MONTANA  CROSSWINDS

(THE DIRECT CONTINUATION OF MY HEART IN STONE)

Sharon Ferguson writing Rachel, Jo Anzalone writing Cort

PART ONE:

"It's heavier than air, right?"

Cort stood again at the glass inside the airport, looking out at the NanoCorp jet. He'd

never flown before.  Warping required nothing mechanical surrounding you but, still,

it nearly killed you.  What would traveling in something like...that...be like?

Rachel stood next to him in the lobby of the small airport outside Hromada, both of

them with their noses pressed against the glass to watch personnel for the company’s

private jet go through some final checks before letting them embark. 

Terry had arranged for their sole use of the plane to take them to Bozeman, Montana,

for their honeymoon; and with only a pilot and two relief crew, there wasn’t much to

wait upon.  Aside from whatever personal checks they had to go through, the wait to

get on board was a matter of minutes.

The sun was now behind the hills and Rachel had a sense of déjà vu.  Had it really been

only a few nights since they were last here, nervously awaiting their friends and family? 

The images reflected back in the glass to them showed them much different dress – she

still wore her wedding dress, and Cort remained in his dapper suit.  Not that she minded. 

She could have stared at him all day, but even as they stood in the lobby, waiting for the

go ahead to board, she was beginning to wish for more comfortable clothing…something

along the lines of jeans and boots.  The lobby walls were closing in, too, as the sunlight

faded from the air, and she wished they were already in Montana, where she knew the

skies and land would be endless.

Cort seemed to have more immediate interests.

“Yes,  definitely  heavier than air.   Although,”  she added,  trying to  dredge up  the

explanations Glen had given her once, long ago, “they make materials that are strong

and light at once.  Dad showed a piece of it to me before….it looked like a honeycomb. 

They make the panels out of this stuff and other lightweight material.  Beyond that…” 

She shrugged.

"I still don't understand," he murmured. "How does it stay up in the air? It doesn't

make sense."

Rachel laughed softly.  “It doesn’t at first, does it?  You’re asking me to get into the stuff

of physics and aerodynamics, and in that, I couldn’t make it understandable.  Those are intelligent questions, sweetheart.  I’m…just not intelligent enough to explain it.”

He turned, looking at his bride. "You sure the thing is safe?"

Rachel opened her mouth, then shut it, flashes of news reports of tragic accidents, frequent

plane delays, malfunctions…September 11, 2001…all flitted through her brain as she tried

to formulate an answer that wouldn’t frighten him. 

“As safe as it is riding in a limo,” she chose to say.  There.  He could deal with that as

he wanted.  “Really, though, sweetheart, the pilots have to be extremely well trained and

he’s not going to take us into something that will be dangerous…like bad weather…or fly

the plane on lack of sleep.  Speaking of sleep, it might be best if we rest ourselves so we

don’t feel jet-lag when we get there.”

He cocked his head, keeping a close eye on the small jet as they walked across the

tarmac toward it.  His hand was firmly locked around Rachel's. "I don't suppose we

could go by...horse?"

“We could go by boat…but it would take us months…and I do believe Montana is

landlocked,” Rachel replied, smiling at his gentle joke, but her heart twinged for him. 

“I’m so sorry…but this is the best way, really.”

He had spent a little while in modern times back at Emerald City, had seen the sleek

office buildings that comprised the headquarters of NanoCorp.  But the blue house he

lived in there was Victorian in style and not really strange to him. Then he'd gone off

into ancient Rome and he, himself, was the modern one there. From Rome he'd been

taken straight into Kamen and both it and the village of Hromada had been constructed

so long ago, that there was no real sense of being in modern times. So when he went

through the cabin door and looked down the interior length of the corporate jet, he

sucked his breath in just a bit. It was all white, with a few touches of brown.  He thought

briefly that Finn's Buzz guy would fit right in.  The seats were deeply padded, covered in

a fine white leather, but were completely foreign to any 1880's concept of furniture. 

Especially, dressed as he was in 19th century clothing again, he felt entirely out of place. 

The cabin itself was rounded like a long, smooth tunnel and lined on either side with

small, thick windows.

He stumbled just a bit as he made his way down the aisle and turned, looking back at

Rachel, who was right behind him.  "I'm glad you're here," he breathed.  He couldn't

quite shake the feeling of having stepped into a warp chamber.

He looked a bit pale, standing in the aisle, reaching up to touch the roof of the cabin to

balance himself.  The pilots were boarding behind them and settling into the cockpit.

“Will you be all right?”  She asked worriedly, watching him take it all in.  Maybe she

should get him some Dramamine?

“Time to load and lock, folks,” said the pilot as he climbed the steps into the cabin. 

He introduced himself as Gavin, the captain of the flight, and behind him were Florinda,

a stewardess, and the co-pilot, Jack.  Florinda smiled warmly at them both as she moved

to the back of the plane, telling them she would be along in a few minutes

“We need to sit and buckle ourselves in,” Rachel said, and grabbed Cort’s hand to guide

him to a couple of side-by-side chairs toward the front.  When they had strapped in, she

took his hand again with both of hers, leaned against him.  “I had you sit by the window

so you can look out and watch.  We’ll be able to get up and move around at will once he’s

up in the air,” she added, in a kind of breathless state herself.  Her trip to Hromada had

been by commercial air-flight, but this was her first time on the company plane.  Sid had apparently spared no  expense in outfitting the transportation.   But the luxury that

surrounded them was eclipsed by Cort’s guarded and wary expression, and she pressed

against him, anxious that things go smoothly.  There was no telling how he was going to

react to this new experience.

"Really, I don't need to sit by the window," he protested, but the jet had already started

its taxi to the runway.  Reluctantly, he looked out the small window.  So far it was pretty

much like being in a large car.  Not so bad.  Then the pilot turned a sharp corner and he

felt the engines rev up, vibrating the cabin. As the jet sped ever faster down the runway,

he clamped his teeth so tightly his jaw began to ache, then came the slight bump as the

wheels lifted and he closed his eyes and began praying fervently under his breath, his

grip practically crushing Rachel's small hand.

“Sweet…sweetheart…” Rachel gasped, as Cort’s whole body tensed on the uplift of the

plane.  Oh dear God!  And they hadn’t even hit any turbulence yet, which was sure to

happen as the jet skimmed through cross-winds.  “Hold onto me if you must, but don’t

hurt me!”

"Oh, Rachel, I'm sorry," he said, opening his eyes and quickly releasing her hand.

"I...I wasn't paying attention to how hard I was gripping!"

The plane was still tipped back at a rather steep angle and he turned, unable to resist

looking out the window.  Hromada was plain there in the distance, its double meander distinctive, unmistakable.  But, good Lord, how tiny it all looked!  And the plane was

not yet done climbing.  Soon it soared its way upwards through a layer of clouds and

the earth disappeared completely from his sight.  A sudden feeling of being cut-off

flooded him, much too like being in the warp, and beads of sweat broke out across his

brow, his upper lip.  He thought for a moment he was going to be sick and started to

breathe through his mouth, deeply and slowly, his eyes shut again.  It was more, much

more than a 19th century man being thrust into the midst of 21st century technology,

it was its damned similarity somehow to the warp.  He leaned his temple against the

window, trying to calm the nausea that threatened to engulf him.  That, too, was not

from the airplane's movement, but from the tendrils of warp memory that gripped

his mind.

A few moments later he felt the jet level off and that feeling of being pressed back in

his seat ceased.  His head still against the window, he opened his eyes.  They were flying

straight into the sunset, due west.  The sun itself rested, half-way sunk on the cloud

horizon, coloring the billowing tops of them in shades of peach and pink  that was

astounding in its beauty.  Blowing out a long breath, he turned, taking Rachel's hand

lightly, carefully and pressing it with his over his chest.  "It...it looks like...Heaven

itself," he whispered, smiling at her.

Rachel let out a long breath she had not known she was holding, watching and feeling

Cort experience the ascent of the plane.  To her it always felt like riding a long roller-

coaster rail…at least that is how she learned to justify the sudden break away from

the grasp of gravity, but she couldn’t even imagine what Cort was thinking. For several

long minutes there, she was concerned she would have to call upon Florinda, as Cort’s

pale hue had taken a distinct green color.

Keeping her hand in its safe harbor beneath his (she could feel his heart pounding hard),

she nodded at his observation, relaxing as he did, as the plane leveled off.  The field of

clouds looked as if they had soaked up the spreading paint of the sun. 

“Are you okay?” she whispered back.  “I was so worried about you…”

"Better now," he said softly.  "It just brought back a lot of things...memories I'd rather

not have."  He looked out the window again.  "But look at that, Rachel, that's magnificent." 

He smiled at her, tipping his head down to kiss her hand.  "And it means we're headed

west."  Looking at the sunset again, he repeated the word.  "West."

“The warp?”  Something about his tone and evasion made her think of that.  She sighed,

kicking herself for not having thought of how airplane travel did have similarities to

warping.  She had become so inured to it.  “Are you...feeling that scraping again?”

"No, it wasn't like that.  More just the memories of being cut off from everything,

moving rapidly and not being able to stop, like that.  But it's gone now.  Don't worry. 

I actually think I'm starting to enjoy this flying thing."

He watched as the colors faded from pinks into dusty purples and then dark greys and

finally were gone altogether as night took over.  He removed his pearl stick pin, putting

it in the inner breast pocket of his suit, loosened his cravat and slipped it off, unbuttoning

the top three buttons of his shirt.  The stiff collar wasn't really very comfortable.  "Any

way to get out of this gear?" he asked her hopefully.

She sat silently with him, watching the sunset just beyond the horizon, letting herself let

go of the worry at last in seeing how he marveled over the ethereal sky-scape.  It wasn’t

until he began to untie the cravat that she realized she had fallen into a kind of trance,

a peaceful trance that reassured her that they were at last on their own, nurtured by the

warmth of his arm around her.  Sitting up, she grinned at Cort as his fingers hastened to

undo the buttons as a little boy would…well, unravel a monkey suit.  She winked at him

and was about to offer to help when Florinda appeared just then to offer them something

to drink and to update them on the flight. 

“There is a bathroom on the plane, right?” she asked, looking back to see if there was a

cubicle.

“Better than that,” Florinda said, grinning.  She was a tall black lady with elegant features

and light brown eyes, dressed in a simple black skirt and silver gray blouse.  “There’s a bathroom and a section we can seal off for privacy if you want to change out of your

clothes.”

"Ma'am, " Cort said, still using his customary form of address, "I would be most grateful

if you'd set that up as soon as possible."  He turned to Rachel.  "Can we get to our luggage

from in here?  I have a pair of blue jeans that are callin' my name."

“I had a special case sent in just for that,” Rachel replied, and they followed Florinda to

the back.  It was a small antechamber with one long couch to one side.  At the far end

was a squared-off wall with a door that indicated the toilet.  Florinda pulled a panel into

place in the corridor they had entered as a kind of sliding door, thus closing off the room. 

The suitcase in question sat on the couch.

Seeing this, Rachel moved to go back to their seat.

"Why, Ma'am," Cort said, deliberately accentuating his accent as he rested his hand on

her shoulder. "You wouldn't be goin' all shy on me now, would you?"

Rachel met his gaze with a slight raise of the eyebrows.  “Shy, Mr. Wells?  After all we’ve

been through, you think I’ve gone shy?”  She put on her best wicked grin and grabbed

his loose lapels to gently pull him closer so that his face was inches from hers.  “I have

plans for you, cowboy, so don’t be so certain I don’t have the gumption.”

"You have...gumption?" Cort grinned.  "Can I see it?"

"Behave, Cortland!"  Rachel gasped and let go of him so she could open up the sliding

door.

"Why, Mrs. Wells," he chuckled, "I thought I was...behaving.  Sorta like I just got

married."

“Say that again.”  Rachel commanded, watching as he drew near.  Would she be able to

escape?  Would she want to?

“Like I just got married? That...or...can I see it?"  He wasn't going to make it easy for

her.  He slowly unbuttoned three more buttons of his shirt. 

“My name.”  Rachel started to reach out to help him and then caught herself and stuffed

both hands behind her.  “I want to hear my name again.”

"Rachel?" he teased. "You want to hear me call you 'Rachel'?" He unbuttoned the last

button and began to pull his shirt out from behind his waistband. 

Rachel narrowed her eyes at him.  So he was going to be that way, eh?

“Well, I’ll leave then and when you come to your senses, Mr. Wells, I’ll be waiting in my

seat,” she informed him primly and turned to open the door behind her, the door against

which he had slowly backed her.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Wells, but I believe my senses are back at the airport."  He kissed just

below her right ear, then moved his lips down her jaw line. "Did you say something

about a...seat, Mrs. Wells?"

Oh, she should have left when she had the chance…!

“That’s the name I wanted to hear,” she managed to say, and slipped out from under his

arm.  “And now that I have, I’ll leave you to change.  No!”  She said, when he reached

out for her again. “It’d be real easy to give in right now, but you promised me…promised!

...nice and slow…did you not?”

The matter was settled when the pilot's voice came over the intercom.  "We're going into

some turbulence, folks.  Please take your seats and buckle up."

Cort, his shirt completely off, looked at Rachel, eyes wide.  "Turbulence?  What is

turbulence?"

“Put a shirt back on and come with me!”  Rachel squeaked and flung open the door to

scamper back to their original seats.

The extra bag of clothes was open on the couch and he grabbed for a light blue denim

shirt, leaving the white one on the floor,  and dashed after her. The plane gave a sharp

bounce right before he made it to their seats and he fell hard on his knees beside the

chair she'd grabbed.  "What was...." he began, but the jet dropped about 30 feet quite

rapidly and his mouth went into the shape of an "O" and he turned rather pale.

“It’s all right,” Florinda called from a seat of her own, her features slightly twisted. 

From Rachel’s point of view, it looked as if the stewardess was more than a little

concerned about the seriousness of the turbulence; but in truth, Florinda was trying

to keep from laughing outright at the couple scrambling to get into their seats, not to

mention that one of them looked about half-dressed.  “Won’t last long.  Just sit tight.” 

She smiled to reassure, tickled by the newly-wedded pair.

Rachel felt herself blushing down to her roots, even though she tried to help Cort get his

shirt on amidst the bumping and jerking of the plane.  “Its all right,” she soothed Cort. 

“It's just cross-winds, air currents.  Like going over a rough patch of road.”

Cort practically flopped across Rachel getting into his seat beyond hers.  He was gripping

the shirt so tightly in his fist that even though she was trying to slide his left arm into it,

she wasn't getting very far. He finally managed to look directly at her.  "Roads," he said,

"have hard surfaces to them, not...clouds!  There's nothing but AIR down there!"

“Yes, but this is different!  See, the airplane is going on one air current, and a cross-wind

will come against it…”  The plane shook so hard over one patch, Rachel felt the words

knocked from her mouth.  Cort finished putting his shirt on and pushed himself into the

back of his seat.  “Just hold tight,” she added. 

He was trying, really he was, but he felt genuine motion sickness now rising up through

his core.  Closing his eyes didn't seem to help, just serving to accentuate the feeling of

tumbling through the warp.  So he opened them, fixing them grimly on the curving white

walls, the white furniture.  Didn't people who made airplanes like...color?  He pressed

his lips together.  He would not throw up on his wedding day.  He simply would...not.

“Did you give him some Dramamine?”  Florinda called out, watching Cort struggle. 

She knew the signs all too well.

“I should have!”  Rachel called back.  “How long do you think this will last?”

“Not too long,” Florinda replied.  She unbuckled herself and began making her way to

a compartment where she retrieved a towel and an air-sick bag.

Whatever Dramamine might be, it was too late for it.  The reception dinner was on its

way back up.  Good thing he hadn't eaten much of it after all.  Florinda practically flew

up the aisle with the bag and thrust it into his hands in literally the nick of time.  He

was sick.  Very sick.  Almost as mortified as he was sick.  But sick won out.

Then Rachel handed him the towel and he wiped his mouth, leaning his head back against

the seat, exhausted, his belly muscles aching from repeated convulsions.  Florinda quietly

took the bag away, then handed Rachel a new one for him...just in case.  "When things

settle down," she whispered to Rachel, "get him to sip a little water, ok?"

He managed to turn his head toward her, grinning weakly, very weakly.  "I think your

virtue's safe, Mrs. Wells, at least for the next few minutes."

Rachel had wet a corner of the towel and now wiped his face with it to help cool the skin. 

“I’m more worried about your equilibrium right now,” she said, knowing how horrified

he was in losing dignity.  The turbulence had passed as quickly as it had come and even

the air in the cabin seemed less electrified.  Florinda brought her Sprite with a cup

instead of water at her request and now Rachel poured some for him.  “Drink a bit of

this, the sugar will help calm your stomach.  Don’t feel bad about it!  It's hard on the

body when it's not able reconcile things,” she crooned.  He sipped at the soda and after

a few minutes, she coaxed him into returning to the cabin to change, only this time she

didn’t go with him, thinking it was a good thing they had not succumbed to other

impulses.  When he returned with jeans and a clean white shirt, she had some

Dramamine ready.

“Yellow pills?" he asked, looking slightly askance at them. "Is that that Drama-stuff?"

He sat down beside her, not taking them in his hand.   "I feel better now, really.

Not sure snake oil is going to do a thing at this point."   He stuck out his chin

stubbornly.

Rachel sighed.  Was this a man-thing to be so stubborn about taking medicine that would

help him feel better?  She got a faint vision of herself in her old age still arguing with Cort

over the merits of taking aspirin.  But maybe a more immediate application of logic would suffice?

“Do you want to throw up again?” she asked, matter of fact.  “If we hit another patch

of turbulence, and another…and another…are you just going to keep changing shirts?  Sweetheart, I love you, but the last thing I want to be doing on my honeymoon is laundry

…at least, not because you got an upset stomach,” she pontificated. 

Grudgingly, he took the pills. "You realize," he said a bit grumpily, "that where I come

from, we don't take pills." Then he grinned, swallowed them, and added, "If likker don't

kill what's wrong, we just suffer through it."

“That’s my man,” Rachel smiled, laughing at his joke about the more old-fashioned

method of fighting illness.  “It will make you a bit drowsy, which is just as well, because

I think you and I could use the rest.”  She leaned and whispered in his ear, “And

remember, I have plans for you and you made a promise to me!”  Then, she got up and

showed him how to lean the chairs back so that they were flat like a cot, and taking

pillows settled him comfortably.  She laid out in the flattened chair beside him and

threw a blanket over both of them

He turned to her then, taking her hand and putting her palm over his heart. "Still glad

you're Mrs. Wells, Mrs. Wells?" he asked.

“Very, very glad, Mr. Wells,” she replied, feeling her own muscles settle in to the comfort

of the cushions and the warmth of his body.  “There isn’t a happier Rachel Wells

anywhere, on earth or in the sky.”

There were, indeed a few more patches of turbulence, but the Dramamine did its work

and sent Cort into slumber so that their occurrence was hardly a blip in his consciousness.  Rachel was aware of at least one stop that lasted thirty minutes while they refueled – she

was too drowsy herself to really care about the location of the stop.  Florinda discreetly

kept her informed of their progress and when they were in the air once more, she took

time to slip away and change clothes herself.  There were a few signs of spillage on the

lace that she would have to clean, but nothing a dry cleaner could not fix.  She also made

sure the contents of the suitcase, some of which had tumbled out onto the floor, were

repacked, but not before she checked to make sure a small bundle wrapped tightly in

tissue and paper was still where she had tucked it.  She was hoping that Cort would

assume it was a wedding gift she’d not had a chance to open yet.  It looked intact. 

Smiling to herself, she then returned to Cort’s side in blue jeans of her own and a plaid

shirt, the veil and pins of her hair having been dismantled long ago so that she now wore

a low, loose ponytail.  She was ready for Montana as well.

He woke slowly and turned his head to the side, looking sleepily at Rachel.  She was

wearing a completely different outfit than when he'd fallen asleep.  "What did you do

with my wife?" he teased.

“Oh, she’s around,” she replied with a smirk.  “Stuffed her in the cargo bay…she was a

bit sassy with me.  You, umm…don’t mind me taking her place for a bit, do you?”

"Are you a good kisser?  I might not mind if you're a good kisser.  She was pretty good

at it.  You'll have to prove you're as good as she was if you want me to keep you around

and not go lookin' in the cargo thing whateveritis."

Rachel knew she must have had a fairly scandalized look on her face for a few brief seconds, because Cort began chuckling. 

“What makes you think I’d want to kiss you?” she asked, feigning indifference.

He was not to be outdone.  Unbuckling, he stood up and beckoned to Florinda.  "Ma'am,"

he asked politely, "could you direct me to the...the...cargo...um...thing.  I believe my wife

has been stuffed inside."

Rachel remained in her seat, looking smug.

“Fine.  Go ahead.  You’ll never find her.”

"What if I don't want to find her, Miss?  What if I decided to replace her with you?  After

all, we've been married a long time, almost a full day.  It's probably time to move on.  Don't

you think?"  Standing beside where she was seated, he leaned over and began nibbling

her ear.

Rachel pushed him away for a few moments, hands on his shoulders, her mouth open as

if in shock.  “I knew it!” she intoned, as if indignant.  “I just knew you’d come around to

my way of thinking.  And I didn’t even have to kiss you!  Now sit down and…”  She didn’t

get to finish because Cort covered her mouth with his in a rather intense kiss.

When he finally pulled back, he murmured, "What was that you said, Miss, about not

kissing?  I think I missed that part."

“Um…that I’m not going to refuse a good kiss?”  She asked, her eyes still closed, her

mind utterly wiped by the rush he gave her when he took possession.  He did it every

time!  She opened them quickly and turned her head to look out the window.  How long

until Montana?  When could they get off and get to their hotel?

As if in answer to her silent plea, the pilot's voice crackled to life over the intercom. 

"Starting our descent into Bozeman, folks. Please return to your seats and fasten your

belts.  We'll be on the ground in approximately 20 minutes."

Cort was sidetracked for the moment from kissing thoughts. On the ground. That

sounded good.  He liked ground. Actually much better than air. He slid past Rachel

with an affectionate squeeze of her knee and settled in his seat, buckling as ordered. He

now had experience of going up. It was time to find out what it was like to come back

down.

Taking Rachel's hand firmly but not too firmly, he pulled it into his lap, folding his other

hand over it, too.  He looked out the window.  Morning light spread over a bank of clouds

that ended with an almost abrupt edge some way ahead as though there were some vast,

grey-greenish abyss in the sky.  This was all so new for him, still rather a fantastic thing,

beyond imagining.  For a moment he gazed straight out across the rather level whiteness

they were currently crossing, staring at where it ended on the horizon and solid blue

began.

Then their descent took them down into the clouds and he thought of how it was like

leaving one form of existence and going into another. Ragged grey mist swept past his

window, so different from the sharp cleanness of the blue they'd been in a moment before.

Even though he was peaceful, happy at the time, he thought of the thick blankness of the

cloud interior rather like the passage through death. He wasn't sure why that thought

came to him, perhaps because above the clouds had seemed so like heaven.  Then the

grey seemed to separate and they broke out again into sunlight and he could see the

purplish shapes of mountain ranges casting deep shadows in the low-angled morning

sun, a river glowing like a silver ribbon on the land and he knew that if above the clouds

gave one the  feeling of heaven,  that coming out into the sunlight,  seeing the land

spreading before him as it was, that was like being born, like coming to a place where

you knew you belonged.

Montana.  It was beautiful.  There were vast fields and forests, range upon range of

mountains, some with snow still on their peaks.  No huge cities, just the smaller town

of Bozeman getting ever larger in his view, a few roads.  Then he was able to pick out

individual farms, ranches, and his heart beat faster in anticipation. Montana.  With

Rachel at his side.  Perhaps he had it all upside down?  Perhaps it was heaven that

one came into when one descended through the clouds after all?

ON TO PART 2

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