by Regina Scott
“Thank you for standing up for me,” he said. “Though I can fight my own battles.”
“Of course you can,” Cora agreed, dropping her hand. “I merely didn’t see why Mr. Kincaid needed to start a battle to begin with.”
He took a step closer, and darkness seemed to advance with him. “Given his barbed hints, I should tell you about my family.”
She didn’t want any more darkness, not now. Her heart already felt heavy. She waved a hand. “Your family circumstances are none of my affair.”
He peered closer, as if he didn’t believe her. “They are if they affect your trust in me. Kincaid sowed some seeds. I won’t let the weeds grow between us. You have to believe in me or you won’t follow my directions, and someone could get hurt.”
To believe in him. He didn’t know what he asked. People were unreliable—look at her mother, look at her father and first stepfather. Even Winston had flaws, refusing to stand up to her mother, for one. It was better, safer, to rely on her own abilities. That way, she would only be disappointed in herself.
“We are paying you to guide us up a mountain, Mr. Hardee,” she said. “You have experience to commend you. I don’t need to know more than that.”
“Don’t you?” He towered over her, and she raised her chin, refusing to back away. “Kincaid claims I’ll abandon you because I abandoned my own family.”
The words were like a slap. “You left Tacoma after your father’s death. Winston told me.”
“Did he tell you how my father died?”
Something must have showed on her face, for he nodded. “It seems he did. Like Kincaid, my father built a fortune on opportunities. But he made some poor choices and lost everything. Rather than face his creditors or even my mother and me, he took his own life.”
Winston had said as much, but hearing it stated in such a hard, cold fashion raised the bile in her throat. “Oh, Nathan. I’m so sorry.”
His green eyes blazed. “No more sorry than we were. My mother quickly found another man to marry. I chose a different path. Some saw it as a retreat, that I was running away from my problems as surely as my father had. I see it as moving toward a better, cleaner future. I’m beholden to no man, indebted to none. I have little to lose as I refuse to acquire more than I need. If some judge me for that, it’s their concern, not mine.”
How different. Every man she knew, even Winston, was always reaching for more. What would it be like to be content? To be sufficient?
“Thank you for telling me,” she said. “You’re right. At some point I might have remembered Mr. Kincaid’s poisoned words and wondered. Now I know the truth. I promise you, I will not allow it to slow me in achieving my goal.”
The muscles in Nathan’s back were like iron, as if he’d carried her pack twenty miles in a day. What, had he let Kincaid’s jibes get to him, after all?
“There’s more that you should know,” he said. “My father may have been precariously perched, but the loss that pushed him over, that caused it all to crash, was a debt called in by Cash Kincaid.”
She stared at him. “Well then. That only lowers my estimation of Mr. Kincaid further. If my climb makes him think about his behavior, so much the better. I will not let you down.”
Amazing. She was climbing a mountain to win women the vote and safeguard her own future, but Nathan was the one she didn’t want to disappoint.
“Until tomorrow, then, Miss Baxter,” he said, giving her a bow. It was harder than usual to leave the house.
He had a few tasks yet to complete, but he could not forget her promise as he started away from the stretch of elegant mansions and fine carriages. His father and mother had always been focused on their own spheres—the world of expansive transactions and social superiority. He had not consciously thought of making them proud. They had pride enough. His mother still did. He tried to see her from time to time, and she generally refused. Silk-draped walls did not pair well with homespun. He was far more welcome among Waldo and his friends.
The old pioneer had arranged the supplies they needed but waited for delivery until Nathan could tell him Miss Baxter and her stepfather were ready to leave. He’d also picked up food for the trip and the climb. In the meantime, he and Nathan had been bunking in Shem’s back room, with the horses and mules at the closest livery stable. He could hardly wait to let his friend know they would be leaving the day after tomorrow. Time to get home to their cabin, where no one judged him for what he wore or how he acted.
Where no blue-eyed beauty made him wonder what might have been had he stayed.
“Hardee! Nathan Hardee!”
Nathan turned at the call. A man was striding toward him. The brown beard could not disguise the round face or the grin it wore.
“Mr. Thackery,” Nathan said with a nod.
Eugene Thackery raised his bushy brown brows until they nearly disappeared under his derby. “Why the formality? I’m delighted to see you.”
He would be the first. Nathan had lost track of the number of so-called friends who had distanced themselves from him after his father’s ruin.
“Then I’m glad to see you too,” he said. It had been a long time since he’d engaged in the social niceties, but he remembered the routine. “How are your parents, your sister?”
“Well, thank you.” His mouth remained open a moment as if he meant to ask after Nathan’s family. Then he closed his lips and smiled.
Nathan could comment on the weather or the shocking price of vegetables. All seemed trite. He glanced over the fellow again. Well-cut wool coat and trousers in the narrow plaid that every businessman seemed to be wearing, if Kincaid and Winston were any indication. Perhaps more girth than the last time he’d seen him—a good cook? And a wife.
Nathan nodded to his left hand, where a gold band gleamed. “Married, I see.”
His smile widened. “Married, and never happier. I have been blessed with a son, and we have another child on the way.”
His awe at the fact was evident by the lift of his chin and the sparkle in his gray eyes.
“Congratulations,” Nathan said, and meant it.
“I was heading for a late lunch at the Union Club,” Eugene said. “Join me. I’d like to hear what you’ve been doing.”
Nathan cocked his head. “You sure about that?”
“Absolutely!” He sobered. “My father was ill at the time yours passed, so I couldn’t break away to find you and extend my condolences. I heard you left town.”
“I have a homestead out on the mountain road,” Nathan said. “It suits me.”
“It looks as if it does. Please. Be my guest. I’d like to hear all about it.”
He ought to refuse. What good could come of it? Surely Eugene noticed the differences in their clothing and boots. Nathan would no longer be accepted as a man of his social class. Look at how Mrs. Winston treated him.
But it had been a long time since anyone like Eugene had cared to converse at any length. And he was hungry.
“Very well,” Nathan said, and Eugene moved in beside him.
“It’s a fine establishment,” he said. “Built in the last few years. Good thing too. It’s not as if many of us have money to spare to finance such an undertaking now.”
“You’re doing all right?” Nathan asked as they neared the white three-story building on the edge of the hill. “I seem to recall you were a major shareholder in the St. Paul and Tacoma Lumber Company.”
“We get by,” Eugene said. “We’ve had to cut back on hours here and there, but the country always needs lumber. Once things settle, I expect we’ll be back to full strength and then some.”
They all talked that way—the newspaper editors, Winston, Kincaid. This Panic was a minor matter, easily resolved. It hadn’t been minor to the men crowding around the church this morning. He’d seldom seen such anger or despair.
None of that was evident at the Union Club. Gentlemen lounged before the twin bow windows on C Street, with a view toward the mansions their fortunes
had built. Others strolled the covered deck at the back of the building, gazing down at the railroad and granaries that fueled the city’s exports. At Eugene’s request, the frock-coated doorman called a waiter in a long white apron to lead them to a table overlooking Commencement Bay. The linen tablecloth was nearly as snowy as the peak in the distance.
They ordered the special of the day—steamed clams still in their shells with crusty rolls and fresh-churned butter—and Eugene told him all about his wife, Amelia (“sweetest woman I ever met and to think she’d want to marry me”), and his little boy (“clever lad. He’ll go far—you’ll see”). Nathan dutifully asked after mutual friends and acquaintances and talked about his cabin and work. Eugene volunteered, gingerly, that Annabelle had married a lumber baron and moved to San Francisco. Odd that Nathan felt nothing at the news.
“So, you’ve climbed the mountain more than a dozen times,” Eugene marveled. “That must be a record.”
“I’ve only been to the summit twice,” Nathan told him, pulling a clam from the shell with a silver fork. “The climbing party generally doesn’t want someone else along to get the credit.”
“Unfair,” Eugene commiserated. “But it’s seldom those who do the work that history remembers. When are you going again?”
“Next week, if the weather holds,” Nathan said. “I leave the day after tomorrow with Miss Baxter and Mr. Winston of the Puget Sound Bank of Commerce.”
Eugene leaned back on the padded seat, gray eyes widening. “So, she’s really going to do it. Amelia was at the meeting when Miss Baxter was asked.”
“Your wife is a suffragette, then,” Nathan surmised.
“She is.” Eugene’s smile and tone attested to his pride in the fact. “She has high hopes this climb will wake people up, make them think. What chance do you give Miss Baxter of success?”
Originally, little. Now that he’d seen her determination and knew what was at stake for her personally?
“Eighty percent,” he said, “and only because weather might hold her back.”
Eugene grinned. “That’s high praise.” He regarded Nathan a moment, then lowered his fork with a chink of silver on china. “I know that look. Be careful, Nathan. More than one man has backed away, disappointed, from attempting to prove himself to Miss Coraline Baxter.”
Nathan frowned. “I’ve no need to prove myself. I’m just doing what she paid me to do—lead her up a mountain.”
“So long as she doesn’t lead you down a primrose path. I tell you, Nathan, that cool beauty can go to a man’s head. Look at Kincaid.”
Nathan toyed with the next clam, twisting it around in the shell. “He claims he wants to marry her.”
Eugene threw up a hand. “Half the bachelors in Tacoma want to marry her! She’s refused any that have offered. Rumors were she was holding out for bigger game, but they don’t come much bigger than Kincaid.”
“Would you want your sister to marry Kincaid?” Nathan challenged.
Eugene shuddered. “No, thank you. As far as I can see, he’s hoping marriage to her will allow him to wiggle more firmly into good society. I’ll be cheering when Miss Baxter refuses him.”
His hand fumbled in his coat a moment before producing his card. He leaned forward again to offer it to Nathan. “And I’ll be cheering for you as well. If you ever want to leave your mountain hideaway, regain your place in society, let me know. I failed you when you most needed my friendship. I’d like the opportunity to be a better friend now.”
Nathan took the card. “Thank you. I’ll remember that.”
But he doubted that anything could tempt him back.
8
Cora had another long soak in the tub that afternoon. It wasn’t as if she was going to have the opportunity once they left Tacoma. And spending any time with Cash Kincaid always left her feeling as if she needed a bath.
She’d first become aware of him at the Puget Sound University. Hard to miss a man who offered the school a quarter of a million dollars to fund its growth. Every student had been invited to the ceremony recognizing the gift. He’d looked so humble at the podium beside the dean, acknowledging the praise heaped upon him with a self-deprecating smile. A businessman with philanthropic tendencies. Commendable.
“And this is Miss Baxter, one of our finest students,” the dean had said as he’d introduced her at the reception afterward. “She is quite accomplished in the area of mathematics.”
“Miss Baxter,” Kincaid had said, smile brightening, as if someone had turned on the electricity. “A pleasure.”
It had been a pleasure, at first. Over coffee at the café nearest the school and with the other students in her class, he’d been willing to share business practices, debate the merits of the gold standard, argue over the rates of lending. At moments, she thought he might be open to supporting women’s suffrage. When he’d first called at the house, she’d expected more of the same, and a little thrill had gone through her that he would single her out. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to work for Winston when she graduated. Perhaps she’d become an accountant for Kincaid Industries, guiding the company to greater glory.
Then he’d met her mother, and everything had changed. No longer was Cora someone to be mentored and encouraged. She was as her mother had always wanted her to be—the grand prize in a matrimonial race. A shame she had no interest in competing. Everything he’d said, everything he’d done, had been because he intended to have her.
And so she’d taken out pen and paper and reevaluated him as she would one of the proposals that crossed her desk to review at the bank. A few questions of his associates, asked with sufficient charm and interest, had gained her knowledge of business practices he would never have disclosed publicly. To his credit, he was handsome, he attempted to be polite, he had wealth, and he might be persuaded to support her cause. To his debit, he was manipulative, conniving, tight-fisted with his workers, callous to the needs of others, and occasionally cruel in exacting revenge for some slight.
Proposal denied. Not even worth further discussion. She’d filed her assessment in her desk.
And she’d refused to allow her mother to force her into marrying him. She would climb a mountain to keep her freedom.
Now everything for the trip lay on her bed for packing. Besides the things they had purchased from Dickson Brothers, another package had arrived that afternoon. Lily had brought up the parcel wrapped in brown paper.
“Miss Fuller brought it by,” she said, offering it to Cora.
Cora hurried to untie the twine. Inside lay thick folds of gray-blue flannel. A white note fluttered out. Lily caught it, and they both bent their heads over it.
“A loan only,” Cora read aloud. “Do them proud. It will be their second time at the summit.”
Lily frowned, but Cora shook out the folds.
Her maid goggled. “Are those bloomers?”
“And a coat to cover them,” Cora acknowledged, turning from side to side to see how they draped. “We’ll likely have to find a way to cinch in the waist. But I am indebted to Miss Fuller for thinking of me.”
“Your mother won’t allow it,” Lily predicted, taking a step back as if she thought the flannel might bite.
Cora lowered the fabric, stomach knotting. “You’re right. We can’t tell her.”
Lily’s lips compressed, but she shook her head. “We can’t lie to the mistress.”
“I won’t lie,” Cora promised. “But these are important, Lily. Wearing them might be the only way I make it safely to the top of Rainier. Please, say nothing.”
Lily had nodded, and now the precious bloomers and coat were neatly refolded on the covers, waiting their turn to go into the pack at the foot of the bed.
She was out of the bath and standing as Lily laced her into her satin-covered stays when there was a knock at the door. Before she could dart to the bed and hide the bloomers, her mother swept in.
“I am pleased to see you remember some of your manners,” she announced as she glanced at
the dinner dress draped over the chair.
Cora edged away from the bed, anything to keep her mother’s gaze from going in that direction. “I am not a savage, Mother.”
“I will have to accept your word on that,” she said. “I was quite distressed by your reception of Mr. Kincaid this afternoon. We do not treat guests with such contempt.”
Only those who did not live up to her mother’s standards, but Cora decided not to say that aloud. “I cannot like him, Mother. I wish you would accept that.”
Her mother moved to the dressing table and rearranged the tortoiseshell brush and comb in front of the mirror. Could she see the bloomers in the reflection? Cora could scarcely breathe.
“I grant you his wealth is newly acquired,” her mother said, “but most men here could say the same.”
“It isn’t his wealth that concerns me, but his attitude.” She winced as Lily tugged the strings tighter. “I have heard stories that he takes opportunities which prove the ruin of others.”
Her mother glanced in the mirror, and Cora froze. So did Lily.
But her mother merely patted a strand of silvery blond hair back into her coiffure before straightening to look at Cora. “It is unbecoming for a lady to discuss a gentleman’s financial dealings. I blame that college of yours for putting such ideas in your head. When I agreed to allow you to attend, I had hopes you would meet a nice young man you could admire.”
Her mother had hoped for a match. It took money to send a son, or daughter, to college, therefore the graduates must come from a certain social class. But Cora hadn’t attended to find a wealthy husband. She’d wanted qualifications no business could deny. A college degree put her head and shoulders above most male accountants in the city.
She’d still had to accept a position at Winston’s bank. A lady accountant, it seemed, made too many men nervous. Even Cash Kincaid. Funny how the only one she felt comfortable being herself around was Nathan Hardee.
“Which of your dinner dresses will you be taking on this trip?” her mother asked, moving toward the wardrobe.