No matter what, she couldn’t damage his work or reputation.
So here she sat. On a train. Bored out of her mind.
The train took a steep incline, and it jerked and tilted on the tracks. Oh, she did not like the looks of the curve ahead. Several passengers gasped, and another woman squeaked and gripped the man’s arm next to her.
Never in her life had Eleanor been on such a ride. Heavens, if this was how the railroads were built in Montana, perhaps Father and Mr. Grinnell should address that before attempting to bring scads of people out for a national park.
Her heart jumped at the screech of the train’s wheels.
The conductor walked through the car, with a calming voice. “We’re going over Marias Pass. Don’t worry. This is all normal and the train is perfectly safe.”
Forcing herself to look down in her lap, she blew out her breath slowly. Normal. Sure. Hadn’t her father said that the rail lineswestof Kalispell were the worst? Over Haskell Pass? With tight curves and bridges the railroad had a headache keeping maintained?
She closed her eyes against the turmoil in her stomach. Haskell Pass was worse. This was Marias Pass. They were fine.
They were fine.
They were fine.
All she had to do was think about something else.
Anything.
The train jerked again, and a small child whimpered and then cried.
Eleanor turned the pages in the magazine and found the article her father had encouraged her to read. It was written by Mr. Grinnell and spoke of the great beauty held by Montana’s mountainous regions. He referenced it as the “Crown of the Continent,” and given his vast travels all over North America, she supposed he could be trusted as the expert.
The views so far were lovely, even if the journey here might kill them all.
Wincing, she pushed the dreadful thought aside and made herself read the article.
By the time she reached the end, the tracks were straight and level again.
With a sigh, she laid the magazine back in her lap and allowed her gaze to roam the landscape. For years she had listened to her father and George Bird Grinnell speak of Montana and the grandeur of its mountains and the unspoiled wildness of its vast forests. Grinnell had been instrumental in the creation of the Lewis and Clark Forest Reserve. As was his usual approach, he sought Congress to set aside lands in a forest reserve and then went to work convincing them to do more. In the case of Montana, he wanted a great national park to be created. Her father wanted that too.
So did she.
As a conservationist, Stewart Briggs was well known for his belief that the vast, majestic lands of the United Statesshould be preserved for everyone to enjoy. For years, her father had touted the perils of farmers and ranchers owning thousands and thousands of acres of land, especially when it encompassed large areas of land best preserved by the federal government. She’d heard him speak to more than one group about the unjust practice, and the idea made sense to her. Although—she smiled—every once in a while her mind liked to argue the other side. Even though she didn’t understand it and hadn’t researched it. What would it be like to own a large ranch or farm? What if the land was passed down from generation to generation? Questions flourished. But it was best to agree with her father. He’d done plenty of research over the years.
Of course, he was violently opposed to the Homestead Act of 1862 that gave millions of acres of land to settlers who were willing to improve it.“Whyimprove what Nature has perfected?”was Father’s motto.
This also made sense to her.
Still, in their travels through the country she’d seen many family farms. That was a piece of the puzzle she wished to understand. Obviously, they needed food to eat, but did one family need so much? It was not a topic she could bring up with her father.
Grinnell often used Father to raise money for his causes, and the two were determined to see land ownership limited in America.
“Did you see George’s article?”
She glanced up to see her father return to his seat from the smoking car.
At least some conversation would pass the time. “I did. I must say he intrigued me with his comment that this area isthe Crown of the Continent.” She glanced out the window. “It is impressive, but I could compare it to the Colorado Rockies ... say, Estes Park. Surely that place could also be called a Crown of the Continent. And what about some of the scenery we’ve seen in photographs of Alaska? Photos never do justice to an area, but it is easy to see that Alaska holds many great views. Perhaps it could also hold the title.” Not that she necessarilywantedto argue with her father about the same things they’d already discussed at length, but something inside egged her on.
“You are simply in a disagreeable mood. If Grinnell says it’s the Crown of the Continent, then I doubt we shall be disappointed. Already the scenery has changed from prairie to mountains.”
As if she couldn’t see that for hersel—
Stop it, Eleanor.She blinked away the disrespectful thought.
