Glorious Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series) (17 page)

Wyatt nodded. “Harry can camp out with them.”

Samantha gave a sudden smile. “Why, I believe the reunion can be done.”

“Wonderful!” Pamela laid a hand on her chest. “The children will have so much fun.”

As more people entered the discussion of Lizzy’s party, Delia spooned up her soup and watched the group, trying to understand their relationships. Obvious warmth and friendship flowed
among most of the couples. Their expressions and tone, the gentle teasing, told her more than their words. However, no one appeared to have the same closeness with Caleb and Edith, who seemed more aloof, and no one interacted with the unpleasant Cobbs. Sheriff Granger didn’t participate in the discussion, but even without being near the lawwoman, Delia sensed she was taking everything in.

Mrs. Graves brought in the main course—a hearty roast beef that sent an enticing aroma into the air. Mashed potatoes and gravy, new peas and honeyed carrots accompanied the meat.

Several guests complimented Mrs. Grayson on the meal, and she inclined her head with a brief smile.

Pamela Carter asked Joshua a question about Africa, and the talk veered from horses to a discussion of the church services he’d conducted there and how they were different from the ones in America. Between bites of food, Joshua described his mission. Everyone listened attentively and asked intelligent questions.

Just the sound of his voice telling a story about one of the Ugandan gods made Delia’s stomach settle, and she found herself hungry, after all. She tried not to stare at the minister too much, restraining herself to the kind of polite glances she’d give anyone next to her who was talking.

When the pieces of pie were brought out, the topic changed to the parsonage. Joshua explained what he had in mind, using his finger to sketch out the plan on the tablecloth
.

After having seen the Norton’s tiny home, Delia agreed with the need for expansion. But even if she hadn’t, the rich sound of his voice would have convinced her.

When Joshua finished, for some reason everyone looked at John Carter.

The rancher set down his fork. “I think it’s well past time. The town has grown, and the calls upon the services of Reverend and Mrs. Norton have increased.” He tipped his head to them. “Besides the room for yourselves, there should be a space for activities such as ladies’ auxiliary teas, meetings for a church council. . . .”

Elizabeth Sanders laughed. “We don’t have a ladies’ auxiliary, John, or a church council. But you’re right. We should. And now that I think of it, the lack of a comfortable space to meet has definitely been a drawback. Without some arranging, the school isn’t set up for adults. We cannot always call upon Caleb and Edith’s generosity, and traveling out to my house or Pamela’s or Samantha’s is not easy for everyone.”

Mrs. Cameron frowned.
“And my house, which is in town and could accommodate social activities, often has patients.”

Mrs. Gordon, the schoolteacher, gestured to the guests. “We’re closer to town than those of you who are ranchers.” She cast a mischievous look at her husband. “But our parlor has a few large pieces of furniture to accommodate Ant’s frame, and, thus, they take up a lot of the available space.”

Her husband sent her a crooked grin of affection.

Mrs. Norton clasped her hands together. “Oh, how it would be lovely to have a ladies’ aid society or ladies’ auxiliary. We could meet once a month, or perhaps more often in good weather. Think of what we could accomplish.”

“Well,” drawled the sheriff. “I guess that settles the need for a bigger parlor.”

Everyone except for the Cobbs and Edith Grayson laughed.

Nick Sanders thumped the table with his knuckles. “I don’t think you should completely undertake the funding for the expansion, Reverend Joshua. At the least, we should gather everyone together to help you build.”

John Carter nodded. “Instead of a barn raising, a parsonage raising. . .well, parsonage
expanding
.”

“We could make a day of it,” Wyatt Thompson said with a thoughtful look at his wife.

“I’m sure the ladies will contribute the food.” Dr. Cameron playfully rubbed his stomach. “At the Christmas party—” he glanced at Delia and Joshua “—you should have seen the tables groaning with the best the ladies of Sweetwater Springs could provide. Once the word gets out, that enticement alone will be enough to bring men from far and wide to help.”

I wonder if I could make jambalaya?
Delia was grateful she’d accepted the gift of spices from her grandmother’s cook. The good woman had been concerned that Delia couldn’t buy them in the West.

“A building party,” Elizabeth said with an exchange of mischievous glances with Samantha and Pamela.

Murmurs of agreement went around the table.

Pamela Carter waved her hand to indicate everyone at the table. “Mrs. Norton, you are not to worry about a thing. We’ll take care of all the details. . .organize the food.”

Mrs. Norton’s teary gaze traveled around the room. “Oh, how kind of you all.”

Seeing the woman’s expression made a little tickle of emotion in Delia’s throat.

“We can use the schoolhouse,” Mrs. Gordon offered. “Like we did for the Christmas party.”

Caleb set down his fork. “The architect, Will Phillips, gave you the list of materials you’d need,” he said to Joshua. “So as soon as they arrive, we can go forward.”

Delia sat back and listened to the plans. Longing welled up in her to participate. . .to be part of this community. As much as she wanted her father to speedily recover his health, she wouldn’t mind spending weeks in Sweetwater Springs and becoming more acquainted with these people. Not the Cobbs, of course, but—she slid her gaze to the side—
to one man in particular.
Surely, it wouldn’t be selfish of her to wish to spend some time with Joshua.
Father and I will leave eventually anyway.
The thought made her heart ache.

Outside the room doorway, Micah froze.

Mr. Bellaire lifted a hand and waved him inside.
He lay in a bed bigger than that of Micah’s Norton grandparents’.

Stiffly, Micah took a few steps inside, hoping the man wouldn’t yell at him.
What will my father say? Will the sheriff arrest me?
He regretted the curiosity that had brought him here. Now, all he could hope for was to escape the mansion before the meal downstairs concluded. Race home before his father and grandparents arrived.

“And who might you be, young fella?”

“I’m Micah Norton.”

“Ah. I’ve heard of you, Micah. Please come in and keep an old man company.” He set the tray holding the remains of his meal on the bed next to him.

Since Mr. Bellaire didn’t sound angry, Micah relaxed his shoulders.
Maybe I’m not in trouble, after all.
He walked over and sat in the big blue chair nearest the bed.

“Your father’s been telling me stories about Africa. I’ll bet you have some good ones, too.”

“I know ones my father doesn’t.”

“Of course. You’re a different person from him, with your own experiences. Now, tell me. What do you miss the most?”

Micah’s throat closed up. No one had asked him that question before. They all seemed to think he’d be better off in America and needed to forget about everyone in Uganda whom he loved.

The man watched him with calm hazel eyes and didn’t seem to expect him to speak. “I was much older than you when I moved from New Orleans to New York. You couldn’t imagine two cities more different. And the people. . .all Americans, but you’d think we lived in two separate countries. The change was quite a shock to my senses.”

Micah understood shocks to senses.

“At first, I didn’t like anything about New York, and I was desperately homesick for my family and friends, the food, the slower pace of life. . . . But I was there because my grandfather was ill and needed me to run his business. So, I couldn’t go home.”

Listening to the man made Micah forget his sadness. “What did you do?”

Mr. Bellaire was silent for a while, his gaze unfocused. “I gave myself a challenge.”

Micah tilted his head, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I challenged myself to find
one
thing.” He held up a finger. “Just one that I liked about New York.”

“Was it hard?”

“Surprisingly not. For you see, I didn’t say it had to be a big thing.”

“What was the first?”

“I moved there in the winter and had never seen snow.”

Micah shook his head. “I haven’t, either.”

“Well, if you’re living in Montana, you’ll come to know more than your share.”

“I suppose so. I want to play in it. Make snowmen, go sledding. . . .”

Mr. Bellaire grimaced. “I was too old to play. As for the answer to your question about the first thing I liked in New York. . . . I was walking to my hotel. The snow was this dirty gray slush. The sharp wind whistled between the buildings and seemed to penetrate right through my clothes. I’d never been so cold. I’d forgotten all about my challenge. My head was down to shield my face from the wind, and all I could think was hurrying to my grandfather’s house to sit in front of a fire and have a brandy. Then I saw it.” Eyebrow lifted, he paused for dramatic effect.

Micah bounced on the chair. “What?”

“A red feather, a spot of bright color on top of the snow as if it had just fluttered down. I stopped and picked it up. I glanced all around, hoping to spot the bird—a cardinal, I suppose. But I didn’t see it. In fact, the whole twenty years I lived there, I never saw a red bird.”

“Was the feather very big?”

Mr. Bellaire smiled and held up his hand, using his thumb and forefinger to make a measurement. “The feather was like my own little miracle. It gave me hope. After that, I was able to find one new thing each day that I liked about New York, until eventually I felt at home in the city and didn’t want to return to New Orleans.”

Micah thought he’d never stop feeling he wanted to go home to Uganda, to Kimu, to his nanny. . . .

Mr. Bellaire’s smile was understanding. “Is there anything about America you like?”

“Ice cream!”

Mr. Bellaire burst out laughing. He held a hand to his chest. “You, Micah Norton, are a better tonic than what the doctor gives me.”

Micah didn’t know how he could be a tonic. His mother certainly hadn’t thought so.

Restless, he jumped to his feet and wandered around the room, stopping at a round table. He stood gazing at a black-and-white chessboard, then reached out to finger a black pawn in the shape of a horse head.

“Do you play?” Mr. Bellaire asked.

“My father was teaching me. Then my mother became too ill, and he was always with her.”

“Well, let’s see what you remember, shall we?” He gestured for Micah to come to him. “Bring the chessboard over here, and we’ll set it on my lap.”

Micah carefully picked up the board and brought it to the bed. Even though a few pieces wobbled, none fell off. Proud of his accomplishment, he placed the board on Mr. Bellaire’s legs.

The man touched the queen and moved the piece to the center of a black square. “Why don’t we start with a review? Tell me what you remember of each of these.”

Micah sat for a minute, trying to think so far back. Then in a stilted voice, he mentioned the few rules he knew. “The pawns are the first line of defense, the queen is very powerful, everyone is trying to protect the king. . . .”

Mr. Bellaire listened with a solemn expression. “Not bad.” He touched a pawn and began to explain strategies of the game. After a while, he stopped and let out a weary breath. “Seems I still haven’t gotten my stamina back, Micah. I don’t think I’m up to a game today. We’ll have to try another time.”

Although disappointed, Micah could tell the man needed to rest. “I’d like that, sir.” Without being asked, he lifted th
e chess set off Mr. Bellaire’s lap and carried it back to the table. A Bible lay there—the black leather cover looked almost new, so unlike the worn volumes that belonged to his family members. Micah drew his finger over the gold lettering of the title, belatedly remembering he was supposed to memorize a chapter. He couldn’t fight back a guilty expression.

“What is it?”

Micah didn’t want to admit he’d snuck away from the parsonage, but he wasn’t about to lie, either. “I’m supposed to memorize a chapter while my father and grandparents are at the meeting.”

“Do you have a certain one picked out?”

“No, my father is letting me choose.”

“I don’t know too much about the Bible, but my grandfather had a favorite. Do you know Psalm 100?”

Micah took the Bible in his hands, parted the middle, then turned some pages until he reached the hundredth chapter.

“Read it to me, please.” Mr. Bellaire scooted down and settled his head on his pillows.

“Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands. Serve the Lord with gladness, and come before his presence with singing.” As he read on, Micah realized he was familiar with the verses. He liked what they said, liked the rhythm of saying the words. Best of all, the chapter was short, only five verses.