Letters from Yellowstone

by Diane Smith

  As I was leaving the ballroom, I could see Merriam excuse himself from the table and then he, too, went out onto the verandah, no doubt in pursuit of Alex. Perhaps he will talk some sense into her, since she is dead set against listening to my good counsel.

  Left on their own, without the attention of Alex, Peacock fidgeted in his chair, gulped his wine, and departed, while Gleick scanned the room for others to impress. Seeing Philip Aber’s wife enter the room without an escort, as there had been no sign of her husband all day, Gleick smoothed his hair one last time and hurried to Mrs. Aber’s side, offering his arm. I must say his gallantry is something to admire.

  I have all but decided to leave the Park at the earliest opportunity. I will write to you then to let you know of my specific plans, and whether or not Alex will accompany me home. I can also let you know at that time what the best option is for informing Alex’s parents of her decision.

  Yours,

  Lester King

  H. G. Merriam

  c/o Lake Hotel

  Yellowstone National Park

  July 5, 1898

  My dearest Mother,

  We have experienced a most wondrous 4th of July here in Yellowstone National Park. Perhaps because we are in territory protected by the Nation, rather than owned by any individual state, it is all the more important to celebrate our independence. Whatever the reason, both the human and natural elements have been at their most dramatic and beautiful.

  The day was sunny and warm, fine holiday conditions, which were interrupted only late in the day by dark clouds rolling in across the horizon, followed by a storm which swept across the distant shore of the lake. We watched this display of nature, Miss Bartram, Mrs. Eversman, and I, from the widow walk atop the hotel, while below us, in the ballroom, the all female orchestra played like angels, sweet and haunting melodies which drifted into the night.

  Miss Bartram was unusually radiant throughout the evening, having abandoned her customary field clothes for a dress which is most becoming. Unexpectedly so. Watching her dance with the captain, the rancher who has shown particular attention to Miss Bartram since our arrival at the hotel, John Wylloe, an elderly naturalist and poet in residence here, and even President Healey who, I am hoping, will take an equal interest in Miss Bartram as a potential employee of the college as he did in her as a dance partner, I could not help but feel the slightest tinge of longing that I, too, might have the pleasure of holding her, ever so briefly, in my arms. But just as I summoned the courage to ask her to dance, she slipped outside and joined Mrs. Eversman, who was on the hotel roof watching the evening settle like a blanket upon the lake. Seeing Miss Bartram there against the darkening sky, with the sun casting last-minute patches of light on the mountains around us, I could not bring myself to ask her. She was much too beautiful. Besides, it would be presumptuous of me to make the request, considering my position. So I asked, instead, Mrs. Eversman, a sweet, mild-mannered widow who, dressed in grey suiting, looked pale and almost forgotten next to Miss Bartram.

  Mrs. Eversman smiled, twinkled her eyes, and dipped her head into her shoulders so that she almost disappeared. But then, twinkling again, she accepted my arm, and the two of us reluctantly began to take our leave of Miss Bartram, who promised to join us downstairs. As I began to escort Mrs. Eversman from the roof, however, the sky blackened and Miss Bartram let out a gasp.

  Turning, Mrs. Eversman and I could see the object of Miss Bartram’s amazement. As the sun was about to disappear on the far horizon, it illuminated one mountain and then another, bright white and yellow, while, to the east and south of us, the sky turned a deep red with a tinge of orange. The spectacle was arresting, with the three of us so quieted by the sight, that the only discernible movement was the sweeping of bats in and around the trees surrounding the hotel. Even the music from the ballroom was silenced now, too.

  “I fear the music has ended and we have lost our opportunity to dance,” I apologized to Mrs. Eversman.

  “Oh, this is such sweet entertainment, Professor Merriam,” she said with the same apologetic dip of the head. “I am quite content.”

  And then, as if to complement Mrs. Eversman’s good nature, a narrow wisp of a rainbow, all red without a hint of any other color of the spectrum, spanned the southern sky like a thin, brightly burning ember in the dying light. I have never seen such a phenomenon before, and probably never will see the likes of it again.

  The three of us stood there at the widow walk railing, transfixed by the showiness of the natural world, when Miss Bartram unexpectedly turned and looked me square in the eye with that same unbending determination I have grown to know so well and, yes, even dread since she arrived in the Park.

  “I am not going,” she said with great seriousness. “I know you think I should, and probably wish I would, but I will not leave the Park until our work here is completed. I am staying until it is time for us all to go.”

  Mother, I know I have not always welcomed Miss Bartram’s presence here, and have believed that it would be in her best interest to return home, particularly now that there is someone here to escort her, but I admit with all my heart that I was relieved to hear the news. I started to explain to her that she would indeed be welcome to stay, that her presence in the expedition has been, in fact, a blessing, but Mrs. Eversman drew our attention elsewhere.

  “Look,” Mrs. Eversman exclaimed, pointing out a large flock of geese noisily working their way across the night sky. “Now that is what I call real music.”

  Miss Bartram’s spirits lifted and, for the first time that I can remember since she joined our party in the Park, she laughed out loud.

  By the time the geese were gone, so was the rainbow, and our collective mood. Down below we could hear much laughter as the party goers proceeded onto the boat dock and along the lake with chairs, while one by one, barges and small boats began to cluster off shore, their lanterns casting small pools of light upon the water as they waited for the fireworks to commence.

  “I think I have had enough entertainment to last me for a good long while,” Mrs. Eversman said, with a shy dip of the head. “I have never cared much for fireworks or other artificial displays.”

  “I think we have all seen enough,” Miss Bartram agreed. “Besides, we cannot afford to stay up too late, can we Professor? There is still so much work to be done.”

  “Yes, there is much work, Miss Bartram,” I assured her. “And you know what I always say, where there is work, there is hope.”

  And then, offering both arms to my companions and friends, for friends they now seemed to be, I added, “Shall we?” and the three of us descended arm-in-arm to the verandah of the hotel.

  I think we would have been content to call it an evening right then, if Rocky Cave, one of the students travelling with our party, had not interrupted us. Rutherford had been poisoned, the young man hurriedly explained. He was in the count’s camp and was in desperate need of assistance. The hotel physician was out on the lake, awaiting the fireworks display, and no one could tell the student how to locate him.

  “Do you know what the poison was?” Miss Bartram asked.

  “Miss Bartram, I’m not sure,” the student said. “The count came back to his camp, found us raiding his supplies, and cut us all off without another drop. So Dr. Rutherford and the driver took to dipping a cup into the barrel of alcohol the count uses for preserving skins. The men who travel with him seem to think the count laces it with something like arsenic to keep them from drinking it. None of them have been willing to tempt their fate and so no one had even given it a try. Dr. Rutherford’s hurting pretty bad, Miss Bartram. So is the driver.”

  “We need a cathartic, sodium sulfate, magnesium sulfate, sorbitol,” Miss Bartram told me. “Whatever you can get your hands on here in the hotel. In the meantime, I’ll see if there’s anything I can do.”

  The student had a second horse on which Miss Bartram rode away in a flurry of red silk. Since there was no one in the lobby to assist me,
and the doors to the hotel clinic were locked, I hurriedly returned to our own camp to see if I could locate Joseph, while Mrs. Eversman promised to watch for the physician’s return.

  Joseph and his family were eating when I rushed in and did the best to explain to him the situation. Joseph did not hesitate, but grabbed a leather bundle, bridled his horse, and rode off in the direction of the count’s camp. I followed behind on foot.

  By the time I reached the camp, both Rutherford and the mountain man were bent over, retching the vilest looking substance imaginable, until I thought their entire insides would be expelled with the rest of it. As their stomachs calmed, and they both appeared to be catching their breath, Joseph handed them yet another cup of the liquid which he had kept warming on the fire. The drink promptly started them retching again. It was a horrid sight, not to mention the sound.

  Finally, when it appeared that their anguish would never end, Rutherford let out a long guttural moan, and rolled onto his side, while the mountain man staggered off into the trees, followed closely by his dog. Joseph smiled, triumphant, and Miss Bartram energetically shook his hand.

  “Thank you,” she said. “It appears that they are going to be fine. I can’t thank you enough,” she said again.

  Rather than move Rutherford, we made a temporary bed for him next to the fire, my selfish motive as strong as my utilitarian one. It would be difficult to transport a man of Rutherford’s size without his expressed cooperation and, besides, President Healey could not possibly see him in this state if he spent the night away from our own camp and the hotel. I have enough trouble with Healey without him holding Rutherford’s bad judgment against me.

  The two students agreed to stay with Rutherford throughout the night, keep an eye on his bird which was hiding under a camp table, and keep us informed if Rutherford experienced any additional problems. Miss Bartram seemed convinced that now that their stomachs were empty, both he and the driver would just have to sleep off the side effects of their indiscretions.

  Since there was nothing else either of us could do to help, I offered to accompany Miss Bartram back to the hotel where we found Mrs. Eversman, true to her word, perched on the edge of a chair on the verandah still waiting for the arrival of the hotel’s physician. Fireworks roared and crashed in the sky all around her.

  “I’ve not yet seen the physician,” she apologized. “I tried walking along the lakeshore, but couldn’t find anyone there who knew where I might locate him.”

  I assured her that Dr. Rutherford and the driver would be fine, and that there was little the physician could do now to help them anyway. She was free to retire, if those were her wishes. Mrs. Eversman thanked me and retreated into the hotel.

  Miss Bartram stood on the verandah, looking out over the lake for the longest time, and then she, too, turned as if to retire. But she hesitated.

  “I have grown very fond of Dr. Rutherford since arriving here, and would have done anything to save him,” she told me. “So you must understand me when I say that it was with great reservation that I let Joseph give him that drink. I had the gravest doubts, but felt under the circumstances I had no other option.”

  She shook her head and the slightest shudder appeared to run through her body.

  “It is clear, Professor Merriam, that there is still much in the world I am woefully under educated about. I do hope you will have patience with me while I learn.”

  And with that, she, too, turned and retreated into the hotel, her dress a blaze of color fading into the distance of the lobby. As for me, I sat on the verandah for what seemed like hours watching the white lights of the boats upon the water, the remaining show of fireworks sputtering in the sky.

  Mother, I know my renewed sense of confidence in what I can accomplish this summer is wildly optimistic and unfounded. Bill Gleick tells me Philip Aber plans to withdraw support for the expedition at his earliest opportunity, and yet I cannot help but believe that with Bill’s leadership skills and the hard work of Rutherford, Peacock, and Miss Bartram, we will manage to not only salvage the work we have initiated here, but even flourish during the remainder of our stay. I am so confident of the fact, that I have booked my room at the hotel for an additional night, so that I might rest up for the long summer days ahead of us.

  My love and sincere devotion,

  Howard

  WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM

  JULY 5, 1898

  COL BRADSHAW YOU WILL NO DOUBT HEAR ABOUT THIS SOON SO SHOULD KNOW I HAVE DECLINED ALL OFFERS OF RAILROAD LEASES AND OTHER RIGHTAWAYS IN PARK SENATOR JACKSON PROMISES A FIGHT BUT MUST TAKE HIS BATTLE TO WASHINGTON I WILL NOT BE MOVED SHOULD KNOW TOO THAT SMITHSONIAN EMPLOYEE HAS DISAPPEARED ON HORSEBACK WHICH SENATOR CITES AS PROOF POSITIVE THAT RAIL LINE NEEDED HOW HE CONNECTS THE TWO EVENTS IS DIFFICULT TO FATHOM BUT TRYING TO CREATE MONOPOLY FOR RAILROADS IN PARK JUST AS NONSENSICAL TO ME SEARCH PARTY OUT LOOKING FOR GENTLEMAN PROBABLY JUST LOST HIS WAY WILL KEEP YOU INFORMED YOURS SINCERELY CAPT A CRAIGHEAD

  A. E. Bartram

  c/o Lake Hotel

  Yellowstone National Park

  July 5, 1898

  My dear Jessie,

  In true American fashion we have celebrated our independence and now, like our forefathers, must learn how to live with the consequences of our actions. Perhaps the saddest casualty of drawing our collective line in the sand is Philip Aber, who left the hotel yesterday on horseback and has not been seen since. Captain Craighead has organized a search party but Dr. Aber has been gone so long, it is difficult to imagine that they will be able to locate him if he is determined not to be found.

  Although the exact reason for his disappearance is unclear to me, seeing William Gleick and Mrs. Aber together last night, I can imagine where the problem lies. Dr. Gleick accompanied Dr. Aber’s wife from Washington, and seems to be more familiar with her than just a few days on the train would warrant.

  Mrs. Aber is about my age, although she seems much younger, almost like a child in spite of her striking beauty. She stands perfectly tall, with a long neck and thick, black hair which only serves to accentuate the paleness of her complexion and the darkness of her eyes. I would say that she looks like a doll, but she is much too fragile for that description. She is so delicate that she appears to need the arm of a man just to walk from one side of the room to the other. I can understand why Dr. Aber was reluctant to leave her on her own in Washington. He must have feared that without his constant care and attention, she might shatter.

  Dr. Gleick certainly seems to think so. He has steadfastly stayed by her side since Dr. Aber’s abrupt departure, and has offered to assist her with plans to return to Washington at the earliest opportunity. Why she should arrive in the Park only to leave again without even knowing of her husband’s condition is one of those human mysteries about which I am full of speculation but woefully under experienced to draw any conclusions. These are the kinds of human questions to which John Wylloe tells me I need to dedicate more time and observation.

  Through Dr. Gleick, Professor Merriam has learned of Philip Aber’s plans to withdraw Smithsonian support for the expedition. Although Dr. Gleick initially counseled Professor Merriam to return to campus with President Healey, the Professor will not be persuaded. He is insistent that the expedition can and will be saved. And, more importantly, that it should be.

  To prove his point, Professor Merriam invited Dr. Gleick to view and judge our collection for himself. This is where John Wylloe, as wise as he may be about his view of the world, is wrong about mine. It is one thing to worry about all the intricacies of human interactions, and I am certain it can make life easier at times for us all, but there is a much different set of concerns when it comes to science. Here, it is the work that must be allowed to speak for itself without a hint of human emotion.

  Dr. Gleick was impressed not only by the quality of our work so far in the Park, but by the sheer quantity of work our small group has been able to accomplish in such a brief period of time. Although he appeared to be intere
sted in, and I can only hope impressed by, the botanical collection, it was the work of Dr. Peacock that caught his eye.

  Dr. Peacock, you may remember, began his collecting during the very first days of the expedition, and has made significant progress, most impressive of which is an exhaustive collection of aquatic insects and butterflies, the sheer beauty of which has attracted Dr. Gleick’s attention.

  They are indeed most spectacular, although Dr. Peacock would no doubt argue with such a description, resenting the attention such showy insects elicit from others. He prefers the diversity of Coleoptera, finding great charm in each intricate mandible, antenna, and diminutive claw, not to mention the spectacular ability beetles demonstrate in adapting to any environment. You can see Dr. Peacock’s devotion to his science in the passion with which he collects and displays these strange-looking creatures. For example, he has collected more than two dozen specimens of one such insect, the Polyphylla decemlineata, which he has neatly pinned to a hand-inked grid. In such an intricate presentation, these field beetles look almost Egyptian, bringing good luck or beauty or whatever was once believed of their scarab cousins.

  To complement the care Dr. Peacock takes in preserving and displaying his work, Dr. Rutherford has developed an elaborative indexing system, which he has integrated into his botanical mapping system, providing a complex picture of the environment in which these plants and insects thrive.

  I suspect that at least one of the reasons Dr. Gleick has been so positively impressed by our work is that he has been genuinely surprised to find something so unexpectedly professional, albeit unique, being organized under such primitive conditions. I am sure he has been equally impressed by the fact that the work is being conducted by Professor Merriam, Dr. Peacock, and especially Dr. Rutherford. Although Dr. Gleick appears to approve of them all as friends, it is clear in the way that he speaks of them that he does not—or at least has not—considered them colleagues or peers.