K Nilsen - The Yellowstone Traps

Slanting sunlight, flooding across Liz’s shuttered eyes, woke her. She had no concept of how long she had slept or what the hour was, but she mustered enough energy to retrieve her cell phone and dial Minnesota.

“Hello,” a child’s voice answered, Pelee’s voice.

“Hi, honey, it’s mom.”

“Hi, mom, where are you?”

“Oh, I’m calling from Yellowstone as always, honey.”

“You know what I did yesterday, mom?”

“What, sweetie?”

“I helped tap maple trees all day. We made lots of maple syrup. We put it on snow and ate it. It’s called sugar-on-snow. It was great, mom. I made really good syrup, really good.”

Liz managed a little smile despite her weariness. Pelee sounded so effervescent, so enthusiastic. “Much snow there still, Pelee?”

“No, it’s almost all gone. It’s getting warm now. There’s some in the woods, though, so we had plenty for making sugar-on-snow.”

“Pelee.”

“What, mom?”

“Pelee, I’m going to make flight reservations this morning. I’m going to come home the first thing in May. I miss you.”

“Oh.” Pelee’s voice tailed off. “Does that mean I have to go back to Boston? I don’t want to live in Boston. I like it here.”

“Honey, we’ll talk about that when I get there. You sound like you’re having such a good time, I don’t want to spoil it.”

Today there would be no conflict. She wanted only to listen to her child. The two talked for an hour. When Pelee finally put the phone down and ran to find her father to bring him to the phone, Liz sighed through a thin smile. Her demons had been exorcised, banished from her soul by a ten-year-old. What power, she thought, a little child has.

“Hello, Elizabeth?” Abel’s voice resonated in the earpiece.

“Hi, Abel, thanks for coming to the phone.”

“Happy to. I heard of some sort of trouble coming out of Yellowstone? Bobcat caught it on the wire this morning.”

News travels like electric current, thought Liz. She did not want to talk shop. Not now. “Look, Abel, I want to come back east in a few months, maybe by the first of May.”

“Great.”

“I’ll call you when I’ll be in Minneapolis. I hope you’d let me stay at the farm for a few days before I take Pelee back to Massachusetts.”

“Of course you may stay.”

“I appreciate that, Abel. Take care of my Pelee.”

“She’s in good hands.”

“I know she is. Thanks.”

“Liz, you take care of yourself. How bad is it there?”

“I don’t know.” Liz paused and brought her fingers to her forehead. Her mouth was dry. “We lost a colleague here.”

“Lost?”

“I’m not worried about my safety. I’m quite a ways from it.”

“What happened?”

“I’ll be fine. See you before too long. Bye.”

Liz folded the phone, rolled out of her bed, and stretched. She couldn’t get over the discovery that she was still wearing her parka. Off came the coat as she went to the desk where she had piled her tote bag and her laptop computer. She plugged the digital device in to the wall, slipped in the dial-up line, and flipped the lid open. A one-way flight from Bozeman, Montana to Minneapolis-St. Paul, that’s what she wanted. One stop at Denver, maybe. That would work.

Two bundled figures clamored up steps onto the decking fronting a small three-story building, part viewing tower, part creative retreat, teetering on edge of the highest point of land on Prospect Bluffs. The wooden deck expanse at Lakota Lodge sparkled and flashed with starlight mirrored by crystals of frost.

Beneath the red-granite-block tower, Winnie and Abel stood in sharp relief against a brilliant indigo sky. Leaning on deck railing, Winnie was transported by the sweeping visage of limitless plains, its infinite dimensions held in check by the imperceptible curvature of earth at the edge of the distant western expanse. In the farthest spaces, the horizon glowed with lustrous clarity.

“Stay here one minute, and I’ll be right back,” said her companion for the evening. “I’ll build a hot fire in no time. Take the chill off.”

Abel lit a pellet stove, an automatic device that burned dried corn kernels. Within a few minutes, a blaze was roaring. He rolled a small sofa before the fire to create a pocket of warmth on the first floor, and returned to the deck and to his night companion.

“Do you come here often?” asked Winnie.

“Yes, I do. Particularly when the moon is full, in any season.”

“It’s so beautiful.”

“I come up on snowshoes in the winter when a great snowstorm is underway. I like to immerse myself in the theatrics of one of Mother Nature’s great dramas. Makes one humble, you know.”

“You stay the night during the storms?”

“Often.”

“How do you stay warm enough?”

“I don’t know if you noticed when you took the tour, but there are several Norwegian cabinet bunk built-ins in the study above us in the tower.”

“Cabinet bunks? What are they?”

“The easiest way to stay warm in a cold climate is to sleep in a confined space under a big pile of blankets. In this case, the space is a human-scale cabinet with a door you close on yourself. Not only do the blankets keep you warm, but the space is small enough to trap and hold body heat quite well. That’s perfect for warming up the little cubbyhole, even during nights of terrible cold.”

“How cold?”

“Thirty-five below.”

“No! You’re kidding.”

“I’m not exaggerating. My daughter and I have slept like mice in a mitten up here during severe weather.”

Winnie smiled broadly, pleased with the whimsical expression.

After a half hour marveling at the million pinwheeling stars overhead and a lesson in constellation recognition for Winnie, the two hustled indoors and took up a position tight by the roaring corn pellet stove. The isinglass window on the fire cast a bright vermillion glow over the interior space.

“You know,” said Winnie, “I’ve enjoyed myself here. I haven’t had as pleasant an experience as these past two weeks in, well, in some time.”

“I’m delighted that you’re delighted. It’s been a pleasure having you here among us on the bluffs.”

“You jest.”

“No, no. I confess, I found myself seeking your company.”

Winnie looked into the man’s face, red-orange with firelight. Here was an enigma in human form. It was impossible for her to reconcile the nature of his philosophy and work with the reality of her employment. But she wanted to kiss him.

Abel looked into the eyes of the woman peering at him, the side of her face glowing, eclipsing the fire. He fixed his gaze. Reaching out with both hands, he framed her face with his fingers, touching her skin lightly. She closed her eyes, tilted her head into his left hand and let his palm support her head.

She was lost now. Abruptly she launched herself forward and surrounded the man’s neck with her arms. She reached for his mouth with her lips and found them. Abel returned the embrace, pulled her to him and was engulfed by the power of a kiss of passion so long removed from his life.

Winnie broke the embrace suddenly and thrust backwards, pushing him to an arm’s length. She stammered, “I can’t do this.”

She stood up, a silhouette against the windows reflecting firelight. Abel followed her with his eyes. Her hands trembled. She pulled fingers into her mouth and bit down. Her flesh was strangled by her mind’s indecision.

Rocking back a step, Winnie glanced about the room, blinking away the glare from the stove. The fire crackled with ancient voices and its heat massaged her shoulders and spine. She exhaled loudly, puffing out her lower lip.