Authors: Lucy Inglis
Crow Mountain (2 page)
I stared at the mirror, turning my head slowly left and right. My abundant hair was black like night and shone as if it had been varnished. Piled up as it was, it gave the overall impression that my head was too heavy for my neck. Mama thought this appearance artful, along with some very tight corset lacing. All of it conspired to make me appear the merest slip of a thing, particularly at parties, where she often had my stays tightened by an extra two inches. And perhaps it had been worth it, for Mr Stanton's proposal had come so
soon after his receipt of the photographs. He had telegraphed my father the following day, and over the next hours my future had been tapped out in Morse Code across thousands of miles at the cost of one dollar a letter. At the memory, my chest tightened and the walls suddenly seemed to be closing in on me.
âMiss Adams, would you be kind enough to loosen these stays, please? The room is not hot, I know, but it is so very airless.'
Her mousey face sharpened but she unfastened the back of my dress and let out the stays, just a little. I took a deep, inelegant breath, dragging at the collar to free my throat and shoulders.
âAnd might we open the window a little?'
The manner in which she threw up the sash indicated she did not approve of this either. And perhaps she was right, as the air that came into the room was scarcely that of the purest kind. Still, it was cool and there was a tang of the fresh wind we had experienced on our long journey over the Great Plains, first by rail, then by stagecoach.
Papa and Mama were travelling separately, and had departed earlier in order to get to San Francisco early and finalize the wedding plans. The journey through Montana was our final leg, but the coming weeks were probably to be the most arduous â or so Mr Goldsmith had warned me. The Indians were attacking all along the Bozeman Trail and no one was safe, but on this route he told me they were mostly unthreatening. And on the Oregon Trail people were dying of
a terrible disease and that must be avoided at all costs. It was so bad they were being buried under the trail itself, so that the wagons passing over them might break down their bodies very quickly and stop the wolves eating their bones.
I looked over at the window, wanting to feel the breeze on my skin. After all day in the coach I felt horribly trapped in the small room, but it would be indecorous to stand any closer to the window, where I might be seen, my pale shoulders exposed.
It was then that I saw you.
You were riding a white horse spattered with large tan splotches, your feet kicked out of the stirrups as you approached the hotel. Behind you trailed another horse on a rope. I had never seen anyone so at ease on horseback, and moved closer to the window. I hadn't yet seen your limp, nor your pale eyes, but I could see your longish brown hair and your unshaven jaw. Around your neck was a leather lace, from which dangled assorted objects. There seemed to be a knife, some feathers, with a few spent cartridges amongst them. You were squinting with fatigue, for the early evening spring sunshine was not bright. I hadn't noticed I'd taken another step further towards the open window, fingers touching the frame. A rifle sat behind your right leg, stock sticking out of its sling, though I had become used to guns in my short time in America. I had seen more guns in the month since we arrived in New York than I had thought to exist in the entire world. You were dressed in long, soft Indian boots that laced around your legs, trousers, and a shirt with a battered suede
waistcoat over it.
I forgot about the strictures of my stays, captivated. You pulled the horses to a halt in the rutted dust by the hotel's hitching post, and swung yourself down in the most graceful manner possible. As you slung the reins over the horses' heads and caressing them, I could see you were speaking to them but in the noise leaking from the hotel and the clamour on the street there was no way for me to hear what you were saying. As you moved to tie them to the rail I saw the difficulty you had when out of the saddle: you were lame in the right leg.
I watched as you handed the waiting hotel urchin a coin to keep an eye on the animals, and I was still standing there, staring, when you looked up, your expression unreadable. My breath caught and my heart began to thump as if it would jump out of my chest. From the window frame, my fingers lifted, then hesitated, uncertain. How long we stood there I, to this day, have no idea.
Miss Adams's cry of dismay pierced me. She ran forward, pulling me away and flinging the window down. Turning on me, her tirade was impressive. âMiss Forsythe! How could you expose yourself to such a man? To the whole street, undressed!'
I put out my hands, pleading, yet I couldn't help but glance back at the window again. âI wished only for a moment or two of air. I had thought there was no harm in it. Please, do not tell Mama. I shall not behave in such a fashion again.' I stood, dress hanging from my shoulders. If Miss Adams did tell of what I had done, then I would be in considerable trouble, and
Mama's disapproval was so hard to endure. I thought quickly. âBut if you were to write to Mama, of course, she would wonder why I had been left to my own devices.'
Miss Adams's mouth closed like a man-trap. I said nothing more, but went over to the bed, fetching the travelling photograph frame containing my two photographs of the handsome, immaculately suited Mr Stanton. Going to my nightstand, I opened the frame with a snap, like a book, and placed it where I should see it when I went to sleep and when I awoke, as had become my custom.
âI should like to change before we eat. These clothes feel travel-stained,' I said, presenting my back to her. She unfastened my dress, hands crueller than necessary. I made a mental note that, as a married woman, I should very much like a lady's maid who did not pull me about, and was considerate with the hairbrush. Worthy Miss Adams may have been; gentle she was not.
âMight we eat downstairs, do you think?' I asked, as she finished buttoning my evening gown.
âAmongst his kind of rabble? I think not,' she sniffed.
I bit my lips together. Was I so transparent? Had I even admitted to myself I should like to catch a glimpse of you again? What was it about you that made me brave enough to request eating in a room full of men who terrified me? You were older than me, that much I guessed. It was hard to say how much older. Your tan, though undesirable in a civilized man, suited you. But you did look wild, and dusty. The horses were still hitched to the post. You were down
there, somewhere.
We ate in the room. The food was dreadful. Some sort of leathery pork steak with the obligatory beans. Owing to father's entertaining duties for the embassy, our meals at home in London had frequently featured caviar, champagne jellies and spun sugar confections, but I loved best Cook's little treats of an apple and cheese or a biscuit slipped on to my tray when Mama wasn't in the room. I placed my knife and fork together in silence. Miss Adams said nothing. Eating very little was ladylike, and she approved of ladylike behaviour. My travelling companion wasn't one for conversation, but as all she would have done would be to remind me of my lapse I was grateful for the silence.
So, the interminable wait for the moment of retirement began. I had read all my books, and there were no more to be had at the hotel. Some had a small stock laid by, but Miss Adams had yet to find something suitable. The coach was to depart at dawn the following morning, so we were going to be up early. I stifled a feigned yawn. I doubted I would sleep: the wilder the territory became, the more fear crowded my thoughts and it was worse at night.
âI shall prepare to retire, I think.'
I managed to snatch a glance out of the window as I passed. The white and brown horse was still there, waiting patiently. But alone.
The next morning, we were up and dressed before the sunrise. The stagecoach team were keen to cover the miles.
We would be travelling long distances over the coming days and stopping only at staging posts. It was the remotest part of our journey, and not without its perils. Our guards were armed and taking no chances, as there were deserters and road agents to be found in the foothills of the mountains.
When hearing of our plan to avoid the Oregon Trail, Mr Stanton had written to tell me that his family's railway company were planning to scout our route for a new branch of the Pacific Railroad. He asked me if I would be so kind and such a help to him as to make notes on the terrain, and any large bodies of water or mountains. Perhaps I might even sketch them? I ordered new pencils, water colours and sketchbooks so that I might be of use to my future husband.
Outside at dawn, waiting to climb into the coach, I looked at the hitching post. The horse was gone. The street empty.
Mr Goldsmith, huge and forbidding in his great overcoat, appeared and opened the coach door, handing me in. âMorning, miss,' he said in his gruff manner, smelling somewhat of whiskey.
âGood day.' I settled into my seat, stays already digging into my hip bones.
We left Helena, and set out on a trail towards a place called Fort Shaw, hurrying because soon the glacier high up in the mountains would experience the spring melt, which would make crossing all the rivers far more dangerous. Fort Shaw, according to the men I had heard talking when we stopped to water the horses, was little more than a military camp to keep the trail open, but there we would take on
provisions and fresh horses. After that, we would branch west into the mountains.
Indian territory.
â
I
can't believe we forgot the tea bags,' Meredith said.
I didn't forget them. I told you I didn't have room in my case
.
âAnd you should eat something.'
âPlease, Mum, I'm OK.'
Far beneath them, the Great Plains were spread out in the midday sun. Hope took the water bottle from the back of the seat pocket in front of her and chugged a gulp. The silence between them stretched out. Meredith hated it when Hope called her âMum'. So Hope did it quite a lot. Meredith's idea of equality and feminism was that all women were on first-name terms. Hope's idea was that having a mum meant you got to call her âMum'.
The pilot announced that they would soon be starting their descent into Helena. Hope grabbed her wash bag and
went to the back of the small aircraft. Inside the cramped space, the fluorescent light flickered as she threw the lock. She eyed her scruffy reflection, like a wary stork. After a slow start, the last couple of years had added inches to her height, and Hope was still settling into being considerably taller than her neat little mother. A pair of khaki shorts, a white singlet and a thin grey cardigan all hung from her, crumpled. There were violet smudges beneath her green eyes and her freckled skin was washed out in the harsh light. Only her long fair hair was full of life, streaming over her shoulders. The flush sucked out with a noisy whoosh and a blast of cold. She washed her face, brushed her teeth and her hair and applied some lip balm. Then she was back in her seat as the seat-belt sign came on and the little plane lurched into its final descent.
On the tarmac, the terminal building came into view. Long, low buildings in a solid grey surrounded a green, barn-like building with a pitched roof. The airport was tiny. Behind it, huge mountains rose up in the distance, almost lost in the haze of the spring day.
âWell, we're here,' Meredith said brightly, as the cabin crew mobilized and the aircraft rolled to a halt.
âGreat,' Hope murmured under her breath.
Her mother shot her a look. âAt least give it a chance. How many people of your age get to travel like you?'
Hope gestured towards the window. âA ranch? What am I going to do for a month, on a ranch?' She stood up and opened the overhead locker, pulling down her rucksack and shoving her wash bag inside it. âIf they don't have proper WiFi,
and the movie channel, I'm going to die.'
Meredith stood. âThey told me they do. In the emails they sent me,' she said. âI asked especially. Though why you would want to fly five thousand miles to one of the last great ecosystems in the world and spend your time watching Hollywood films, I just don't know.'
âI didn't ask to come.'
âYou're sixteen. And you always come. It's one of the great advantages of home-schooling,' Meredith said, tucking her short, sleek dark hair behind her ears. âAnd what are other girls your age doing? Hanging around in a park, drinking? Taking drugs? Messaging boys naked pictures of themselves?'
âI've never done that and I won't.'
âMen only take advantage if you let them. You must use your personal agency as a woman to stop that happening.' Her mother tugged her handbag out of her cabin luggage, taking out a comb and running it over her head. Meredith disapproved of make-up.
Hope slung her rucksack over her shoulder and looked down the gangway to where the few other passengers on the tin-can plane were pulling on sweaters and retrieving their bags. The cabin door opened and sunshine flooded in. She gnawed her lip, arms folded.
âWill you just try and appreciate the time here? For me?' her mum added. âWho knows, it could be a real adventure.'
They crossed the tarmac into the green terminal building. Inside, it was lofty and utilitarian, smelling vaguely of cinnamon-scented cleaning products.
They queued for passport control and then waited in silence for their bags with the dozen other passengers, the carousel squeaking. Theirs was almost the last stuff to come through. Hope grabbed her large, black nylon holdall, struggling with the weight. Meredith lifted her rolling case and popped up the handle efficiently. They went towards the exit, and emerged into the terminal building. There was a seating area and a bar called Captain Jack's. Meredith came to a halt, Hope just behind her.
âHe said he'd be here . . .' she said slowly, scanning the terminal.
âWho?'
âCaleb Crow.'
Hope raised an eyebrow. âCaleb? Sounds like a Mormon.'
âNo, he's a hugely respected rancher. And he has no religious affiliations as far as I know. I told him what we looked like.'
Hope wasn't listening. She was staring at a tall boy wearing jeans, plain brown leather boots and a chequered shirt with the sleeves rolled above his elbows. He was on his phone with his weight slightly on one leg, shrugging as he talked and scanned the stragglers. Everything about him was narrow and angular, his hips, his chest, his throat. He had bright blue eyes, shiny brown hair pushed off his face, a sharp jaw and tanned skin that looked slightly dusty. Hope had never seen anything like him. She knew she was staring as she began to revise her expectations of Montana very sharply upwards. He caught her gaze and stopped talking. There was a long second
before the person on the other end of the line gained his attention again, as Hope and the young cowboy stared at each other. He ended the call and walked towards them.
Hope looked away, embarrassed to have been caught gawping and hoping he wasn't going to try and talk to her, while wanting more than anything in the world for him to come over. But it always went badly if a boy tried to talk to her in front of Meredith. She looked at the floor, just as a pair of well-worn leather boots appeared.
âMrs West?' asked a clear and very American voice.
He's here for us? Oh God. Please please let him be here for us. Maybe he works for the ranch. Oh God
.
âIt's Dr West, actually.' Meredith's voice was cool.
âAh, sorry, ma'am. Of course. Dr West,' he said seriously.
She raised an eyebrow. âWe were expecting Caleb Crow?'
He offered a tanned hand. âYou've got him, ma'am. We're both Caleb. Me and Dad. I'm Cal, for the sake of all our sanities.'
They shook. âThis is my daughter, Hope.'
Cal turned to her. He radiated health and athleticism. Hope felt even more exhausted. His dry, calloused grip enveloped her hand. He shook once, then let her go. âHey there,' he said, not quite meeting her eyes. âLet me take your bag.' He stooped and put his hand on the black strap of her holdall.
âWe only bring what we can carry ourselves,' Meredith said. âWe can manage.'
Cal removed the bag from Hope's hands without trying, straightening up. âSure you can. But now you don't have to.'
Turning, he took the handle of Meredith's case and began to drag it behind him, loping off towards the bright glass doors of the terminal.
Meredith took a deep breath. âWell. He seems very nice,' she said, âchauvinism aside. But this is the Midwest, I suppose. Still living in a different century.'
They followed him out into the fresh air. Hope took a deep breath and looked around. Cal was stowing their bags in the flatbed of a vintage white Ford pick-up. It was huge. He walked to the passenger door and opened it.
Hope looked at him, and he gestured inside. There was room for three. A rifle was strapped into the rear window. She held back, looking at it and the spartan interior. Meredith climbed in, busying herself with fastening the lap belt. Hope sighed, not wanting to be cramped up again. Her limbs hadn't started to loosen from a day's flying and waiting around in JFK, then Salt Lake City.
âIt's really not too far to home,' Cal said in his steady, light drawl, as if reading her mind.
Hope looked at him. He met her gaze, his eyes an even brighter blue in the sunshine. She bit her lip on a smile. Somewhere nearby a bird was singing. It swooped low above them, its wings a stunning blue. He watched it whip through the air, disappearing over the long-term car park, song fading out.
âWas that a Montana bluebird?' Meredith called from inside the pick-up, startling them out of their shared moment. âAstonishing to see one so close to an airport.'
âYes, Dr West,' Cal replied. âMust've heard you were coming.'
Hope swore he shot her the ghost of a wink. She got into the pick-up, pushing her holdall into the footwell, and he closed the door behind her.
They skirted the edges of Helena, driving down a long boulevard with low buildings on either side. Traffic lights hung on arched gantries over the tarmac junctions. Gaudy signs for stores and restaurants clustered by the side of the road. There were the golden arches, and a huge plastic pig was advertising a ribs shack. A drab motel had only a few cars outside. Hope stared out of the window, as Meredith attempted to make conversation.
âSo, Cal, how far are we going?'
They were at a stop signal. He shifted in the seat a little, his elbow out of the window and long body lax in the seat. âNot too far. It's just a few hours.'
Hope's heart sank, but she stayed looking out of the window.
âWe need to swing by Fort Shaw and collect a few things from the store.'
Meredith nodded. âWell, thank you for meeting us. It's very kind. It would have been such a nuisance to hire a car just to get to the ranch and back.'
He shrugged. âA pleasure. And like I said in the email, there's plenty of vehicles you can use back at home so pointless to get a rental for one journey.' The light changed and they moved forwards. Hope wound down her window, wanting the breeze on her face.
âI thought it was your father in the emails,' Meredith admitted.
âDid you?' He sounded surprised. âNo, it was always me. Dad's not big on email. Not even sure he would know how to use it. The only thing he looks at on the computer is the weather forecast and the price of feed.'
âI'm very much looking forward to seeing the ranch. I've heard a great deal about the ecosystem you've managed to maintain. I think it will be invaluable for my research.'
He nodded. âThe ranch goes back a long way in the family. The first deeded acres we have are from 1871. We've worked hard over the years to keep everything as natural as we can. We don't use any pesticides and we cultivate as little as possible. It's a working ranch though,' he said after a pause. âNot much glamour about it.' The way he spoke was slow compared to Londoners.
Hope carried on looking out of the window, breathing in the fresh air. The buildings were thinning out.
âI respect that and thank you for letting us stay with you. We don't need glamour, do we, Hope?' Meredith said.
Hope shook her head, looking at her hands.
âHope's rather shy, as you can see.'
Great, thanks, Mum. The hottest boy ever, and you're making me out to be a massive loser already
.
He said nothing, just indicated to turn on to a different road, a two-lane highway stretching into the distance, dead straight. On one side were the mountains, on the other, the plains stretched away.
As they drove, Meredith questioned him. His answers were economical, but not unfriendly.
âYes, I'm nineteen.'
âWhich college are you attending?'
âI'm not at college, Dr West.'
âOh, are you taking a gap year?'
Hope sighed internally and let her head rest against the doorframe.
There was a long pause. âI didn't graduate high school.' Hope sensed, rather than saw, him look sideways at her mother. She also sensed the judgement coming from Meredith, who thought that higher education was the meaning of life. Hope leant against the ribbed white enamel of the door and stared out at the landscape.
Ahead of them by the side of the road was a tall, metal-clad building, almost like a tower with no windows. Around it were other towers, but round. They looked ghostly and abandoned. Parts of the metal cladding were falling away.
âWhat's that, please?' Hope asked, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
He looked across at her for a moment, surprised by the sound of her voice. âGrain elevator. Storage. That one's not been used in a while.'
âIt looks like a lot around here hasn't been used in a while,' Hope said, feeling the colour rise in her cheeks, unsure of why she was even still speaking.
âYeah, we've suffered a little with the economy, depopulation, stuff like that.'
Coming up on their left was a small fenced-off square. Inside, old wooden crosses mingled with the odd headstone. In front of one were artificial flowers in a jam jar. Hope leant a little to keep it in view, and realized as the square passed behind the driver's side window that she was looking straight at Cal. She sat back, letting her hair fall in her face.
âDo you study, Hope?'
Hope looked at her hands in her lap, thumbs locked together around her empty water bottle, as her mother answered for her.