by Diane Smith
I am in such good humor that I invited Rutherford to join us, proposing that he bring along his pet raven which would, no doubt, amuse the ladies. But he is content, he tells me, to pay a courtesy call on President Healey, after which he plans to spend the remainder of the afternoon in the camp of some foreign count who, I have been told, has an abundant supply of liquor. Our driver and the two students plan to join him at the count’s camp as well. There was a time when I would have dreaded the news of such a potentially ruinous combination, but it is, after all, a holiday. Might as well let them celebrate in their way, while I celebrate in mine.
President Healey would not, of course, approve of any of this, but I am not all that concerned at the moment. I am anxious for his support of the herbarium, of course, but until I can sort out the details of the expedition, and ensure its continuation and success, there seems little need to keep him informed of our day-to-day activities here. Besides, he appears to have his own plans for the holiday. As I write, Healey is standing across the lobby, handling a model of the electric rail cars being proposed for the Park, rocking up and down on his toes with one of those far away looks in his eyes. He is no doubt planning the continuation and success of his own New Century campaign, perhaps musing about some massive brick structure to be named Healey Hall. I can guarantee you that he is not thinking about a research herbarium named after Meriwether Lewis—or William Clark, for that matter.
As for Miss Bartram, I have not yet had an opportunity to speak with her or inform her of Bill Gleick’s arrival. I saw her briefly as she walked through the lobby, not in the company of her friend from New York, but with that rancher who has frequented our camp from time to time. They were laughing and talking with such intimacy it makes me wonder how blind I have been, and what all I have been missing right there under my nose. But I admit, too, that I felt the slightest sense of selfish relief. If I misjudged the intentions of the gentleman from New York, or made false assumptions about Miss Bartram’s intentions towards him, it may mean that she will in fact be staying with the expedition for the duration of the summer. Now, of all times, I cannot afford to lose her.
I had best keep this correspondence brief since the wagons to take us to the picnic are lining up in front of the hotel. There are at least a dozen of them, so they must be planning quite the party. In fact, I can now see several of the railroad executives, and there is a congressman, too, all getting ready to board.
I was about to write that this might be my opportunity to speak to some of these gentlemen in earnest about the herbarium but before my pen could be recharged with ink, President Healey walked out to the roadway and now he, too, is being helped into a wagon, and is taking a seat right between one of the railroad men and the senator. It looks like this afternoon will be the president’s opportunity to speak of building new facilities rather than mine, for they are all laughing and appear to be in the best of humor. I will leave them to it. My highest priority at the moment is the continued success of our work here in the Park. I must ensure first and foremost that we return to campus with a full and complete collection. I can worry about where to house and work upon that collection once the summer has come to a close.
Miss Bartram, her friend from New York, and that nature writer, Wylloe, are now climbing into another wagon. I must hurry so I can join them instead. Maybe I can ascertain the gentleman’s intentions towards Miss Bartram—and hers towards him. I wrote earlier that I cannot afford to lose Miss Bartram. To be honest, I should have written that I do not want to see her go.
In haste,
Howard
WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM
JULY 4, 1898
COL BRADSHAW INVITED TO DINNER WITH NORTHERN PACIFIC AND SENATOR JACKSON TO DISCUSS VIRTUES OF PRIVATE ENTERPRISE YOU MUST KNOW I AM NOT IN AGREEMENT RAILROAD ALREADY OWNS ALL THE HOTELS WHAT MORE DO THEY WANT THE PARK BELONGS TO ALL AMERICANS SHOULD BE NURTURED FOR GENERATIONS TO COME NOT EXPLOITED FOR SHORT TERM FINANCIAL GAINS OF FEW NATION HAS BUT ONE YELLOWSTONE PARK I INTEND TO ENSURE IT IS PROTECTED UNLESS ORDERED OTHERWISE
YOURS SINCERELY CAPT A CRAIGHEAD
A. E. Bartram
c/o Lake Hotel
Yellowstone National Park
July 4, 1898
My dear Jess,
I should be extremely angry at you for not warning me of Lester’s arrival, but I am so very happy these days that I cannot muster even the slightest words of reproach. This sense of wellbeing is not, I should hasten to add, because of Lester, whose unannounced arrival here has been a mixed blessing at best.
I admit it was good to see him when he walked into our camp the other day, trying so hard to be his usual professorial self, ready as always to take charge even though he was completely out of his element. Or perhaps I should say he was too much in the elements, since the rain was dripping off his hat and coat and he was walking around carrying a thick layer of mud attached to his boots. Seeing him standing there, looking so out of sorts, I realized how much I had missed him, and still needed him in a strange, longing sort of way. He has been so important to me and instrumental to my development as a scientist, that it is as if I cannot fully appreciate all that has happened to me here without experiencing at least some of it through his eyes.
But seeing him outside the safe and respected confines of the university does put him in a new light. This morning we had an opportunity to ride down to the fishing bridge where a half a dozen B. bison were being corralled for shipment to Dot Island out on the lake. I admit, had I known the specifics of their internment there, I would have been less enthusiastic about seeing them. These are domestic beasts, raised not unlike cattle, but still it was an opportunity, my very first, to see these shaggy beasts up close and I wanted to take advantage of it.
Lester would not even think of accompanying me. We had to ride horseback, which he considers ungenteel (not to mention unladylike), and leave before breakfast, another break from convention. He simply refused to consider the offer. So I went without him, in the company of a rancher, Ralph Clancy from Clancy, Montana. Imagine the size of that family’s ranch! Mr. Clancy has taken a great interest in our work in the Park, and has been kind enough to supply us with fresh meat from time to time. We were joined by the two students, Stony and Rocky, who had volunteered to help herd the bison onto the barge which will transport them across the lake.
Mr. Clancy is much more interesting and knowledgeable than I could have ever imagined, and is a walking (or riding!) contradiction to Lester’s theory that it is academia that makes the man. The land is this man’s university, and in his so-called uneducated way he knows more about the natural world than Lester could ever dream up in his biology labs. He was, after all, the one who knew precisely where to find the first blooming L. rediviva in the spring and, when I expressed my disappointment in the conditions in which these domestic bison were living, offered to show me a small herd of wild bison he knows of in the Hayden Valley. It is doubtful that I will have another opportunity to spend an entire day on horseback in search of wildlife, at least for the time being, but his offer was a generous one, and I let him know it was much appreciated.
When the rancher and I returned to the hotel, Lester was fighting off the attentions of Miss Zwinger and her companions who were organizing a last-minute afternoon picnic to celebrate that the rain had finally eased, and the summer sun was at last warm again and shining. Lester and I must both join them, Miss Zwinger insisted, and, of course, I agreed, much to Lester’s consternation. I feel compelled to get Lester out of the hotel so he can better experience the Park. Besides, it would be good fun I assured him.
It was, indeed, a lovely afternoon, with good food, good drink, and good company. And, with the change in the weather, everyone was in exceedingly good spirits. Even the railroaders and financiers, who have made it a point to maintain their superiority above and beyond the rest of the sightseers staying at the hotel, were openly enjoying themselves, sitting on colorful cloths spread out upon the ground, eating cold
chicken and apples and cheese and bread, and drinking freely of a wine which was so rich and deep, it tasted as if it had been fermented inside the earth itself.
After the picnic, these scions of industry took off their coats and rolled up their sleeves for an impromptu game of baseball which Miss Zwinger, like a magician, was prepared to outfit, pulling bats, balls, and a specially designed mitt for the catcher from the back of one of the wagons. Senator Jackson served as umpire. Even John Wylloe, who tends toward the melancholy side, agreed to play. I must give Miss Zwinger credit. She knows how to bring out the best in men.
Professor Merriam was more animated than I have ever seen him. In fact, he was so ebullient that he volunteered to serve as the pitcher for his team and, when the president of his college was up at bat, proceeded to deliver a fastball within a fraction of an inch of the president’s ear, much to the amazement and, I dare say, enjoyment of us all. Except, of course, the president who was not in the least bit amused!
With the party thus engaged, and Lester preferring to watch from the sidelines, I suggested a short walk down to the river. He has been anxious to talk with me in private—I am certain he wants to convince me to return with him to the university—so this seemed as good an opportunity as any to let him have his say. But rather than welcome my suggestion, Lester was shocked and dismayed at what he called my proposition, and immediately declined, concerned about the propriety of leaving our party behind. He was concerned, too, he said, about what people might think if we disappeared, as he put it, into the woods together. That seemed so preposterous that I set out on my own, against his expressed wishes. As I started walking down the trail, he followed me briefly, all but forbidding me to leave, before he headed back to the ball-game and the watchful eye of Miss Zwinger. Maybe she can bring out the best in him as well.
Once I reached the river, I followed it downstream until I came to a clearing where it was joined by a small, rushing creek. From there, I turned and followed the smaller creek up the hill as it cut a narrower and narrower path through the trees. At the end of the trail, which threaded alongside the creek, I came to an open basin of large boulders into which a waterfall spilled from thirty or forty feet overhead. The cavernous ravine created by the falling water was so dark and moist and cool, I felt as if I had entered a subterranean world. In fact, it was so unlike the dry mountainous environment I have grown accustomed to during my tenure here, it was as if I might at any moment encounter Darwin himself, walking alongside the trail, observing large-beaked birds.
As if in response to my musings, a solitary Pandion haliaetus flew overhead, a fish firmly in its grasp. The osprey swooped to a perch above me and commenced to tear at its prey with its own small but highly specialized beak. My first thought was of Mrs. Eversman, wondering if she, too, would find such a carnivorous creature beautiful.
As I entered the deep, cool pocket carved by the cascading water, my adventuresome spirit got the best of me and I promptly climbed out onto the rocks, letting the icy water fall and splash all around me. I then did something that I am certain, if Lester learned of it, would confirm his worst suspicions about what he considers the anti-social behavior I have developed here. I removed my jacket and skirt and shirtwaist and laid them upon a rock to dry. I then loosened my hair and laid myself out, too, in a narrow patch of sunlight, closed my eyes, and listened to the living, breathing world which roared and pulsed and crashed down all around me.
I whiled away at least an hour there on the rocks before deciding I had best return before someone was sent out in search of me. My clothes were still damp, but I did my best to put myself back together again. I then retraced my steps down the creekbed until I reached the main river where I was surprised to find Professor Merriam sitting with his back to me.
He, on the other hand, did not seem at all surprised to see me there. In fact, he hardly acknowledged my approach, but sat instead watching where the two bodies of water merged, swirling together in and around some large boulders, forming a deep, mesmerizing pool.
“I’m sorry,” I began to apologize as I joined him on the river bank. “I should have told you that I was leaving, and where I would be. I hope you have not been unduly concerned.”
He turned and looked up at me in my thoroughly disheveled and dampened state, and did not seem in the least bit concerned.
“You’re fine, Miss Bartram,” he said, standing to join me. “Just fine. Don’t worry about a thing.”
We started walking back to rejoin our friends and, for the first time since my arrival in the Park, I did not feel an overwhelming need to tell him anything about what I had seen or what I had been doing. It was as if there was nothing I could tell him that he did not already know. The Professor seemed equally content as he, too, had little to say.
We followed the river until we could hear our friends on the clearing above us busily loading the wagons for our return to the hotel. Professor Merriam started up the river bank but then turned and looked down on me.
“I know . . . ,” he said, but then he hesitated. Since he was standing above me, I assumed that when he reached out to offer me his hand, it was to help me up the incline.
With his assistance, I clambered up the bank and stood beside him. Still he did not release me.
“I know,” he started again without much conviction, “that your friend, Professor King, is here to persuade you to return with him. As difficult as this is for me, I feel that it is my duty to tell you that it would be best for all concerned if you returned home in his company.”
He pressed my hand softly and shrugged. I could feel the color rising in my cheeks.
“I appreciate your concern,” I said, and abruptly withdrew my hand. “But if truth be known, you’ve never wanted me here, have you?”
“Wanted you?” he asked.
Again the Professor hesitated, looked at me closely, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. Then he shrugged as if in response to his own question.
“Sometimes, Miss Bartram, you simply amaze me,” he said. With that, he turned and walked on in silence, leaving me to ponder his words as I reluctantly followed him from a few paces behind.
When we rejoined our friends, they were finalizing their preparations to return to the hotel, shouting and laughing about Senator Jackson’s questionable call at first base, and the time John Wylloe hit the ball into the river, forcing a gentleman from the railroad to wade waist deep into the water to make the play.
No one seemed to notice our return except Miss Zwinger, who simply smiled, and, of course, Lester, who gave me quite the lecture once we returned to the hotel. To hear him talk, I have become a savage or, worse, a beast, since coming to the West, ignoring well-established rules of society and abandoning all proper behavior when it comes to being in the company of men. I think if he and Professor Merriam had their way I would be banished for life to the safety of the laboratory. Or worse yet, to the confines of the parlor where they seem to believe all women belong.
Lester’s concern for social convention was pushed to the limit when I later showed him the dress Miss Zwinger provided for the evening’s festivities. Now I must admit, I had the gravest of doubts about what Miss Zwinger, in all her wisdom and good nature, would consider suitable for such an occasion. But I was resolute to do my utmost to please her. She had been so good to me since my arrival here, that wearing one of her frumpy old spinster gowns, if that would make her happy, seemed to be the least I could do. I am not here, after all, to impress anyone, and my wardrobe is, admittedly, limited.
Our wagons pulled into the hotel a little after four o’clock in the afternoon and, after walking through the lobby, Lester nagging me the entire way, I excused myself and met Miss Zwinger at her room as arranged. As I entered, Miss Zwinger was pulling a yellow silk dress from her wardrobe and spreading it upon the bed. I can say in all honesty that the dress was indeed beautiful, with narrow tucking down the front and tiny covered buttons from the high collar to the waist, and all along the s
leeves, from the elbow to the wrist. In fact, it was so beautiful that I could not keep my mouth shut for even a moment, but had to immediately insist that such a dress was much too fine for me to borrow. I would feel too self-conscious in such a dress, I told Miss Zwinger. I would be afraid or unable to move in it, much less dance as she was advising.
“Oh, no, dear,” she said, most gracious in accepting my presumptuousness. “This is my dress. I was just getting it ready for the evening. Your dress is in here.”
From a large steamer trunk she extracted another dress, this one a deep ruby color, and also of silk. My eyes must have been the size of platters because she laughed as she spread the second, even more beautiful, dress alongside the first one on the bed.
“You know,” she told me, “this is a very special evening, and you should be dressed appropriately. For independence,” she added, and then smiled.
Jessie, I have seen women wear dresses like this, low cut and revealing of everything there is to reveal, but I could never in my wildest dreams have imagined myself wearing one of them. If anything, I have always resented the fact that women are expected to funnel their creative energy into being the showy member of the species. It is so at odds with the rest of the natural world and so distracting from our other talents.
