Anna woke the next morning to light rain pattering on the roof. Thinking of that man’s hands clasped behind her back made her shudder.
She opened her window to catch sight of the mountain and breathe fresh air. The icy peak towered in the distance, and her newfound resolve settled comfortably within her spirit. A smile came over her lips as she savored the idea of summiting. There was nothing frail about Anna Gallagher.
She opened her drawer where she’d been collecting newspaper clippings. After finding the article about Isabella Bird, the explorer and mountaineer, she’d searched for others like it and saved them.
One article was about Lucy Walker, a British woman who’d summited the Matterhorn in the Alps in 1871. The article wasn’t about her, though; it was about a male mountaineer who spoke poorly of Ms. Walker, saying surely all the strenuous exercise required to mountaineer would impede her ability to accomplish wifely duties.
She glared at the clipping. The man’s ignorance seemed inescapable—every man seemed to fall prey to some misgivings about women’s strength.
She searched through the stories she’d collected for the one about a group of mountaineers who’d attempted to summit Mount Rainier the summer before, in 1888—all men. The group was made up of a reporter, a professor, and one mountaineer who’d summited years earlier. The article concluded with the contact information of the organizer, Mr. William Flannaghan of Tacoma. They had failed to summit due to weather, but he was gathering a group to try again in August 1890—next summer.
She pulled out a piece of paper, and with shaky fingers composed a letter.
Dear Mr. Flannaghan,
I am writing in hopes that you would consider including me in your attempt to summit Mount Rainier next summer. I am a woman, and I know mountaineers are traditionally men, but ever since I arrived in Washington when I was a little girl I have looked up at that great mountain and found strength.
If you are willing, and would be so kind as to include me, please let me know the cost, what supplies I will need, and what I can do to prepare myself.
Sincerely,
Miss Anna Gallagher
Seattle, Washington Territory
She had to get moving on solving the riddle. And what kind of training would be required exactly? She thought of how her family might react if they found out about any of this. It was all exhilarating.
Her grandfather knocked then poked his head inside. “Hungry?”
“No thanks.”
His presence calmed her, as it always did. Greta followed him into the room and sat on her red-cushioned chair.
Greta hugged her arms around her stomach. “I’ll bring coffee and warm bread later. Food for your soul.”
“Do you want to tell us what happened last night?” her grandfather asked.
Anna sighed. “Connor is not the man I want to marry. And some drunk man thought I was a prostitute.”
Greta put her hand on Anna’s arm. “Your brother told us about the…incident. And that’s quite all right if you don’t like the doctor. Are you doing all right this morning?”
“I’m fine. I think I’ll spend the day reading, although I’ve read everything in the house twice.” She smiled half-heartedly.
“Well as luck would have it…” Her grandfather pulled a small book from behind his back. “I traded a bottle of wine with Pattinson to pick any new book I wanted off his shelves. This is a book of poems by Ella Wheeler Wilcox I got especially for you.”
Anna inhaled sharply as she took the crisp book from his hands. Poems of Passion, the cover said.
“I wish I could take you back to Ireland sometimes,” he said. “To the countryside, and we could read and drink Guinness until you forgot about all your problems.”
A smile crept over her face. “He’s not worth pining over.”
Her grandfather’s white hair was wild from sleep, and he stroked his beard twice. “Quite right. He’s not the man for you, but another will be. Someone with passion, perhaps.”
Anna hugged him tightly. “Thank you. And yes Greta, I’d love coffee if it’s not too much trouble, with cinnamon please.”
Her grandfather heaved himself up using the nightstand. “We wouldn’t make it any other way, lassie.”
He paused at the doorway, an adoring look on his wrinkled face. Greta stood and followed him out, giving Anna a quick kiss on the cheek.
As they left, her smile grew—she’d mail the letter first thing Monday. Would telling June about the letter jinx it? It almost seemed that if she said the words aloud, everything would fall apart.
Around noon, she went to the porch to enjoy reading her new book with coffee. The poems were lovely—some sweet, some fiery, and they all reminded her how wonderful love would be when she found it one day. It would be so romantic to have a poem written for her, like Dmitri had for Natalya.
When she looked down to take a sip of coffee, she saw a small note rolled up in the corner of her chair. She unrolled it to find a child-like scrawl:
I am here. – Heather
Anna scanned the edge of the forest, and Heather waved shyly. She hurried to her through the tall grass.
Heather smiled. “Wiiac. This means hello…and goodbye.”
Anna waved at Pisha as she peered around her mother. “Wiiac. Good morning.”
Heather straightened the cloth carrying Pisha on her back. “Would you like to walk? I don’t have time to go all the way to my home, but we can just walk together for a while.”
“Yes. Let me grab the books for you and leave a note.” She ran back to the house trying to come up with a good excuse to be gone all morning. A simple note would do.
Going for a walk. I’ll be home this afternoon. – Anna
It was plain enough. She grabbed the books she’d set aside, then ran back to Heather. It felt good to stretch her legs—a walk in the woods would be just what she needed.
“Here’s Watson’s Complete Speller and Swinton’s Language Lessons and Primer. Plus, my old slate and chalk. You can practice writing too.”
Heather eagerly reached for the books and slate, examining them. “Good. Thank you.”
“Thank you for the book you gave me,” Anna said. “I’m hoping to figure out the clues in the inscription. How was fishing?”
Heather smiled. “Good. Lots of fish for the winter.”
As they walked, Anna filled her in on the last few weeks—the dance, Connor’s discouragement, Ben intervening—everything but the letter.
“I’m going to try and climb the mountain. Not quite sure how yet, but I’m working on it.”
Heather smiled approvingly. “That’s great.”
As she reflected on everything, Anna’s shoulders relaxed. It wasn’t all bad. She was certainly better off being rid of Connor—it was providential to see his true personality. It was a relief that she didn’t waste any more time on him.
Levi was back in town, and she had a new book of poems to read that her grandfather had so thoughtfully gotten for her. Although they were going to be low on money for the winter, she had a plan to keep them afloat until a loan was approved. Now here she was in the forest with a new friend, and there was no one around to tell her it wasn’t proper. The last remaining hint of melancholy lifted off her chest, but just as she looked up at the sky, she stepped into a small creek flowing through the undergrowth.
“Oh dear, that was clumsy,” she muttered. “I’m usually more aware, especially in the forest.”
“Listening carefully helps me,” Heather said. “Certain sounds have brought us here. There will be others as we go deeper. Then I listen to the same sounds in reverse on the way back.”
Anna nodded and followed Heather down a path leading into denser forest. At first, all she could hear was the sound of her breathing, but she tried her best to listen. Her surroundings were certainly refreshing: ferns wet with dew, a fallen log covered with moss crossing their path, roots weaving in and out of the earth. A toad croaked. Shortly after, a train whistled faintly, followed by squawking of crows to the west. As they moved farther into the forest, a hawk shrieked, and a branch rustled overhead as it landed.
They both sat on a log, and Anna put her hands on her knees. “In the past I’ve tuned the noises out to enjoy the silence. It’s easier to pretend there aren’t wild animals out here.”
“They mostly ignore you,” Heather said.
Anna lifted her face to the sky. Small slivers of light pierced through the treetops. She closed her eyes, and an insect buzzed. She tried to let the sound melt into her. But then, the twinge of a mosquito bite on her left arm brought her back and she slapped it.
“Not all creatures are good. Let’s head back,” Heather said, trying not to smile. “So, how many years did you go to school?”
Anna scratched the spot on her arm that was turning red and followed Heather back toward town. “Ten. I was sixteen when I finished, and that’s when I started working at our bookstore.”
“What did you learn?” Heather asked.
“Grammar, arithmetic, bookkeeping, geography—that was my favorite. I’d love to explore someday—find somewhere new. Grandfather says I’m lucky because the Territorial Board of Education formed shortly after we arrived, so when I started school everything was organized and uniform.”
“Yes—lucky,” Heather said pointedly as she adjusted Pisha.
As they went, Anna heard more or less the same sounds in reverse. This time she also heard the muted sound of their own footfall on dense undergrowth. A ship’s horn sounded, and a few seagulls flew overhead as they reached the clearing near her home.
“Thank you for the lovely walk,” she said as she came to a stop.
“I’ll see you again.” Heather waved goodbye.
Anna wanted to ask her when and how they would see one another again, but instead she said a simple “Wiiac,” and waved at Pisha as the baby turned to see her.
She glanced up at the mountain—only the tip was visible above the clouds. Her gaze lingered on the snow-capped giant. Surrounded by trees, she felt unrestricted by the expectations her grandfather—and seemingly everyone—had for her. Finding love would be magical, but she could never be just a wife. That wouldn’t be love at all. Were there no men who wanted more than a traditional wife by their sides—no one who sought a partner?