20 – Layers
"Welcome to Yellowstone National Park. Behind us is Yellowstone Lake, North America's largest high-altitude lake," the guide announced to the gathered group. "It is home to a wide variety of wildlife species, including bear, moose, elk, and eagles. We're required to keep at least a hundred yards away from bears, and at least twenty-five yards from all other wildlife throughout the park. If we see any wildlife, please don't call to attract their attention as it is prohibited by law. Any collection of plant, animal, or mineral features is also prohibited. We will be stopping halfway through the tour for a rest break. If you have questions, please don't hesitate to ask myself or Anne."
"This is amazing," Felicity whispered. "I feel like—I don't know, a pioneer or something."
Ben smiled at her exuberance and took her hand as they started off down the trail.
- - - - -
I don't think I've ever been so tired and happy all at once! The lake tour had been well worth the anticipation. Their guide had explained the history of the lake and the plants and wildlife surrounding it, as well as told them stories of the people who had passed through this area throughout the years. And now we're part of those stories, she thought with a smile.
They'd seen a small herd of elk, far off in a meadow near the lakeside. She'd been so excited she almost forgot to take a picture until Ben, just as enthusiastic as she, told her to catch them on film before they trotted away. Felicity hoped the pictures came out all right without a long lens. She made a mental note to pick up one of those coffee table books on Yellowstone before they left the park, just in case, so she could remember everything about this place and how gorgeous it was.
She emerged from the shower, freshly scrubbed and clad in flannel pajamas against the night chill, to see Ben reading on the couch before a snapping fire in the wood stove. He'd changed into a T-shirt and sweatpants, and his long legs were propped on the coffee table. He looked thoroughly at home in the setting. He took my idea! "What are you reading?"
He looked up. "Whitman. I picked it up at the store earlier today."
"You read Walt Whitman?"
He smirked. "You don't have to look so shocked. He was, like, the only poet I actually liked in the class this year. Seemed like the kind of place to read some more of his stuff." When she didn't move, he gave a good-natured scowl. "What? Can't I have some culture?"
She laughed and came to sit beside him. "I just didn't realize you liked poetry."
"I don't. I like him. Check this out, there's one about us. Song of the Open Road."
She beamed. "Really?"
"Yeah." He flipped through the book, found the right page, and quoted:
Afoot and light-hearted, I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me, leading wherever I choose.
Henceforth I ask not good-fortune—I myself am good-fortune;
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
Strong and content, I travel the open road.
"Sounds kind of like us, doesn't it? Just taking off and going wherever we want?"
Felicity stared at him with her mouth hanging open and her heart pounding.
Ben broke out laughing. "What?" He snapped the book shut. "You think this is stupid."
"No! No, I just…" She melted under his discomfited grin. "I really like hearing you read poetry. It's so… It's really nice." Romantic, she wanted to say. Incredibly, amazingly romantic. I can't even breathe, it's so romantic. A cabin, a roaring fire, and Ben Covington reading poetry to me. I'm afraid to pinch myself.
With a sidelong look, Ben opened the book again. "Want to hear more of it?"
"Yeah," she said at once, in case he changed his mind. "I'd love that."
With another smile, Ben reached his arm around her and she settled against him. He propped the book on his lap, flipped to the correct page again, and continued reading the poem. Felicity listened closely at first. The poem was about life as much as travel, and how everyone was equal in the face of either voyage. She liked it immediately.
As Ben read on, she caught less of the poem and more of the soft rise and fall of his voice as he spoke. She drifted on his words.
From this hour, freedom!
From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and imaginary lines,
Going where I list, my own master, total and absolute,
Listening to others, and considering well what they say,
Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating,
Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me.
She sighed and smiled wistfully. At that moment, she felt dead sure she'd never have another night this romantic in her entire life. Everything about it was perfect. She snuggled deeper into the hollow of his arm and let the words wash over her against the background of the popping fire. He might never have liked his drama class, but she wondered if the other students had been as captivated as she was now, when they heard him deliver a speech. He had a gift for it. The words flowed on as he continued, verse after verse, through the poem.
Mon enfant! I give you my hand!
I give you my love, more precious than money,
I give you myself, before preaching or law;
Will you give me yourself? Will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?
He stopped then, clearing his throat with a sudden, jarring awkwardness, and shut the book. "That's it. That's the end of the poem."
She'd settled down onto the couch with her head on his leg by that point. Felicity blinked as the words of the last stanza sank in. A vivid flash of him standing before her in a tuxedo entered her head. She heard the soft murmur of a man's voice beside them, and felt Ben's hand warm in hers, shaking just a little. And then, clear as a bell, she heard herself say the words I do. She sat bolt upright with a squeak of surprise.
The book fell off his lap and onto the floor. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing, nothing," she said, leaning over the edge of the couch to grapple for the fallen book. She hugged it close to her body, trying not to tremble. Her heart pounded so fast she couldn't catch her breath. She wondered if he could tell she was blushing. Her ears felt like they were on fire. "Ben…that was beautiful."
He gave her that self-conscious smile again. "Well, I didn't write it."
"No, but you read it so…so…" She trailed off, staring at him.
He stared back. The fire crackled in the wood stove across the room, punctuating the silence.