing as race anyway, since so many of the conditions are completely subjective. With the exception of a few familial markers, human DNA is all basically the same. We’re the ones who like to build walls of assumption and slap labels on people.”

  Jersey stopped, sounding a bit like nerdy Taka. “Anyway, people don’t go to hell for having abortions.”

  Phyllis raised her head. “No?”

  “No way.” Jersey stroked her fingers through a curl of Phyllis’s hair. “The Bible says people go to hell for one reason only: rejecting God’s Son Jesus. Nothing more. Everything else He forgives entirely.”

  Phyllis sponged her face and twisted the limp tissue in her hands. “You said something a minute ago,” she finally said, meeting Jersey’s eyes. “You said God loves my daughter still. What did you mean by that?”

  Jersey leaned back to look at her. “I mean she’s alive, Phyllis. With Jesus. Where all people go who haven’t rejected Him. Being loved by Him every moment.”

  Phyllis threw her head back and stared up at the peaked pine ceiling, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I don’t believe that. There’s no way that’s possible.”

  “It is true.” Jersey leaned forward, unafraid. “And if you believe in Him when you die, you’ll see her again.”

  Phyllis covered her mouth with the crumpled tissue and wept into it, openmouthed.

  “Come.” Jersey started to her feet with a sudden burst of boldness. “Come pray with me. There at the altar, under the cross.” She held out her hand. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Not there. Not near the cross.” Phyllis sobbed. “I couldn’t.”

  “Yes you can. And you will. Come.” Jersey offered her hand again. “Don’t be afraid. He’s not here to judge you but to save you. He loves you. He died for you. You’ll see.”

  Phyllis hesitated, blotting her cheeks, and then got to her feet. Making her way shakily out of the narrow row of pews with Jersey. Up to the fr
ont of the church, boards creaking under their feet. A shaft of sunlight flickered fringes of pine along the glass. They got down on their knees by the altar, the faded wooden cross gazing down at them with outstretched arms.

  “Why then, Jersey, is God sending me these dreams?” Phyllis whispered as she knelt there, her tears making dark circles on the pine floor. “Why doesn’t He take them away if He loves me so much?”

  Jersey wrapped her arm around Phyllis’s shoulders, searching her tear-streaked face. “Maybe,” she said softly, “God’s trying to bring you to a place of peace. Did you ever think of that?” She glanced up at the cross. “To show you that He hasn’t forgotten your precious daughter, and He hasn’t forgotten you either. That He wants to do more than seal up the matter and never talk about it again. He wants to bring you healing. And more than that—life.”

  “Life.” Phyllis’s eyes blinked closed.

  “Yes, life. Life and truth. New life with Him. I’m not the best example, maybe, but I know what it is to live again.” And she bowed her head to pray.

  Chapter 5

  The first thing Nelson did was spill coffee all down the front of his shirt. He blinked down at Jersey like he’d seen a ghost.

  “You’d better clean that up,” said Phyllis from across the room. “This is the second time this week we’ve scrubbed coffee out of the carpet, and I’m not doing it again.”

  Nelson didn’t move except to sponge his chin and dripping cup. “You’re wearing perfume, Jersey.”

  “Yeah? So?”

  “You never wear perfume. I thought you hated the stuff.”

  Jersey tucked a strand of hair behind her ear self-consciously. “Not all of it. I just had to find one I like. This one’s a little more … natural. Less french poodle and more Off! Deep Woods.” She shook a finger. “Which, by the way, I’m convinced actually attracts more mosquitoes than it repels.”

  “Your hair.” A single drop of amber-brown dripped from the bottom of Nelson’s mug. “You’ve never worn it like that.”

  “Like what?” Jersey averted her eyes. Since she couldn’t roll on the floor and play dead like a possum, she could at least play dumb. It worked for other mammals; why not her?

  Nelson’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Sort of … down. Like … like that.” He seemed to remember his coffee mug and shifted it to the other hand, shaking his coffee-wet fingers. “It’s so long.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Phyllis shoot her a look. A smirky sort of “See? I told you so” look.

  Jersey rolled her eyes, wondering if she’d been out of her mind to follow Taka’s silly “live the truth” nonsense. Regardless, she didn’t owe Nelson or anyone else an explanation. To be perfectly honest, the swish of her hair and the glint of earrings had made a surprising impression on even Jersey herself. She felt bold and confident. Radiant, even.

  Who knows? Maybe next Sunday she’d do the unthinkable and wear heels to church.

  Wait a second. Jersey craned her head over the bookshelf and gawked at the computer—which glowed back a cheerful blue screen. “What is this?” She marched over to the computer desk and stood there, hands on her hips. “The computer’s working? Who fixed it? I thought Preet was on vacation.”

  “Don’t look at me.” Nelson seemed to jerk out of his stupor and fumble for a napkin, sponging the front of his ranger’s shirt. He scrubbed at it in frustration and, when the beige circle didn’t flinch, muttered some choice words under his breath and stomped back to the bathroom.

  “Nope. Not me either.” Phyllis shook her head, sipping a paper cup of coffee and staining the rim pinky-red with lipstick. “I don’t do computers. But when I hit the power strip this morning by accident, it turned on.”

  Jersey grabbed the mouse and clicked and then let out a gasp as the start-up tones chimed. An image of a sunny field and then pretty little icons spilled across the cactus wallpaper. “The Internet works. It’s never worked—except the first week we signed up with that new plan.”

  “Rodney?” She poked her head around the corner of the desk to see the stuffed cougar. “Did you fix it?”

  Nelson tore a paper towel from the bathroom and poked his head out the open door. “Shh. I think he’s shy about parading his technological prowess in public.”

  “His secret’s safe with me.”

  Phyllis chuckled, taking another swig of her coffee. “Hey, what about that researcher guy? What’s his name? Turk? Tack? I keep forgetting.”

  “Taka?” Jersey’s hand froze on the mouse. “You think he did this?”

  “Not him.” Nelson grimaced and shut the bathroom door behind him. “That guy’s a weirdo. Unless he did some kind of Chinese voodoo magic on it or something.”

  “He’s Japanese, not Chinese.” Jersey typed. “And I’m pretty sure Taka doesn’t do voodoo.”

  “He had some weird stuff in that mug the other day. I’m just saying.”

  “Well, Taka couldn’t have done it. He spent the night at the vet’s office Saturday night, and Stacy over at the lake station said he checked in there early Sunday morning to do research. He’s been there ever since.”

  “Well. The computer fairy then?” Nelson crossed his arms, shooting Jersey a cool look she couldn’t interpret. “Since you know so much about Taka’s whereabouts?”

  “What?” Jersey spun around to face him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Whatever you think it means.” Nelson eyed her coolly. “I guess you’ll want to take that big tour group with Stacy then, since Taka’s over there?”

  Jersey slammed down the mouse and stood up, her eyes coming right to the bridge of Nelson’s perfectly shaped, sun-browned nose. Tipping her hat back to see his eyes. “If you’ve got some notion about me and this researcher, forget it,” she snapped. “He sleeps on vet benches, Nelson! He studies insect legs with decomposed hairs! And I can’t stand people from … never mind.” She threw up her hands. “Besides, what’s it to you?”

  Jersey was instantly aware of the quiet in the room and the unnatural hum of the computer. Phyllis must have slipped out to the front counter, silent as a muskrat slipping under a watery log.

  Nelson crossed his arms stiffly over his chest, his brown ponytail curling down his back. “Maybe I’m wrong. But sometime I thought you and I might … you know. I thought you felt the same way.”

  Jersey’s eyes popped, and she felt heat flood her face. “Nelson.” She stuck her hands in her pockets, suddenly shy. “I had no idea. Why didn’t you say something?”

  Nelson seemed to draw himself up taller and stiffer. “Well, I am saying something.”

  Oh. My. Jersey stepped back, feeling woozy from lack of air. She reached awkwardly over Nelson and pushed open the sticky back window, wishing she’d tied her hair back up on her neck as she usually did. She tugged it over her shoulder, feeling the earring back snag on a strand. Stupid earrings.

  “So?” Nelson turned, his hazel eyes blinking in an almost hard look. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  “Nelson. You’re way younger than me.” Jersey stuck her sweaty palms in her pockets.

  “Oh. Like two years makes so much difference.” He rolled unsmiling eyes.

  “Three.”

  “Whatever.”

  Jersey put her hands on her forehead, feeling color slide up her face in red patches. “I … I don’t know what to say. I think …”

  Something crackled loud against Jersey’s hip. She jumped, startled, and then reached for her walkie-talkie. “Sorry, Nelson. Gotta take this.”

  Nelson blew out his breath in irritation and turned his back while she depressed the button, tapping the toe of his boot.

  “Jersey, this is Taka.” Something sank in Jersey’s stomach like too-greasy hash browns from that awful diner in Jackson Hole, and she looked up to find Nelson glaring at her. Color mounting in his cheeks.

  “Go ahead, Taka.” She turned slightly away from Nelson, keeping the volume loud and clear.
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br />   “I think I’ve got your poacher.”

  “You what?” Jersey shouted, and both Phyllis and Nelson whipped their heads around.

  “I do a lot of tracking in remote places, and I spotted a white van parked way back in the woods. They had bows and arrows stacked everywhere. Guns. The works. And they seemed to be digging, using a metal detector.”

  “What, like for buried treasure?” Jersey spat, her heart pounding. “Did you call the police?”

  “I got their license plate number through my binoculars and just called it in to the nearest ranger’s station. They’re on their way. They’re …”

  Jersey heard a muffling sound and a rush of staticky wind. “Taka? What’s happening?” she hollered.

  “The Park Service truck just showed up. Oh, look at this. The guys are running.”

  Phyllis and Nelson gathered around, heads together, as if listening to a football play-by-play over the radio. “What’s going on? Tell us!” Jersey grabbed at her hat with her free hand.

  “And … that’s one down. The ranger got him. Make that two down. No, three. And they’ve got handcuffs. Wonder if it’s the same people who shot Shorty.” More wind, and Jersey leaned forward, straining to hear. “Local police is here, too. Good.” Taka let out a sigh.

  Jersey went limp, and she dropped into the computer chair. “Well done, Taka. Thanks.”

  She started to press off the walkie-talkie and then lifted it to her mouth. “Let me ask you something, Taka. Did you fix our computer?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Our computer. It’s working.”

  “Huh. Funny. I thought it was on its last legs.”

  Jersey’s heart pounded. “You didn’t answer my question, techie.”

  “The police are here, Jersey. I’ve got to go.” Static crackled. “And I’m not a techie. Google would laugh in my face if I showed them my fledgling computer programs.”

  No sooner had Jersey pressed the OFF button than the office phone rang. Phyllis rushed to answer, and Jersey watched as her face morphed into a mask of gratitude then open-eyed shock. She scratched her head, screwing up her forehead.