“Watch this rock,” he said.
He sent the next one in a long, wide arc across the water. It made nine jumps. He leaned closer to me, pointing. A shiver ran down my back at his proximity. But I reminded myself that he was only being kind. Friendly. “See how the skips get progressively closer until the rock is claimed by the lake?” He straightened. “That’s what it will be like for you, Cora. Getting easier and easier until you have it. Until you’re exactly where you want to be.”
And where exactly did he think I wanted to be? I stared out at the intermingling, fading circles cast by the impact of his last skipping stone and smiled. “Thank you, Will.”
He picked up another rock and sent it flying. “Not at all.”
I was in a small cottage with four bedrooms, with one for me, the other two assigned to my sisters, and the fourth housing our maids, including Anna. I tossed and turned, listening to the crickets outside my window, thinking of the water and my desire to swim until I’d had enough. Till I could rid myself of the angst that tugged at me, my homesickness that kept begging me to find my way back. I thought of my conversation with Mama just after I’d found out about her and Mr. Kensington. I’d never reassured her of my love, my forgiveness for the years she’d lied to me. Not lied—neglected to tell me the truth. But was I ready to forgive her? I thought not.
My sheets in knots, I lit a candle and checked my watch. It was past one in the morning. Perhaps, relieved of my itch and chilled by the lake water, I could cuddle beneath my covers and sleep until noon, leaving only part of the day to negotiate the labyrinth of difficult people that suddenly populated my life.
I threw back my quilt and went to a trunk, using the light of the nearly full moon to find my bathing costume, purchased along with the rest of my trousseau in Butte. I’d never had a bathing costume at home. When we’d gone to the swimming hole on the Thompson farm, we’d just worn old dresses. But it’d been years since I’d been swimming at all. Suddenly, I couldn’t wait.
In the white-and-black suit, which covered me from neck to thigh but left the rest of me scandalously bare, I was glad for the dark of night as I ventured out. I tiptoed down the hallway and slowly opened the screen door, desperately hoping I wouldn’t wake anyone. At least here, there were no drunken miners. We were the only people for many miles.
Gently, I closed the door and crept down the front steps, then over the lawn, wincing as rocks and pine needles bit at the tender soles of my feet. When my toes met the icy water, I paused, already cooled by the air coming off the surface. The moon’s reflection danced on the inky water, barely moving atop ripples that called to me. I stepped in, taking care to not splash, moving slowly, methodically until I was thigh deep. Shivering in the icy water, gooseflesh covering me from toe to scalp, I considered turning back but could not fathom returning to the cottage without doing what I’d wanted all evening.
Chest deep in water that threatened to set my teeth to chattering, I reached up and let out my braid, letting my hair fall around my shoulders and float upon the water. I could feel the gentle pull of the river to my right, tugging at my legs, and wondered how it would feel to swim against the current farther down, where it increased in velocity. If I floated on my back, how long would it take to carry me to the bridge? I smiled and ducked under the water then, taking several long strokes with my arms and kicking, liking the feel of freedom. The bathing costume was far easier to swim in than a dress. I could see how they’d come into fashion.
My lungs bursting for lack of air, I slowly rose to the surface, barely disturbing the water as I blinked and peered toward the shore. A few gaslights lit the pathways near the main lodge, but no one walked upon them. It seemed all but me were asleep. For the moment, I was perfectly, blessedly alone. I turned over on my back, floating, looking up at the moon and the few stars bright enough to see, stretching out my arms and feeling my body turning, the river calling.
For several minutes, I forced myself not to look, not to see how far I’d drifted, considering it a good exercise in relinquishing control. God, God, I prayed. I am so far away from everything and everyone I love. Why? Why have You brought me here?
I waited for a vision, a word. Something. But all I could see was the endless dark sky. No voice filled my ears, only the progressively louder sound of the water about me. I rose, and with some surprise realized I’d drifted a good fifty feet. I was not far from the mouth of the river. It was fortunate I hadn’t waited another minute to look around.
The rocks here were slippery with moss. I slid and winced, feeling the hard edged points and crags of every stone beneath my feet. My exit was far less smooth than my entry, and I was thankful, once again, for the privacy of the moment.
That was when I smelled it. Cigarette smoke. Eyes narrowed, I searched the heavy shadows of the big cedars until I found the source—the orange, burning ember, the cloud of smoke casually released.
I stood straighter even as my face burned, not wanting him to see me cower. Knowing I’d discovered him, he pushed off from the trunk of the tree and moved to intercept me. Hugh Morgan. “It’s late for a swim,” he said lowly, sucking on his cigarette.
“After the heat of the day, dust from the road, it was exactly what I needed,” I said lightly, passing by him.
“Had I known, I would’ve joined you,” he said, falling into step with me. Even in the dark, I could feel the heat of his gaze on my bare arms, which only made me shiver all the more. “I almost did, bathing costume or no.”
I shot him a horrified look. Just what was he saying? “It hardly would have been proper. I would have left immediately.” I doubled my pace.
“Cora.”
Reluctantly, I paused and turned. I could just make out the handsome, angular lines of his face in the warm light of the gas lamp. He forced a smile. “I am offering you friendship, Cora. Seems to me you could use as many friends as you can find in this group.”
I straightened my bathing costume, wishing it wouldn’t cling as it did. Much as I hated it, he was right.
“Thank you for your offer of friendship, Hugh,” I managed to say. “But what do we have in common that would bind us as friends?”
He took a long pull on his cigarette, considering me. He blew it out to the side and said, “A reluctance to embrace all that the family name offers? Or maybe something as simple as a penchant for evening dips?” A catlike smile spread across his face as he tapped his cigarette on a low fence, letting the ashes fall.
“I prefer to bathe alone.” I forced myself to stare back at him.
“Pity, that,” he said, laughing under his breath. “Even in the light of day?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t mind joining everyone tomorrow for a dip after the noon meal.”
“Good, good,” he said, nodding.
I didn’t want to think of Hugh Morgan as an enemy. After all, he was right—I needed all the friends I could get. But I couldn’t deny the way my hands clenched at my side, as if I was preparing to fight. What was it about him that felt subtly predatory? Dangerous? Slowly, I unclenched my hands, pretending I was relaxed, in charge. “Perhaps now I can sleep. Good night, Hugh.”
He smiled and winked, taking another long draw on his cigarette. “Good night, sweet Cora,” he said, every syllable full of innuendo. “Or shall I call you Ophelia?”
I knew he referenced the Ophelia of Hamlet, famously floating upon the waters. “Cora suits me well,” I said, forcing a smile and turning, feeling his eyes still on me.
Still, as I donned my nightgown and slipped under the covers again, I sighed in relief. I was finally ready to fall into a deep slumber. But just as I was edging off into unconsciousness, my eyes popped open.
Ophelia had mourned her father, like I did in a way. My real father—Alan—who had loved me and raised me, yet lied to me about who I was… If he’d had the strength, would Papa have had the right words for me, when Mama did not? Would he have known what I should say, do now? Here?
Never had I felt farther from them. I s
tared out the window, glimpsing stars among the ghostly silhouettes of trees, and thought of Ophelia, convinced no one loved her, drowned and floating upon the water.
CHAPTER 12
Cora
Will’s first lesson on the history of England took up most of the day. The others filed out afterward, intent on a canoe race to the island. Not one had spoken to me since last night. Even Felix.
Will shoved his big map book and his notes into a satchel as I gathered my things and hurried toward the door, my head a swirling tornado of thoughts—wondering about my papa, my inability to keep my mouth shut, how the rest of the summer would go…
“Cora,” Will said as I passed him.
I paused and dared to look up at him. He truly was boyishly handsome, but it was his eyes, so warm with compassion, that moved me most. He smelled of fresh pine and warm leather, with a little dose of sharp ink, which stained several of his fingertips.
“How about we take our own canoe ride?”
“Oh,” I breathed, “Please. There’s no need—you…” I stopped and brought fingers to my aching temple. “I’ve created a breach. I’ll find a bridge, in time.”
“Undoubtedly.” He gave me a small smile. “Allow me to assist you in building it. Let’s go out on the lake.”
I shook my head and squinted at him. “How is that not like inviting oneself to a party?”
“It’s not a party. It’s a lake. And there are still several empty canoes available on shore, I’d wager.”
I sighed. “How about a horseback ride instead? Up into the mountains? Far from here?” Hope rising with each progressive question.
His smile broadened. “It shall be much cooler on the lake. Come,” he said, already moving toward the door. “We needn’t be near the others. We can take our own route.”
Will steadied the canoe as I lifted my skirts and made my way forward. Out on the lake already, Nell was with her brother Hugh, Andrew with Vivian, and Felix with his sister Lillian. So far, Felix and Lil were in the lead.
“Hold tight,” Will said, shoving off. I watched over my shoulder as he perched on the edge and then carefully climbed aboard, barely tipping the canoe. We glided forward, behind the others, but that was all right too. I liked being able to see them all—while staying out of their line of vision.
“Been in a canoe before?” he asked lowly.
“Never,” I said over my shoulder. “Perhaps you can tell by my stroke.”
“You’ll do better if you hold your left hand on the top and your right hand low, toward the blade.” I studied his example and then repositioned my hands, as he continued, “When you paddle, dig in. Think of the water as soil, and you’re pushing back as much as you can. I’ll steer. You can trade sides as you need or leave it all to me.”
I looked ahead and saw that Hugh and Nell were racing Felix and Lillian to the tiny island. Andrew and Vivian casually followed behind. None of the other women were resting; I’d do my part. And I found that as I did, it felt good to move, to push my muscles. I was used to hard work on the farm; the last few days had demanded little more from me than lifting a teacup or lacing up a corset. No—Anna saw even to the corset and clipping up my wretched stockings. Exerting myself now felt like a relief rather than a burden.
“Would you like to see a beaver den?”
I nodded, and he turned our canoe south, into gentle waves moving toward us. I silently admired his prowess and wondered if he was looking at me or at the lake as we paddled. I sat straighter, aware of him in a new way. And not an entirely good way. He’s our guide, nothing more, I told myself. You need a friend, Cora. Don’t ruin the one friendship you may make this summer.
The sun was still climbing, making the water a more true blue versus the morning steel and evening’s still green. It was the first time I let my guard down, really drank in the beauty of where I was, appreciating it rather than missing Dunnigan or wishing I was in Minnesota with my folks.
Perhaps it was the physical break from the others that allowed me such a moment. I paddled hard with Will, inhaling the scent of rotting grass and rich mud on the banks of the lake. We rounded the bend, and above us, to our right, was a lone, heavily treed mountain. And to our left were many others like it, lush and green—above them, magnificent purple snow-covered peaks, high above the tree line. The lake below reflected their silhouettes on either edge as the water stilled with the onset of evening.
I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes, listening to our paddles dip and pull, pause, dip and pull. Then opened my eyes to again take in the grandeur.
“Your father chose his property well, did he not?” Will asked, his voice behind me somehow just right with the view, warm and woodsy.
“Indeed,” I said, stiffening at his use of father. “But had it been me, I would have situated the cottages and lodge here, where we could see the whole length of the lake and these mountains.” I shook my head. “Why would he not place them here? Around the bend with the view?”
“Perhaps he wanted each guest to experience what you just did,” Will said quietly. “That moment of awe as it opens up before you.”
“Perhaps,” I said. But I didn’t know. It seemed out of character for my father, in some ways. From what I’d seen, he was never understated, always forthright. Would not such a bold man wish to place his summer home in the boldest location possible? But then, what did I really know of Mr. Kensington? We’d only met six days ago.
“Here we are,” Will said. I glanced back at him and saw that he pointed at the shoreline. “A groundskeeper told me they’ve been denning here for decades.”
“It appears so!” I said, admiring the massive pile of sticks that made up the lodge. The beavers had dammed a small inlet to the lake, creating a large pond on the other side of a slight hill. As I glanced to the shore, I could see that trees had been felled twenty feet from the edge. “Industrious, aren’t they?”
“Indeed.”
We pulled up close to the den, peering into its depths. It looked as if the structure went down a good six or seven feet. “That’s amazing,” I said in awe. “How do they know how to build such things?”
“God plants the knowledge in them.” He smiled. He really had a quite friendly face, I thought, and with that brown hair that curled at the nape of his neck…
“So it’s inborn, eh?” I asked, steering my mind toward more appropriate thoughts. “It really is something, isn’t it? That God designs every little facet of creation, knowing how one element affects the next. That these beavers with their hardworking ways will create a pond where there once was forest, and that in turn changes the whole ecology.”
His blue eyes—darker than mine—smiled back at me. As if he wanted me to think about my own words. Then, “You’ve studied ecology?”
“Ecology and biology. Next term…” I paused, briefly wondering if there would be a next term of Normal School. “Next term, I shall even study a bit of zoology. Perhaps I’ll write my paper on beavers,” I said, smiling over my shoulder at him.
We resumed paddling. “Beavers have the most curious eyelids,” Will said, gently paddling to keep the current from shifting us away from the den. “They’re translucent, allowing them to see underwater.”
“Fascinating,” I said. “I wish I could do that.” We shared a small laugh, and as it faded, I thought it might have been my first real laugh since leaving home. “Did you learn such facts at the university?”
“Ah, no. I wanted to study architecture at university. I had to…take a sabbatical for a couple of years. My uncle wanted me to apprentice as a tour bear anyway. He thinks a man learns far more from the tour than anything they can teach in a college, and it’s the family business and all. But I hope to return and complete my degree in a year or two.”
“I see.” I could hear the burn and hesitation in his voice and gathered he’d run out of money. Now here he was, with Felix, who would complete his education come fall, and Will had had no choice but to drop out. So I am not the onl
y one who feels less-than in their company. The only one who feels forced into being here.
Gratitude surged through me at the realization. It made me feel closer to him than any of my kin.
“There’s one,” Will whispered excitedly. I scanned the surface of the water and then saw the small nose and broad cheeks of a beaver, his teeth clenched across a tender sapling still sporting its first green leaves of summer. His broad tail spread behind him, and a triangular ripple widened beyond him in his wake. He reached the den, lumbered up it slowly, and deposited the young tree, nosing it into just the right position.
“Beavers are notoriously slow on land, but excellent swimmers. If alarmed, he’ll slap the water before diving, a sound that will carry a good distance under water, alerting any other beavers in the area that there’s danger about.” As Will finished speaking, the beaver turned and sidled back into the water, disappearing beneath.
He nodded toward him. “And that coat allows him to be in the water in the coldest of months.”
“So he doesn’t feel as cold as we do,” I said.
“Indeed not. Nor did he fear us much, did he?” He cast a wry grin in my direction, and I shook my head. “Shall we go to the island now?”
I stared out at my siblings and the Morgans, realizing this had been his intention all along—to ease me into their company again. “If we must,” I said with a sigh.
Will chuckled lowly behind me. “We must. In time the ripples will be fewer and fewer—”
“Yes, yes,” I said, digging my paddle into the water as if I really wished to reach them. “They’ll get closer together. But how long will that take?”
“You force them to think, Cora. They have to respect that, even if they disagree with you. That respect will make things easier, in time.”
We paddled in silence for a while, gradually drawing closer to the group, but they were still a good quarter mile distant. “You’ll come to enjoy the tour,” he said quietly. “Travel expands us in ways we never know are possible before our feet touch foreign soil. I’m glad you will experience it.”
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