by Carla Kelly
“Life is full of lessons,” she replied, and held out her hand. “I’ll stop by your Gardiner office before I leave.”
For once, she didn’t mind the tedium of the kitchen inventory. Bonnie Boone packed what supplies she could, even though a few days remained with a dwindling number of tourists arriving and departing. As Carrie was checking off foodstuffs that could be safely stored, she realized it had been more than a month since she had taken extra bits of food to her tent each night.
“Bonnie, I haven’t needed any crackers or peanuts lately,” she said.
“You did at first. What changed?”
“I did,” Carrie said softly. “I met Ramsay Stiles and didn’t feel so frightened. Why is that? Maybe I should be afraid again, but I’m not.”
Bonnie seemed to consider her question. She flicked idly at spice jars and wiped the lids. “Did he give you confidence?”
“I think so,” Carrie said. “So did Mrs. LaMarque. So did you. I can always have a career in Yellowstone making pies!” They laughed together. “I feel like a grown woman now,” Carrie said after more reflection. “After all, I have a traveling suit, a black brassiere, and a plan when I graduate.” She smiled at Bonnie. “And friends.”
“Give yourself more credit,” Bonnie said. “You’re saying all of us made you brave. My dear, it started with you.”
What was easy to say in the quiet of the afternoon was more difficult to remember as that final campfire approached. Sophie had packed her valise because she was leaving in the morning to return to Ashton, Idaho, and classroom duties. The other two maids had already left for Eugene, Oregon, and school, so Tent Twenty-Six was almost empty. Two more days of cleanup would end Carrie’s stay in Wonderland. Jake Trost was catching the same train as Sophie, but heading west to Seattle and his final semester.
He had taken her aside that afternoon before the tourists arrived for dinner, inviting her to Seattle in October for homecoming. “U-Dub has a pretty good football team, plus I’d like you to see my city and meet my parents,” he told her. “What do you say, Carrie McKay?”
What could she say? With the exception of a sergeant major in prison in Fort Leavenworth, no other man had cared for her that summer as well as Jake. She shook her head, even though Ram had told her civil engineers had good careers ahead of them in this new century, and a comfortable life.
“I’m sorry, Jake, but no,” she said, dismayed to see the chagrin in his eyes, but firm in her resolve. “My heart wouldn’t be in it.”
She already knew Jake was a solid fellow, confident even with a turndown. “I didn’t think you’d accept,” he said, serious enough this time to touch her heart. “I wish you would, but there’s a sergeant major on your mind.”
“He’d probably tell me that wasn’t the wisest choice I’d ever made,” she said.
“He probably would, and you’d ignore him in that polite way of yours,” he told her. “You know who you want.” He kissed her cheek. “If you ever change your mind, just write me care of Seattle Electric Light Company.”
She began the final campfire more lighthearted than she would have thought possible. Two more mornings of pie making and bread baking lay ahead, then it was time to pack, think about the fall semester, and head for Bozeman. She had finalized plans to stay in one of the new co-ops closer to campus where everyone pitched in and saved money by doing all the cleaning and cooking. She knew she could afford a regular boardinghouse, but she was still Carrie and mindful of her funds.
The tourists who assembled on the logs in the campfire circle were bundled up more heavily, as they had been at the beginning of summer. The Great Trostini began his by-now expertly inept magic tricks, but stopped as a V of geese flew overhead. Carrie watched them too, with that mixture of anticipation of a new season and realization that winter was coming fast. The summer had turned into autumn, which in Yellowstone meant a brief respite before cruel winter. She had given her heart to a sergeant major, met a perfectly delightful old Broadway star turned socialite, and begun what she knew would be her own annual pilgrimage to the majesty of the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone. All in all, not a bad summer.
She sang “My Old Kentucky Home,” first, which always brought applause and some sniffs in handkerchiefs from the more sentimental visitors. “Nellie Was a Lady,” kept the tears flowing, which she dried out with her solitary rendition of “Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay,” and a little ankle and knee.
Then it was over. She stepped forward as she always did and asked if anyone had a favorite. Silence and then from the back row came a familiar voice.
“ ‘Why, No One to Love?’ Sing that for me, Caroline.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Carrie shook her head to clear it, then put her hands to her mouth as Ramsay Stiles walked toward the dying campfire.
If anything, he looked even thinner in the face. Her eyes went to his uniform sleeves, which still bore the usual chevrons, rockers, and hash marks.
“If you can’t sing it, will you at least give this sergeant major a hug?” he asked as the tourists looked around, wondering what to expect.
The time to be shy was long past between her and Ramsay. Her face still but her heart racing, Carrie kept walking toward him until she was wrapped in his arms. He put his hand on her head and tucked her close to his chest in a gesture of protection that took away in amazing short order the awful pain of separation and fear of the unknown.
“I’ve been so worried,” she whispered, for his ears only.
“You’re not alone in that,” he replied. “I have quite a story for you.”
She looked around, startled, at the sound of applause. The little group of late-season tourists cheered and applauded.
“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is our season finale,” the Great Trostini said. “It looks like a happy ending to me.”
The tourists dispersed to their tents, passing Carrie and Ramsay so close together, his hand still protective on her head. Jake stopped to shake Ramsay’s free hand.
“I tried to convince her that engineering was a lot more secure than whatever you’re up to, sir, but she wasn’t buying it,” he said.
“Maybe she’s not as bright as we thought,” Ramsay teased and kissed the top of her head.
“She is,” Jake said. “The campfire, such as it is, is all yours. See you later in Tent Twenty, sergeant major?”
“More than likely.”
Everyone was gone. Carrie looked up and he took his hand away. “I don’t care how bad or good things are,” she said, “but you’d better kiss me right now.”
He did, starting with a gentle kiss, then proceeding to a more inspired one, a kiss long and deep and full of the promise of more to come. He took her breath away. Everlastingly practical, she had read that phrase in many a short story in McCall’s or the brand-new Redbook and deemed it impossible. Standing there and enjoying a thorough kiss, she wasn’t so certain.
“Gotta breathe, Caroline,” he said, sounding breathless.
He stopped her when she moved toward the campfire. “Nope. Bonnie Boone just told me we could use the dining hall and she promised not to peek. I need to see your face while I convince you to marry me, and it’s too dark here.”
“I won’t require much convincing,” she said.
“There’s more to it than that.”
Hand in hand, they walked to the dining hall, where some of the tables and chairs were already stacked on top of each other, ready to be moved to winter storage in Gardiner.
“Looks like the end of summer in here, as sure as geese overhead and elk bugling and fighting,” Ramsay said as he surveyed the evidence. He pointed toward a table closer to the kitchen, the one with a kerosene lamp lit and glowing.
“You sit down,” Carrie said. “I have something for you.”
She walked to the empty kitchen and took a plate and fork from the cupboard. The slice of cherry pie she had saved from each day’s baking went onto the plate. There wasn’t any whipped cream, but Rams
ay Stiles wasn’t a man requiring frills.
She put the cherry pie in front of him and sat beside him. “I’ve been saving a piece back every day. I didn’t know I would see you again, but I hoped.”
He gave her a look that said more than words, and ate the serving. She watched him eat, enjoying the sight of a pleased man, her man no matter what. After he finished and wiped his lips, he turned around on the bench. “Come on. I have a good lap.”
She sat on his lap. “This is nice,” Ramsay said when his arms went around her. He held her off a little, the better to see her face. “I love you, Caroline,” he said. “There’s no fancy way to say it.”
“You just covered the subject,” she replied. “I love you too. Heavens, when those last letters of mine were returned, I was certain you were on your way to Fort Leavenworth.”
“Actually, no, but I was told not to contact anyone,” he said. “I fear Lieutenant Colonel Ward has a mean streak. There was nothing he wanted better than to court martial me and send me to Fort Leavenworth to break up rocks for paving stones.” He sighed. “He would have been within his rights, I have no doubt.”
“Then why in the world are you here?” she asked simply.
His hand went to her head again and he pulled her close. “I owe a debt to everyone at Fort Yellowstone. You should have seen the stack of letters on his desk when he hauled me into his office for that final time before kicking me loose. Letters from officers, men, drivers, the Wylies, Captain Chittenden in particular, and most important, Major Pitcher’s letter with my wolf field notes.”
“I read them,” she said. “Well, I read them every night. I have a carbon copy, plus your original notes. Major Pitcher thought I should have them.”
“Nice to know where they are,” he told her. “There were an equal number of letters from officers and sergeants garrisoned right there at Fort Clark, getting ready to ship overseas to the Philippines. Those guerillas refuse to show the white flag.”
He held her off again. “Caroline, I spent so much time talking to officers and noncoms about jungle warfare. We’ve never fought like this before and there are huge gaps in everyone’s education.”
“Knowing you, you probably wrote a little manual,” she said, only half in jest.
“I did. The wolves were more fun,” he said.
He looked at her for a long moment. Carrie realized, perhaps for the first time, what a patient observer Ramsay Stiles was. She knew he was watching her expression, much as a wolf studied his landscape, unblinking, cautious, but confident, because wolves were made that way. She had learned a lot reading and rereading his wolf study.
“Is this where I nudge you and lean in like the top lady wolf?” she asked, and he laughed out loud, a sound that filled her with joy. He was free; he was happy.
“Yeah, this would be a good time for that. I need to figure out a better term than ‘top lady wolf’.”
Laughing, Carrie nudged his chest and leaned in. His arms tightened around her and she felt rather than heard his laugh.
“One of the captains garrisoned at Fort Clark told me later of the rousing arguments between Colonel Ward and his officers, but I have to tell you what tipped the scales for me. It came from an unexpected source, but if you think about it, maybe neither of us should be surprised—Louise LaMarque.”
Carrie gasped. “I … I wrote her and sent her a copy of your wolf study,” she said when she could speak.
“Thank goodness you did that. President Roosevelt is quite the conservationist,” Ramsay said. “The president himself told me Mrs. LaMarque stormed into his office, slapped down that report, and demanded he read it.”
“I can see her doing precisely that,” Carrie said. “She’s impossible to ignore.”
“Indeed! President Roosevelt then telegrammed Colonel Ward and asked what in the Sam Hill was going on at Fort Clark. A few lengthy telegrams went back and forth, which led eventually to my freedom. For the record, let me state that Colonel Ward is not a happy man right now.” Ramsay shook his head. “What a dilemma! The colonel would love to hand me my head on a platter, but he knows I have the president’s ear. ”
Carrie pulled away for a comprehensive look of her own. “Wait a minute. ‘The president himself,’ you said? You talked to President Roosevelt?” She gave him a less-genteel nudge then poked her finger in his chest. “Where have you really been, Sergeant Major Stiles? It had better be a good story.”
“Wow, Carrie McKay, if I were a wolf, I’d be on the floor right now on my back and groveling! That’s a hard tone to take with the man of your dreams.”
“You are a goof,” she said. “Don’t stop now, mister.”
“That’s why I couldn’t tell you where I was headed. National security and all that,” he said. “I spent three delightful days at Sagamore Hill with the president of the United States,” Ramsay said, and Carrie heard the awe in his voice. “He generally spends a portion of the summer at his estate there. We talked about Yellowstone and wolves, and protection for animals, and the army and war. He wore me out.”
“My goodness,” was all Carrie could say.
“He made me an offer, and so did Colonel Ward,” Ramsay said, serious now. “Hold off a bit and look me right in the eye. This is going to be your decision.”
She put both hands on his chest. “No, Ram. You’re the man doing the work. I’ll be home making cherry pie and probably growing babies.” She blushed. “Well, it’s true.”
“Most likely. But if you’re not happy with my choice, ten to one, you won’t be happy with me,” he told her. “You have the worst poker face in the history of the game. You’d never earn a dime.”
She laughed and kissed him.
“Wow, Caroline,” he said finally. “Pay attention now. Against his will I am positive, Colonel Ward offered me the position of Command Sergeant Major of the regiment. CSM Fuller recently retired and the spot is open. What else could the colonel do, with Roosevelt breathing down his neck?”
“From miscreant to command sergeant major,” Carrie said. “You amaze me, Ram.”
“In this position, I will be immediately posted back to the Philippines, where we are still fighting,” he said. His shoulders relaxed. “I see a big ‘no’ your eyes, Caroline.”
“What a great honor for you, but no,” she said firmly. “No more Philippines.”
“Good choice, dear heart! Fort Clark is hot and dry and doesn’t look anything like Yellowstone,” he said. “You’d be living there while I was overseas, and you’d hate it as much as I do.”
“Are you somehow going to stay in the army?” she asked.
“Patience, patience, Miss McKay. Here’s the next offer. You ready for this? President Roosevelt offered me a position in the Secret Service.”
Carrie gasped and grabbed him around the neck. “What an honor!”
“My word, yes. I spent another week in Washington, learning about the operation of the Secret Service.”
“Ramsay, do you always land on your feet?” Carrie said.
“Only since I met you,” he assured her. He touched his forehead to hers.
“President Roosevelt told me he’d been thinking about it since that little kerfluffle at Gardiner during the dedication of the arch. Apparently Mrs. LaMarque assured him I was a steady fellow who didn’t mind apologizing when in the wrong, and was ever-watchful otherwise.”
He turned deadly serious then and took her face in his hands. “Carrie, we’ll be living in Washington, D.C. I have to tell you—Colonel Ward informed me that whatever I decide, I won’t be allowed to return to Yellowstone Park in any official capacity. I’m here to clean out my quarters.” He kissed her. “And propose. The president found that amusing, but Colonel Ward did not. Will it be Washington? Think about it.”
Carrie thought about it. “I won’t be able to see the mountains, or Bozeman, or anyplace that matters to me.” She stopped speaking, angry with herself. An offer like that from the president of the United States wasn’t som
ething to carelessly turn down.
Ramsay rubbed his cheek gently against hers. “I see another ‘no’ in your eyes.”
Agitated, Carrie stood up and walked to the door of the dining room and then back again, rubbing her arms, ready to cry. She stopped in front of the man she adored, knowing he was watching her traitor face. “It’s an honor and a privilege to serve this president, and the ones to follow. You should take this offer.”
“I still see a ‘no,’ ” he told her. “Carrie, you’re also a dreadful liar.”
She sat down with a plop, closer to him, but only if he reached out, which he did. She edged toward him. “I think I would be … I know I would be sad to leave this area, but you’re not allowed here anymore. I have to have you. What are we going to do?”
It was his turn to stand up and walk. “Don’t leave,” she said, suddenly alarmed. “I’ll learn to like wherever you are. Please don’t leave me.”
“I’m not leaving, not ever again, Caroline,” he told her and sat next to her, their hips touching. “When I left here under as black a cloud as a person can think of, I rode Xerxes to Jack Strong’s place before I got on the train.”
“I still need to meet that man, don’t I?” she asked, trying to lighten the mood.
“You might, depending,” he replied. “I knew Xerxes would be okay if I left him there. Earlier today, I had the train drop me off at Jack’s. Xerxes was happy to see me. I sat at Jack’s kitchen table and told him what I told you, and whined about my choices.” He nudged her. “I whine sometimes.”
“Ramsay Stiles, everyone does,” she said patiently.
“He wrote a little note for you. Told me not to look at it.” He reached into his pocket. “Here it is.”
“Confess. You peeked.”
“I did,” he said, which surprised her, but there was nothing in his bland expression that suggested a hint of his own feelings. Ramsay could probably have made a fortune at a poker table. “Command sergeant major, the Secret Service, or what’s in that note, Caroline. I mean when I say it has to be your decision. I value you far too much to not consider our future, not just mine.”
