Yiska stomped out the glowing edges of the neckerchief. “Safe now. Looks like your match never made it out the window.”
Mr. Van Horn shook his head in disbelief.
Eliana took a deep breath. “Thank you, Yiska. Papa insists on nursing that pipe, though it’s usually empty when he does so.” She glanced up at her father and smiled. “But I suppose it served its purpose anyway. At least I hope it did.”
“It got my attention.” Yiska chuckled. “That was a good…picture with words. The Diné tell stories like that around their campfires.” He looked at Mr. Van Horn. “Only they know how to put the fires out.”
“For that you owe me a neckerchief, young man,” Mr. Van Horn said with a glint in his eye. Then he leaned forward. “Yiska, what about your father?”
“My father was an Englishman. I don’t know what he believed.” So much of his childhood, most of his memories, remained cloaked in shadows.
“He wasn’t a religious man, I take it,” Van Horn said.
“I don’t know. He gave thanks to the Christian God, but he also talked about the Great Spirit—mostly among the Navajo.” Yiska shifted in his seat. The Van Horns listened patiently, their sincere expressions inviting him to share things that he’d hardly ever spoken.
“Pa was a mountaineer, a trader with the Navajo. He died when I was a boy, and my mother and I went back to her people. That was before The Long Walk to Fort Sumner. She sent me away to save me from that fate.” Yiska swallowed hard. “She never made it back. I’d gone to live with Trask Whiley’s parents, who my family knew. I helped out around his pa’s trading post, and his ma taught me how to read, write, and figure.”
Yiska stared at his boots for a moment then continued. “Mrs. Whiley talked about Jesus, and had me read her Bible sometimes. After the war Trask had gone out on his own. I was about sixteen when he came back. He asked me to work for him, and I’ve been with him ever since.” Yiska sat straighter. “As far as what I believe? I’m not really sure.”
The stage hastened its speed. Eliana coughed as dust particles filled the air. Tension permeated the small space. How does one respond to such a revelation? She yearned for Yiska to embrace Christianity and would love to discuss it further, but she simply uttered a silent prayer and took comfort in knowing that Papa certainly prayed for Yiska as well.
Yiska exhaled, stared out the window for a while, then faced Eliana again. “I never did thank you for taking my photograph.”
He was changing the topic of conversation. Had she offended him? Her mood plummeted.
“I didn’t see that photograph,” Papa said.
Eliana reached into her reticule. “I have it right here, Papa.”
Her father inspected the picture. “Very good. Very good indeed. I like the way you positioned him. Suits him well. Your hat was in better shape then.”
“Eh, it was,” Yiska grinned. He picked up his hat and smoothed some of the dents. “It’s seen better times.”
“Eliana, I intended for him to keep this.” Papa handed the photograph to Yiska. Papa, no! Now how will I ever get it back?
“Thank you, sir. She did a fine job, despite the subject.” Yiska leaned back and rubbed his cheek with one of his fingers, and the corner of his mouth turned up in a crooked grin.
Eliana glanced away all flustered. How could he? An avalanche of thoughts assailed her—taking his picture, combing his hair, raspberry jam—and he was thinking the very same thoughts.
“Yes, and she’s a good assistant. Hard worker, my girl.” Papa put his hand over Eliana’s. “Indeed, she’s every bit as talented as I. She has a good eye.”
Yiska squeezed one eye shut, and his mouth eased into a sly grin. “Which one?”
Laughter filled the coach. Yiska had such a way of putting others at ease. When they stopped laughing Eliana caught him staring at her. Was he as captivated with her as she was with him?
Papa cleared his throat, “As I was about to say, she has two pretty eyes and a canny ability to see a good shot from behind the camera. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
“Or I you, Papa.” Eliana hoped she’d never have to know.
Yiska stretched and loosened his bandanna. He took in a deep breath of the clean Colorado air, still feeling the ache in his ribs. The sun was high overhead. The coach had made good time on the drive to the Wagon Wheel Gap home station. Then it had taken twice as long to go the same distance to the next station, due to the rough terrain. The hotel served a hale lunch of buffalo venison stew, buttermilk biscuits, and mixed berry pie. Lucky Jim saw that the horses were changed for a fresh team.
Within half an hour they were ready to continue their course along the Rio Grande. There were no new passengers, which pleased Yiska. While Eliana and Mr. Van Horn enjoyed the view of cattle roaming the hills, Yiska enjoyed watching her.
“I believe that ranch belongs to Kit Carson’s brother-in-law,” Mr. Van Horn said. Kit Carson was responsible for sending the Navajos on their long walk. Yiska wasn’t pleased at the reminder. What made him open up the way he did about his past? Did it matter that much that Eliana understand him?
Eliana glared at her father. He took her cue and changed the topic. “The stationmaster told me Wagon Wheel Gap got its name when they discovered an old wheel in the river. They believe it was from Charles Baker’s wagon when he passed through here while exploring the area.”
“That’s interesting, Papa. It reminds me of Mr. Snowden in Silverton, the last living member of the Baker Party.” Eliana looked at Yiska. “Papa will be photographing Mr. Snowden for the San Juan Prospector.”
Yiska wanted to ask if she would be there, too.
The Van Horns pulled out their newspapers. “Do you need some reading material, Yiska?” Eliana asked.
“No, thank you. I can’t read with all this movement.”
“Perhaps I could read something aloud. Would you enjoy that?”
“That sounds fine,” he said.
“Oh, I know you will enjoy this!” Eliana beamed. “This is a journal entry penned by the Anonymous Explorer. The Prospector has been running a series of them.” She began to read with a lilt in her voice.
A multitude of color explodes into the valley on a carpet of lush mountain meadows. Once lying dormant under the cover of winter, hearty blooms and delicate petals display their beauty and fill the air with fragrance.
Flowers have now awakened along quiet streams and rocky places, greeting the wildlife as it enters this blissful place. This romance with nature fills my heart in a way I wonder if any human ever could.
Though Yiska’s heart raced, his face remained like stone.
Eliana sighed and folded the newspaper. “Have you ever heard such beautiful words? I can hardly imagine being surrounded by a place so sublime.”
“Beautiful, yes,” Yiska said. The words are even more beautiful on your lips. How I wish I could take you there.
“That was penned by the Anonymous Explorer.” Eliana placed the paper on the seat beside her and straightened.
Mr. Van Horn raised a brow. “I wonder what place the author is describing. I’d love to go there and photograph it. Yet it seems he has kept it a secret.”
“Oh, Papa, it would be wonderful to see in person!” Eliana’s eyes danced.
“Any idea, Yiska?” Van Horn asked.
“It sounds like a valley west of Handies Peak. Northwest of here—in the San Juan forest between Stony Pass and Eureka Gulch.”
“Have you been there?” Mr. Van Horn asked.
“Yes.”
“Is it as lovely as the writer claims?” Eliana asked.
“More so.”
Eliana grew quiet and looked down at her hands, and then met Yiska’s eyes. “I have a confession, but please promise not to tell.”
Yiska nodded.
“I found a journal on the steps at the end of the boardwalk. I brought it to the newspaper, hoping to place an ad to find the owner. But the editor decided to publish it instead.”
Yiska’s heart skipped a beat. “Really?”
She nodded. “I felt awful when Mr. Wilson printed it without the author’s permission.” She placed her hand on the newspaper. “This is art, and the work of a romantic. I hope the author is not terribly disappointed. Though I know I would have been.”
“Perhaps it all worked out for the best. Mr. Van Horn, what are you reading?”
Mr. Van Horn peered up at Yiska. “Scribner’s Monthly. An article entitled ‘The Cañons of the Colorado’ by Major John Wesley Powell. It’s a series of three articles detailing his explorations, with engravings from Hiller’s photographs. John Hiller was first hired as a boatman on the expedition, and later Powell hired him as photographer. Goes to show, if you have the ambition…”
Eliana leaned over her father’s shoulder. “The pictures transport you right there. That’s what we…you…hope to do on the expedition, Papa.” She looked at Yiska. “My father is going on a survey in New Mexico.”
“He already knows about it, dear.”
“Does he?” Eliana’s eyes widened, filled with curiosity and alarm. “Yiska, have you been hired as the guide?”
“Well, yes, he was there when I was discussing it with Trask Whiley. And no. Yiska will not be on the expedition.” Mr. Van Horn’s glare issued Yiska a warning to keep silent about the matter.
Eliana looked again at the Scribner. “Papa, maybe your photographs will be published after the survey and circulated in a magazine.”
“Sunshine, that is precisely what I hope to accomplish. Photographic documentation would not only serve to educate people, but inspire them to visit such remote places and appreciate God’s creation. I would love nothing more.”
Yiska’s heart swelled. Dreams so much like my own.
“I hope you have that opportunity, Papa. And I, too, would love to see my own photographs in print. Alas, I am a woman, and that most likely shall never be.” Eliana sighed.
Mr. Van Horn looked at Yiska. “What aspirations do you have, son?”
Eliana tilted her chin toward Yiska, beckoning an answer. He dared not share the nature of his dreams. He tried to disregard the rough grade beneath the wheels of the coach and the rumbling inside that cautioned him to put his growing attraction toward Eliana aside. He could tell they were pulling into the Willow Creek swing station by the slowed gait of the horses hooves.
“Whoa!” Lucky Jim hollered. The timing couldn’t have been better.
The quick change of the horses at Willow Creek left Eliana feeling restless. The brief stop provided her a chance to stretch, wash her dusty face, and join the others at the well for a refreshing drink of water. In another fifteen miles, through narrow canyons and slopes, they’d arrive at Rio Grande Pass—only about three hours away, and three hours from saying farewell to Yiska.
She’d hoped she could spend more time talking with him, but a mother and her son of about eight joined them for this length of the trip. Papa assisted them as they climbed aboard and then followed. He turned to help Eliana, but Yiska took her hand and helped her up. Did he plan to ride above with Lucky Jim?
But to Eliana’s delight, Yiska climbed in and sat down—beside her! She tingled all over.
“Are you an Indian?” The boy asked.
“I’m a trail guide…and a journalist,” Yiska said.
Eliana cocked her head and eyed Yiska, mouth agape. He turned to her with a sly grin and winked. Did he mean—was Yiska the Anonymous Explorer?
The boy spoke again. “Oh. I was hoping you were an Indian.” His frown of disappointment wrenched her heart.
“Why’s that?” Yiska said in a gentle tone.
“I’m part Indian. And I never met a real one.”
The boy’s mother patted him on the knee and said in a soft voice, “Jacob, please don’t bother the man.”
“No bother at all, ma’am.” Yiska rested his elbows on his knees and met the boy eye to eye. “Jacob, is it?”
“Yes, sir.” The boy’s eyes widened.
“I’m more than just an Indian, and so are you.” Yiska gave a strong nod. “What do you like to do?”
“I like to build things out of wood.”
Yiska grinned. “See. Jacob, the builder. I’m pleased to know you.” Yiska addressed his mother. “Ma’am, you have a fine young man here.”
“Thank you. Mr…” Were those tears the woman was blinking back?
“Wilcox. Yiska Wilcox.”
“Pleased to meet you Mr. Wilcox. I am Mrs. Stafford.” She turned back to her son. “Jacob, please pull your bandanna over your mouth and nose to keep the dust out.”
“But, Ma, I forgot it on the table at Grampa’s cabin.”
“Oh, Jacob.” The boy’s mother sighed and started to rummage through her satchel.
Yiska untied his neckerchief and handed it to the boy. “He can have mine.”
Eliana’s heart melted. Why can’t everyone see what a good man Yiska is?
“Thank you, Mr. Wilcox.” The boy took a toy soldier from his pocket and fiddled with it.
“Sure thing. And you can call me Yiska.”
Eliana wondered if Jacob reminded Yiska of himself as a child. A boy looking for truth, aching to understand who he was. Similar thoughts crept into her mind about her own heritage. Why did these things matter so? Wasn’t it most important simply that the child was loved? She was certain that Jacob’s mother loved him. Did she remind Yiska of his own mother? Yet he was an orphan for most of his life. Eliana thought of Mama, and leaned a little closer to Papa in the seat next to her.
The stage bounced over a deep rut and tossed Eliana forward.
“Whoa.” Yiska caught her and settled her back in the bench.
Eliana’s face flamed as she glanced at him and let out a deep breath. “Thank you.”
“Is she your wife?” Jacob asked.
“Jacob!” His mother had stretched her arm across her son’s legs to keep him from bouncing about, but she yanked it back and covered her mouth.
Papa’s eyes flashed open. “No, young man—she’s my daughter. Her name is Miss Eliana, she’s a photographer, and I believe she was about to take a nap. Isn’t that right, dear?” Papa’s lips pulled into a tight line. My, but it had been a long day.
Eliana corrected her posture and latched on to her father’s arm. He rested his neck against the back cushion and nodded off as the coach rattled along. Yiska leaned back and pulled his hat down over his eyes. Jacob was soon asleep with his head against his mother’s arm. Eliana smiled at Mrs. Stafford, wishing they could have some female conversation, but found herself settling against Papa’s shoulder.
As her eyes fluttered shut she became more aware of Yiska’s presence beside her—the warmth of his leg radiating to hers through her skirts, his muscular arm burrowed against hers, his shallow breathing. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Yiska tilt his hat and steal a peek at her, but she chose to ignore it. A myriad of thoughts rolled into her mind. Was it wise for her to be this close to him with the feelings she was starting to have? There was still so much she did not know about him. Eliana’s swirling thoughts and the rhythm of the coach lulled her to sleep.
A burst of noise jarred the passengers awake. Shots rang out, and the horses bolted. Jacob’s mother screamed and flung herself down on the seat to cover her son.