Free Faithful by Janet Fox

disappointment that Tom was gone, and then Papa took my hand and helped me off the train and onto the platform. We walked, me in my woozy state, at the end of the crowd of tourists, followed by porters hauling our trunks, and made our way to the line of stagecoaches standing ready against the long curve of the Gardiner platform to take us under the great stone arch and into Yellowstone.
    FOR THE BENEFIT AND ENJOYMENT OF THE PEOPLE. I read the words carved into the stone from where we stood, waiting to board our coach. I also saw Tom and his father in a private wagon already on their way through the arch. I sighed. Maybe Tom and I would cross paths again before Papa and I left for home. Before we left for home with Mama, I reminded myself, and felt a rush that overwhelmed all other thoughts.
    Papa helped me into our Tally-ho coach. Our coach held eighteen passengers plus our driver, who wore a rough, gray duster. Many of the passengers sat on the roof. I was grateful Papa secured a spot for us inside as I rubbed my gloved hands together. Small pockets of snow nestled in the hollows of the rolling hills that hunched against the sky.
    The coach was drawn by six matched white horses, and I thought with a pang about Ghost. I missed our rides, the freedom I felt on his back.
    “Isn’t it amazing?” said Uncle John as the coach made its way through the arch.
    “Amazing. So this is Yellowstone?”
    “Almost! Through the arch and up the road!”
    In truth, I thought it was a little overbearing, that arch, looming over us. We were at our destination and yet Papa still hadn’t revealed anything to me. I would still have to be properly obedient to his whims. Now that we were on our way up the winding road into the Park, I was ready for this journey to end, ready to bring Mama home to Newport. As we drew away, I looked back. Paradise Valley, wrapped in clouds, pinched shut like a vise. The arch itself reminded me of a medieval gate—I could almost hear the doors clang shut and the key turn, with a snick , in the lock.
    “The president himself dedicated it last year. He was very enthusiastic about his visit to Yellowstone.” Uncle John leaned toward me. “He shook my hand.”
    I raised my eyebrows.
    “I was repairing some of the trim in the lobby of the National Hotel in Mammoth—that’s how Mr. Reamer found me—and when President Roosevelt came through, he stopped and admired my work. And he shook my hand.” Uncle John beamed.
    “How exciting.” I felt sorry for my uncle, so awestruck by a handshake. Isabel had a stuffed “Teddy” bear that was a gift from Roosevelt himself. I would see Isabel, if not her bear, again soon. With our family together again, I’d show her that I was worthy of respect and not her snobbish disdain. I sank back against the leather bench of the coach and smiled.
    The rhythm of the coach’s movements lulled me and I closed my eyes. My other senses sharpened: the smell of horses, of leather, of dust; the creak and groan of the carriage; the murmur of voices; the rock and sway.
    The carriage shuddered violently, jolting me from sleep. The horses at the front of the team reared and neighed as the driver pulled up. I opened my eyes wide now and grasped the edge of the open window. A woman screamed and the men shouted exclamations.
    “Bear!” someone yelled.
    A bear! My eyes searched the landscape; my body tensed. I tightened my hold, fingers curled over the wood. The driver cursed as he strained to control the horses. For one awful moment, I thought the entire coach would tip sideways, top-heavy as it was with passengers. A swift and gripping fear coursed through my every muscle. The coach righted at last. Yet something else ran through me: not relief, but a longing so primitive that it worked against common sense. It pulled me out, calling to me, drawing me from the safe confines of the coach.
    I had to see the bear.
    I thrust my head out the window, defying rational thought. There. Just off the