Page 10 of Ellen Found

Dear Journal, remind me not to think only men are brave and stalwart. I am in debt forever to someone more brave and stalwart than whole armies.

SHE FELT WELL enough after an afternoon nap to put on Mrs. Quincy’s gift to her, and it fit. Her shoulder ached, but she could bear the pain. She touched her hair that Charles had brushed so thoroughly. It needed nothing.

Mrs. Quincy was opening cans of green beans in the kitchen. Her eyes seemed to soften as she looked at Ellen in her daughter’s dress. She pulled out a chair beside her.

Ellen sat down carefully, fearing any movement that might add more pain. She thought of her resolve and forged ahead. “What was your daughter’s name?”

The motion of the can opener stopped. Maybe I was wrong , Ellen thought. But no. “Verity. Her... her father was a New Englander.”

“What a beautiful name.”

“Yes. Diphtheria took her.”

The cook opened another can, then another. “A year later, typhoid took Mr. Quincy, and I moved West.”

Mrs. Quincy rested her hand on Ellen’s good shoulder, a light touch. “I’m sorry for your losses,” Ellen said. She realized she had not known a kind touch before Charles Penrose and now Mrs. Quincy, unless she chose to count Plato’s gentle paw on her wrist last night as he surrendered. She chose kindness.

“It was a hard time,” Mrs. Quincy said simply. “Everyone knows hard times.”

Ellen understood. Others suffered too, but no one spoke of it. She had waited all her life for her luck to turn, and in a moment without warning, it turned. She bowed her head against the emotion .

Mrs. Quincy pressed down on her good shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“I am,” Ellen said, and she was. “I am. How can I help now?”

“Will you be able to stir the gravy while I mash potatoes?”

She did, and no one went hungry. Ellen’s worst moment came when, with an apologetic glance, Mrs. Quincy opened the Majestic oven and one of the stronger men pulled out a large pan of roasted bear. Ellen watched as Corporal Reeves carved it and the carpenters served it. As she cautiously took a bite and then another, she felt only triumph. They were eating the bear and it seemed right. Drat that bear, but it tasted good.

“Miss Found!”

Ellen turned at the familiar voice and held out her arms. She stifled her pain as Gwen threw herself into her arms and clung to her. In another moment they were holding each other close as Charles Penrose knelt by her chair and somehow held them both. She stroked the child’s hair, murmuring words that weren’t words as she realized how much she loved Gwen .

“You’ll be here in the morning to help me?” she asked when Gwen burrowed as close as last night under the stairs but without the terror. Ellen fingered her soft hair, which smelled of her father’s aftershave. “Mrs. Quincy opened an apple barrel, and we’re making pie tomorrow.”

“I’ll be here,” Gwen assured her. She put her hands on Ellen’s face, drawing her closer. “I found a silk flower for Plato.”

“Will you show me where your father buried him?”

Hand in hand, when all Ellen wanted to do was lie down again, they walked out the back door, where Corporal Reeves stood watch, rifle in hand. He nodded to them.

“Miss Found, I telephoned Major Pitcher,” he said. “He is sending down two more privates to stand guard here until the bears are denned up. We’ll patrol the inn.”

She saw him in her mind, kneeling and taking careful aim in the middle of roars and screaming to shoot a bear and save their lives. She held out her hand and he took it. “Thank you seems inadequate. ”

“I wish I had been quicker.” He let go of her hand and pointed. “Here he is.”

In the light from the kitchen, Ellen saw the small mound under the window overhang, a spot no tourist was likely to notice. Only she would remember he was not a showy cat and required no praise, just a scratch behind the ears and whatever the night’s menu happened to be, from salmon bits to green beans cooked in bacon fat. And he had saved two lives.

She admired Gwen’s rose and looked closer. “Mr. Penrose put the board there,” Corporal Reeves explained. He read out loud, “‘Plato, 1903. He had a brave heart and was loved.’ Mr. Penrose said there will be a headstone later.”

“This will do,” she said, her heart full. She looked again. “Gwen, is this your lucky magpie feather?”

The child nodded. “If you hold it right, there are green lights.”

“Plato never could catch a bird,” Ellen said. She felt a tidal wave of grief. “Thank you, Corporal.”

She heard the capable man’s shyness, followed by a quiet sort of pride. “That’s sergeant now. When I called Major Pitcher, he told me that my overdue promotion came through.”

“Congratulations, Sergeant Reeves.” She kissed his cheek. “That’s from me and Gwen.”

He took it in stride with a grin. “If you’re going to kiss me,” he joked, “maybe you’d better call me Tom.”

“That’s your name?” she asked.

“No, it’s Dan,” he said with a straight face, then laughed. “Call me Dan.”

“Oh, you!” She laughed and it felt good.

Gwen tugged on his sleeve. When he bent down, she kissed his other cheek.

Charles waited for them in the kitchen. He took Ellen aside. “If I can do anything for you, let me,” he said, for her ears only.

“Be my friend,” she said impulsively. “I’m a little low on friends now.”

“No, you’re not,” he replied. “Not at all.”