The other guests rose and made their goodbyes, began leaving as well. Pemberton tried to rise from his chair, but as he did the room tilted. He sat back down, focused his eyes and saw Serena still sat opposite him, the table lengthening out between them.
"See them to the train?" Pemberton asked. "Not sure I can."
Serena looked at him steadily.
"They know the way, Pemberton," Serena said, watching him steadily.
The room slowly leaned back and forth, not as bad as when he'd stood up, but enough to make him grip the table's edge, feel the smooth waxed wood against his palms. He gripped the table harder. An image almost like a dream came to him of being alone on a vast sea and hanging onto a piece of wood as waves lapped against him, and then he let go.
Thirty-Seven
THE FOLLOWING MORNING PEMBERTON AWOKE with the worst hangover of his life. It was early, but what light filtered through the window stung his eyes. His tongue felt coated with a foul dust that had liquefied in his stomach. The previous evening returned in a series of blurry images that passed before him like boxcars come to unload freight he didn't want.
Serena still slept, so he turned on his side and closed his eyes but couldn't fall back asleep. He waited, not seeing but feeling the sun slowly brighten the room. After a while, Serena stirred beside him, her bare hip brushing against his. Pemberton could not remember if they'd coupled last night, or even how he'd gotten back to the house. He turned and looked at Serena through bleary eyes.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"Sorry about what?"
"Imbibing too much last night."
"It was your birthday, and you celebrated," Serena said. "There's no crime in that."
"But it may have cost us a couple of investors."
"I doubt it, Pemberton. Profits matter more than social graces."
Serena sat upright. The bed sheet fell away, and Pemberton saw her long slim back and the slight taper before the flare of her hips. She faced the window, and the morning sun fell lambent over her profile. Enough light to make his bloodshot eyes squint, but he did not turn away. How could anything else have ever mattered, Pemberton wondered. He reached out and held her wrist as Serena prepared to leave the bed.
"Not yet," he said softly.
Pemberton slid closer to wrap his other arm around Serena's waist. He pressed his face to the small of her back, closed his eyes and inhaled the smell of her.
"You need to get up," Serena said, freeing herself and leaving the bed.
"Why?" Pemberton asked, opening his eyes. "It's Sunday."
"Galloway said be ready by eleven," Serena replied, slipping on her breeches and riding jacket. "Your mountain lion awaits you."
"I'd forgotten," Pemberton said, and slowly sat up, the room leaning for a few moments then righting itself.
He rose, still groggy as he walked over to the chifforobe. He lifted his duckcloth pants and wool socks from the shelf, stripped his hunting jacket from a hanger. Pemberton tossed them on the bed, then retrieved his heavy lace-up hunting boots from the hall closet before sitting beside Serena, who was pulling on her jodhpurs. He closed his eyes, trying to stall the headache the morning light intensified.
"And you're fine here alone?" Pemberton said, his eyes still shut as he spoke.
"Yes, all I've got to do is make sure what's left in the kitchen and the commissary gets loaded on a railcar. But first I'll take the eagle out, a final hunt before we leave this place."
Serena rose, looking toward the door as she spoke.
"I have to go."
Pemberton reached for her hand, held it a moment.
"Thank you for the rifle, and the birthday party."
"You're welcome," Serena said, withdrawing her hand. "I hope you find your panther, Pemberton."
After Serena left, he contemplated going to the dining hall for breakfast, but his stomach argued against it. He dressed but for his boots, then lay back down on the bed and closed his eyes. For just a few minutes, he told himself, but Pemberton didn't wake until Galloway knocked on the door.
Pemberton yelled he'd be out in ten minutes and went to the bathroom. He filled the basin with cold water and plunged his whole head into it, kept it submerged as long as he could stand. He raised up and did the same thing again. The cold water helped. Pemberton toweled off and combed his hair so it lay sleek against his scalp, then he brushed his teeth as well to dim the nauseating smell of his own breath. He found the aspirin bottle on the medicine shelf and took out two, capped the bottle and put it in his pocket. As he was about to turn, he saw himself in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot and his pallor could have been better, but his being up and about at all seemed a triumph considering how he'd felt earlier. Pemberton picked up his jacket from the bed and went into the front of the house where the new rifle lay on the fireboard. He couldn't remember setting it there last night, or being given the box of.35 caliber bullets beside it.
"Heard you had quite a evening of it," Galloway said as Pemberton stepped onto the porch, his face grimacing against the bright cloudless day.
Pemberton ignored Galloway's comment, focusing instead on Frizzell's truck parked beside the commissary. The photographer had set up his tripod on the railless track where the skidder boom had once sat, his camera aimed not at any worker living or the dead but the decimated valley itself. Frizzell hunched beneath his black shawl, oblivious to the fact that Serena, atop the gelding with the eagle on the pommel, rode toward him.
"What the hell is he doing?" Pemberton asked.
"No idea, but your missus looks to be going to find out," Galloway said and glanced skyward. "We need to be going. We got us a late start as it is."
"Go on to the car," Pemberton said, and handed the rifle and box of bullets to Galloway. "I'm going to find out what this is about."
Pemberton walked toward the commissary as Frizzell emerged from beneath the cloth, eyes blinking as if just awakened as he spoke with Serena. Pemberton passed the office, empty now, even the windows taken to the camp. The door was ajar, a few skittering leaves already wind-brushed inside.
"Secretary Albright's commissioned a photograph of the devastation we've wrecked upon the land," Serena said to Pemberton when he joined her. "A further way to justify his park."
"This land is still ours for another week," Pemberton said to Frizzell. "You're trespassing."
"But she just said I'm free to take all the photographs I wish," Frizzell objected.
"Why not, Pemberton," Serena said. "I'm pleased with what we've done here. Aren't you?"