A View Most Glorious

by Regina Scott

  “We may be small now,” her husband said in his polished British accent over a dinner of venison steaks and mashed potatoes as they all sat at the large table in the family’s dining room, “but better days lie ahead.”

  His estate seemed to prove as much. The Ashfords might live in the wilderness, but their home didn’t look all that much different from her mother’s. The parlor had comfortable horsehair furnishings, and the dining room boasted a maple sideboard filled with fine china. The bedroom where Cora would be sleeping had a four-poster bed with carved posts and landscape paintings on the walls.

  “What do you expect, sir?” Winston asked, digging into the fluffy potatoes. “Lumber? Farming?”

  “Indeed, I’d love to know how you plan to invest,” Kincaid put in from his place at her mother’s elbow.

  Ashford shook his blond head, thick mustache curling up with his smile. “There are many industries to consider. We have coal deposits to the north, timber on the hillsides, visitors flocking in to see the mountain. There are plans to make Mount Tacoma into a national park.”

  “There is a certain grandeur to the place,” her mother allowed.

  “So, you use Tacoma over Rainier for the name of the mountain,” Cora ventured. “May I ask why?”

  “Really, Coraline.” Her mother turned to Mr. Ashford. “You must excuse her, sir, for bringing up such a difficult subject.”

  “The name is hotly contested in the city,” Kincaid added, as if Cora had been somehow ignorant of the fact.

  She kept her smile in place and waited for her host’s answer.

  “In this house as well,” Mr. Ashford said with a smile to his wife at the other end of the table.

  She tossed her dark head. “I prefer Rainier. Mr. Ashford favors Tacoma.”

  “Easier to attract tourists,” he admitted to Cora. “They already know they’re taking the Northern Pacific to Tacoma. Why confuse them with another name?”

  “Because that is the name the Board of Geographic Names approved,” his wife said, frowning at her oldest daughter, who had been reaching for the serving spoon for the potatoes.

  “For now,” her husband agreed. “In the meantime, we’ve platted the town of Ashford and applied for a post office.” He grabbed the spoon and served both his daughter and his son a hefty dollop. “When the application is granted, Mrs. Ashford will be the first postmistress.”

  Her mother’s brows rose just the slightest, but Cora turned to the lady. “So, you will be serving the community, Mrs. Ashford, as well as managing this establishment. I find that admirable.”

  Her hostess returned her smile. “If you want something done, do it yourself. That’s what I always say. Now, if we could just convince these gentlemen to do the right thing and give us the vote.”

  Her husband leveled the spoon at her. “On that we agree.”

  Cora grinned at them both.

  “Your china pattern is lovely, Mrs. Ashford,” Cora’s mother said. “Is it English?”

  Mrs. Ashford was gracious enough to allow the change of subject. She did not, however, show any sign of leaving the men to their discussions as the meal ended. Cora’s mother finally rose with a pointed look to Cora.

  She stood as well, and Winston, Kincaid, and Mr. Ashford popped to their feet. But she couldn’t make herself follow her mother from the room. The convention seemed so stilted and confining. She wanted to breathe again.

  “Thank you for a lovely dinner and even lovelier conversation,” Cora said. “I’d just like to see if the moon’s risen before retiring.” She swept past her mother and headed for the front door.

  Once outside, she drew in a breath of the cool air. Trees clustered close enough to the house that she couldn’t see much of the sky. Somewhere nearby, a creek chuckled. And in the distance—was that the sound of a violin?

  She strained to catch the song, but the melody eluded her. Waldo had said Nathan played. Was that him? The notes were slow and humble. She wanted to pluck them from the air, hold them close. Her cheeks felt cold, and it was a moment before she realized she was crying. She wiped away the tears with her hand.

  The music grew more determined, slicing through the night, as if he had made some important decision. Then the notes softened, faded. She tried to catch the last of them, but the music was gone.

  She stayed out until she had no more excuse, then returned to the house, thinking.

  She should have slept well, as tired as she was. It was the first bed she’d seen in days. But the sheets masked a firm slab of a mattress that didn’t seem all that much softer than the pumice sand at Camp Muir, and she fell asleep thinking about the view from the summit, with Nathan at her side.

  She was in the barn, saddling Blaze, as soon as she could after breakfast the next morning. In the yard, mist gathered on the ferns, clung like silver plating to the firs. Each breath felt cool and moist.

  “Hyack, now! Sparky! Quack! Keep moving!”

  The reins fell from her fingers at Waldo’s call, and she snatched them up and led Blaze out of the barn. The old pioneer had the two mules tethered behind him. Quack’s piebald ears wiggled as if he were waving to her.

  Waldo doffed his cap. “Good morning, Miss Cora.”

  Disappointment fell colder than the mist. “Isn’t Nathan coming with us?”

  Waldo cocked a smile. “’Course he is. Couldn’t keep him away. He’s out yonder, talking to Walter. Sorry we didn’t come earlier. Nathan wanted to check on that lumberman with the bum shoulder. Did you have a good night?”

  “Good enough,” Cora allowed, drawing a breath.

  A sound behind her made her turn. Nathan was coming around the house, leading Honoré. The misty air had set his hair to curling. It was all she could do not to run to him.

  “Ready to go, I see,” he said. “And your mother? Winston?”

  He didn’t ask after Kincaid. She only wished the fellow was that easy to dismiss.

  “I’ll fetch them,” Waldo said, swinging down. He handed Nathan his reins and stumped for the house.

  “More of his matchmaking?” Cora asked.

  Nathan watched his friend disappear behind the ivy-shaded door. “Very likely. But I don’t mind.”

  Her pulse kicked up. “Neither do I. I heard violin music last night. Was that you?”

  He stilled. “Yes. I didn’t realize the sound carried so far.”

  “It wasn’t an imposition,” Cora hurried to assure him. “It was beautiful.”

  He inclined his head. “Thank you. My mother insisted I learn as a boy. She even found a music tutor in Tacoma when we moved here.”

  “I had a voice master for a while too,” Cora admitted. “He was always going on about my vowels and dropping my s’s.” He frowned, so she clarified, “So you don’t end up sounding like a snake.”

  His brow cleared, and he leaned closer. “You could never sound like a snake.”

  “Sssso you’re ccccertain?” she rasped out with a grin.

  He grinned back. “Absolutely certain.”

  His lips were inches away. Just a little closer . . .

  “Thank you, Mrs. Ashford, for your kind hospitality,” her mother said as she, Winston, Waldo, and their hostess came out of the house.

  Nathan straightened, and Cora tried not to look disappointed.

  Mr. Ashford brought the other horses from the barn just as Kincaid exited the house, pulling on his tan leather gloves. His fine clothing looked even more battered than it had yesterday. He turned from the sight of Nathan standing next to Cora and went to assist her mother in mounting. Winston allowed him the honor, but his eyes were narrowed under his derby.

  Once more, Nathan put his hands on Cora’s waist and lifted her to the sidesaddle. For a moment, he lingered, gazing at her, and the light in his green eyes said anything was possible. Then he released her to go mount his own horse.

  Cora gathered her wits and turned to their hostess. “Thank you so much for your hospitality, Mrs. Ashford. I won’t forget it.�
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  “You’re welcome back any time,” she assured her. “We could use a few more ladies willing to speak their minds and dirty their hands to see the job done.”

  “Shall we, Mr. Hardee?” her mother called, as if Nathan had been the one to delay things. He turned Honoré and led them all from the yard.

  Cora had planned to ride beside him on the road to Eatonville, but Cash Kincaid lodged himself next to her the moment they reached the road through the Succotash Valley.

  “You seem to enjoy Mrs. Ashford’s company, Cora,” he noted as they followed the Nisqually toward Elbe, the forested hills clinging to their right.

  “She is clearly a woman of vision,” Cora said. “I admire that.”

  “You admire that she wants to give women the vote,” he clarified.

  She kept her gaze on the dusty track ahead. “Of course. Giving women the vote is an action that stems from respect, Mr. Kincaid, something you seem to find difficult, as you have again used my first name without my permission.”

  He inclined his head. “My apologies. I thought we were becoming friends.”

  “No,” Cora said. “We are not. I doubt we could be unless you change your stance on suffrage and amend your business practices.”

  He chuckled. “You may persuade me on suffrage yet. But my business practices? What could possibly offend there?”

  “Paying wages lower than others for the same work, cheating your rivals out of business, ruining your opponents,” she suggested.

  “You’ve been listening to the representatives of the worker organizations,” he said. “They are quick to point out supposed wrongs. But then, the man rich enough to issue salaries is seldom admired by those receiving the salaries.”

  Not true. Many worker organizations in the city seemed sure that any wealthy owner must be exploiting the laborers, but she knew a number of gentlemen who provided good housing and decent pay for the men in their companies.

  “Perhaps you should consider why your workers are particularly unhappy,” she said. “Wages? Working conditions? The opportunity to advance through hard work rather than favoritism? And you could be fairer in your dealings with other businesses too—the ones that sell to you and the ones to whom you sell.”

  “I’ll do that,” he promised. “And if I make changes, guided by your example?”

  Cora frowned at him. That furrowed brow, those earnest eyes, said he was serious. “I’m not sure I could believe you’d change for me.”

  He put one hand on his heart. “Then I will have to prove to you I am a true gentleman. Perhaps, once we reach Tacoma, you will be persuaded to change your mind as well.”

  Cora offered no promises. She made sure to align her horse next to Nathan’s after they had stopped to eat and rest at Elbe.

  “Is he bothering you?” Nathan asked with a nod to where Kincaid was once more at the front of the column, this time with her mother at his side and Winston right behind. They were deeper in the forest now, following the edge of a hill, with occasional meadows opening up on their right.

  “I know how to swat flies,” Cora said.

  Nathan chuckled, a much warmer sound than Kincaid had made. “And here I thought you had staff to swat flies for you.”

  Cora tossed her head. “I long ago realized I must rely on my own resources, sir.”

  “I learned the same lesson,” he said. “Keep the good Lord at your side and your head down, and all will come out right in the end.”

  Cora eyed him. “Your head down, Nathan? Avoiding conflicts?”

  He shrugged. “Isn’t that what the Bible advises? Turn the other cheek? If they ask for a mile, give them two?”

  “Yes,” she allowed, “but I also recall the Lord taking a whip to sellers in the temple to right a great injustice. It seems there are times we must act. Women will not be given their due unless we speak up.”

  He was quiet a moment, gaze on the twisting turns of the road as it ascended ahead. “I gave up on taking action years ago. It was easier, safer, if I put aside dreams. If I didn’t allow myself to want anything, I had nothing that could be taken away.”

  The pain reached for her. She wanted to touch him, to hold him. She couldn’t from her sidesaddle.

  “That’s a narrow way to live,” she said. “I don’t see how it brings satisfaction.”

  “I thought it brought peace,” he said, shadows from the trees crossing his face. “Now, I wonder. Meeting you, climbing the mountain with you, made me see things differently.”

  He glanced her way. “You make me want, Cora.”

  Heat pulsed up her. “What do you want, Nathan?”

  “You and me, together. A home. A family.”

  That yearning in his eyes made her want too.

  He glanced around, then pointed to the meadow below the road. The sun had broken through the mist and glowed on wildflowers, sparkled in the stream winding down the center of the grasses.

  “Can’t you see it? A log cabin big enough for a husband, wife, and children. Waldo playing grandfather. Planted fields to feed the family, the horses. A cow for butter. And visitors. Henry, the Ashfords, the Longmires, they’ve all opened their homes to travelers, but the demand for services will only increase, particularly once Rainier is named a national park. We could provide a similar service. Guide folks up the mountain, give them room and board while they tour the area, help them see the beauty and appreciate the need to protect it for generations to come.”

  The vision rose up, strong and pure, until she could have reached out and embraced it. “A grand goal, to be sure.”

  He returned his gaze to hers as if from a great distance. “One you could share?”

  The image popped like a soap bubble in the sun, and all she could see was the rocky road ahead. “Perhaps.”

  “We both have choices to make, then,” he murmured.

  They certainly did. And those choices would not be easy, for either of them.

  They reached the Pioneer Hotel late in the afternoon. Mrs. Winston didn’t look pleased with the two-story clapboard building, but she agreed to stay the night since Kincaid recommended it. Nathan had to ride away and leave Cora behind. Each time it seemed harder.

  “What do you think about building cabins around the lake?” Nathan asked Waldo as they turned west for Henry’s. “Host visitors like the Longmires do.”

  “I think we’d have to hire a cook,” Waldo mused, giving the mules a tug to keep them from stopping to crop the lush meadow grass. Quack gave a squawk of protest. “Though maybe our Cora would want to learn to cook.”

  Nathan shifted on the saddle. “She could learn any skill, but I’m not sure she’d want to spend her day cooking and cleaning.”

  “Maybe one of the Longmire young’uns, then,” Waldo suggested. “Or one of Henry’s grandchildren.”

  “Rein in a minute,” Nathan said, slowing Honoré.

  Waldo stopped Bud and gave the mules their heads. Quack waded happily into the grass.

  “What’s wrong?” Waldo asked. “Hoof pick up a stone?”

  “Nothing like that. We need to talk, and I’d rather do it here than in front of the audience we’ll have at Henry’s.”

  Waldo scratched an ear. “You still mad about last night? I stand by what I said. You’re a fine fellow when you’re not stewing in your own juices.”

  “Stewing!” Nathan swallowed the rest of the words that threatened to burst out. “I don’t stew, Waldo.”

  “You look to be simmering pretty good right now,” his partner pointed out.

  Nathan drew in a breath and let it out slowly.

  “I need to tell you something,” he explained. “Winston offered me a job at his bank. Associate director.”

  Waldo goggled. Then he shook himself. “You told him no, of course.”

  Nathan shook his head. “He gave me until Tacoma to think about it.”

  “But you’re not even thinking about it,” Waldo insisted. When Nathan said nothing, he peered closer, then reared
back. “You are! You said you’d never go back. You washed your hands of the lot of them.”

  “I did,” Nathan agreed. “I thought I’d done the right thing.”

  Waldo nodded. “And that you did. Who needs all that posturing, the positioning? You’re a better man out here—you said so yourself.”

  Nathan met his gaze straight on. “But I’m not the man I’m meant to be. You said that. I ran away, Waldo—from the pain, the loss, the disappointment. Maybe, to be the man God wants me to be, I have to go back, face all that and grow beyond it.”

  “But you’ll come home,” Waldo persisted, eyes pleading. “You won’t let it pull you under again.”

  “I won’t let it pull me under,” Nathan agreed. “I have a stronger rope now—God, you. But I don’t know where home is at the moment.”

  Waldo yanked off his hat and smacked it against his thigh. Bud shied, and Quack let out a startled squeak.

  “If that don’t beat all,” Waldo declared once he had his horse under control again and his hat back on his grizzled head. “I encourage you to give me grandchildren, and you take away my partner instead.”

  “I’m not gone yet,” Nathan told him. “And I may never be. But I have to do this, Waldo. I have to know I’ve made the right choice. For all our sakes.”

  24

  Nathan thought the matter settled, but Waldo wasn’t ready to admit defeat. As soon as they reached Henry’s and had let the horses and mules out to pasture, his friend tried to enlist their host’s support.

  “Tell him, Henry,” Waldo urged as the three men sat around the fire in the yard before dinner. Henry’s sons and grandchildren were at their own homes for the day. “A man can live better out here than cooped up in a city.”

  With the day fading into twilight, the sky turning purple, and a soft breeze whispering through the firs, it would have been all too easy to agree.

  “Some like the city,” Henry, ever the diplomat, allowed. “Big houses. Big buildings. Trains and ships that will carry you far. But my heart is here.” He smiled as Sally came toward them bearing a cast-iron kettle. Nathan had told her first thing about how Cora had set her comb on the peak, and Sally had grinned with pride.