A View Most Glorious

by Regina Scott

  Perhaps it was his insistence, perhaps her own confidence, but she didn’t find the next crossing any more difficult. It was a broad, rocky cut through the forest, boulders and logs attesting to the fact that the milky river sometimes ran higher and with greater power.

  “Tahoma Fork of the Nisqually,” Nathan told them as they started across.

  She felt the pull of the rushing water, which almost reached her skirts, but the horses made it safely to the other side, riders and packs intact.

  At the third crossing a short while later, the river ran deeper, with rocky shores topped by tall, crumbling banks. The thunder of the rushing waters echoed down the gorge. Nathan called a halt and studied the crossing awhile before ordering everyone from the saddle.

  “Lead the horses down the bank,” he ordered. “You can remount at the base and ride across, but dismount on the other side and lead them back up. Follow me closely on the crossing. There are deeper pockets where a horse can flounder.”

  Not Blaze. Cora patted her gelding before sliding from the sidesaddle. Taking up the reins, she let the palomino find his way to the shore, a breeze fluttering the hem on the banner. Easy enough to locate a boulder where she could remount. She didn’t even have to wait for Nathan’s help.

  Which was unaccountably disappointing.

  He remounted and rode out into the roaring waters that splashed against his boots and brushed his horse’s belly. Her mother and Winston followed, and Cora was glad to see them mimic Nathan’s path and pace.

  “Ready, Miss Cora?” Waldo called from behind her.

  “Ready,” Cora answered. Squaring her shoulders, she eased Blaze out into the silver-gray waters.

  Slowly, carefully, she followed her mother and Winston, watching for a path only Nathan seemed to see. Twigs and leaves bobbed past, victims of the creek’s fury closer to the mountain. A branch sailed closer. She turned Blaze’s head a little to avoid it.

  With a shudder, Blaze stumbled, struggled, canted.

  And Cora was sliding, falling, tumbling into the icy waters.

  “Nathan!”

  Waldo’s cry had him turning on the shore. Mrs. Winston and her husband were dismounting beside him to lead their horses up the bank. Cora’s horse was righting itself in the middle of the stream, the bright banner floating away down the river.

  Along with Cora.

  He tossed his reins to the startled banker and took off down the riverbank at a run, leaping logs, sliding over boulders.

  Please, Lord! Keep her safe!

  He lost sight of her in the churn. The river was born of the Nisqually Glacier, from ice strong enough to turn boulders into powder. How much more could it grind down anyone caught in its grip? And the cold. The frigid waters could freeze limbs in a moment, hamper movement, steal breath and life.

  There! Sunlight caught on pale hair. She was bobbing with the current but upright. For now. Between her heavy skirts and the rush of the water, she’d never regain her footing. How could he reach her?

  Ahead, logs braced the canyon, wedged there when the river had been at its highest. He scrambled up onto them, dashed across the damp wood, boots slipping on the water-stripped sides. No, he would not fall. Too much depended on it.

  Over the center of the river, he threw himself down to straddle the largest log and bent toward the water.

  “Cora! Here!”

  He wasn’t sure she could hear him over the roar of the river, but she must have seen him, for her arms moved, pushing against the current. Then she heaved both hands free of the churning waters.

  He caught one, clung to it though the tug of the current threatened to pull him over too. Leaning against the weight, he hauled her up until her belly lay on the log.

  She was panting harder than her stepfather on a climb. He patted her back, thanksgiving surging through him. “How much did you swallow?”

  She spit as if she could taste the glacial silt. “Not as much as you might expect.” She managed to roll over and sit beside him. “Well. Tha-tha-that was an ad-ad-adventure.”

  He could not be so sanguine. He gathered her close, held her safe. His heart refused to slow its frantic pounding.

  “Th-th-thank you, Nathan,” she murmured. Then she leaned back. “Oh my. I ca-can’t seem to st-stop my tee-teeth from ch-chattering.”

  Her skin was turning blue. Nathan gave her his hand to rise. “Careful. We need to get you to a fire. Can you walk?”

  She took a step and nearly tumbled from the log. “Apparently not well.”

  He didn’t trust carrying her, not until they were on the shore. He braced his hands on her hips and pivoted until she stood in front of him, her back to his chest.

  “Put your feet on my boots,” he told her.

  It was a scramble, but she managed to do as he bid. The pressure was firm, but now her whole body shook. Keeping one arm about her, he walked her off the log, then handed her down to the rocks on the other side.

  Waldo had almost reached them. “What can I do?” he called.

  Nathan swept Cora up into his arms. Blue eyes widened in surprise. “Stay with the Winstons. Keep them moving. Bring Miss Baxter’s horse. I’m riding for Longmire’s. Meet us there.”

  He didn’t wait for Waldo to agree before striding down the shore for Honoré.

  “Is she all right?” her mother begged as they approached.

  “She will be as long as we get her warm,” Nathan said as he lifted Cora up onto the saddle. She swayed, but he swung up and behind her to anchor her in place with his arms.

  “Go with Waldo,” he told her mother. Then he put heels to Honoré.

  James Longmire and his sons had built a road from Palisade Ranch to the springs, finishing it only that summer with the help of Henry and his sons. Nathan was thankful for it now. Still, not knowing what might be waiting around the next bend, he could do no more than a canter through the thick forest pressing on either side.

  “Stay awake,” he told Cora as the cold of her wet habit began to seep into him as well.

  “I’ll do-do-do my be-be-best,” she promised as a shiver went through her.

  He cradled her closer, offering her any warmth he possessed. As they came around the final bend and the straightaway to the springs, he gave Honoré her head.

  Other horses were grazing in the wide clearing when he came tearing in a short while later. Nathan paid them no heed.

  “Help!” he shouted as he reined in. “We need help!”

  People came pouring out of the two-story cedar plank structure the Longmires used as a hotel on a rise above the meadow. The first to reach him was Elcaine, Longmire’s oldest son, heavy black beard obscuring the lower half of his face and part of his chest.

  Nathan handed Cora to him. “She was swept down Kautz Creek. We have to warm her.”

  “The hot springs,” he said, supporting Cora as Nathan dropped from the saddle.

  As one of Elcaine’s boys took the reins, Nathan picked her up once more and followed Elcaine to one of the mineral pools that dotted the clearing, steam fluttering on the breeze.

  “B-b-but my clo-clo-clothes,” Cora protested.

  “Are already wet,” Nathan reasoned. “A little more won’t hurt.” He let her slide down into the warm waters.

  They reached to her chest.

  “Lower,” Nathan ordered. “Until all that’s out is your head.”

  She frowned at him, but she slid down.

  “Quite the entrance,” Elcaine joked beside him.

  “Miss Baxter was on her way to see you,” Nathan explained, finding breath easier. “She hopes to climb the mountain.”

  “Welcome to you both,” Elcaine proclaimed with a little bow. “I’m very sorry Kautz Creek wasn’t accommodating. You ought to see about a bath too, Hardee.”

  “Later,” Nathan growled. The breeze chilled his damp clothing, and the water was drying to ash-colored mud. All that mattered was Cora. Slowly, the blue of her skin faded, to be replaced by a healthy flush.
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br />   Elcaine turned to the others who were gathering. “All safe here. Let’s give Miss Baxter some privacy. I’m sure she’d be happy to regale you with her adventure later.” He shepherded the others toward the hotel.

  One man refused to follow. Nathan felt him behind them, but he didn’t turn until the fellow spoke.

  “Not even on the mountain yet and already nearly a casualty,” Cash Kincaid mused. “I came to see how Coraline would fare with you as her guide. This surpasses all my expectations.”

  15

  By dinner, Cora was tucked deep under wool blankets and a patchwork quilt in one of the hotel rooms, heated rocks at the foot of the bed. Her plunge in the river had happened so fast, she’d had little time to fear. And just when panic had threatened, Nathan had been there, catching her, holding her, rescuing her. Just as he’d promised when he’d agreed to guide her. She’d told him she didn’t need rescuing then. Now, she could only be thankful for him.

  She was plenty warm, but her mother continued to hover.

  “You might have been killed,” she said, pacing the little room with its unpaneled walls and plank floor. “You might have been carried over some cataract, washed out to sea. This entire trip was ill advised. We will return home as soon as you have recovered.”

  Her stomach tightened, but she kept her smile in place. “And go back on my pledge to Mimi and the other suffragettes? Never.”

  Her mother paused in her pacing to tug the colorful quilt a little farther toward the right. “I know one of the reasons you’re climbing is to thwart my plans for you. They aren’t so onerous. Why, Mr. Kincaid came all this way to plead with you to abandon this foolish course of action. He, at least, is a gentleman.”

  Cora was fairly sure he’d come in hopes she’d fall into his arms for comfort from the challenges, but before she could say as much, her mother continued. “The very fact that he is here ahead of us should tell you something. There is obviously a quicker, easier route than the one Mr. Hardee insisted on taking.”

  “I doubt it was easier,” Cora said. “But Mr. Hardee told us there was a faster way. He chose the one we took to give me and Winston time to acclimate ourselves to the change in elevation.”

  Her mother sniffed. “How convenient that the route also prolonged the number of days we must spend in his company, and, hence, his price.”

  “That is between him and Winston,” Cora said. “And he has not increased the price to my knowledge even though we added another member to the party.”

  A knock sounded on the door a moment before Winston poked in his head. “How are we feeling? Better, I hope.”

  “I’m fine,” Cora assured him. “No need to change our plans.”

  His face fell a moment before he mustered a smile. “Well, that is . . . good news.”

  Nathan looked more relieved when he came to check on her a short time later. Her mother insisted on staying for the exchange and tucked the covers higher around Cora’s neck before consenting to allow him to enter.

  “Do not stay long,” she told him. “Coraline needs her rest.”

  He ventured closer to the bed. Damp hair curled around his neck. His green eyes looked darker, as if shadows clung to them, and, wonder of wonders, he was wearing a different set of clothing. The collarless white shirt made his skin look as brown as the trunk of a fir. Green suspenders held up gray wool trousers. She wanted to jump from the bed and hug his solid frame close, but of course her mother would never allow it.

  “You saved my life,” she said instead. “Thank you.”

  He ducked his head as if embarrassed by her praise. “You hired me to guide you, Miss Baxter. That includes catching you when you fall.”

  She hadn’t enjoyed the thought of falling into Kincaid’s arms, but she suddenly had a far more pleasing image of Nathan holding her close.

  “I hope you were able to warm up as well,” she said, face heating.

  He shrugged. “A bath in the hot springs and some of Mrs. Longmire’s huckleberry pie were all I needed. But I thought you might want a day to rest before starting the climb.”

  Her mother eyed him, brows up, as if certain this was another ploy to take more of their money.

  “No,” Cora said. “I’ll be ready to go in the morning.”

  The weather had other ideas.

  She saw it the moment she opened her eyes. Rain pattered against the windowpanes, drummed on the cedar roof. By the time she had dressed with her mother’s assistance and they had ventured downstairs to the main room of the hotel, water was streaming from the eaves, and she could barely see across the clearing to the springs.

  “The mountain is weeping for your injuries, my dear,” Kincaid said, holding out a chair for her at the wide round dining table in the middle of the room.

  “I’m not afraid of a little water,” Cora said. She was tempted to sit on the opposite curve of the table, but her mother was watching, so she accepted the seat.

  “You should be afraid,” Nathan said, joining them. He was back in his usual outfit, though it did seem a little cleaner. Had he jumped into the hot springs fully clothed too?

  “Why is that, sir?” her stepfather asked from across the table.

  “Water makes the glaciers slicker and washes away trails,” Nathan supplied. “When it falls as snow on the higher elevations, it can mask crevasses and make climbing harder. We’re going nowhere until this has stopped for a while.”

  The black-bearded man who’d met her and Nathan yesterday rubbed his hands together where he stood by the rounded-stone hearth at the end of the room opposite the stairs. Her mother had told her he was their host, Elcaine Longmire.

  “You are all welcome to stay as long as you like,” he assured them now.

  Cora puffed out a sigh.

  Besides Cash Kincaid, three other men were in residence, camping in canvas tents beyond the fence that ringed the clearing. They made it through the storm to join the others in the hall. So did the tall, gaunt Mr. James Longmire, patriarch of the family and the one who had discovered the springs, and his more ample wife, Virinda. They had a summer cabin nearby.

  “Exactly how many of these Longmires are there?” her mother asked her as two little boys in short pants chased each other past the stone hearth.

  Elcaine, who was watching them, must have heard her. “Fewer than usual, ma’am. Most of my brothers are down in Yelm minding the farm. Besides my parents, there’s my wife, Martha, and six of our children. That’s Kane and Lafe dashing about. Len’s out checking the horses. Susan and Mary are back in the kitchen helping their mother, and little Grover Cleveland is in the crib napping. I expect you’ll have a chance to hold him later, if you’d like.”

  Her mother’s smile was cooler than the rain. “How thoughtful.”

  It was a good thing the Longmires had their own cabins, for the hotel wasn’t overly large. The main building held the kitchen and hall, with bedrooms upstairs. A more recent wing offered more bedrooms. The camping party, her party, and Cash Kincaid filled the large, round table for breakfast.

  “Mr. Kincaid tells me you hope to climb the mountain,” Mr. Garbury, the leader of the campers, said to Cora over a breakfast of oatmeal dotted with huckleberries and drizzled with honey. “What a noble ambition. Why, you must be the first woman to attempt it.”

  He was a short, slender man with blue eyes that tended to sparkle, as if he were impressed by his own wit. The widest thing about him was the bushy red beard that hung to the center of his flannel-clad chest.

  “No, sir,” Waldo put in from across the table. “Miss Fay Fuller reached the top three years ago. She was a schoolteacher in Yelm, but she writes for the Tacoma papers now. And Miss Edith Corbett made it in ’91.”

  “So did my Susan,” Elcaine said, bringing some sweet rolls to the table. “Still, it’s something to do it, no matter who you are.”

  “But an arduous journey for so fair a flower of womanhood,” Garbury waxed, gazing at Cora with oatmeal dripping from his spoon. His t
wo friends elbowed each other and grinned.

  Cora met his gaze straight on. “No more arduous than for any of the men who’ve climbed it. Men and women are capable of many things, Mr. Garbury—climbing a mountain, voting in elections. Where do you stand on the issue of women’s suffrage?”

  “Why, if you’re for it, so am I, Miss Baxter,” he assured her.

  His friends regarded him as if he’d suddenly dived head-first into a hot pool.

  “All the Longmire ladies agree,” Elcaine said, thumbs in his suspenders, as if his chest swelled with pride. “And if they get the vote soon enough, maybe they can help us convince the government to make the mountain a national park, like Yellowstone and Yosemite.”

  “Rainier could use the protection,” Nathan said, seated between Winston and her mother. “Already we’ve had trouble with campers cutting down trees for firewood or limbs for sleeping boughs.”

  Elcaine nodded. “We had a group a few weeks back who set fire to a fir, just to watch it blaze up like a firework on the Fourth of July.”

  Cora stared at him. “That’s horrible!”

  “Unwise at the very least,” her mother tempered. “Why, they might have set the whole forest ablaze and damaged farms and cropland.”

  “There will always be those who seek to profit from beauty,” Kincaid said with a look to Cora.

  Anger pushed her to her feet. “Mother, I must walk to keep my legs strong for the climb. Would you join me in a promenade?”

  Her mother dabbed her mouth with her napkin before answering. “I fear our exertions have left me fatigued, dear. But I’m sure Mr. Kincaid would be delighted to accompany you.”

  He climbed to his feet and offered her his arm. No way to refuse him without embarrassing her mother. She put her hand on his arm, but she did not grant him a smile. Nathan eyed them as they set off.

  They couldn’t go far. The main room was only about a dozen feet square and dominated by the dining table in the middle and tall stone hearth on the end wall. The murmur of voices and drip of rain accompanied each step.

  “You’ve proven your point, Cora,” he said when they had reached the hearth and were out of earshot of most of the other guests. “Women are perfectly capable of fighting for what they believe. You don’t need to climb a mountain.”