Read Glorious Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series) Online
Authors: Debra Holland
Reluctantly, Joshua let his mother lead him away from Miss Bellaire,
Delia
as he already thought of her. She’d started talking to another man, and it wasn’t right for him to monopolize her. Joshua knew he needed to put the beautiful Southerner out of his mind.
Not such an easy task.
His mother pulled him across the room. As they threaded through the crowd, she chattered. “Elizabeth Sanders was a friend of Pamela Carter’s from Boston who came here to for a long visit and ended up marrying Nick. They’re very happy together and have a little girl.”
Joshua couldn’t wrap his mind around Nick Sanders, the younger boy he’d taken to hunt arrowheads, as a grown man with a wife and baby. The wagon accident that had killed Nick’s parents and younger sister, Marcy, had sent a wave of grief through the community. Prior to her marriage, Nick’s mother had been the schoolteacher and before becoming the foreman at the Carter’s ranch, Mr. Sanders had helped build most of the houses around town. Many had wept at the funeral, and Joshua’s father had struggled to provide comfort and solace to everyone. Nick stayed on the ranch as John Carter’s ward, and soon after Joshua had left for Cambridge.
Since then, Joshua had seen more than his share of tragedies and presided over more funerals than he could count, many that had affected him deeply. But the deaths of the Sanders family still stood out in his memory as a time of immense community sorrow.
Joshua hadn’t succeeded in shaking off his melancholy thoughts when his mother headed him toward two men deep in a conversation. They struck hands as if concluding an agreement, then one moved in their direction.
His mother made a
here he is
gesture with a sweep of her hand.
Joshua had to blink a few times to see the boy in the man but his bluish-green eyes convinced him. Mrs. Sanders and little Marcy had also had those eyes. Somewhere along the line, Nick had broken his nose, which gave him a rougher appearance, and his smile held none of the shyness Joshua remembered.
Nick’s face lit up. “Joshua!” he exclaimed, before catching himself with a guilty expression. “Reverend Norton, I believe I should say.”
“To a boyhood friend, it’ll always be Joshua.”
Nick grinned. “Perhaps not on Sunday.”
The two men clasped hands, and Joshua couldn’t help but clap Nick’s shoulder with his free hand. When they stepped back, he told his old friend, “It’s so good to see you.”
“A lot has happened since you left.” Nick waved at a blonde woman talking on the side of the room. “Come meet Elizabeth—the woman who changed my life.”
“Sometime, when we’re in quieter surroundings, I’d like to hear the story.”
“More than a story, Joshua. A fairy tale. Not that I’m a prince or anything.”
A beautiful woman slipped her hand around Nick’s arm. “What do you mean, you’re not a prince?” she exclaimed, a humorous light in her blue eyes. “You are too a prince.
My
prince.” She was elegant and well dressed, with lace edging her cobalt-colored dress and pearls in her ears and around her neck.
Nick dropped a kiss on his wife’s cheek. “I was just about to tell Reverend Joshua, here, that a beautiful princess from Boston brought magic into my life.” The two exchanged looks of love.
Joshua hoped his expression didn’t betray his surprise. Nick had always been a shy boy, but the death of his family had rendered him practically mute. He never would have thought the man possessed the eloquence he’d just witnessed. He nodded. “Mrs. Sanders, I’m so pleased to meet you.”
Mrs. Sanders looked from Joshua to his mother. “You all will have to come to dinner on Sunday.”
“Fine, fine,” Joshua said. “But I’m afraid we’ll have to take a rain check. Mr. Livingston has already invited us.”
“Another Sunday, then.”
“I’d like that.”
Before he could tell them about the meeting on Sunday, someone pulled on his arm, and Joshua turned to recognize two more townsfolk he couldn’t forget. The Cobbs, owners of the mercantile, stood close by, their imperious expressions demanding his attention. Tall and thin, Mr. Cobb had lost all his hair except for the tonsure circling his head, and his nose had reddened. Short Mrs. Cobb had put on weight, and despite her smile, there was no warmth in her close-set brown eyes.
He dipped his chin in good-bye to the Sanders before turning to the Cobbs. Out of the corner of his eye, Joshua noticed his mother slipping away through the crowd. He wished he could follow. The Cobbs were the last people in Sweetwater Springs he wanted to converse with. As a child,
he’d run afoul of their unpleasant personalities a few times. But he’d seen and heard far worse about how they treated people.
Joshua reminded himself to be charitable. . .more like his father. He knew for a fact the shop owners regularly appeared in his father’s private petitions to the Almighty. “They’re in need of prayer, not judgment, son,” his father had told him several times.”
Perhaps they’ve changed.
Mrs. Cobb eyed Joshua’s clothing, obviously assessing the expensive fabric and fine cut of the suit the Maynards had bought him.
After only a few minutes of conversation, Joshua was disappointed to note the two seemed much the same, although surprisingly enough, they afforded him the respect due his collar.
Luckily someone else pulled him away, and Joshua spent the rest of the evening spooning up his melting ice cream between greeting people. From time to time, he checked on Micah, who seemed to have fallen in with a gang of boys. But mostly, he tried to keep an eye on Miss Bellaire.
Like him, she flowed from person to person, group to group. But he couldn’t help the envious twinge when he noticed how she always seemed to have a circle of admirers hanging back a few feet and watching her.
After a while, he noticed the crowd thinning, as people left for the long journey back to their homes, and wondered if he should round up Micah and head to the parsonage.
A tall man came into his vision, his hand resting on the small of a red-haired woman’s back.
Wyatt Thompson.
For a moment, time overlapped, and Joshua struggled to separate the past and the present. His mother had written of the death of Wyatt’s wife, Alicia. Then, years later, he’d received a missive telling him about a second marriage and several more containing news about the new couple. Good thing those letters had arrived. If he’d run into Wyatt without preparation for a second wife, his shock would have shown on his face.
Before the marriage, Joshua had been sweet on vivacious, blonde Alicia, Wyatt’s first wife. When she’d returned from boarding school, her playfulness and charm had enticed men like bees to a particularly delectable flower. But she and Wyatt had tumbled into love, and Joshua had rarely seen them apart before he left.
His mother’s letter telling him of Alicia’s death in childbirth had arrived during a time of sickness in his village, and he’d been toiling long hours to assist the dying and to comfort his flock. The news of her death had caused him a pang, which was quickly buried under all the losses he had on his hands at the time. Life in Sweetwater Springs had seemed so distant and unreal, the grief for his parishioners so immediate and overwhelming. . . .
Now, the sight of Wyatt with another woman looked
wrong
, and grief jabbed him in the stomach. He struggled not to show his reaction, to remember that Alicia had been dead for many years, and to greet the beautiful redhead whose name he didn’t remember from the letters.
Suddenly, he felt burdened with people, overwhelmed with memories, with trying to keep names and faces together. Exhaustion washed through him.
A screech near the ice cream table shot a spike of energy through him. With some gasps, exclamations, and a few shrieks, a wave of women backed away. Then a couple of men lunged forward. One grabbed something and held up his hand. A
toad
, for goodness sakes.
“That’s my toad, Fred!” It was Micah’s voice. “Please, sir. Give him to me!”
With an apologetic duck of his chin to the Thompsons, Joshua pushed through the crowd to his son.
Micah grabbed for the toad.
The man released it with a laugh. “Hold on to him better, little fella.”
Joshua dropped his hand on Micah’s shoulder and turned him toward the people. “Apologize to everyone, son.”
“For what?”
“Let’s start with bringing a toad to the ice cream social, then letting him lose and. . .
startling
the ladies.
” He expected a sullen, mumbled sorry, something along the lines of what he’d seen from Micah in the past when he’d gotten in trouble.
Micah bobbed his head and flashed a berry-stained smile. “My apologies, ladies.”
Joshua clenched his jaw to keep his mouth from falling open.
Smiles and twitters awarded the boy’s apology, all except for Mrs. Cobb, who scowled. “Get that dirty creature out of here!” she exclaimed.
Joshua raised an eyebrow. “Are you talking about my son or the toad?”
Her scowl deepened.
Without wa
iting for an answer, he placed his hand on Micah’s back and guided him out of the room, nodding goodnight to people, including Delia, as he left. He couldn’t help feeling responsible. He should have checked for the toad. After all, he’d had to dissuade Micah from bringing the squirrel tail to show to Adam Barrett. Not that he’d even known about the toad. But Micah having one was inevitable.
His parents fell in beside him.
Outside, a few people stood around talking in the glow of the moon. The spring night had grown chill. Yet the sturdy townsfolk didn’t seem like they felt the cold.
The Nortons strolled past them, saying quiet good nights.
When they were out of earshot, Joshua asked, “Where did you find the toad?”
“At the Swensens.”
His mother started to laugh. “Of course, at the Swensens.”
Joshua had to shake his head. He’d heard the story of the mud and hunting, which sounded typically Micah. Since his mother and Mr. Swensen had gotten over being upset with the boy, he’d allowed himself to enjoy the tale of the adventure, grateful Micah seemed more like himself, instead of the sullen boy he’d been for the last months.
“I suppose it was too much to expect Micah to get through a whole party without causing mischief,” he said to his parents. He gave his son a little shake. “I will have to get back in the habit of checking your pockets.”
“Do I have to let Fred go?”
“You’ll have to ask your grandmother if she’s willing to live with a toad.”
“Well. . .” said Joshua’s mother, but her wide smile indicated she didn’t object.
His father chuckled. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Micah looked at Joshua, his eyes wide. “You had a toad?”
“I had a series of toads. You’ll be busy catching bugs to feed Fred. He might keep you out of trouble. I’ll help you make him a home. I think I remember what worked best.”
Micah’s grin was his reward.
They walked on in silence. Micah, who’d grown quiet and sleepy, leaned against him. Pleased by the unusual demonstrativeness of the boy, Joshua dropped an arm around his shoulders, remembering when Micah was little and he carried the boy in his arms. Tonight was a stark reminder of how time went by all too fast. Joshua felt as if he’d practically missed Micah’s growing up in the last year. Guilt stabbed him. Not for the first time, he reminded himself that he hadn’t any choice with Esther’s illness.
Perhaps I should have put my foot down about having help to nurse her.
But Joshua couldn’t argue with his dying wife. There’d been far too many arguments in their marriage as it was.
The memory of Esther sobered him. He glanced at his parents, walking just ahead of them, his mother’s hand tucked in the crook of his father’s arm. He’d been blessed to have such loving parents—something he’d always taken for granted until he
’d traveled the wider world. They were good people, compassionate and kind to each other, in spite of his father’s tendency to talk over his mother’s conversation.
The familiar sight of the pair made him wonder about lifelong compatibility—something he hadn’t obtained with Esther. He thought of the couples he’d seen tonight—of Nick and Elizabeth, Wyatt and and his wife and wondered what would happen to them in the future. But both couples had been married a couple of years, so they looked as though they were off to a good start. A niggle of jealousy tried to overtake him, but he pushed it aside.
His mother pulled on his father’s arm to slow him down. She turned. “Did you have a nice time, Joshua?”
He smiled at her. “Yes. Surprisingly, so.”
“I’m glad.” She turned back, and the two resumed their walk.
Joshua pondered his answer to his mother’s question, realizing that the heavy, dull feeling he’d carried around for so long had lightened, at least temporarily. Interesting how he’d enjoyed himself, especially the time he’d spent with Delia Bellaire, which was strange, really, when he hadn’t wanted to go to the ice cream social in the first place.
CHAPTER NINE
D
elia walked home from the ice cream social with Caleb, Edith, and Ben. All of them were silent, even somber, and she wondered if they were tired, or if there were undertones to the evening that she’d missed. But her thoughts were too full of the experience, the people she’d met, the various conversations, and especially the time with Reverend Joshua, that she didn’t pay her companions’ behavior too much heed.
Inside the house, they said good night and went to their separate rooms. Delia paused at her father’s door and tapped lightly. When there was no response, she hurried in, heart rushing, only to find Papa sleeping in a beam of moonlight. She watched the rise and fall of his chest and breathed a prayer of thanksgiving.
Closing the door behind her, Delia went to her room and hung up her cloak and reticule. From the nightstand, she took the buttonhook and sat on the edge of the bed to unbutton her boots. Once she removed them, she wiggled her toes and stretched her feet. Her new boots had higher heels than she was used to and standing in them all evening had given her tired feet.
But I had such a lovely time!
Remembering the reaction of some of the women at the ice cream social at seeing Micah Norton’s toad, Delia smiled.
Too bad she hadn’t been closer. She could have scandalized everyone by catching the toad herself. A toad wasn’t anything compared to an alligator, and she’d encountered those creatures before. They sometimes lay in the roads along the bayous.
She started to undress, then stopped, too keyed up to sleep. After a moment’s debate, Delia decided to go downstairs to the library to see if she could find a book to settle her mind. Although she’d selected several volumes to read to her father during his convalescence, she hadn’t chosen any for her personal reading pleasure. Now would be a good time to start.
The moonlight shining through the windows was strong enough for her to decide against lighting a lamp to take along. Silently, Delia glided down the stairs in the hallway, slowing when she saw soft gaslight spilling through the door. One of the family members must still be awake. She could announce herself, but. . .she glanced down at her stocking feet—not like this. She was about to retreat back up the stairs when she heard her name.
“You must have offended Delia Bellaire tonight, Caleb,” Edith said, her tone sharp. “Although her behavior was too well-bred to show any reaction.”
“Clarify your meaning, Edith.”
“Whatever were you about, chasing after that woman in purple? Practically dragging her out of doors. Unseemly!”
From where she was on the stairs, Delia could see into the doorway where the two stood. The two faced each other, both seeming to vibrate with anger.
“I was not chasing her.”
“Well, it certainly appeared that way.”
“My behavior is none of your concern.”
“It is when it affects me. I was so embarrassed about the slight you gave Delia.”
“I didn’t slight her. I gave her every attention.”
“
After
you went outside with that woman. Who is she, anyway? Pamela Carter said she’s a botanical illustrator.”
“Lily Maxwell. She is sister to Sophia Maxwell, the Songbird of Chicago. You’ve heard me speak of her.”
“Well!” Edith’s tone was slightly mollified. “At least, I can understand the attraction. You’ve long wanted to attend one of Sophia Maxwell’s performances. But still, Caleb, here we have a woman of beauty and wealth under our own roof. A perfect woman for you to court. How could you be so foolish as to leave the building with someone else?”
“It was a mistake.” His voice was stiff. “It won’t happen again. I will turn my attention to Miss Bellaire.”
“See that you do. However, if Delia had begun to develop romantic feelings, you may have hurt her and given her a poor opinion of the steadfastness of your character. You will have to work harder now to overcome such a setback.”
“I said that I would,” Caleb said through gritted teeth. “Now, be done with the lecture!”
Edith put a hand on her brother’s arm. “I only wish for your happiness, brother,” she said, her voice softening. “I know what it’s like to live in marital harmony with the one you love, and I want that for you, as well.”
His stiffness relaxed. He placed a hand over hers. “Marital harmony, yes, Edith. I want that, too. But
love
?” He shook his head. “You can’t deny how unhappy you’ve been ever since Nathaniel’s death. I would never risk my heart like that.”
Edith’s shoulders slumped, and she dropped her hand. “Perhaps you are right. Sometimes I hate Nathaniel for leaving
me. For leaving Ben. I don’t know that I would advise a love match for either of us.” She let out a sad sigh. “At least, you have a chance to court an appropriate woman. I don’t have to tell you how rare that is in Sweetwater Springs.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Then see that you make the best of this opportunity.”
“The opportunity is not mine alone, sister. I suspect that when Andre Bellaire is back on his feet, you might find him a possible match.”
“And I might find myself a widow again soon, too,” she said, her tone bitter.
“There is that,” he agreed. “But think on it. I’ve liked what I’ve seen of the man so far.”
Holding up her skirt to keep from tripping and giving away her presence, Delia tiptoed up the staircase, then silently glided back to her room. Once she carefully closed the door behind her, Delia exhaled, groped for the arm of the nearest chair, and sank into it. She played the conversation over in her mind.
She hadn’t been bothered by Caleb’s desertion at the ice cream social, but she was perturbed by his statement about not looking for love in a marriage.
But I shouldn’t be. . .I was brought up for exactly that type of relationship with or without marriage.
With a slow exhale, Delia realized she’d changed.
Now I want love.
I’ll have to work doubly hard to hide my past and find a way to keep my distance from Caleb, too, without offending.
Too disturbed to sleep, Caleb Livingston said good night to his sister and wandered to the back of the house, through the sunroom, and out to the moonlight-drenched garden. His thoughts busy with his sister’s words, his feet carried him down the brick path and around the bubbling fountain before he turned right, taking the side walkway that led to a wisteria-covered arbor. He couldn’t help the bitter reminder that when he’d designed the garden, he’d imagined a wife enjoying either of the two arbors or reading in the gazebo, or having a party on the lawn.
He took a seat on the wooden bench underneath the arbor. In the moon’s shadow, hidden from the world, he could allow himself to think of finding a wife.
As Caleb thought back on the evening, he felt shame make his stomach clench. Edith was right to scold him about his neglectful behavior toward Delia Bellaire, but even worse, his impulsive action of taking Lily Maxwell outside, trying to win her favor. Which in turn brought about her rejection. . .her choice of a rancher over him.
Just like Elizabeth Hamilton chose Nick Sanders, instead of me.
Tonight, he’d acted out of character, captivated by Lily’s delicate beauty, her unusual lavender eyes, and her connection to Sophia Maxwell, the Songbird of Chicago, whom he’d long wanted to hear sing. Caught up with the idea of a lovely, sophisticated woman visiting Sweetwater Springs, he’d moved without thinking, only wanting to cut her away from the herd of eager swains surrounding her. In his haste, he’d forgotten Delia Bellaire—that he had a responsibility to his guest—a woman as beautiful in her own way as Lily Maxwell.
I need to settle down to courting, neither holding back and moving too slow, as I did with Elizabeth Hamilton when she first came to town, nor jumping too fast as I did with Lily Maxwell tonight.
After all, one of the reasons he and Edith had invited the Bellaires to stay with them was because they both recognized the quality of father and daughter. Delia hadn’t given Caleb any indication that she was interested in his advances, but then she’d been completely focused on her father’s health. As her host, he wouldn’t have acted appropriately by indicating any interest in her.
But now that Andre Bellaire was on the mend, and Delia was attending social activities, he could begin to court her. He mentally ticked off a list of her attributes. Attentive to her father, tick one. Soft-spoken, tick two. Attractive, tick three. Caleb pictured walking down the street with her on his arm. . .how all the men would look at her and envy him. The image eased the tight knot of shame in his belly.
He and Delia hadn’t spoken much beyond social pleasantries and the topic of Andre’s condition. But surely as he became more acquainted with his guest, he’d find himself drawn to her.
I’ll begin tomorrow.
The next day, while her father napped, Delia decided to take a walk and explore the town. She donned a straw bonnet adorned with daisies and picked up a shawl and reticule. The house seemed quiet, and she wondered where Edith was but didn’t want to search for her hostess lest she become trapped inside when the outdoors beckoned.
In New Orleans, she’d spent as much time as possible outside, at least in the nicer months. Just thinking about her home made Delia remember her mother, and she realized some of the hurt and anger she’d felt toward Isadora had ebbed. After all, if her mother hadn’t arranged such a frightening relationship for her, Delia wouldn’t have gone to her grandmother, found Papa, and be here now.
Before she’d left New Orleans, Delia had sent a note to her mother, saying she was leaving the city, but she hadn’t said with whom or where she was going.
I should write an actual letter, giving Maman more details. I’ll do so when I return to the house,
she promised herself.
She moved quickly down the stairs and across the entry to the door. Outside, Delia cleared the steps of the porch, inhaled a breath of fresh air scented with lilac from the bushes sprouting purple flowers at the corners of the house, and stood for a moment in the sunshine, absorbing the warmth of the rays. She turned her face to the beautiful blue sky, arching overhead. Her gaze lingered on a cotton-ball cloud.
What a glorious sight!
She made the sign of the cross and sent up a prayer of gratitude for her father’s survival, for landing in a town full of people who’d welcomed and helped them.
We’ve been so blessed.
Delia couldn’t repress a shudder, thinking about the alternatives, which could have been disastrous.
She thought back to the earlier discussion with her father and Reverend Joshua about religious beliefs and realized that her prayers of desperation—to avoid becoming the mistress of Marcel Dupuy, for her father not to die—had been answered, and in ways she never would have expected.
Perhaps we’ve been led here.
A frisson of intuition tingled down her back.
Not sure what to think, Delia hurried down the walkway and out the gate onto the dirt road, where she paused
.
Which way?
She decided to walk toward the train station and set off down the street, making her steps slow so she could take everything in. The Livingston house definitely towered over the other homes in the area and even some nearby shops, both in height and in ornateness. Most homes were simple one- and two-story wooden structures. Only a few were on Main Street with Mr. Livingston’s, and she glimpsed others set back on side streets. Sweetwater Springs was bigger than the town first appeared.
A woman passed her, wearing a faded dress and a sunbonnet.
They exchanged smiles and nods.
The sunbonnet seemed similar to a tignon in that it proclaimed a woman’s station in life. Every woman she’d seen wearing one was dressed in a plain style, the gowns obviously homemade, often well worn. Whereas the ladies in more expensive gowns wore hats decorated with ribbons or flowers or both. Delia touched the green satin bow of the straw hat she wore, still not used to being without her tignon.
She lingered in front of a nicer home surrounded by a picket fence. Daffodils bloomed in planter boxes and a lilac in the corner added the sweet scent to the street. Rose bushes lined the fence, and she imagined they’d be quite beautiful when they bloomed.