by Regina Scott
“Waldo says this happens often,” she told Nathan, lifting the bag to return to the cabin.
“Often enough,” he admitted, turning toward the door. “Felling trees, sawing lumber, even clearing a field to farm can injure a man. And folks could come down sick from spoiled food or tainted water.”
“Waldo also said you were their physician,” she marveled.
He paused on the porch. “Waldo talks too much.”
She lifted the bag as evidence. “You do seem to be equipped.”
He sighed. “I studied medicine at the university and apprenticed to Doctor Thomlinson in Tacoma. When my father died, Thomlinson feared his patients wouldn’t trust a man with my background. I thought about going elsewhere, but I didn’t have the heart for it then. So, I may be close to a doctor, but I’ll never practice in Tacoma.”
Anger pulsed through Cora as she lowered the bag. “How shortsighted of Doctor Thomlinson. Your tragedy might make it easier for you to understand others so affected. I am very displeased with the fellow and will look to take my patronage elsewhere.”
He cocked his head. “On my word? Thomlinson is regarded as one of the best physicians in the area.”
“He cannot be the best if he so cruelly cuts off an associate. And of course I accept your word on such matters, Nathan. I see the care you take of others, Winston, me. You have proven yourself a man of character.”
He nodded. “Very well, Cora. I’ll take your word as well. But you can decide what you think about my character after you’re safely back from the summit.”
They had spent a few days together, and she thought she knew him. She trusted too easily. That cool demeanor masked a warm heart. Her mother hadn’t been willing to do more than watch the lumbermen, as if they were specimens of mollusk dotting the shores of Puget Sound. Cora had been willing to assist, to converse, to persuade.
To treat everyone as if they had worth.
Now he followed her back inside the cabin and took the bag from her. After all this time, the leather handle conformed to his fingers. His first doctor’s bag. His father had given it to him. The brass plate with his initials had popped off over the years; the satin lining had torn at the bottom. Helping his neighbors and clients wasn’t exactly what he’d been expecting to do. But he couldn’t mind.
When he returned from the bedroom, Cora continued to eye him as if she hadn’t seen him before. Waldo was already at the worktable, peeling some of the potatoes they’d brought in. As if she thought she’d be served immediately, Mrs. Winston waited at the dining table, hands folded in her lap, back straight, her husband across from her, brow seamed in worry as he watched her.
He perked up as Nathan headed to add a log to the fire. “That was well done, my boy. I’m sure your neighbors are grateful.”
“They work hard at the lumber camp,” Nathan allowed as flames wrapped around the dry wood. “The venture started about a year ago. I’m not sure how this downturn in the economy will affect them.”
Winston sighed. “It’s affecting us all.”
His wife sighed as well, but at the dreary forecast or their choice of conversation, he wasn’t sure.
Cora followed him out the rear door as he went for another load of wood. She stood on the grass, gazing at the lake. “It’s beautiful here.”
He paused to look too. Trees clustered around the lake, so close their reflection made the still waters look dusky green. In fall, he knew, the aspens on the other side would turn a brilliant yellow and the vine maples below them crimson. The lone madrone, its reddish bark peeling to reveal the golden brown beneath, reached branches out like hands offering a blessing. His claim was a shelter, like an oasis in the desert, a lighthouse in the storm.
But its beauty was nothing to that of the woman gazing out at it with wide blue eyes.
“It’s a good claim,” he said, stacking wood into the crook of his arm.
She took an audible breath, as if she could sense the peace. Nathan led her back inside.
Waldo had the potatoes in the frying pan with bacon grease. He’d also skinned and filleted a couple trout and had them in another pan.
“Petrosky left us a brace,” he reported when Nathan raised a brow in surprise. Then Waldo turned to Cora. “Have pity on an old man, Miss Baxter. I bet you could whip these fish into shape in no time.”
“I don’t know how I gave you that impression.” She went to join him by the worktable and peered around his arm at the flaky fillets. “I’ve never cooked a meal in my life.”
“We have a fine cook at our home,” her mother put in.
Nathan dropped the wood beside the hearth. “I’ll lend a hand.”
“Good.” Waldo offered Cora the pan with the potatoes and brought Nathan the pan with the fish. “You two cook. I’ll just set the table.”
The old codger. He’d planned this—Nathan and Cora working side by side, as if they hadn’t spent the last two days together. Nathan shook his head, but he crouched beside the hearth.
“You’ll have to correct me on the finer points,” she said, the fire bringing a flush to her skin as she bent closer.
“Just hold the pan steady and listen for the sizzle,” he advised. “That will tell you when it’s time to turn them over or remove them from the heat.”
Just listen. Easy to say. Having her so close made it nearly impossible to listen or concentrate. He tried to focus on the fish as the fat began to sizzle. The fillets weren’t thick. Shouldn’t take too long to cook. He gave the pan a twist and the fish flipped as neatly as if they’d jumped right out of the brook.
“I don’t dare try that with the potatoes,” she admitted.
At least her gaze was focused on the pearly nubs, the edges starting to turn gold. His gaze kept wandering to her. Why look at trout when two pink lips were inches away? Soft pink lips that could curl up so sweetly, whisper words of encouragement.
“Should they be doing that?” she asked, and he jerked his gaze back to the trout in time to save them from burning to a crisp.
Together, they managed a passable meal, but it was no doubt the day’s exertions that made Mrs. Winston and the banker clean their plates. Of course, neither offered to pitch in on the cleanup afterward, clearly assuming that was his and Waldo’s job. Once again, Cora helped, as Waldo washed, Nathan dried, and she set the dishes back where they belonged. Funny how he’d never noticed the cramped space. Yet every time he moved, he seemed to connect with Cora. His arm brushed her shoulder as he reached for a clean pan. His fingers caressed hers as he handed her one of the crystal glasses to replace. Relief and disappointment fought when he hung up the towel and went to settle the cabin for the night.
“A host generally provides some sort of entertainment in the evening,” Mrs. Winston said as he moved to close the shutters over the front windows. What, did she think he was a traveling player as well?
“Sorry, ma’am,” he said, turning for the fire. “I have no talents other than directing people about.”
“He’s being humble,” Waldo said. “Why, he’s a dab hand at a fiddle. Prettiest sounds you ever heard.”
He shook his head as he straightened. “I gave up playing for others years ago.”
Waldo frowned at him. It was only the truth. His mother had loved trotting him out to play at dinner parties. Her little prodigy. Now he played only for himself and his Lord. If Waldo listened, that was his choice.
Mrs. Winston sighed. “Pity, but only to be expected in these surroundings. It will have to be you, Coraline.”
Cora placed the last ruby crystal goblet, Mrs. Vance’s pride and joy, on the shelf as if she understood its importance. “Perhaps you could sing, Mother. I’m terribly tired.”
“One should never be too tired to bring joy to others,” her mother said. “Your voice is quite lovely. I’m sure everyone would enjoy hearing it.”
“I certainly would,” Waldo told her.
Nathan knew the pressure all too well. How many times had he risen to meet
it? The dutiful son, exceeding every expectation, sure he was destined for glory. Now he knew his glory was second and the only expectations he had to meet were those of his heavenly Father.
“You needn’t feel obliged, Miss Baxter,” he said. “You’ve earned your peace.”
Her smile was soft. “Well, perhaps one song, for Waldo.”
She came to stand by the hearth. The lingering glow silhouetted her in red. Nathan sat on one of the cane-bottomed chairs while Waldo took the other.
She smiled all around, clasped her hands in front of her, and raised her head, the display of perfect womanhood her family no doubt expected.
In the gloaming, oh my darling
When the lights are soft and low
And the quiet shadows, falling,
Softly come and softly go.
When the trees are sobbing faintly
With a gentle unknown woe
Will you think of me and love me,
As you did once, long ago.
This was no display. This was true. Her voice was pure and sweet. It called to something inside him. He was leaning forward before he realized it, watching every movement. The graceful sweep of a hand, the emotion crossing her pretty face.
In the gloaming, oh my darling
Think not bitterly of me
Though I passed away in silence
Left you lonely, set you free
For my heart was tossed with longing
What had been could never be
It was best to leave you thus, dear,
Best for you, and best for me.
Beside him, Waldo rose and stalked out the door. Cora swallowed the last of the words, face falling. “Oh, I’m sorry. I should have thought. His wife, his son . . .”
“It’s all right,” Nathan assured her, rising. “That was beautiful. Give him a moment, and I’m sure Waldo will tell you the same. Excuse me.”
He followed his friend out the door, before his heart betrayed him too.
14
“That was nicely done, Coraline,” her mother said as Cora stared after Nathan and Waldo. “Although I have heard that particular song a number of times. We must widen your repertoire when we return.”
“Yes, Mother,” Cora said, moving toward the door. “If you’ll excuse me.”
She slipped out onto the porch. In the dim light, she could just make out Waldo and Nathan at one end, voices a murmur. As if in sympathy, the small noises of the night had gone silent. She hurried closer.
“Please, Waldo,” she said. “You must forgive me. I’d never do anything to hurt you.”
The older man wiped at his cheeks. “No need to apologize. Best singing I’ve heard in a long while. Tell her, Nathan.”
Nathan kept his gaze on his friend. “I’ve already told Miss Baxter it was lovely.”
He’d done more than that. She was used to seeing admiration when she sang—from the men in the room, from friends, occasionally from her mother. The look Nathan had directed her way had been something more. In such a look, she could not doubt herself talented, lovely.
And cherished.
“Well, you could tell her again,” Waldo insisted with a sniff. “You mustn’t mind me, Miss Cora. You touched an old man’s heart, that’s all. I’ll just go check to make sure the barn’s closed proper.” He hopped off the porch and loped away.
“Will he be all right?” Cora worried, watching him disappear into the darkness.
“Very likely. He gets melancholy on occasion, though it’s rarer in recent years.”
Cora nodded. “I’m sure you’ve been a great comfort to him. He looks on you as a son.”
She could not make out his features in the darkness. “I suppose he does. He’s been more of a father to me than mine ever was.” He leaned closer, and the scent of woodsmoke drifted over her. “In case you haven’t noticed, he’s determined to play matchmaker. Ignore him.”
Matchmaker? Something fluttered inside her as he straightened. A moth drawn to the flame and just as easily burned. She knew better.
“I will,” she promised.
He drew in a breath of the cool night air. “Your mother and Winston will want to turn in. Let me show you the accommodations.”
They returned to the cabin, and he directed her mother and Winston to the bedroom on the left. They must have been as tired as they looked, for neither protested sharing a bed even though they had their own suites at home.
Nathan then opened the door to the bedroom on the right. “And here’s where you’ll be sleeping. Good night, Cora.”
He left her then, but not entirely. The room had a familiar scent, equal parts woodsmoke, soap, and sunshine. She managed to peel off her riding habit and loosen her stays, but she could not lie on the big bed without thinking that he must have slept there only a few days ago. When she closed her eyes, she saw the look of wonder on his face when she’d sung.
Her mother had introduced her to every wealthy bachelor within miles of Tacoma, and none had had this effect on her. She knew what her future held and had done all she could to construct it—independence, self-sufficiency. After seeing her mother’s three marriages, she had never thought to enter into one herself.
Was her fascination with Nathan Hardee merely because he was so different from the men she’d known? It seemed more. Feelings she was not willing to name simmered inside. Was she willing to let them deepen? Wouldn’t that threaten everything she’d planned?
She finally fell asleep and woke to birdsong outside the window, the trilling notes bright and joyful. She wrestled her stays back into place, then brushed out and donned her riding habit. It, too, smelled of woodsmoke. So did her hair as she combed it and pinned it up on the top of her head. With no mirror, she could only hope she didn’t look a fright as she stepped out of the room.
Her gaze darted around, but there was no sign of Nathan. No sign of her mother and Winston either, and the door to the other bedroom was closed.
Waldo was stirring a big pot hanging from a cast-iron hook over the fire.
“Oatmeal in a bit,” he told her. “Mighty pretty out by the lake just now. You should go look.”
“I will,” Cora said, passing him. “And thank you. I’ll be back in a moment to set the table.”
She stepped out the door and caught her breath. The eastern sky was a wash of pink echoed in the clear waters. Across from her, deer grazed, heads down and tawny bodies moving slowly. As she watched, a fish leaped out of the water and plunged back in, ripples spreading. The air was so cool and crisp it might have been early fall instead of summer.
Something moved under the shadows of the firs, and she focused on the figure seated on a fallen tree. As before, Nathan had risen early and gone off by himself to pray, it seemed.
Ministers prayed, sometimes in long, drawn-out recitations of all the ways God could grant favor. Winston prayed before meals at home, the same words each time and with no particular emphasis or urgency. What did Nathan pray about? Surely not for a blessing. He had all this, and he did not seem to long for more.
He must have finished, for he rose and started toward her, Bible in his large hands. Panic pricked her, and she backed up until she bumped into the door. What was wrong with her? He was no threat. He was a friend.
A friend who made her think about things she’d already forsaken.
“Good morning,” he said, deep voice a warm rumble. “Sleep well?”
Better than she’d expected when she’d first lain down, but she didn’t want to tell him where her thoughts had gone last night. “Fine. You?”
He stretched his shoulders. “Porch is a little hard, but I’ve had worse.”
“Today, we reach Longmire’s, if I remember correctly,” she said, trying not to let her gaze linger on the breadth of those shoulders. “Will it be as long a ride as yesterday?”
“Not as far,” he replied. “But we’ll have to cross several fords. This time of year isn’t too bad, especially since we haven’t had a good downpour in a whi
le. We should reach the springs by dinner.”
They did, but it wasn’t as easy as he’d made out.
With the supplies delivered to the cabin, they could leave the mules behind, and the packs on Honoré and Bud were smaller. A peeled stick poked out of Nathan’s. Was he bringing firewood with him so as not to cut timber in the Forest Reserve surrounding the mountain? She’d also wondered how Sparky and Quack would get by in Nathan’s absence, but Waldo told her Mr. Ashford would be coming back daily to check on them.
So, they all rode out, Nathan at the head of the cavalcade, and followed the main trail east through firs and fern, cedar and creek. The air was warming, bringing the dry scent of the forest. Just ahead, her mother talked with Winston of events when they returned, friends they should have over to dine. Waldo brought up the rear.
Cora let the noise of the discussion in front wash over her. It was enough to be riding through such glorious country, where anything seemed possible.
A few miles on, they passed a side road. Waldo drew Bud up alongside Blaze.
“Palisade Ranch,” he remarked. “The Kernahans built it some years back. Nice folks.”
“What do they do out here?” Cora asked.
“Farm, ranch,” Waldo explained. “Takes a lot to clear a field, but once cleared, it’s fertile. You couldn’t tell from inside our cabin, but beyond the barn we have a vegetable patch and a few acres of hay. Keeps us and the horses fed in the winter.”
Must be nice, everything in your own control. Perhaps she ought to start her own bank and encourage the women of the city to invest. What wonders could they accomplish if they kept working together after securing the vote?
A little farther on, they made their first crossing, just downstream from a sawmill that whined with activity. The water splashed up to the horses’ fetlocks.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Cora said when Nathan called a halt to rest on the other side.
“That’s the shallowest crossing,” he explained as Waldo once more handed around cups of water. “The next two will be more challenging, but I don’t expect any problems.”
