Glorious Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series) (11 page)

He turned to help Inga with the other two girls and, working together, they soon finished.

Inga shooed them to join their sisters, then stood and surveyed him, her fists on her waist. “Your turn now.”

“I know.” He grabbed some handfuls of chilled mud and smoothed them over his head and down the back of his neck. Familiarity lent speed to his task. After all, mud was mud, whether in Uganda or in Montana. When he finished, he glanced at Inga. “Miss any spots?”

She patted his cheek, then walked around him, rubbing the side of his neck to cover a bare patch. “All done.”

Micah tilted his head in the direction of the others. Together, they walked over to the girls. Already, light-colored patches showed on their faces where the mud had dried. Although the process wasn’t as fast as in the heat of Africa, he could see some spots where he could apply the chalk.

Too bad, we don’t have masks and head coverings.
We could do a hunting ceremony.
He and his friends had mimicked the ceremonies they’d seen the men do—out of sight of his parents, of course. His mother, especially, had done her best to squelch what she saw as heathen rituals. In church, the natives had prayed for successful hunts and then later, for good measure, secretly performed their traditional ceremonies. Micah and his friends had looked forward to the time when they could participate. Longing pierced him for everything he’d left behind. Resolutely, he squashed the memory.

“What were you just thinking?” Inga demanded. “You looked sad.”

Micah lifted his hand to stop her. “Try not to move your mouth when you talk.” He pointed to his lips, barely opening his mouth as he spoke. “Sometimes, we divided into two groups, warriors and game. We’re missing head coverings.” He raised his hands over his head and gestured. “Kiseke had a lion. And Kimu a hyena.”

Elsebe’s eyes grew wide. “A real lion?”

“Naw. Only the warriors had those. But Kiseke and I made headpieces out of scraps of fur. Kimu couldn’t, though, because he’s from the lion clan. That’s his totem, so they’re not allowed to kill them. But when we were old enough to hunt, the rest of us planned to make real masks and head coverings for ourselves.” He tried not to let himself think that he’d never have a chance at one of the big cats.

Inga pointed in the direction of the shed. “We have furs. Pa usually takes them to town as soon as winter’s over. But with Ma so near her time, he didn’t want to leave her.”

Micah remembered the furs tacked to the wall of the shed. “Yes!” With a sudden burst of excitement, he ran back up the path to the clearing, the girls on his heels. He skidded to a stop in front of the building. At the last minute, he remembered to keep his mouth from moving much. “What are these?”

“Beaver, squirrel, rabbit.” Inga pointed to each one. “Fox, deer, moose, elk, and that’s a bear. We can’t use these, though. We have more already cured inside the shed.”

Micah immediately coveted a bearskin. “Bearskin for me.” He tapped Lottie’s head. “Squirrel. And you—” he patted Marta’s shoulder “—are a rabbit.” He pointed at Krista. “Fox.” He thumped his chest. “You, two—” he waved at Inga and Elsebe “—choose what you want.”

“Na,” Inga said. “Bear skin’s gunna be too heavy for you. Fox is better.”

“All right. Fox, then.”

Inga ran into the shed and soon returned with a pile of furs. She distributed one to each child.

“Inga,” Elsebe warned. “Pa will skin us alive if we damage those.”

Hearing the worry in Elsebe’s tone made Micah pause. “Maybe we’d better put them back.”

“We’ll be careful,” Inga said with breezy assurance.

Micah nodded, satisfied with her answer. “Do you have anything to tie these on?”

Inga nodded and dashed around the corner of the shed, returning a minute later with several long leather thongs in her hand.

“Perfect.” Micah took one from her. He draped a squirrel fur over Lottie’s head and tied the thong over the top and under her chin.

Her big blue eyes stared at him with complete trust, which wiggled something in the vicinity of his heart.
She sure is a cute little thing.

By this time, the mud had dried enough that Micah could use the chalk to smudge lines on their cheeks and forehead. Then he allowed Inga to do his face.

When they’d finished their preparations, five mud-browned bedraggled warriors in dresses, pinafores streaked with dirt, stood in front of him.

Micah picked up the slings. “
Now
, we’re ready to go hunting.”

When he spotted Andre Bellaire showing signs of fatigue, Joshua stood. “You must rest.” He excused himself.

“As much as I hate to admit it, you are right,” the man said, his words starting to slur. “But please return tomorrow. . . . I want to hear more tales about Africa.”

“Certainly. I have plenty.”

Delia rose. “Let me walk you to the door, Reverend Norton.” She bent down to kiss her father’s cheek and tucked the covers tighter around him. “Sleep, Papa.”

He gave her a half smile, and his eyes fluttered closed.

Once outside the room, she quietly shut the door after them. “Thank you, Reverend Norton. I believe your visit did him good.”

Call me Joshua
, he wanted to say. But such intimacy wouldn’t be appropriate. “I’m glad I could help.” He reluctantly tore his gaze away. “I’d like to speak with Mr. Livingston. But I suppose by this time he’s left the house. So, my next stop will be the bank.”

Joshua took Delia’s parting smile with him out of the house and up the street to the bank. Not
until he almost passed an older woman without acknowledging her did he pull his head out of the clouds. He tipped his hat to the woman, who mercifully didn’t seem to expect him to know her or to stop and talk.

Don’t become lost in a pair of admiring eyes
, Joshua warned himself.
Remember where that led me before.
I’m heading into my next marriage with my feet firmly planted on the ground, and my head fully aware of the type of relationship I’m entering into.

What about your heart
? whispered a traitorous voice.

“Fondness and compatibility. Commonality of spiritual beliefs. . .” Joshua began to recite aloud a list of what he’d want in a wife, then realized he was arguing with himself and shook his head.

Since when have I thought of marrying again so soon?

Since I met Delia Bellaire.

Before he knew it, Joshua had arrived at the bank. He’d meant to study the changes of the town, and he’d been so busy with his head in the clouds, thinking of a certain lady and the improbable outcome of a marriage, that he hadn’t even noticed the building.

The brick of the bank sported a fresh coat of white paint, and “Livingston’s Boston Bank” was written in black letters on the door. Tight-budded daisies grew in the planter in front of the shallow porch.

Joshua opened the door and stepped into the building. He’d never been inside the bank before. He took off his bowler and hung it on a hat rack near the door.

An elderly clerk smiled at him. He was perched on a stool behind a high counter that ran the length of the room.

Joshua searched his memory for the man’s name and came up blank.

The clerk must have recognized his dilemma. “Horace Wittig,” he offered, almost apologetically, rubbing a hand over his bald pate. “Minnie’s my wife,” he added, obviously trying to give Joshua some context to who he was.

He had only the vaguest memory of Mrs. Wittig, a pale, unassuming woman.

“The whole community is glad to have you back, Reverend,” Horace said, genuine welcome in his voice.

The unexpected statement touched Joshua. He’d already heard the comment many times. But it meant more coming from a man he’d never spoken to before, even though he’d seen him every week in church years ago. “Thank you kindly, Mr. Wittig.”

“Are you here to open an account? Speak to Mr. Livingston?”

“Both at some point. But Mr. Livingston first, if you please.”

“Let me get the banker for you.” Horace slid off the stool, went around the counter, and knocked on an inner door.

Joshua heard a muffled, “Yes.”

Horace opened the door and stuck in his head. “Reverend Joshua Norton to see you, sir.” He straightened and scurried back to his place.

Mr. Livingston, dressed in an expensive navy suit, stepped into the room. His demeanor was polite, businesslike.

“Mr. Livingston.” Joshua offered his hand, and they shook. “If you could spare me a few moments of your time. . . .”

“Certainly, Reverend Norton. Come into my office.” With a wave, he ushered Joshua inside.

The large room was plainer than he expected given the lavishness of the man’s home. A big mahogany desk with two wooden chairs arranged in front took up most of the space in front of a barred window. Gauzy panels of fabric faded the view of Main Street and gave them privacy. In the corner, a birdcage with finches on perches took him by surprise and added humanity to the space.

Joshua took a seat. He noticed a seascape on the wall behind the desk.

The banker studied him with a penetrating look. “I’ve heard so much about you since I’ve lived here. I’m sure your parents are overjoyed to have you and your son back home.”

“They are. Although I intend to make some changes for them, which is why I’m here.”

The banker nodded, his dark eyes solemn.

“I don’t know if you’re the person to talk to about this, but I thought you could give me some advice.”

Mr. Livingston raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“The parsonage is very cramped for the business of a minister, much less two additional inhabitants, and I’d like to see the house expanded.”

Mr. Livingston frowned. “I agree that it’s necessary, but I don’t know that the town can afford it right now. Many are still feeling the effects of the recession.”

Joshua held up a hand. “I should say up front that I will be paying for this myself.”

Mr. Livingston’s eyebrows rose again, but he didn’t comment.

Joshua appreciated his restraint. “I’m not saying I want anything extravagant. Another bedroom, a larger study for my father. A parlor for my mother to confer with the ladies.”

“I see no problem with that.” He straightened a ledger. “I’m ashamed to admit we should have taken care of this sooner. I’ve only been inside the parsonage once. When necessary to gather, we usually meet at my home. I thought your parents’ house needed improvements at the time, but I didn’t pursue the matter and soon forgot.”

“I’m sure that’s understandable. You’re a busy man.”

“I won’t accept that excuse, Reverend. I’ve had my differences with your father on several occasions, and I’m sure we’ll be at cross purposes again.” He grimaced. “Your father has usually proven to be in the right, and my stand was not. Hopefully, that won’t always be the case.”

Interesting
. “That you’re at odds or that he’s always right?”

Mr. Livingston chuckled. “Both. However, he is a man I respect.” He hesitated. “And admire.” He fiddled with a pen in the silver inkstand on the corner of the desk, near a pile of ledgers. “I appreciate not having to listen to fire-and-brimstone sermons every Sunday.” His mouth turned up into a grin. “I hope that doesn’t offend?”

That simple expression made the banker seem more approachable. “Not at all, Mr. Livingston. Loving kindness is a mainstay of my father’s beliefs. . .and of my own.”

“Although, make no mistake. When the need arises, your father can make sinners quake in their pews. But luckily, he’s not so moved at every service.”

Joshua agreed with the man. He’d listened to far too many fiery sermons since he’d left home for the seminary. Abner, too, was fond of preaching them.

Mr. Livingston steepled his fingers. “Now about the expansion of the parsonage. . .We don’t have any formal town leadership, but we have an informal cadre of ranchers and business owners, as well as your father, the doctor when he’s able to attend, and now—” he frowned “—o
ur sheriff.”

Joshua wondered if the banker disliked the sheriff.

Mr. Livingston must have seen the question on Joshua’s face. “The sheriff was one of the instances where I disagreed with your father. I’m still reserving judgment in that case.” He shot Joshua an amused look. “I’ll let you meet our sheriff and form your own opinion.”

Joshua had a sinking feeling that a run-in with the sheriff might be inevitable. “Knowing the mischief my son gets into, I might make his acquaintance soon,” he said in a light tone that belied his concern about that really happening.

Instead of responding in amusement as he expected, Mr. Livingston frowned, a flash of pain in his eyes. “Sometimes boys do get themselves in trouble that causes pain to others and puts their family’s reputation into the red.”

Joshua didn’t want to pry, but then again, he was a minister. Perhaps a stranger might be easier for the banker to talk to. “I saw a boy with you yesterday. Your son?”

“Nephew. He and his mother live with me. Got into a spot of trouble last summer. Hopefully, Ben’s learned his lesson.” His expression closed.