by Regina Scott
Could she borrow some? She glanced toward Nathan, who was anchoring canvas on a pile of basalt. He always looked to a higher power. Maybe she could too.
She closed her eyes behind the blue glasses.
He talks to you, heavenly Father. No one I know talks to you, unless he’s in holy orders. But if there is any place or time you want to hear from me, surely it’s here and now. We’re so close, yet I know the danger is close too. And I fear for Winston. Please, keep us all safe. Help me do what I came here to do.
Peace and surety rushed at her in a wave, nearly bowling her over. Oh, such joy. Her eyes were tearing, and not from the rising wind. Was this amazement, this assurance, her answer? Small wonder Nathan sought such comfort every morning.
“Cora!” he called. “Come back!”
She would, but she would come back changed.
Nathan beckoned her into the shelter he’d erected by stretching the canvas over the tallest rocks on either side of the pumiced pit. She came quickly, smile glowing. Prolonged time on the mountain tended to do that to a person. This seemed something more.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
“Everything is wonderful,” she said. She crouched to climb inside the shelter with Winston and Waldo, then handed Nathan his cup. “This looks cozy.”
He gripped the tin cup. Already the warmth of his gloved hands was making a puddle of water at the bottom. Waldo had scooped ice for himself and Winston, and both men were taking sips.
“We still have to lay out the bedding, kindle a fire, and eat dinner before the sun goes down,” Nathan pointed out. “That’s about two hours from now.”
“We are at your disposal, my boy,” Winston said, voice sounding faint.
Cora sipped some water from her cup, then nodded. “Just tell me what to do.”
Nathan couldn’t like the banker’s color, but moving might help him warm up. He set Winston to arranging the bedding so that the banker and Cora would sleep with their heads pointing west and he and Waldo would sleep with their heads pointing east. Waldo worked on the fire and food. Cora pitched in wherever she was needed. Nathan couldn’t remember a more willing worker on any of his trips. All his other clients had expected him to do most of the labor—setting up and taking down camp, preparing meals such as they were. Cora did what he asked, no questions.
As the sun started heading for the horizon, they gathered around a sputtering fire. Winston hunkered in a blanket, but Waldo rubbed his hands together. “Why don’t we ski down the glacier on the way back?”
Cora eyed the snowfield, which was turning rosy with the setting sun. “Is that possible?”
“No,” Nathan said with a look to his partner. “At least, not safely. We’ve had more than one climber end up in a crevasse attempting it.”
Waldo humphed.
Cora turned her gaze back to the fire, which was fluttering in the cold, and shivered as if the cutting wind had run its icy finger down her spine.
Winston shivered as well as he tipped back his cup. He handed it to Waldo. “I believe I’ll turn in.”
“Right behind you,” Waldo promised. He secured the cup and wandered off around the nearest outcropping.
Cora showed no interest in retreating to the warmth of her blankets. “How did you and Waldo become partners?” she asked Nathan.
He smiled, remembering. “When my father died, I just wanted to get as far away as possible as fast as possible. I was out near Henry’s when I ran across Waldo. He’d come to Tacoma on a supply run and started back right after a storm had passed. A tree fell, hitting him and his horse. We couldn’t save the horse, but together Waldo and I reached the cabin he had then, and I stayed to make sure he healed. He insisted on paying me back with room and board. We’ve been friends since.”
“What made him locate out so far?” she asked, pausing to sip the melted snow. “The lake is beautiful, but surely there are closer places to homestead, like near Lake Park.”
“A lot of those homesteads were taken before he arrived,” Nathan said. “And I think he liked the independence out near the mountain. He’d built a one-room cabin, but he had grand plans for the place, until his wife and son died of influenza, before I came along. That took the wind out of his sails.”
“That would take the wind out of anyone’s sails,” she said. “I’ve lost my father and my first stepfather, neither of whom I particularly liked, and I still struggled through the changes. Imagine the pain of losing someone you cared about.”
“I don’t have to imagine,” he said.
Immediately, she set down her cup, eyes widening. “Oh, Nathan. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to imply you didn’t care about your father. It was different with mine. I barely remember him, and the loss of my mother’s second husband saddened only those to whom he owed money.”
He tucked away the pain as he picked up his alpenstock and gave the coals a stir. “My mother’s second and third husbands were no prizes either. At least the last left her sufficient funds that she doesn’t need to rush to find number four.”
Unless this Panic threatened her too. He hadn’t considered that until now. When he returned to Tacoma with Cora he should try once more to see his mother, mend bridges, ensure she was cared for.
He gave the fire another stir, separating coals, which began to wink out in the cold just as Waldo returned.
“We should get some sleep,” Nathan said to Cora. “Take your trowel. Pick a spot. I’ll look the other way.”
He thought her color deepened where it wasn’t covered by paint, but she ventured out along the rocks to do as he bid. When she returned, he levered himself up to do the same. Even though he returned quickly, the fire had become an ashy pile, a thin line of smoke following the breeze to the west.
He eased himself down into the sheltered trough beside Waldo. She’d already burrowed under her blankets next to her stepfather. Nathan tried to settle, but his legs protested. His back as well. The wind picked up, snapping the canvas, whistling across the icy wastes. Somewhere nearby, ice fell with a crash that echoed.
Cora’s feet bumped his as she shifted. He thought he caught the faint scent of roses, even after two days on the trail.
Perhaps it was that scent that pushed his mind to wandering into waking dreams. He could see other climbs with Cora at his side, leading women who also longed to reach the heights. With her on the trip, those ladies would feel safe in having him as their guide. He could expand the cabin, build others, turn the property into a haven for those seeking the thrill and peace of the mountain. And he’d make rooms that could be filled with children to love and nurture.
He blew out a breath. Fantasy, every bit of it. Eugene had warned him what would happen if he admired Cora overly much. She’d already refused other proposals. What did he have to offer a wife? He had no social standing, no wealth, and no grand ambition. However many rooms he added, his home would still be a log cabin beyond the reach of civilization. Cora had graduated college, could balance the books at banks and check the capital of corporations. She had dreams of giving every woman in Washington the vote. Why would she settle for life on a mountain?
For life with him?
19
Cold woke Cora. It was dark, but she rolled over and sat up. Her cap brushed the stiff canvas above her, and something crackled. Ice breaking?
Beside her, Winston did not so much as stir, yet it seemed to her the bedding across from them was empty.
“Nathan?” she called.
“Here.” A darker shadow moved where the fire had been last night. “Bring your alpenstock. It’s time to go.”
She scrambled out of the blankets so quickly her head swam. Or maybe it was the knowledge that she was about to reach the top that made her so dizzy.
Waldo was crouched beside the remains of the fire, blowing on a few winking sparks. The light was enough to give her a glimpse of his rugged face.
“What about Winston?” she asked.
“Waldo and I talked,” Nathan told her, de
ep voice a rumble. “Winston isn’t going to make it to the summit.”
Cora stiffened. “Is he worse this morning?”
“I told you you’d only worry her,” Waldo scolded, rising as flames cut into the kindling. He turned to Cora. “His breathing’s rough, and I was having trouble waking him earlier. But I’ll take care of him. You go on to the summit with Nathan.”
“Let me talk to him,” Cora said. Before either man could argue, she ducked under the canvas and felt her way to her stepfather’s side.
Winston must have woken, for he put his hand over hers as she pressed it against his chest.
“Good . . . morning, dearest,” he wheezed. “Is it . . . time to go?”
She had never heard him sound so weak. “Nathan and I will be leaving shortly, but we think it best if you rest here with Waldo.”
“Rest? Nonsense. Not when my daughter . . . is about . . . to triumph.” He sat up and sucked in an audible breath, then started coughing.
“Winston!” Cora cried.
He waved her off, then flopped back onto his bedding. “I’ll be fine, dearest. But . . . perhaps you were right. I’d only . . . slow you down. Go with Nathan. I have complete faith in him.”
So did she. Cora bent and kissed Winston’s cheek. “We’ll come back for you soon.”
She thought he nodded. She slipped out of the shelter to find Nathan pacing.
“We’ll go together, then,” she said.
“Good. We’ll leave most of the bedding and food here. I was hoping to return to Camp Muir to sleep tonight, but Winston will rest easier if we descend. We need to try for Paradise Park.”
“Is that why we’re up so early?” she asked, looking to the east, where the sky was the faintest of gold.
“You have to pass Gibraltar,” Waldo answered.
“Once the sun is up, rocks and ice start falling,” Nathan explained. “If we don’t get past the formation, both directions, before the melt, we run the risk of being struck.”
She shuddered. “It’s not going to be easy, is it.”
His voice was grim. “No, but you can do it. You’ve more than proved that, Cora.”
“That’s right,” Waldo cheered.
She drew in as much air as she could, until her chest expanded in the long coat. “Thank you both.”
They ate more of the jerky and washed it down with water from the canteen. The snow had frozen solid in the night, making it hard to scrape off chunks.
When they’d finished, Nathan pulled a blanket out of the shelter while Waldo began melting ice over the fire to make tea for Winston.
“We’re not planning to spend the night in the crater as some have done,” Nathan said, tucking jerky and hardtack into a corner of the blanket and rolling it into a sausage shape. “But it doesn’t hurt to be prepared, just in case.” He draped the roll from one shoulder to the opposite hip and tied it off with one of the strands of twine that had lashed his rope to his pack. But when he set about making a second roll, she stopped him and scrambled back into the shelter for her pack. Winston didn’t stir.
“Add these,” she said, handing Nathan Sally’s comb and Susan’s needle. “Put them where I can pull them out easily.”
The dawn had brightened the sky enough that she could see his frown. “And you need these on the summit because . . . ?”
“Because friends want others to know a lady has been there,” she said. “And so do I.”
He nodded and wove them into the roll. As he draped it around her, for a moment she stood in his embrace. She tried not to notice the woodsy scent and the warmth radiating off him.
“They’re here,” he said as he tied off the bottom, “near the twine. They shouldn’t fall out, but you can reach them when the time is right.” He stepped back and eyed her. “Paint, glasses, and alpenstock. I’ll add my hatchet, canteen, and the rope. Then we’ll head out.”
Her hands trembled as she reached for the jar of white paint he’d left. Nearly there. Just a while longer. Waldo gave her two thumbs up.
A short time later, she and Nathan set off across the rocks.
The wind tugged at her as they reached the end of their little island. A few yards clambering over ice brought them to a cliff that dropped away into mist. Cora stepped back and bumped into Nathan, who steadied her, both hands on her shoulders.
“We’re starting up the Cowlitz Cleaver,” he explained. “That’s the Nisqually Glacier below us. We’ll be fine so long as we stay on the route.”
A route only he could see as they pressed forward once more.
The craggy rock formation called Gibraltar grew in front of them, until she could see nothing else. The way narrowed to a thin ledge between the rugged gray stone and the fall to the glacier.
“Give me your hand,” Nathan said, and once more she slid her fingers into his keeping.
They edged along. The sun had risen but not high enough to reach the shadows here. Her glasses weren’t much help, but she didn’t dare remove them. Their tint made the white paint on his nose and cheeks glow blue.
Slowly, the cliff below and the one at her back shortened, and more light trickled into the space. More wind too. It nipped at her face, until she felt her lips cracking.
Nathan stopped and nodded to the way ahead. “We can’t climb that.”
She stared at the wall of ice, made bluer by her shaded glasses. For a moment, she thought he meant to give up, and she nearly sagged to the ground. But he pulled the hatchet off his belt and began to beat at the ice at about knee level. When he’d broken off a ledge, he stepped up on it and began hacking out another.
“Stairs!” Cora realized.
“Follow me,” he called back, “but stay at least two steps behind, just in case.”
She didn’t want to know what he feared.
It was slow going—hack, crack, move. Hack, crack, move. But gradually, the rock beside them fell away, until they stood at the top.
Nathan called a halt then. He was breathing hard, and his face was reddening where the paint had chipped off.
“Just a few minutes,” he cautioned, offering her the canteen. The water from Paradise Park had frozen inside, but a trickle remained to wash her throat.
Breath was even more difficult as they continued to climb over the billowing fields. Small wonder Nathan had feared Winston wouldn’t make it. At least the snow was harder packed. Her feet barely made a dent. It was as if the mountain wanted no trace of strangers on her slopes.
From time to time he detoured around a massive crack in the snowfield, the famed crevasses of the mountain lying gaping like jagged-toothed maws. Finally, she and Nathan reached one that stretched so far in each direction she could not see the end.
He uncoiled the rope and then looped one end around her waist and tied it. “If I fall,” he told her, “plant your alpenstock and pull this rope off.”
“Why?” she asked, but he was striding forward to where a ledge of snow arched over the crack. He eased out onto it, tapping here with his alpenstock, stopping there, walking on a bridge that should not be strong enough to hold him. He played out the rope as he went, then hopped down on the other side to brace his feet and his staff in the snow.
“It should hold you,” he called. “Come across. I’ll catch you if you fall.”
Cora craned her neck to see into the crevasse. Swirls of blue ice, like the spires of a crystal fairy palace, descended into darkness. She could not see the bottom. Already, snow fell from the bridge, as if his crossing had loosened it.
“Are you sure?” she called. “Is there no other way?”
“None that will let us reach the summit quickly. Come on.”
Swallowing, she stepped out onto the thin sheet of ice. More snow fell away on either side. Surely she shouldn’t plant her alpenstock. Wouldn’t that just break the bridge further? Her stomach clenched.
“Come on, Cora,” he urged. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She sucked in a breath of the icy air
and plunged forward.
Right into his arms.
He caught her close, held her a moment. “Well done. Just a little farther now.”
She wished she could believe that. It took all she had to disengage from him, untie the rope, and continue.
The wind was dying as they clambered up the snow. Every few feet, he stopped to let her catch her breath. So hard. But she’d come so far. Must push on.
She was so focused on climbing that she nearly bumped into him when he stopped. She glanced up to ask him why and realized there was nowhere else to climb. On either side, black basalt thrust into the air, like whales cresting the surface. The rocks ran in a gigantic arc over a bowl of ice and snow, where steam puffed from vents to freeze into ice caves.
They had reached the summit.
Amazement, joy, exhilaration overwhelmed in waves higher than the snow.
“We did it,” she whispered, trembling.
“You did it,” he said, voice warm with pride. “Whatever happens, no one can take that away from you.”
She pulled down her glasses and turned in a circle. White tufts of clouds lay like sheep in the valleys below. Rivers wound silver through hills on their way to the blue waters of Puget Sound. To the south, St. Helens, Adams, and Hood waited. There to the north, that peak. Baker?
Thank you, Lord, for all this, for allowing me to see, to feel. It truly is a view most glorious.
Tears stung her eyes, freezing on her painted cheeks in the icy breeze. There was someone else she had to credit.
“Thank you, Nathan,” she murmured. “I wouldn’t have made it without you.”
In answer, he bent his head and kissed her.
Cora stiffened in surprise, but she didn’t step away. The kiss was perfect, as pure as the air she breathed and as magnificent as the view.
He straightened to gaze down at her, ice glistening on his beard. “You deserve every praise. Remember that.”
Now she could only look at him in wonder. How extraordinary. She’d always been pretty and clever, and, while compliments were pleasant, she’d known they were caused more by circumstances than accomplishments. This kiss, his words, were more.
