A View Most Glorious

by Regina Scott

  Miss Baxter’s eyes, as blue as the waters of Puget Sound and as deep, narrowed as she straightened. “Then you champion women’s suffrage, Mr. Hardee?”

  “I do,” he admitted. “Not that my opinion is of any account.”

  “A good many businessmen feel differently,” her mother said. “Why else did the amendment to the state constitution fail four years ago?”

  “Because those businessmen feared we’d vote to prohibit the sale of alcohol,” Miss Baxter said. “Any man with any sense would see the value of having engaged citizens of both genders.”

  “I fear this is what you will have to listen to all the way to the mountain, Mr. Hardee,” her mother said with a shake of her head. “I’m not sure the pay is worth your time.”

  Her mother probably thought paying meant her daughter could abuse him as she liked. He knew the game. He wasn’t willing to play it. “I will earn my fee honestly, should Miss Baxter and I reach an agreement.”

  Miss Baxter nodded, smile hovering.

  “I hope such an agreement will not be necessary,” her mother put in with a finality that belied argument. “You must dissuade my daughter from this reckless course of action, sir.”

  Nathan leaned back in the chair, at least as far as the stiff wood would allow. “It doesn’t have to be reckless. There are precautions that can be taken—the right shoes, the best equipment, a guide who knows the route and can read the mountain.”

  Miss Baxter’s brows went up. “Read the mountain?”

  “Rainier is a grand lady,” he explained. “Sometimes she turns shy and hides behind a veil of clouds. Sometimes she turns melancholy and cries great tears of rain and snow. And sometimes she gets downright perturbed and hurls rocks or great chunks of a glacier at you. You have to be ever vigilant to please her.”

  “Like some other ladies I know,” Miss Baxter said with a glance to her mother.

  “How very poetic,” Mrs. Winston said. “But I fear your descriptions only raise my concerns further.”

  “Always sorry to concern you, Mother,” Miss Baxter said before turning again to Nathan. “But I’m ready to climb that mountain. When can we leave?”

  Nathan held up his hand. “I share your mother’s concerns, Miss Baxter. An unseasoned climber endangers not only herself but those around her. Before I guide you up on Rainier, I’ll need to know that you have what it takes and that you have a good idea what you’re up against.”

  Something sparked in her eyes, like electrical lines crossing and just as dangerous. “What do you mean, sir?”

  Nathan ticked off the items on his fingers. “First, stamina. It’s a long, steep climb at altitude that can challenge lungs and heart. Second, determination. You never know when things can go from bad to worse. Running away isn’t always an option. And third, obedience. Once we leave the city, everything changes—what, where, and when we eat; where we rest; how far we travel and in what direction. I need to know you’ll do as I say, without question. It might make the difference between living and dying, for both of us.”

  Her mouth worked, as if she couldn’t decide which of his demands to argue with first. When she finally spoke, the words came out nearly as clipped as her mother’s.

  “You’ll find I have plenty of stamina and determination, Mr. Hardee. But I can assure you that I have never been good at obeying. You’ll simply have to accustom yourself to the fact.”

  3

  There, she’d said it. He might as well know from the beginning that she didn’t intend to jump at his least command. The only person who held such a place in her life was her mother. From love and respect.

  And necessity.

  He dropped his large hands. “Then I’m afraid I can’t help you, Miss Baxter.”

  The words were like an arrow. She refused to duck or worse, beg for mercy. “Can’t or won’t?” she challenged. “Since I’ll be paying for your time, I see no reason why I shouldn’t be making the decisions.”

  “I fear she has only grown more headstrong over the years,” her mother put in. “I have surrendered all hope of ever changing her.”

  If only that were true!

  Darcy returned then with a silver tray holding three crystal glasses and a matching pitcher of lemonade, drops glistening on the sides. She set the tray down on the table closest to Cora’s mother.

  “Thank you, Darcy,” she said. “I’ll pour. You may go, but stay close in case Mr. Hardee requires his hat.”

  Very likely he hadn’t left a hat with the maid when he’d arrived. Very likely he didn’t own the sort of hat gentlemen wore about town, derbies or top hats. She could see him with a wool cap pulled down over that unruly brown hair or something made from an animal skin, with the tail dangling to his broad shoulders.

  Her mother graciously poured the lemonade, and he rose to accept his glass and bring Cora hers. For a moment, their fingers brushed, and something more than the cool of the glass tingled up her arm. She pulled back so hastily a few drops sloshed out to land on her skirts. She shifted to hide the telltale marks.

  Mr. Hardee returned to his seat and took a cautious sip, as if her mother had offered him hemlock.

  “Very nice,” he said after swallowing. “Thank you.”

  “You are very welcome,” her mother said. “I am glad you and Coraline were able to agree this was a poor decision from the beginning. When will you be leaving town?”

  He glanced at Cora. Waiting. Wondering. Giving her a chance to change her mind.

  Few other guides, Winston had said. And none of them so well suited as this man, despite his possible estrangement from his mother. It was possible she wouldn’t reach the top without him. Shouldn’t she try to bridge the gap?

  She set her glass on the nearest doily. “We could still reach an agreement, Mr. Hardee. I would prefer to pay someone I can trust.”

  “And I’d prefer to guide someone who trusts me,” he replied. “But that trust means you’d have to accept my word that a situation was dangerous. If I tell you to move or hold still, I’d need to know you’d listen.”

  “Certainly I’d listen,” Cora told him. “But if I saw a better option, I’d tell you.”

  He blew out a breath. “Can’t you accept that I might know best? You’re hiring me to guide you. You must know you can’t do this alone.”

  Which was such a shame! “I know,” she assured him. “And I will accept your recommendations whenever possible. But you must accept that I know my capabilities. I make my own choices.”

  “It’s an unbecoming trait,” her mother said. “But she can be that stubborn.”

  She gritted her teeth to prevent an unkind retort from slipping out.

  “I can work with stubborn,” he said, deep voice a rumble that echoed inside her. “Just realize, Miss Baxter, that sometimes what I tell you isn’t a recommendation. I’ll try to be very clear on which is which.”

  Cora nodded, shoulders coming down. Perhaps he could be reasoned with, after all. “Then it seems we have an accord, sir. How would you like me to prove I have stamina and determination?”

  His smile lifted, and she was certain birds sang in chorus outside the window. “I think we can safely say you’re determined. Tomorrow, we can check on your stamina and Mr. Winston’s.”

  “Tomorrow is entirely inconvenient,” her mother said. “We have services in the morning, and nothing is open in the afternoon. Do you attend the Methodist, Lutheran, or Presbyterian church, Mr. Hardee?”

  How easily she left out any other denomination. The City of Destiny boasted more than a dozen churches now, for many kinds of faith.

  “None of them, ma’am,” he answered. “There are few churches where I live, and none close enough to ride to on a Sunday. I generally have to worship in the fields. But I’d be delighted to join you tomorrow. We can check your husband’s and daughter’s stamina afterward.”

  Her mother smiled, but Cora felt her annoyance, as hot as if someone had lit the fire in the hearth on a muggy August day. Her m
other could not be pleased at the idea of him attending services with them. What would her rivals think to see her with this rough fellow?

  “How kind,” her mother said. “But we wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.”

  “No trouble,” he said. “I’d want to worship in any regard. Where would you like to meet and what time?”

  “Near Wright Park and St. Helen’s,” Cora said, fighting a smile. “At half past ten.”

  He set down the glass and rose. “I’ll see you then. Thank you again for the hospitality, Mrs. Winston.”

  She inclined her head. “You are welcome, Mr. Hardee.”

  “I’ll see myself out.” He strode for the hall.

  Cora watched him go. Such confidence in that stride. They’d do well together on this venture.

  “I cannot like this,” her mother said. “His manners are lacking.”

  Cora turned to face her. “You didn’t exactly welcome him.”

  Her mother’s hand pressed against the lace at her throat. “I always welcome guests in a way most suited to their characters. But perhaps we should discuss your behavior.”

  Here it came. “I was sealing a bargain, Mother. Nothing more.”

  Her mother sniffed. “Is this what is expected of you at the bank? I will speak to Mr. Winston about the matter. Your behavior made you appear contrary and difficult. I am surprised the fellow agreed to escort you, but then, some people will do anything for money. Since you have nothing yet in writing, I suggest you let him know tomorrow that you’ve changed your mind.”

  “You promised to support me in this climb, Mother,” Cora reminded her. “And I agreed to your stipulation about what happens should I fail. You cannot expect me to back out now.”

  “And you cannot expect me to say nothing as you endanger your life for some cause,” her mother protested. “All I want is the best for you.”

  Cora sighed. “I know, Mother, but I wish we could agree that best does not mean marriage, particularly to a man like Cash Kincaid.”

  Her mother’s lips thinned. “Must you be so difficult?”

  She was being difficult? “Forgive me for distressing you, Mother, but I must do this.”

  Her mother let out a frustrated breath. “At least find a more suitable escort than Mr. Hardee.”

  Cora offered her a sugary smile and played the best card in her hand. “I would think you’d approve of Mr. Hardee, Mother. He’s the son of Mrs. Quinton.”

  Her mother blinked. “What? That’s impossible.”

  “I was as surprised as you are,” Cora assured her. “But Winston insists he is one of us.”

  “Mr. Winston is rarely mistaken,” her mother allowed. “I will speak to him about that matter as well.” Now her hand fluttered to her brow. “This heat is oppressive. I feel a headache coming.”

  Immediately, guilt walked up and sat heavily in Cora’s lap. “That’s a shame, Mother. Is there anything I can do?”

  Her mother gave a martyred sigh. “No, no. I shall endure the concert this evening. We promised Mrs. Carruthers she and Mimi could join us. But very likely I will be too ill for services tomorrow.”

  Very likely. Little was more important to her mother than keeping up appearances, and Mr. Hardee did not fit the picture.

  At times, neither did Cora.

  She did her best that evening to bring credit to her mother by looking attentive and appreciative. That was her role at the theatre, to adorn her stepfather’s box, one of the few that curved out from the wall along the left and right of the stage from the orchestra pit to the gallery at the rear. The Tacoma Theatre boasted the largest stage on the West Coast, bigger even than those in fabled San Francisco, with more than one thousand seats surrounding it. She could see most of them from her vantage point, and only a few were full. More signs of the Panic, perhaps?

  Mimi’s mother thought otherwise.

  “Someone ought to tell this Master Polonius that August is entirely too warm for a concert,” she said, waving her silk fan before her round face. Like Mimi, she’d worn her black hair piled up high and her puffed sleeves short, but still her skin looked redder than it should. Defying even the warm August night to defeat her, Cora’s mother looked her usual cool self in cream-colored satin, with Winston in evening black beside her at the front of the box.

  Mimi positioned her own lace-edged fan to cover her conversation as she leaned closer to Cora. “How go your plans for climbing the mountain?”

  Ever since Cora had met the raven-haired, sable-eyed Mimi Carruthers at the Annie Wright Seminary, she had been drawn to her bubbly personality. Mimi thought fast, moved faster. She instantly banished melancholy, and no trial seemed too large to overcome when she was at Cora’s side. She’d been the first to join the Tacoma Women’s Suffrage Association, but Cora had gladly followed. Between the two of them, they’d wrestle back the vote, which the women of the state had had twice now before the Territorial Supreme Court had overturned the laws.

  “We think we may have a guide,” Cora murmured. “He’ll be attending services with us tomorrow.”

  “Excellent.” Mimi’s dark eyes sparkled. “The feat will win us converts, Cora. I know it.”

  “Mimi,” her friend’s mother interrupted. “You seem to have attracted an admirer.”

  Cora glanced down into the seats near the stage, where other friends of theirs had gathered. Johnny Westacre, who’d been her partner for the last two years in lawn tennis, was staring up at their box, mouth open, as if in wonder at the sight of them. He bent in a bow that made his wavy black hair fall into his face. Mimi giggled.

  “And why shouldn’t he admire Mimi?” Cora asked. “She’s in fine looks tonight. The green of that dress sets off her hair to perfection.”

  Mimi’s mother smiled proudly while Mimi brushed the satin at her shoulder with her free hand.

  “He could just as well be gaping at you,” she pointed out to Cora. “Though we may have to have words if you’ve set your cap for him.”

  “I haven’t set my cap for anyone,” Cora informed her archly as their mothers began discussing social obligations. “And I’m not sure Johnny’s family would allow him to speak to me right now, in any event.”

  Mimi frowned. “Why?”

  She could not tell her friend that the Westacres had applied for a loan, and she had refused it. What else could she have done? They’d offered no collateral, no specific plan for repayment. She’d suggested to Johnny’s father ways to improve his application so that he might reapply. He’d been rather pointed in his refusal.

  “Bank business,” she merely said.

  Mimi puffed out a sigh. “Not everyone appreciates that sort of thing the way you do. But I’m sure he does. If only we could turn him to our cause.” She nodded to the box next to theirs.

  Where Cash Kincaid now stood, tall and polished. Limelight glowed on his dusty blond hair, giving him a halo she knew he didn’t deserve. Still, it wasn’t hard to see why every unmarried lady in the area was keen to make his acquaintance. That square-jawed face and those classic features combined to resemble something that might be found on a Greek statue. So did his physique, outlined to perfection in his evening black.

  He must have noticed her look, for he bowed in her direction. Mimi’s elbow dug into her side, but Cora’s mother spared her from a response.

  “Good evening, Mr. Kincaid. Are you looking forward to Master Polonius’s performance?”

  “I am indeed,” he said, voice hinting of an Irish accent. “Though I suspect I will find it difficult to keep my eyes on the stage when such beauty sits beside me.”

  Mimi giggled again and applied her fan to affect. Cora turned her gaze out over the theatre instead. Perhaps that’s why she noticed other looks being directed their way.

  In the gallery, in the less expensive seats near the rear wall, Nathan Hardee and his colleague, Mr. Vance, were watching. Neither had changed into evening clothes. The rough cotton and wool looked out of place among all the satin and
gilt. Why was it so difficult to imagine them enjoying a concert?

  And why was Mr. Hardee frowning at her? Was he already regretting his decision to help?

  “I’m glad you agreed to help her,” Waldo said, gaze on the gilt-edged, white-lacquered box that stuck out from the wall on their right.

  Nathan was finding it hard not to look at Kincaid instead. Staring at the man who’d ruined his father was only slightly worse than gazing at Miss Baxter. In the carmine satin dress, gold fringe dripping from her shoulders, she shouted wealth and power. Small wonder Kincaid was lurking like a lion that had spotted its prey, his smile too oily, too ingratiating. The fellow was nearly tripping over himself to impress her.

  “I haven’t agreed yet,” he cautioned Waldo as the lights began to dim. “I’m not sure she or her stepfather will be able to reach the top. I’m going to send them up Eleventh Street tomorrow.”

  “Oh, you are testing them.” Waldo shook his head. “Teams of horses struggle up that grade, even with empty wagons behind them.”

  Nathan tipped his head toward the stage and settled into his seat. With a huff, so did Waldo. The thick green curtain had parted to reveal their host for the evening, in a black tailcoat and a shirtfront so white it flashed in the light. Nathan nodded as the fellow rhapsodized about the noted violinist who was about to perform. Master Polonius was the very reason he’d bought the tickets instead of another few sacks of flour for the winter. He knew the feel of the wood under his fingers, the sound that vibrated against the bow and resonated inside him. Listening to a master of the craft always inspired.

  But as the broad-chested violinist stepped into sight amid polite applause, Nathan’s gaze was drawn once more to where Kincaid had greeted Miss Baxter moments ago. Though the entrepreneur had been all charm, the lady hadn’t responded in kind. In fact, for a moment, the thoroughly controlled and collected Miss Baxter had lost her poise.

  Nathan would be the first to name Kincaid for the snake he was. What had the fellow done that Miss Baxter saw beneath the façade when so few others ever had?