by Regina Scott
At least she could no longer see the bed. Cora shook her head at Lily, then edged to the bloomers and tipped them down into the pack. “I won’t need dinner dresses, Mother. The only place I’ll be dining is around a campfire.”
“Nonsense,” her mother said, opening the carved walnut doors and perusing the offerings as if she hadn’t helped pick out each herself. “Surely there are hotels with dining rooms along the way. They will expect you to change out of your travel dirt. And, at the very least, you must have one for the send-off party at Lake Park.”
Cora straightened. “Mr. Hardee hasn’t mentioned a send-off party.”
Her mother drew out Cora’s sea-green silk gown and studied it as if determined to find flaws in it too. “Of course he hasn’t mentioned it. I didn’t consult him in the matter. Miss Carruthers has done excellent work in making the arrangements for me. I believe there will be a considerable escort.”
Cora stared at her. “Mother, what have you done?”
“Merely ensured your social standing, dear,” her mother said. “Pack the lavender silk.” She replaced the green gown, shut the wardrobe, and sailed for the door. “See you at dinner.”
Her mother had not been willing to offer more details over dinner, but Cora learned the full of it the next morning when Mimi came to call.
“As soon as your mother approached me, I knew her vision would fit perfectly with our plans,” her friend assured her as they strolled the gardens behind the house. All the homes along this part of C Street backed up to Cliff Avenue and had rear lawns looking out over Commencement Bay. Her mother had taken some trouble to plant roses, lilacs, and hawthorns, giving the space the look of an English garden.
“I suppose it will give us added publicity,” Cora allowed, skirts brushing the grass as they approached the two-story carriage house at the back of the garden.
Mimi adjusted her green velvet hat against the brine-tinged breeze as if she feared for the pheasant feather adorning the crown. “Indeed. If we show how many people support you, others will be sure to rally to our side.”
There was that. Mimi may not have become an accountant, but she knew how to calculate.
“Very well,” Cora allowed. “But only to Lake Park. It would be unfair to Mr. Hardee and our friends if they went farther.”
Mimi nodded. “Certainly. They can return home after the dance.”
“Dance!” Cora cried so loudly one of the horses neighed in answer from its stall in the carriage house.
“Dance,” Mimi insisted. “So pack something pretty. I’ve arranged to split the proceeds with the hotel, so we will raise money for our activities at the same time. Many will be staying the night at Lake Park to send you off in the morning in style.”
It was nearly as impossible to argue with her friend as it was with her mother. “Mr. Hardee isn’t going to like it,” Cora predicted.
Mimi tossed her head, making her hat slip on her upswept raven hair. “Mr. Hardee will simply have to accustom himself to it.”
And Cora would have to be the one to explain it to him when he called tomorrow.
Nathan stood looking up at the grand house on Tacoma Avenue. Three stories edged in bric-a-brac, at least eight bedrooms, all but one of them as empty as the owner’s heart. Why was he here?
“Sorry, sir,” the older maid said when she answered his knock. “Madam has gone out, and we’re not sure when she might return. If you’d like to leave a card?”
He hadn’t carried a calling card in years. It wasn’t as if he had many neighbors to call upon or time for such things. And most of the people homesteading in the Succotash Valley would likely have laughed at such an affectation.
“No, thank you,” he said before turning to go.
“I’ll be sure to tell her you came by,” the maid called after him.
Not that that would make any difference.
He paused on the sidewalk, feeling as adrift as the clouds crossing above him. No. He would not succumb to the melancholy that had driven him out of the city at his father’s death. He’d felt adrift then too, watching doors closing and nothing opening.
“We must go on with our lives,” his mother had said, twisting a silk handkerchief around her fingers as they rested in the lap of her mourning gown. “Mr. Porter of the Northern Pacific has let me know he holds me in the highest regard. As soon as appropriate, we will wed.”
He’d gaped at her. “Wed? You’re marrying again?”
“Yes,” she’d snapped. “And it isn’t as if I have a choice. Your father left me nothing, and you . . .”
“Have nothing to offer either,” he’d finished for her. “Thank you for the reminder, Mother.”
“You’re young,” she’d retorted, spine stiffening. “You’ll have opportunities. It’s different for women.”
Somehow, he thought Cora would have found another path.
He shook his head as he started for the banker’s home. She hadn’t given him permission to use her first name. Likely, she never would, him being the paid help, after all. But his mind refused to think of her any other way now.
The maid let him into the house with no questions this time, to the fancy parlor he’d seen when he’d come with Miss Fuller. He knew the practice. Family and close friends were invited into the family parlor deeper in the house. It had been an accident that he’d been allowed there when he’d first called. Of course, either parlor was better than waiting on the porch.
He made sure to take a seat on one of the hard-backed chairs near the window, nonetheless. By the way Cora was eyeing his coat, she’d realized he’d only brought the one with him. Not that he needed all that many where he lived.
Her mother insisted on joining them, gowned in mint green with roses embroidered on the long bodice, and this time she did not offer refreshments.
“I’d hoped to see your pack,” he told Cora.
She shifted on the hard seat near his, her gaze sweeping the flowered carpet. Not humility, not this woman. What was she trying to hide? Had she changed her mind?
Disappointment nipped at him. Likely only regret for the lost wages.
“I will bring it down shortly,” she promised, “but we must discuss something else first. I have been informed that we will have an escort when we leave tomorrow.”
“Escort.” The word hung in the air as tangibly as the scent of her mother’s perfume.
“An accompaniment, if you will,” she hurried to assure him. “And only to the hotel at Lake Park. Were we planning on staying there?”
He nodded slowly, trying to imagine what sort of escort she’d planned. The militia lining the street on horseback, sabers crossed overhead? Tacoma’s own brass band marching beside them, playing them out of the city? “How many people are joining this accompaniment?”
Again she shifted, as if the chair had grown hot. “I’m not entirely sure. A dozen, perhaps?”
Her mother tutted from her perch on a tufted chair across the room. “You have many more admirers than that, Coraline. I would expect no less than forty. Miss Carruthers tells me every room at Lake Park will be filled for the dance.”
Words failed him a moment. “Dance.”
Cora surged up from her seat and set about pacing the room, her skirts swinging as if even the geometric pattern on the edges longed to escape. “Yes, a dance. To raise money for our cause. I’m sure it will be delightful. Let’s discuss the rest of the trip. I believe you were going to share the route.”
He was still trying to accustom himself to the fact that there’d be a dance. Was this a game to her, after all?
“I’d planned to stay at a friend’s farm the second night,” he said, leaning back on the chair and stopping at the warning creak. “My cabin in the Succotash Valley the third, then Longmire’s Springs before we start climbing. For the climb itself, the first night at Camp of the Clouds in Paradise Park and Camp Muir at about the nine-thousand-foot level the next two nights. Then return to Paradise Park and reverse order on the way back
.”
Cora paused to aim a frown his way. “So long?”
He crossed his arms over his chest, recognized the defensive gesture, and forced his hands to fall to his sides. “It might be possible to go faster. But I’d like to give you and your stepfather as much time as possible to prepare yourselves to climb. You’ve done well in town, but climbing at altitude can sap the breath and hinder the heart. Best to get used to it gradually.”
“The timetable is unacceptable, as are the locations,” Mrs. Winston declared. “Mr. Winston cannot possibly be away from his bank so long. And surely there are more suitable lodgings. I understood Mount Tacoma was an important attraction to visitors.”
“It is,” Nathan agreed as Cora resumed her pacing. “But no hotels have yet been built on its slopes. You’ll have to accept my word for that.”
Her mother regarded him. “You disappoint me, Mr. Hardee. From what Mr. Winston told me of your background, I had expected a gentleman who recognized the finer points of good society.”
“I recognize them, ma’am,” he said. “I just don’t see the need for them in this case.”
Her mother lifted her chin. “I can see you are determined to be unreasonable. I shall accompany you to Longmire’s Springs.”
Cora jerked to a stop. “But Mother . . .”
Her mother held up a hand. “I see it as necessary, Coraline. None of you with the possible exception of Mr. Winston have any sense of decorum. I will have Lily pack my trunk.”
Cora opened her mouth as if to protest, then shut it again and cast him a look.
Cora, asking for his assistance? Pigs must be soaring over the house this very minute.
“If you insist on coming, you can’t bring a trunk,” he told her mother. “The mules can’t handle one.”
“Then I suggest,” her mother clipped out, “that you bring a wagon or better yet a carriage.”
She had no concept. “Not possible. The roads between here and there aren’t ready to accommodate a carriage. You’d break an axel on the first stretch of corduroy.”
Her blue eyes narrowed until he could feel the chill from across the room. “You must think me a fool, Mr. Hardee. I know no roads are made of fabric.”
He did think her a fool, but not for mistaking the word. “Corduroy roads are made by embedding logs into the mud, ma’am. It keeps the dirt from washing away in the rain. They make for bumpy, hard riding. Carriages can’t handle the constant strain. Neither can most wagons. We’ll be riding horses and stringing mules. And the weight of the packs has already been accounted for. If you want to come along, you’ll ride a horse and carry a pack like your daughter.”
Cora’s face broke into a grin that tugged him closer. The brief glimpse disappeared as she schooled her face and looked to her mother. “You see, Mother? It simply isn’t possible for you to join us.”
Her mother rose, and he stood as propriety demanded. Her gaze traveled up to his face, and her lips compressed as if she found the very height of him insulting. “I will speak to Mr. Winston. He will have something to say in the matter. You may go, Mr. Hardee.”
He looked to her daughter. “After I’ve approved Miss Baxter’s pack.”
“It’s all right, Mother,” she said in a rush, turning for the door. “It will only take a moment.”
Mrs. Winston accompanied her out of the room.
Nathan sank onto the chair. Winston had said his wife wasn’t easily swayed. The banker had better be persuasive this time, because Cora’s mother would never tolerate the trip from Tacoma to Longmire’s Springs.
And having her along would be a constant trial to his patience, and Cora’s determination to reach the summit.
9
Mimi’s send-off rivaled the one President Harrison had been given when he’d visited the city two years ago. Carriages lined C Street in both directions, some bearing banners reading “Votes for Women.” Ladies waved handkerchiefs out the windows. Gentlemen on fine mounts rode back and forth, greeting friends and acquaintances. And a group of older ladies gathered under the trees along the plank sidewalk, looking about in surprise, as if they wondered when the circus elephants would arrive.
“I believe they wish to support suffrage, dearest,” Winston explained when Cora’s mother questioned him. “I suspect they must keep to the shadows because their husbands wouldn’t approve.”
Cora would have liked to encourage them, but she had enough on her hands keeping her mother from the packs that lay waiting in the shade of the porte cochère. As it was, her mother kept ordering Lily to fetch something else to add to the pile: a lace-edged petticoat, a feathered hat, a gilt-edged hand mirror, and Cora’s jewel case.
“Take them all back,” Cora told the maid. “I don’t need them, and there isn’t room if I did.”
“I know, miss.” Lily glanced toward her mother. “But maybe you could tell her that.”
It wasn’t as if she could tell her mother anything. Neither could Winston. He had been unable to dissuade her from coming with them. In fact, her mother had insisted on riding in the carriage to Lake Park, her saddle horse and his tied behind. The yellow-sided coach also crowded the porte cochère, trunk and hatboxes stacked on top. Charlie, their man-of-all-work, was bringing Cora’s horse, Blaze, from the stables, her red leather sidesaddle in place and a red, white, and blue satin banner stretched over the back of the palomino proclaiming Cora’s support for women’s suffrage. When Nathan and Mr. Vance arrived with the mules, they had to thread their way onto the drive.
And when had she started thinking of him as Nathan?
The heat in her cheeks told her she was blushing as she went with Winston to greet them.
“Well met, my boy, Mr. Vance,” her stepfather heralded. “We seem to have a few more things that require accommodation. I don’t suppose you have room in the packs.”
“No,” Nathan said from his saddle on a chestnut mare. “The loads are balanced. I explained that to your wife yesterday. And neither the carriage nor what’s on top can be taken beyond Lake Park.”
Her mother must have heard, for she raised her voice where she stood beside the carriage. “You must tell him to do as we want, Mr. Winston. We are the ones hiring him.”
“And we are the ones who must listen,” Cora suggested. “Mr. Hardee understands such things.”
“You put a great deal of stock in his opinions,” her mother complained, flicking a speck of dust off the shoulder of her sky-blue coat so that the lace at her wrists fluttered.
“Why yes, Mother, I do,” Cora agreed, “seeing as how I am putting my life in his hands.” She turned to Nathan. “Would you care to inspect my pack, Mr. Hardee? I’d like your concurrence that it is appropriately balanced and carries the necessary items.”
He swung down and followed her to where Charlie had strapped the pack behind her saddle.
“I’m terribly sorry about all this,” she said, taking the gelding’s reins in one hand and stroking the white flash down his nose, for which he’d been named. “I tried to convince her to stay home, but she would have none of it.”
“She’ll give up once she sees the road down to the Mashel River,” he predicted, loosening the strings at the top of the pack and peering inside.
“I wouldn’t count on that.”
He chuckled as he moved this and that aside as if weighing each item. Then he straightened. “The right things, well balanced. Nice work, Miss Baxter.”
Warmth rose inside her once more. “I learned from the best, sir.”
He inclined his head.
Charlie stood waiting to help her mount. He bent with interlaced fingers.
Before she could raise her foot, Nathan’s hands spanned her waist. She sucked in a breath, and he tossed her up into the sidesaddle.
Swallowing, she hurriedly settled herself, draping the navy riding habit about her limbs.
“Ready?” he asked, green eyes as deep as the forest they would soon enter.
Cora nodded, then found her voic
e. “Ready.”
He glanced to Oscar on the top of the coach. “Follow us out of the city.”
Her pulse was galloping, faster than Blaze could go. It must have been the excitement. This was it. She was heading for the mountain, and glory.
As soon as Nathan had remounted, he and Mr. Vance set off from the drive, each holding the rope attached to a well-laden mule. Cora followed. The carriage rumbled behind them.
A shout went up. It was joined by a dozen others. The women under the trees waved at her, faces hopeful. Mimi’s clear alto started the song.
Daughters of freedom arise in your might!
March to the watchwords Justice and Right!
Why will ye slumber? Wake, o wake!
Lo! On your legions light doth break!
A chorus rang out over the sound of tack, the rattle of carriage wheels, and the drum of hooves.
Sunder the fetters “custom” hath made!
Come from the valley, hill, and glade!
It was amazing, unthinkable, stupendous. She was causing a stir of the very best kind. She kept her head high as they rode along C Street and down to Pacific. Businessmen came out of the banks and waved their hands over their heads. Lady shoppers and the clerks who attended them crowded the windows. Other wagons and carriages stopped in the street to watch them pass.
Things settled a little as they turned right at Nineteenth, rode up to Jefferson, and followed the steel tracks of the Tacoma and Lake Park Railway past the wooden steeple of Our Lady of the Holy Rosary. Some of the gentlemen had started the chorus of “The Boy I Love Is Up in the Gallery,” and the ladies in the carriages were laughing as they all thundered over the bridge spanning the gulley beyond the church. The road widened on the other side.
“You’re too slow, Miss Baxter!” Johnny Westacre shouted as he galloped around her.
“And I’ve always considered you too fast,” Cora flung after her friend with a laugh.
A moment more, and the other carriages, including her mother’s, followed him.
“Race you to Lake Park!” Mimi cried with a wave.