size of train cars falling in those powdery veils.
Elspeth takes another sip of tea, pleased with the bitterness of lemon.
12
In 1910 she came to Jasper from Inverness, having managed a tea and pastry shop there. A Canadian aunt of hers had met Trask while on a railway excursion through the Rockies. In the dining car Trask went on about his new âglacierâ chalet, the difficulty of findinggood staff. The aunt mentioned her niece. A bright young woman. Diligent. Level-headed and absolutely trustworthy.
Trask wrote Elspeth a letter in which he asked her such questions as
Do you smoke?
and
How tall are you?
and
What colour is your hair?
Elspeth was twenty-three years old. She was unmarried. This was an adventure.
She answered everything truthfully except the question about smoking. And instead of telling him her hair was red, which might mark her as hot-tempered, she wrote
auburn.
She stepped off the train that first day to be met by one of Traskâs men. He said hardly a word, seemed unwilling to look at her. She understood later he was bearing the weight of his good fortune, being the one chosen to meet
the young lady.
The older woman she had shared a compartment with, who was going on to Victoria, came out during the brief stop to take her picture.
âLetâs get you and the young gentleman here, and the train, together.
Elspeth and the guide were obliged to step off the platform. Watching the woman with the camera, Elspeth stood in a patch of spring snow. Instantly the felt travel slippers she had been wearing on the train were soaked through. She smiled for the photograph, her feet throbbing with cold.
13
The dayâs tasks are finished, but her mind is still a hawk, holding her limp body upright in its talons. She is little more than thought. As bodiless as light.
At this time of night she goes to the hot spring pool to be alone, to steam away this nervous residue of energy leftover from the work day. But tonight the team of alpinists from Switzerland is still there. They returned late from the glacier, shivering, wet, and hungry.
The alpinists in the pool are celebrating, splashing, howling back at the coyotes calling from the black hillside above the chalet. In from the cold and dark, they are giddy with joy at the comforts of civilization. Hot running water, wine and cheese, the anticipation of a warm feather bed.
Elspeth steps out onto the promenade. She sees a tiny glimmer of light in the darkness. A lantern. Someone is still out there, coming along the trail from the glacier. The first person she thinks of is Hal Rawson.
Elspeth makes her way down the steps of the promenade and along the gravel path, lined with whitewashed stones, that leads toward the creek. She lights a cigarette. This is the only place, and time, that she has the privacy to smoke.
She walks along the path, to the wooden bridge over the creek. On the far side of the bridge, the broad, stone-lined path gives way to a rough dirt trail thatsnakes into the forest. The soft earth there, at the end of the paved path, holds the imprint of many passages. The delicate impression of a womanâs fashionable shoe. A grizzly paw print.
Elspeth walks to the middle of the bridge and leans against the rail, smoking, looking down into the black water. Some nights she meets other people on the bridge, often couples who have found this to be a likely setting for romance.
This is a cold night, and the bridge is deserted. Elspeth finishes her cigarette and flicks it over the railing. Sometimes she can hear, above the roar of water, the brief hiss as the spark is extinguished.
The light she saw on the promenade is now much closer. It bobs and flickers through the trees at the head of the path. She hears the
chock
of a horseâs hoof on stone. Then a man appears with a lantern raised over his head. At first she can see only a hand, the silhouette of a hat, and behind it, the dark bulk of the horse being led. The hand lowers the
Elspeth takes another sip of tea, pleased with the bitterness of lemon.
12
In 1910 she came to Jasper from Inverness, having managed a tea and pastry shop there. A Canadian aunt of hers had met Trask while on a railway excursion through the Rockies. In the dining car Trask went on about his new âglacierâ chalet, the difficulty of findinggood staff. The aunt mentioned her niece. A bright young woman. Diligent. Level-headed and absolutely trustworthy.
Trask wrote Elspeth a letter in which he asked her such questions as
Do you smoke?
and
How tall are you?
and
What colour is your hair?
Elspeth was twenty-three years old. She was unmarried. This was an adventure.
She answered everything truthfully except the question about smoking. And instead of telling him her hair was red, which might mark her as hot-tempered, she wrote
auburn.
She stepped off the train that first day to be met by one of Traskâs men. He said hardly a word, seemed unwilling to look at her. She understood later he was bearing the weight of his good fortune, being the one chosen to meet
the young lady.
The older woman she had shared a compartment with, who was going on to Victoria, came out during the brief stop to take her picture.
âLetâs get you and the young gentleman here, and the train, together.
Elspeth and the guide were obliged to step off the platform. Watching the woman with the camera, Elspeth stood in a patch of spring snow. Instantly the felt travel slippers she had been wearing on the train were soaked through. She smiled for the photograph, her feet throbbing with cold.
13
The dayâs tasks are finished, but her mind is still a hawk, holding her limp body upright in its talons. She is little more than thought. As bodiless as light.
At this time of night she goes to the hot spring pool to be alone, to steam away this nervous residue of energy leftover from the work day. But tonight the team of alpinists from Switzerland is still there. They returned late from the glacier, shivering, wet, and hungry.
The alpinists in the pool are celebrating, splashing, howling back at the coyotes calling from the black hillside above the chalet. In from the cold and dark, they are giddy with joy at the comforts of civilization. Hot running water, wine and cheese, the anticipation of a warm feather bed.
Elspeth steps out onto the promenade. She sees a tiny glimmer of light in the darkness. A lantern. Someone is still out there, coming along the trail from the glacier. The first person she thinks of is Hal Rawson.
Elspeth makes her way down the steps of the promenade and along the gravel path, lined with whitewashed stones, that leads toward the creek. She lights a cigarette. This is the only place, and time, that she has the privacy to smoke.
She walks along the path, to the wooden bridge over the creek. On the far side of the bridge, the broad, stone-lined path gives way to a rough dirt trail thatsnakes into the forest. The soft earth there, at the end of the paved path, holds the imprint of many passages. The delicate impression of a womanâs fashionable shoe. A grizzly paw print.
Elspeth walks to the middle of the bridge and leans against the rail, smoking, looking down into the black water. Some nights she meets other people on the bridge, often couples who have found this to be a likely setting for romance.
This is a cold night, and the bridge is deserted. Elspeth finishes her cigarette and flicks it over the railing. Sometimes she can hear, above the roar of water, the brief hiss as the spark is extinguished.
The light she saw on the promenade is now much closer. It bobs and flickers through the trees at the head of the path. She hears the
chock
of a horseâs hoof on stone. Then a man appears with a lantern raised over his head. At first she can see only a hand, the silhouette of a hat, and behind it, the dark bulk of the horse being led. The hand lowers the
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