Above the Bridge (2 page)

Between articles, she found herself sneaking glances at Jake, who had taken a seat in a small, corner booth on the opposite side of the cafe.  He was attractive; there was no doubt about it.  But she was here for work, she reminded herself.  Besides, it had been a year since her last relationship ended and she’d grown accustomed to having her time to herself.  As a side benefit, it certainly made it easier to focus on work and finish assignments without distraction.

Jake slid back in the booth and swirled his coffee around in his cup.  He reached over to a wire rack by the wall and pulled a copy of the local paper from the top of a pile.  Again he swirled his coffee, took a sip, thumbed through the paper, took another sip, followed it with another swirl, and finally stood, folded the paper under his arm, and walked out the front door.  He’d never glanced up at Paige.

Two days later Paige saw Jake again.  She’d stopped in at a local mountaineering store in search of a sturdy flashlight for her car.  While comparing a budget priced, hefty red one with a pricier, slender, metallic blue model, she caught a glimpse of the back of Jake’s hat and then recognized the click of the boots.  He held an armful of supplies: colorful ropes, a pick axe and an assortment of metal clips.  Climbing equipment, from what she could tell.  No wonder he was in such good shape, she mused, fighting back a smile.

She chose the blue flashlight and browsed around for a few minutes.  Numerous customers arrived, drawn in by end-of-season sale signs.  The store stocked a wide variety of items; it wasn’t hard to see why it was popular.  Backpacks of all sizes, shapes and colors hung from hooks on one wall, their straps and ties dangling down.  Running shoes, hiking boots and sandals filled another section.  Tents and sleeping bags made up a center display.  A rack near the check-out counter was packed with insect repellants, tubes of sunscreen and canisters of bear spray.

“Quite an assortment you have here,” Paige commented as she placed the flashlight on the counter.

“Yep,” the young clerk quipped, a boy hardly out of his teens.  “What you need just depends on what you’re planning to do. Lots of outdoor activities around here.”

“So I see,” Paige nodded, glancing around at the racks one more time.

“Take that guy who just left.  New in town.  Obsessed with mountain climbing.”  The clerk ran the flashlight over a flash of red light, entering the sale into the store register.

“You planning on doing any rafting?” he continued.  “You might need a waterproof jacket.”

“No. I’m just here to do some writing.  I’ll only be here a few weeks at most.”  Paige rummaged through her wallet for cash.

“Well, at least get yourself a strong sunscreen,” the clerk advised.  “This altitude can be tough on skin.  Wise to have some protection against those rays.”

Following his advice, Paige added a high-level SPF sun block to her flashlight purchase, paid the cashier and left.

The third time she saw Jake was two days later, this time at the farmer’s market on the town square.  Same hat, same boots, different armful of supplies, this time corn, apples, a loaf of bread, a small jar of what might have been jam or honey and half a dozen other items that Paige couldn’t recognize from her position at the flower cart.  Armed with sunflowers and a basket of raspberries, she watched him briefly as he moved on to another vendor.  Somewhere between a table offering homemade tamales and a green van selling sacks of freshly harvested potatoes, Jake slipped off through the crowd and disappeared.  Paige finished her shopping, gathered her purchases, and headed back to the inn.

It was a brief article on an inner page of the local paper the next morning that helped Paige start to put the pieces together.  Jake Norris, originally from Cody, but a newcomer to Jackson, had bought the old historic Manning ranch, about fifteen miles north of town.  Twenty-six acres, with magnificent views of the Grand Tetons, a huge barn, six small cabins, a two-story farmhouse and plenty of room for cattle and horses to graze.

The ranch had been on the market for many years, becoming increasingly run down as time went on.  Many potential new owners had looked at the property, but a sale had never been finalized. Some prospective buyers had edged away, perhaps because legend had it that the ranch had been built on old Native American burial grounds.  It had also long been rumored that at least the farmhouse was haunted, if not other buildings on the land, as well.  Undoubtedly, others had stepped back because it was just too darn expensive, like most of the real estate in the area.  Jake Norris had watched it calmly as the price continued to drop slightly with each deal that fell through, moving in at the last minute with an acceptable offer.

Paige set the paper down, poured another cup of fresh ground coffee and looked out the window of her room, running the details of the article over in her mind.  A ranch with a mysterious history could make for intriguing reading.  Burial grounds and haunted buildings would certainly draw interest, but she would need specifics.  Perhaps there were multiple accounts of unusual activity on the property.  Or maybe the rumors had merely started up when the ranch stayed on the market for an extended period of time.   It was doubtful that there would be enough to go on, but it was worth keeping the ranch in mind.

The light outside dimmed, causing Paige to look up towards the sky.  Where there had been mere wisps of clouds just an hour before, there were now thick, gray pillows, growing more solid and closer to each other by the minute.  This wasn’t surprising to Paige, who was already becoming used to the weather’s constant changes.  But if she planned to head out at all, she knew she should do it soon.

Standing in front of a small assortment of hanging clothes on the rack in her room, she grabbed a black turtleneck top and her favorite jeans.   She’d brought very little clothing with her, leaving most of her wardrobe back home.  Still, not knowing the exact length of her stay, she’d played it safe and packed a bit of everything, leaning towards the casual side.  Now she reached forward again and ran her fingers across the tops of the hangers, landing finally on a hunter green jacket.  It was a favorite of hers, with its soft fleece lining, matching hood and spacious pockets.  She pulled it off the hanger and slipped it on quickly, grabbing her car keys and an umbrella on her way out the door.

The drive north from Jackson was an easy one.  For one thing, there was only one road out of town in that direction, making it essentially impossible to get lost. And once Paige left the activity of the town itself behind, the road opened up, curving alongside the vast expanse of the National Elk Refuge on the right and passing the impressive National Museum of Wildlife Art on the left, a stunning building of native rock that blended into the butte so naturally that it almost seemed possible it had evolved geologically, as had the valley itself.  There were very few other cars on the road and one by one, they peeled off alongside the shoulder to take photos of the wide landscape vistas or to pose with other family members in front of the entrance sign to Grand Teton National Park.  It wasn’t long before Paige found she had the highway to herself.

Even having read descriptions of the Grand Tetons in her pre-trip research, nothing could have prepared her for her first glimpse of the mountain range.  Seeing the sloping butte fall away to the left and the spectacular peaks of the Tetons rise up in the distance took her breath away with a sudden, intense punch. As if to boast about their soaring heights above the valley floor, the highest peaks wore crowns of the previous winter’s snow, a sharp contrast to the October terrain below.

Paige continued driving north.  Fading blooms of Indian Paintbrush and scrubby stretches of sagebrush lined the sides of the road.  The Jackson Hole Airport appeared in the distance, blending so uniformly with the landscape that, had it not been for the single rise of a control tower, it could easily have been missed from the road.  It faded away behind her after she passed the airport junction, marked with a simple, rustic brown signpost.   In the rear view mirror she saw a small shuttle bus turn out of the airport driveway and head south towards town.  It struck Paige as inconceivable that the small, unobtrusive transportation hub for the area could handle the massive volume that it did.

She focused her attention on the road before her, glancing occasionally at the open fields on both sides of the highway.  Bison grazed to her right, clusters of hefty mammals hovering together, a few younger members of the herd standing close to their mothers.  A red fox played in the field to her left, sprinting, crouching and then freezing in place to wait patiently for unsuspecting rodents to show their faces.  It didn’t take long for the fox to pounce forward and come up away from the earth with a dinner appetizer.

Paige turned off the main highway, taking a right turn onto Antelope Flats Road. Heading east, away from the Tetons, the road meandered around the historic structures of Mormon Row.  She had read about this area while doing research.  The group of preserved buildings dated back to the early 1900’s, when predominantly Mormon pioneers settled in the valley.  Continuing on, Paige turned south, following the road to the small town of Kelly.  Set off to the south side of the road, the sparsely populated town appeared to hold not much more than a handful of cabins, yurts and other modest forms of housing.  As far as Paige could see, there were no sizable commercial establishments to sell groceries or other necessities, though a small eatery offered coffee and sandwiches. The town clearly depended on Jackson itself to provide a source for most of its supplies.

Paige veered to the right as the road curved west, placing the Tetons directly in front of her.  Again, the soaring peaks of the mountain range astonished her.  They dwarfed everything around them.  Even the sizable buttes in the valley seemed meager in comparison.

Not long after passing the small Kelly post office on the edge of town, she spotted a work shed along the south side of the road, a few pieces of rustic furniture scattered in front.  She pulled off the road, feeling the car bounce beneath her as it navigated potholes in the unpaved driveway.  She parked the car, stepped out onto the dusty ground and took a look around.   A tall easel stood to the left of the building’s doorway, displaying photographs of pine bed frames, sturdy dining tables and rustic chairs, all artistically handcrafted from logs. Twisted bundles of slender tree branches framed mirrors of varying sizes.  The designs were elegant in their simplicity, but also creative and woodsy. These were not the cookie cutter designs that she had seen in a few of the more tourist-oriented stores downtown.   Several of the pieces were appealing enough that Paige began to wonder if some new furniture might be in order, hard as it would be to ship it back to the east coast.

The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted Paige’s imaginary home redecorating.  Looking up, she spotted a man in well-worn, dusty work clothes stepping into view from behind the shed.  He appeared to be in his mid-seventies, a sturdy fellow with a face that spoke of decades of hard work.  He nodded a friendly greeting as he drew closer, brushing sawdust from his shirt sleeves at the same time.  A large black Labrador trotted alongside him, his tail wagging an additional welcome.

“Can I help ya?” he called from about ten yards away.  “Dan here. Dan McElroy.  These are my creations.”   He waved his hand towards the pictures on the easel and then immediately signaled Paige to follow him to the side of the small building.

A tall, red barn with a pitched roof stood about fifty yards behind the smaller wood shed.  Paige walked across to the barn, following a few steps behind Dan.  She looked up at the tall, sliding door with faded, peeling paint on crisscrossed wood planks, pushed a few small rocks out of her way and stepped inside.

A lengthy work table ran along the right side of the barn wall.  A table saw sat on one end, a corresponding pile of sawdust on the floor below it.   Assorted bins of nails and screws sat in various spots on the work counter and a pegboard holding old tools hung from the wall above the work space.  Tall piles of lodgepole pine were stacked around the floor, divided into several batches according to size.  Across the barn, scattered pieces of furniture stood in partial stages of completion – a long, rectangular table, a set of outdoor patio chairs, staircase sets of bookshelves and other semi-finished projects.

“What brings you to these parts?”  Dan asked, looking back over his shoulder, while reaching for a hammer from the pegboard.  He grabbed an assortment of nails from one of the bins, crouched down alongside the rectangular table, and drove a nail into the side of a rustic leg.

“I’m here to do some research for an article
for the Manhattan Post,”
Paige offered, watching how careful Dan was to work the nails in with precision.  She glanced upward, figuring the roof must be at least fifty feet tall.  Small rays of light shone through the cracks, casting a surreal glow around the rest of the interior.

“You’re a writer, then,” the man mused.  “I’ve known a few of your like in my day.  Sometimes nice folks, sometimes trouble.”  Paige thought she saw him cast a wink in her direction, but wasn’t entirely sure.  He continued to set nails into the wooden legs of the table, moving from one to another in a counter-clockwise direction.

“What’s your article about?” Dan asked, without missing a stroke of the hammer.  Paige noticed he was wearing a tan, leather vest, with a few tassels of fringe hanging from the hem.  As he moved with the hammer, the thin, leather pieces swayed in the air, dangling like windy branches on a willow tree.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Paige admitted.  “But it needs to have some sort of western angle, so the paper decided to feature Jackson Hole.  I figured if I could get a sense of the area’s history first-hand, the rest might follow.”