“I already have the best in Yellowstone,” he said. “I’m marrying you. Together, life will be nothing short of wondrous from here on out.”
And it was.
Dear Reader,
Thank you for choosing Kate and Will’s story. When I learned the US Cavalry rode to the rescue to manage our nation’s first national park, I knew I had to write about it.
Fortunately, we have many rich resources on the early years of the park, from the archives of the Heritage and Research Center in Gardiner, Montana, to websites, books, and reports, including the first report Moses Harris wrote to Congress. It was from that report that I learned about the snowstorm in September. Harris was a real captain in the cavalry; he led Troop M to manage the park. His adjutant, Lieutenant Tutherly, and Lieutenant Kingman of the US Army Corps of Engineers are also historical figures who served the same roles then as they do in the book, though I have taken the liberty of interpreting their characters and words. My thanks to Alicia Murphy, National Park Service historian, for her help deciphering the wealth of sometimes confusing information. Any mistakes in interpretation are my own.
The location and descriptions of the guard stations and other facilities at Mammoth Hot Springs, the Norris Geyser Basin, and Old Faithful are also as realistic as I could make them, as are the descriptions of the wonders of the park. The Yellowstone Park Association did own most of the hotels in the park in 1886, but the Virginia City Outfitters are my own creation. And while we know today that the amazing colors of the hot pools are associated with heat-loving bacteria, it was widely held in Kate and Will’s time that minerals caused the coloration.
The story of the bison is nearly heartbreaking. At the time the Army rode into Yellowstone, historians estimate fewer than thirty of the beasts remained in the entire park. Small wonder Kate tried so hard to protect them.
I have changed a few things from history. There was no hotel where the Geyser Gateway is located, although the Fire Hole Hotel did exist to the north. Though Captain Harris did plan to have his men overwinter in the field, the snow and cold proved formidable enemies, and all cavalrymen were recalled to Mammoth Hot Springs. And though everyone at the time expected the Army’s tenure to be short-lived, soldiers guarded the park for more than thirty years. In addition, the Fountain paint pots described in the book are more colorful than what you might see today. Geologists believe an earthquake in the twentieth century changed their physiology, because reports from the 1800s describe them more vividly.
Of course, no national park is more vivid to me than Mount Rainier, which I can see from my own backyard. Turn the page for a sneak peek of my next book from Revell, set on that lofty peak and featuring one of the first women to climb to the top.
ALONG THE WATERFRONT OF TACOMA, WASHINGTON, AUGUST 1893
She was causing a stir.
Wouldn’t be the first time. Coraline Baxter was used to heads turning, eyes widening when she walked into a room. It happened at the society balls her mother insisted she attend, where she was expected to be the best dressed, the most polished. It had happened at the Puget Sound University, where she had been one of a few women. It happened when she arrived at the bank, where she was the only female accountant.
So it shouldn’t surprise her that it was happening at Shem’s Dockside Saloon, which likely hadn’t seen many women and certainly not ladies accompanied by a father.
Stepfather, something corrected her. Beside her, Stephen Winston blinked blue eyes wreathed in wrinkles he’d earned by peering at ledgers all day. His gloved hand gripped the gold head of his ebony walking stick as he glanced around the dimly lit eatery. The occupants likely hadn’t seen many gentlemen of his caliber either. His tailored coat, satin-striped waistcoat, and gold watch hanging by a thick chain proclaimed him a man of means.
Means seemed hard to come by for most of the men in the room. The rough plank floors, open beams, and unplastered walls spoke of toil, hardship, and the camaraderie of men with pride in their own worth. Still, it was little more than a shanty perched over Puget Sound, and it was hard to smell the brine over the smoke in the air.
She tried not to wrinkle her nose. Winston didn’t bother to hide his dislike. His lips were slightly curled under his trim white mustache. And he was staring.
They were staring back.
Dozens of them. Caps and hats covered hair that peeked out below as if it were none too sure of its surroundings. Wool sweaters were rolled up at the sleeves to display meaty arms. Gazes sized her up, showed interest or suspicion. Her mother had taught her to dress for the part she would play in any situation, but she hadn’t realized the gray taffeta overcoat that was cut to show the lace at her throat and sleeves would look so out of place here. Then again, she’d never visited a saloon before and had no plans to repeat the experience.
Conversation dwindled, stopped. Someone shoved back a chair with a screech of wood on wood.
“Do you see him?” Cora hissed.
Winston started to shake his head no, then stiffened. “There. That table near the wall. That may be young Nathan.”
Nathan Hardee was no longer the youth her stepfather had remembered. That much was clear. He was facing away from them. Shoulders in a dark wool coat stretched wider than the back of the wood chair on which he sat. Lamplight picked out gold in the wavy brown hair that spilled nearly to those shoulders. Winston hurried forward, and she followed, careful to keep
