Page 56 of Wild Spirit Revival

Faith shook her head, a rueful smile playing on her lips. “I’ve never had the courage. And now, after such a long time, I don’t know if I ever will.”

She leaned back, considering her friend’s words. “You know, we’re not so different, you and I. Both of us pining for men who might never return our feelings. At least we have each other to confide in.”

“You’re right. It helps knowing I’m not alone in this. Thank you for listening, Molly.”

“What else are friends for?” Molly’s eyes lit up with sudden enthusiasm. “Before I leave for Helena, I want to capture one last photograph of the mountains. Would you like to come with me?”

Faith’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I’d love to. Unfortunately, I have too much to finish before the next edition of the Mystic Gazette.”

Molly’s face glowed with passion. “Someday, I want you to see them through a camera lens. The way the light plays on the peaks, the shadows in the valleys. It’s like capturing a piece of heaven on earth. And who knows when I’ll have another chance to photograph them.”

The first rays of dawn peaked over the eastern mountains when Molly stepped out of the Mystic Hotel, her arms laden with equipment. She paused for a moment, savoring the crisp morning air. The town was still quiet, save for the distant crow of a rooster and the soft clopping of her boots on the wooden boardwalk.

As she approached the wagon she’d borrowed from Casper Jennings, her heart quickened with anticipation. She placed her camera and equipment next to the crate of dry plates, nestling them between blankets for the rough journey ahead.

Molly checked and double-checked her supplies, her fingers dancing over each item, as if performing a ritual. Satisfied everything was in order, she climbed onto the wagon seat and reached for the map Casper had drawn for her.

Unfolding the parchment, Molly studied the rough sketches and scribbled notes. Her gaze narrowed in concentration as she traced the path with her finger.

As she memorized the landmarks Casper had indicated, she felt a familiar thrill coursing through her veins. It was the same excitement that had driven her to leave Chicago, to seek out the untamed beauty of the West.

Molly folded the map and tucked it into her satchel. She gathered the reins, her hands steady despite the butterflies in her stomach.

As she urged the wagon forward, the first golden rays of sunlight crested the horizon, promising a day filled with beauty, challenges, and perhaps a touch of danger.

Little did Molly know just how prophetic the thought would prove to be.

As the sun climbed higher, Molly guided her wagon to a halt at the base of the mountains. The journey had been arduous, but the vista made every jolt and bump worthwhile. She climbed down from the wagon, her legs and back stiff from the ride.

“Oh, my. It’s even more magnificent than I imagined.”

She reached for the canteen and took a long, refreshing drink. The cool water was a balm to her parched throat. Settling herself on a nearby boulder, Molly retrieved the biscuits the hotel had packed for her.

As she ate, Molly’s gaze roamed over the landscape. Towering peaks stretched toward the heavens, their snowcapped summits piercing the clouds. Lush forests cloaked the lower slopes, a tapestry of greens punctuated by the occasional flash of summer wildflowers.

She brushed the crumbs from her skirt and stood. There was work to be done, and the light wouldn’t wait for her musings.

With practiced efficiency, Molly guided the wagon higher up the mountain trail. Each turn revealed new wonders, and she itched to capture them all. After another hour, she found the perfect spot. A plateau offering an unobstructed view of the valley below, and the majestic peaks above stretched before her.

Molly set about unloading her equipment. She’d done this countless times before, but never in such a breathtaking location. As she assembled her camera, she found herself talking aloud, a habit born of long hours spent working alone.

“Now, let’s see,” she mused, adjusting the camera.

The world around her faded away, her entire focus narrowed to the view through her lens. Molly lost herself in her work, moving from one image to the next with single-minded determination.

As the sun arced across the sky, Molly continued to work. She didn’t notice the passage of time, so engrossed in her art. The horses whinnied and danced around, but she ignored them. Only when she reached for another dry plate and discovered her supply was depleted did she realize how long she’d been at it.

Straightening, she looked around. Her eyes widened as she scanned the horizon, her heart suddenly racing. A massive plume of smoke billowed up from the base of the mountains, its dark tendrils reaching ominously toward the sky.

She gasped. “Fire!”

Panic threatened to overwhelm her for a moment before her innate survival instincts kicked in. With swift, decisive movements, she packed up her equipment. Her fingers flew over latches and straps, securing her precious camera and plates.

“Come on, come on,” she muttered, glancing anxiously at the approaching smoke. The acrid scent was growing stronger by the second.

As she worked, she tried to form a plan, a way out. The trail she’d taken up the mountain was likely already engulfed in flames. Her only option was to go higher, to find a safe haven above the fire line.

With the last of her gear stowed, Molly climbed onto the wagon. She grabbed, then slapped the reins, her knuckles white with tension.

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