by Regina Scott
Still feeling humbled, Cora urged Blaze forward once more.
They soon reached the forest again. Tall fir and cedar shadowed the road, as if they traveled through the tunnel Mr. Hill had bored through the Cascades to bring the Great Northern Railroad to Seattle. The way was just wide enough to go two abreast. Cora rode next to Nathan. The forest crowded close, sheltering them from the sun. Dusky-leaved rhododendron, feathery fern, and spiky salal covered the ground beneath the towering evergreens. The only break in the canopy came where giants had toppled. Mushrooms dined on their corpses.
“What made you come this way when you left Tacoma?” Cora asked as they cantered through the ale-brown waters of a creek. “You had so many choices—south to Olympia, north to Seattle, across the Sound to Port Townsend, east to the coal fields or all the way to New York, for that matter.”
He kept his gaze trained on the trail ahead. “I just walked south until I ran out of road.”
Walked? He hadn’t even had a horse? “And that’s when you met Waldo?”
He nodded. “He’d lost his wife and son, so he needed someone to look out for him.”
She tried to imagine wandering away from the city into the unknown. “But to come so far. What did you hope to find?”
Her surprise must have been evident in her voice, for he drew himself up.
“Myself, Miss Baxter.”
He clucked to his horse and rode ahead of her. As the path narrowed further, she could not safely pace him again for some time.
They crossed marshland, the mud sucking at their horses’ hooves, then around clear blue lakes. She smiled as they clomped across the first stretch of corduroy, but when she glanced back, her mother avoided her gaze. That won a laugh from her. Facing forward, she caught sight of the mountain again before they plunged back into forest.
The land was gradually rising once more, but she had not realized how high they had climbed until they came out of the trees and a valley spread before them, seamed by streams. Here and there, a homestead stood, like an island in a sea of green.
They stopped to rest the horses and eat a little. Fleecy clouds danced across the blue sky. Birds called from the wood. As her mother nibbled on the hardtack and cheese Waldo offered, Cora went to join Nathan where he stood looking out over the way ahead. He didn’t acknowledge her presence, and she could see nothing in that wide valley that would require such concentration.
She puffed out a sigh. “Have I offended you, sir?”
He turned from the view, face committing to nothing. “No, Miss Baxter.”
She shook her head. “Then why the sudden standoffishness?”
He raised a brow. “I didn’t think it was all that sudden.”
Was that a sparkle returning to his eyes? Better. “Oh, you have your moments, I’ll grant you that. But I thought we were becoming friends. I hope nothing my mother said jeopardized that.”
“It wasn’t your mother,” he said. He paused a moment, as if considering his next words. Then he met her gaze.
“Take a good look at me, Miss Baxter. Are you sure friendship is wise?”
She put her hands on her hips and made a show of looking him up and down. That height was less obvious here, where treetops caught in the clouds. But there was no denying the muscle and sinew, grit and determination.
Once more she felt . . . something. A frisson, a fizz, like she’d taken a sip of ginger beer on a hot day.
“I see nothing to concern me,” she told him. “Your conversation is informative and engaging. Your character seems sound.”
He leaned closer, until he blotted out the view and even the light. Perhaps she should be afraid, but she had the odd notion that this was where he belonged, filling her senses, her world.
“And what if it’s all pretend?” he murmured. “What if I’m a hardened mercenary out to steal you blind?”
Though her pulse kicked up a notch, she spread her hands. “You picked a poor place to do it. We left the silver and my jewels at home.”
He straightened with a chuckle. “My career as a thief is ruined.”
“I guess you’ll have to lead me up that mountain, after all.”
She could have climbed to the stars on the back of that smile.
He broke her gaze to nod toward the others. “The ride down into the valley is one of the steepest we’ll descend. I’ll have Waldo and the mules go first, your mother and Winston behind. You’ll ride right ahead of me.”
So he’d be watching over her? Her pulse seemed to like that idea, for it gave another little skip.
“That sounds like a wise plan,” she said. “And thank you for your patience with my mother. I know it’s not easy.”
He glanced to where her mother was scolding Waldo for failing to bring along napkins. “She uses propriety like a shield against anything new or different. I understand. My mother was the same way.”
She still struggled to see the resemblance between the mountain man before her and the prosperous doyen who led society alongside her mother. “Do you see her often?”
“No,” he said, and he did not meet her eyes. “My mother doesn’t like reminders of unpleasant things.”
And he was the unpleasant thing? How horrid. As frustrated as she often was with her mother, she respected what her mother had done to survive and protect herself and Cora. And she was thankful her own choices, however different, had not split them apart, yet.
Would a friendship with him prove the final divide between her and her mother?
Nathan watched Cora ahead of him as they started down into the Ohop Valley. At the front of the column, Waldo eased the pack mules down the slope. Mr. and Mrs. Winston seemed to have no trouble following, picking their way along the rutted trail. The tree-covered hillside gradually grew, like a wall, on their right, even as the sheer drop to their left gradually shrank. He should remain focused, but other thoughts intruded.
Friends, she’d said.
The idea beckoned to him. He’d lost so many friends over the years. Even the few who had been steadfast through his father’s death had fallen away when Nathan had forsaken the city for the wild. Annabelle, who’d claimed to love him beyond distraction, hadn’t been willing to associate with him. Why did Cora want to befriend him now?
Once, friendships had been based on what he had to offer: connection, advancement, advice on investment through his father. He’d associated with men who could offer something in return. Now his friendships were built on something deeper: support in good times and bad, appreciation of each other’s character and goals. Faith in a loving, merciful God.
Was any of that possible between him and Cora?
It took a good hour to work themselves safely down to the valley, another to follow the base of the hill to the west across marshy fields. So, it was late afternoon when they rode onto Henry’s farm.
Nathan had always admired the place above the junction of the Mashel and Nisqually Rivers, where fields of wheat and oats surrounded a cozy log house and barn. Horses grazed on some of the fields, raising their heads to eye him and the others. Honoré picked up the pace and whickered a greeting. One of Henry’s sons, Thomas, was fixing a fence and lifted a hand in welcome.
“Why are we stopping?” Mrs. Winston demanded as Nathan reined in beside Waldo and the mules near the cedar shake outbuilding used to dry fish. “I do not see a hotel.”
“No hotel,” Nathan said, swinging down from the saddle. “We’ll be sleeping in the barn.”
Cora pressed a hand to her lips, but her mother stared at him.
“Nonsense.” She turned to her husband. “Winston—pay the occupant of that house. I will require my own bed, freshly made. And a bathing tub with plenty of hot water.”
The green-painted front door banged open, and a gang of youngsters poured out onto the wide porch and down into the yard, shouting greetings and questions. Their grandfather ambled out behind them. He was a small man, not much taller than Cora, with a lined face that spoke of age. That age
was belied by the twinkle in his dark eyes as he sighted Nathan. Though he wore the trousers, striped shirt, and gray wool waistcoat of a gentleman, the band in his jaunty broad-brimmed hat was woven of bright colors.
“Nathan Hardee,” he greeted in English perfected by decades of straddling two cultures. “You bring me guests.”
“I do,” Nathan said, striding forward to meet the famous guide and shake his hand. “This is Mr. Winston, his wife, and their daughter, Miss Baxter.” He turned to the others. “Meet So-to-lick, also known as Indian Henry.”
Mrs. Winston’s face was the same shade of red Cora turned when she was angry or embarrassed. “Sir,” she managed.
Her husband had already dismounted. Now he came forward and extended his hand as well. “A pleasure, sir. Your name is legendary.”
Henry shook hands. “Then my story will live beyond me. A man cannot ask for more than that. Come. You are welcome.”
Mrs. Winston suffered one of the older children to lead her and her horse toward the barn.
Cora slid down from the sidesaddle and took her reins in hand. “Thank you for allowing us to stay the night, sir.”
“Henry,” he corrected her with a smile. “And you must tell me why you came all this way to see me.”
She glanced quickly at Nathan. “Mr. Hardee is going to guide me to the top of the mountain.”
His dark eyes lit. “Ah, you will climb it like my good friend Miss Fuller.”
“Exactly like Miss Fuller,” Cora agreed. “I hold her in the highest esteem.”
“She is a good woman,” he said. “Now, go. Settle your horse. We will eat together soon and talk more.”
She followed Waldo and her family toward the barn.
“So, you will marry her?” Henry asked, watching them.
Nathan started. “No.”
He pursed his lips. “Why not? She is passable. She speaks well. Her dress and her horse say she has money. You could use money.”
Nathan smothered a laugh. “Miss Baxter is a fine woman. I’m not interested in marriage.”
Now he frowned. “You have land and a good reputation. Do you not want sons and daughters to carry on your story?”
Like a storm, longing rushed at him. As an only child, how often had he dreamed of having a brother or sister at his side? He could imagine children of his own, running about the yard outside his cabin, splashing in the shallow waters of the lake behind it, peppering him with questions as he and their mother taught them all they’d learned about God’s marvelous creation.
A mother with pale hair and big blue eyes, who thought she could climb a mountain.
He blinked away the vision to find his host regarding him with a smile as broad as the mountain itself.
“Right now,” Nathan said, “I just want to get Miss Baxter and her father up Rainier and back safely.”
He nodded. “Good. She will see your strength, your skill. And she will feel herself beholden to you. Then you ask her to marry you.”
“Then I take my well-earned pay and go my own way,” Nathan insisted, but the older man was already heading toward a rock-lined pit, where his grandchildren were piling wood.
Nathan blew out a breath. Henry had chosen to live in two worlds. He honored his native traditions, but he worshipped a Christian God. He hunted wild goat on the mountain slopes, where his wife, daughters-in-law, and granddaughters picked berries with baskets they had woven themselves, yet they spent most of the year raising horses, wheat, oats, and vegetables. His sons, Wickersham and Thomas, bore both a Boston, as Henry called English, and native name. He welcomed all, was respected by all.
Why did Nathan find it impossible to imagine straddling the gap between Cora and the world he had once known, and the man he had become?
11
Her mother remained prickly, but Cora had never had so fine an evening. Henry and his wife, Sally; their sons, Wickersham and Thomas, and their wives; and all the children joined them for roast venison over the campfire, the first corn of the season, and fresh-baked cornbread with butter and blueberry preserves. They regaled her with stories of others who had braved the slopes: how James Longmire had discovered the hot springs that healed and the funny beard on Philemon Van Trump, the first “Boston” man to reach the summit.
“And now you will climb it,” Sally said with a shake of her head that set her long black hair to waving. “Like Miss Fuller. Maybe I should climb it too.”
“No,” Henry said, giving her a squeeze where she sat next to him on a rough wood bench. He scooted closer, until his brown trousers brushed her dusky red skirts. “I am an old man now. I need my wife near me.”
She gave him a playful shove. “Not so near. Not until you jump in the creek.”
Her family laughed.
“You will have trouble climbing,” Thomas told them. Like his father, he was short and stocky, with the same gentle smile. “The snows have just departed.”
Wickersham nodded. He was taller than the rest of his family, and his nose was sharper. “Summer comes late to the mountain this year.”
“And what do you all say about the name?” Cora asked as the stars began to wink overhead. “Many in the city favor Tacoma, despite what the Board of Geographic Names said. I understand it is a native word.”
Wickersham and Thomas started laughing.
Henry shrugged. “I know many words like it, in several languages.”
“But do you prefer Rainier or Tacoma?” she tried again.
“I am certain you are putting Mr. Henry and his sons in a difficult position, dear,” her mother said. “You cannot ask them to choose a side on so controversial an issue.”
“Why not?” Sally asked. “Many ask Henry to speak on many issues.”
“Thank you for considering my position, Mrs. Winston,” Henry said. “But to answer your question, Miss Baxter, I, like many I know, call it the mountain. That is enough.”
Waldo rose from beside Nathan. “I should check on the horses. Miss Baxter, why don’t you come over here and sit? Less smoke on this side of the fire.”
Nathan frowned after him as he strolled toward the barn. Sally nudged her husband and sidled closer once more.
But Waldo’s point was well taken. Much more time in the drifting smoke, even the little the hot fire put out, and her hair would smell of it. She gathered her skirts and moved to sit on the stump Waldo had vacated.
“Tired?” Nathan asked as she settled herself and the others began talking of work they must do the next day.
“Not at all,” she assured him, stretching hands to the warmth. “I could stay in such company all night.”
“Not much longer,” he said. “We have a long ride ahead of us to reach my cabin tomorrow.”
Thomas, who was sitting closest to her, nodded. “You will like my friend Nathan’s house. It is small now, but he will add rooms soon.”
“That’s the idea,” Nathan agreed, lifting his cup of tea in salute.
Her mother, on Nathan’s other side with Winston, spoke up again. “I do hope you have more suitable arrangements there.”
“You, Mr. Winston, and Miss Baxter may have the beds, ma’am,” he answered. “Mr. Vance and I will sleep on the porch.”
“That hardly seems fair,” Cora protested.
“Coraline, you must not deprive Mr. Hardee of the opportunity to act like a gentleman,” her mother ordered.
Or deprive her mother of a bed, it seemed.
As if she thought Cora might persuade Nathan otherwise, her mother rose and shook out her skirts. “Come, dear. We must leave the gentlemen to their discussions.”
If they had been in the dining room at home, that would have been the cue for all the women to follow her mother to the formal parlor for tea and genteel conversation while the men enjoyed brandy and cigars and talked business and politics. Somehow, she didn’t think Henry and his family followed such customs. Indeed, the women showed no interest in joining her mother. They were cuddled up against their husbands
and children, ready for the next story to be shared.
How pleasant that must be. So comfortable in each other’s company they could sit together, touching, sharing, learning. Her world felt as stiff as corset stays and as binding.
But she knew her duty. She climbed to her feet. “Yes, Mother. Good night, all. Thank you for a glorious evening.”
A dozen voices called good night. The deepest and warmest came from Nathan. She wrapped the sound around her like a blanket as they started for the barn.
“There is no need for effusion,” her mother said. “You might find it more efficacious to speak sparingly to such people and to use simple words.”
Cora had to grit her teeth a moment before responding. “Henry and his family speak perfect English, Mother. I doubt any of them had any trouble deciphering my intentions, or yours.”
“I’m simply grateful it is only one night,” her mother replied as they entered the cavernous building. Someone had lit a lantern that brightened the space, but the sides and roof still disappeared beyond its glow. She could hear the horses shifting as they settled in their stalls. The air was thick and musty. Her mother wrinkled her nose as if she opposed even the earthy smell.
Waldo was coming down the center aisle between the stalls, another lantern in hand. “Everything fine here. You need any help climbing to the loft?”
Her mother glanced up. “The loft?”
“That’s where the clean hay will be,” he advised. “Didn’t think you’d want to sleep down here in the dirt.”
Her mother dropped her gaze to the packed earth floor—where bits of straw, grass, fern, and other materials clung together—and shuddered. Then she raised her chin and glanced around the barn.
“There,” she said, pointing to a wagon parked at the edge of the light. “I will sleep in the wagon. Please remove all items from the bed and gather my things.”
Waldo put a hand to the back of his neck and studied the crates and barrels crowding the bed of the wagon. Cora took pity on him.
“The loft will be fine, Mother. It will be far more private than down here, where anyone might come in at any time. And the hay will be more comfortable than a wagon bed. You go up first, and I’ll follow with our blankets.”
