I blink at him. “Sir, this is Montana. The Civil War didn’t make it out here.”
“Are you sure?” He pulls out a crumpled piece of paper. “My wife printed this from the internet. It says there’s a Civil War site near here.”
I lean forward to look at his “research.” It’s a Wikipedia page about the Battle of Gettysburg, which is in Pennsylvania. About two thousand miles east of here.
“That’s in Pennsylvania. You’re in Montana,” I explain.
“Pennsylvania, Montana—same thing, right?”
“Not exactly.”
He frowns. “Are you sure? It’s all up north.”
I stare at him. “Sir, they’re different states.”
“Well, how far is it to drive there?”
“About thirty hours, give or take.”
He considers this seriously. “And you’re absolutely certain there are no Civil War battles around here? Not even small ones?”
“I’m afraid not. Montana Territory was only established in 1864, near the very end of the Civil War. We had no military involvement in it.”
“Huh.” He looks genuinely disappointed. “Well, what do you have then?”
I perk up at his question. Local history, yay! Where do I even start?
“We have Native American history, frontier settlements, mining…” I pause, and before I can stop myself, I launch into it. “We have some fascinating gold rush history. There was a major discovery at Alder Gulch in 1863, and Virginia City became one of the richest mining camps in the territory. Thousands of prospectors flooded in from California and the East, and—”
My voice catches.Sawyer. I can practically hear his voice from our tutoring sessions, the way he leaned back in his chair and said, “Tell me about those Montana gold strikes, Teach,” with his infuriating grin. How he’dlistenwhen I got excited about how different our boom was from California’s forty-niners—how ours happened later, was more brutal, more isolated.
The tourist is staring at me expectantly, but I suddenly can’t remember what I was saying.
“Um.” I clear my throat. “There are some good books over there about local mining history if you’re interested.”
The man brightens. “Perfect! My wife loves rocks.”
Minerals, I want to correct, but I nod weakly and point him toward the book section, trying to ignore the growing ache in my chest.
The man wanders off toward the shelves, and I slump back in my chair, watching him squint at book spines through his reading glasses. My phone sits on the desk beside me, and before I can second-guess myself, I pick it up to send Sawyer a message. Maybe I overreacted by cancelling our hiking day after his joke about featuring his pictures in my favorite magazine. Sure, I was offended and hurt, but he looked genuinely sorry about the whole thing. And I do miss our study sessions. If we don’t schedule another one soon, he might fail. I don’t dislike him enough to wish that upon him.
You better get in here after hours to study. Your ranger exam is in two weeks, and we still haven’t covered wildlife management protocols. Don’t you dare fail after all the work I’ve put into teaching you about history!
I hit send, then immediately feel ridiculous. I sound like an old teacher with gray hair reprimanding one of her students.
I stare at the screen, waiting for the familiar double-check marks that mean the message has been delivered. One tick appears and stays there. Just one.
My stomach does a little flip. One tick means the message hasn’t been delivered to his phone. He’s probably out on thetrails with a group of tourists, somewhere up in the mountains where cell service cuts out completely. It’s his job after all.
Yes. He’s out hiking. For sure. Either that, or he’s blocked my number. My stomach turns at the thought.
I set the phone down and try to focus on my job, but my eyes keep drifting to that single, stubborn tick. What does it mean?
The fanny-pack tourist approaches my desk again, clutching a book about Montana ghost towns.
“This one looks perfect,” he says cheerfully. “My wife’s going to love reading about all these abandoned places.”
I smile at him, knowing all too well how fun it is to be passionate about history. “That’s a good choice. There’s a whole chapter on Virginia City.”