Glorious Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series) (30 page)

She cupped his cheek. “Of course not.”

“Then I’ll go.” He jumped to his feet. “Father, I think you should ask Miss Delia to get married. I know you’re sweet on her.” He flashed them a smile and took off at a run. In his haste, he left the quilt and valise behind.

His face heating from his son’s challenge, Joshua looked around.
This isn’t a romantic setting.
But he didn’t know where else he could take Delia. The Livingston gazebo was obviously out of the question.

“Come with me.” He stood and extended his elbow.

Delia gave him a shy glance and tucked her fingers around his arm.

Joshua led her to the corner where they’d be out of sight from the windows. He turned to face her. “Why didn’t you tell me about Marcel Dupuy? If I’d known you were hiding from him. . . . Fear for your safety puts an entirely different construction on the deception.”

She shook her head. “Fleeing from my mother and Marcel was only part of the reason. Papa wanted me to be his
real
daughter. I’d just been reunited with him and I couldn’t say no. I was too happy just to be with him. I’m complicit in the deception, Joshua. I cannot allow you to think otherwise.”

“Delia, you
are
his real daughter.”

A smile sketched her lips and then disappeared. “You know what I mean.”

“I do.”

“Everyone will know I’m not Delia Bellaire. I don’t even know if I should be called Miss Bellaire or Miss Fortier.”

He brought her hand to his lips. “How about if they call you Mrs. Norton?”

Her eyes widened. “Joshua,” she whispered.

He sank down on one knee. “I should have flowers for you. . .a ring. . .a romantic setting. But all I can give you is my love.” Unable to contain his emotion, he grinned. “And obviously Micah’s love.”

She made a choked sound of laughter.

“Will you marry me, Delia Fortier Bellaire?”

“Oh, Joshua I love you so much. . .you
and
Micah. But we can’t, Joshua.” She squeezed his hand. “You’re a
minister!
Your wife’s background should be above reproach.”

Now that he knew what he wanted, no
deserved
, Joshua wasn’t about to take “no” as an answer. He patted her hand. “Because I’m a minister, darling Delia, I know we are all forgiven and have new chances.”

Her eyes looked wary. “Are you sure?”

Joshua ran a finger down her cheek. “From now on, no more lies. Only the truth between us.”

“No more lies,” she echoed. “I promise.”

“Edith and Caleb have decided to keep this situation secret. But we can’t depend that news of your background won’t get out. If you’re not prepared to live with what may come from that, we can move elsewhere.”

Shaking her head, Delia placed a hand on his lips. “Don’t even think such thing. We couldn’t separate Micah and his grandparents.”

“Very well. We’ll stay. I know being a minister’s wife won’t be easy. But you have a good heart, Delia, and that’s the most important requirement.”

“But our differences. . .I’ll convert, but. . . .”

“I still think compatibility is important, dearest Delia, and we have that on the inside where it counts. But I’ve learned love is even more important—the
deep
love I feel for you. I thought I knew love before. . .” He shook his head, trying to speak what was in his heart. “What I feel for you is so much more. I trust that whatever comes our way—prejudices, differences, difficulties. . .our love for each other, and God’s love for us, will see us through.”

Her smile bloomed into joy. Her eyes glowing, Delia squeezed his hands. “Yes, oh, yes, Joshua. I’d like nothing better than to be your wife and Micah’s mama.”

“And I think Micah will be delighted to have Miss Delia as his new mother and Andre for a bonus grandfather.”

Delia laughed. “Oh, I hope so. He will keep me on my toes, that boy will.” She tugged on his hands so he could stand in front of her.

Filled with more gratitude than he could ever remember feeling, Joshua rose and wrapped his arms around her, inhaling her sweet scent.

Delia tilted her face up. Her lips parted.

His heart full
of love, Joshua lowered his head and kissed her.

Read on for an excerpt of
Healing Montana Sky

CHAPTER ONE

In the mountains above Sweetwater Springs

Spring 1895

A
ntonia Valleau cast the first shovelful of dirt onto her husband’s fur-shrouded body, lying in the grave she’d dug in their garden plot—the only place where the soil wasn’t rock hard.
I won’t break down. I can’t break down.
Pain squeezed her chest like a steel trap. She had to force herself to take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of loam and pine.
I must do this.

She drove the shovel into the soil heaped next to the grave, hefted the laden blade, and dumped the earth over Jean-Claude, trying to block out the thumping sound the soil made as it covered his body. Even as Antonia scooped and tossed, her muscles aching from the effort, her heart stayed numb, and her mind kept playing out the last sight of her husband. The memory haunting her, she paused to catch her breath and wipe the sweat off her brow, her face heated from exertion in spite of the cool spring air.

Antonia touched the tips of her dirty fingers to her lips. She could still feel the pressure of Jean-Claude’s mouth on hers as he’d kissed her before striding out the door for a day of hunting. She’d held up baby Jacques to him, and Jean-Claude had tapped his son’s nose. Jacques had let out a belly laugh that made his father respond in kind. Her heart had so filled with love and pride in her family that she’d laughed with them.

Stepping outside, she’d watched as Jean-Claude ruffled the dark hair of their six-year-old, Henri, then strode off, whistling, his rifle carried over his shoulder. She’d thought the day would be a good one—a normal day. She’d assumed her husband would return to their mountain home in the afternoon before dusk as he always did, unless he had a longer hunt planned.

How can Jean-Claude possibly be dead? How can he be so alive in my thoughts, yet lie there still and quiet at the bottom of a grave?

All day, a bad feeling had grown in Antonia. Finally, by midafternoon, she could no longer stand the suspense and knew she had to check on her husband. Carrying her rifle, bandages, and a hide just in case he was injured and she had to drag him to the mule, she’d left the sleeping baby with Henri and had ridden along the route Jean-Claude had told her he would take, searching for her husband.

Antonia tossed another shovelful of dirt into the grave, struggling not to dwell on the memory of climbing the game trail into a tiny clearing and seeing Jean-Claude and the grizzly. . .so much blood. . . . 
No!

With an effort, she wrenched away her thoughts, tried to keep them on his last kiss. But even that memory hurt. Without her volition, the dreadful images returned.

This can’t be real
, she’d thought even as she’d untangled her husband from the claws of the dead grizzly, wrapped him in the hide, hefted him onto the mule, and hauled his body back to the cabin. There, she’d dug the long hole and rolled him inside.

As Antonia filled the grave, she denied she was burying her husband.
Jean-Claude’s away checking the trap line,
she told herself, flipping the dirt onto his shroud.

She moved through the nightmare with leaden limbs, a knotted stomach, burning dry eyes, and a throat that felt as though a log had lodged there. As Antonia shoveled, she kept glancing at her little house, where inside Henri watched over the sleeping baby. From the garden, she couldn’t see the doorway.

Antonia worried about her son—what the glimpse of his father’s bloody body had done to the boy.
Mon Dieu,
she couldn’t comfort him.
Not yet.
Henri had promised to stay inside with the baby, but she didn’t know how long she had before Jacques woke up.

Once she finished burying Jean-Claude, Antonia would have to take her sons and trek to where she’d found her husband’s body clutched in the great arms of the dead grizzly. She wasn’t about to let his last kill lie there to the ravages of animals and elements. Her family needed that meat and the fur.

She heard a sleepy wail that meant Jacques had woken up.
Just a few more shovelfuls.
Antonia forced herself to hurry, despite how her arms, shoulders, and back screamed in pain.

When she finished the last shovelful of earth, exhausted, Antonia sank to her knees, facing the cabin, her back to the grave, placing herself between her sons and where their father lay. She should go to them, but she was too depleted to move.

Jacques appeared on his hands and knees, peering around the corner of the cabin. His eyes lit with pleasure when he saw her. The baby flashed Antonia his wide grin and scooted toward her. Only in the last two days had he gone from pushing himself across the floor to a hands-and-knees crawl.

Henri trailed so close behind Jacques that he had to walk wide-legged so he didn’t step on his brother.

The baby reached her, placed his hands on her legs, and pressed himself up, grabbing at the front of her tunic. “Mummum.”

Antonia hugged Jacques to her. He’d soiled his rabbit skin diaper and smelled, but she held him close, needing to feel him in her arms.

He wiggled in protest.

She dropped a kiss on his forehead and reached up to her shoulder to unlace the leather ties of her tunic, pulling down the flap to free her breast.

Nestling close, he began to greedily suckle.

Henri dropped to her other side and leaned against her.

Antonia put her arm around him. Just holding her sons brought her comfort but also increased her despair.
What do I do now?

Should I take the boys and leave? Head for Sweetwater Springs?

Antonia shook her head.
No!
I won’t leave Jean-Claude. Leave my home.

But without her husband to provide for them, she didn’t know how long she could manage on her own.

Somehow, I’ll find a way
, Antonia vowed.

Two days later, Antonia took a final look around the log cabin. Just one snug room, made with Jean-Claude’s own hands, the home had sheltered her family for the last two years. Only the table and log chairs remained in front of the river rock fireplace. She’d been dreading spending another long winter cooped up with a young boy and a toddler in the small space. Now, though, she’d give anything to stay, to experience the love and warmth once contained within these cozy walls. But the house remained empty—not just of their possessions, which she’d packed on the two mules—but of all that had made it a home.

The tears she’d held back since her discovery of Jean-Claude’s body threatened to fall, and she abruptly turned and walked outside for one final look. The spring sun shone through the pines and dappled the needle-strewn ground. Her garden, now a cemetery, lay on one side of the cabin, surrounded by a high split-rail fence to keep out the deer. Before long, the forest would reclaim the plot she’d worked so hard to cultivate. She took heavy steps to the grave.

Antonia reached the spot marked with a crude wooden cross, lashed together with leather strips, and sank to her knees. She wanted to throw herself over the mound and sob away her anguish. But that would frighten the children. Instead, she placed her palm on the dirt, feeling the loose soil shift under her hand. “Good-bye, my love.”

The rest of the words clogged her throat.
How do I tell a dead man that I’m leaving him?
Not that her husband was really here.

Antonia crossed herself. She believed Jean-Claude was in heaven, having sweet-talked his way right out of purgatory. He was probably laughing and telling stories to the angels, charming them as he had her. She was the one who’d have to live without him.

Am I doing the right thing. . .leaving?
For two days, uncertainty had weighed heavy in her stomach like a rock, while her mind twisted between thoughts of Jean-Claude and debating plans for the future.
How will we survive?
The question had eaten at her. She desperately wanted to find a way to stay in her home. But although a good shot, Antonia couldn’t take the children hunting. Nor could she leave them alone for hours at a stretch. She glanced over her shoulder at her older son.

Sad-eyed Henri held the reins of the two mules, his mouth drooping.

The baby stood on tottery legs and clutched his brother around his hips.

Her heart twisted. How could she help her sons? They adored their father. Henri had cried himself to sleep last night. And her usually placid Jacques had fussed, waking often. She’d barely had a wink of sleep. Antonia motioned them to her side.

Henri tied the reins to a branch and gently pushed Jacques to the ground. He walked over to her, his feet dragging. The baby crawled after.

She patted the ground next to her. “Say good-bye to
Père,
my son.”

The boy looked from the mound to her, his face drawn and a sorrowing look in his eyes. “You said he’s in heaven,
Maman
.”

Jacques climbed on the grave and played with some loose dirt.

“He is,
mon petite chèr
.” Aching with love for him, Antonia smoothed back the hair from Henri’s face, wanting to find words to comfort him, to help her son understand. “His body lies here, though, and we are leaving.” Her voice thickened. “So, we’re saying goodbye, although we’ll never forget him.”

Henri’s face scrunched and tears came to his eyes. He dropped to his knees and leaned into her. “Why did
Père
have to die, Maman
?”

How can I answer that?
“I don’t know, Henri.”

“I want him to come back.”

She put her arm around the boy and squeezed him close. “I do, too.”

Jacques crawled to them.

Antonia gathered the baby to her, inhaling his sweet baby scent. She gave him a squeeze, kissed his plump cheek, and stood. She tried to send Henri an encouraging smile, but her mouth wouldn’t stretch, and the gesture probably came out a grimace. “Are you ready for an adventure, Henri?”

“Yes, Maman,” he said in a subdued tone.

Antonia missed her son’s usual high spirits and gamin grin. How long before they’d return? She tried to suppress the secret fear that Henri would never be the same again, his happy personality buried with Jean-Claude in his grave.

“Up on the mule then,” Antonia said briskly. “You’re a big boy now and will ride all by yourself. I’m depending on you to hold on to your brother. Can you do that?”

His expression brightened, which gave her a glimmer of hope, and he nodded.

Antonia helped him climb into the saddle, then set Jacques up in front of him. Behind the saddle, she’d lashed their clothing and sleeping furs. “You hold your brother tight.”

“I will, Maman.”

“In three days, Henri, we’ll arrive in Sweetwater Springs.” She tried to instill some enthusiasm into her voice, but her tone sounded so heavy Antonia knew she’d failed. “You’ll have your first sight of a town.”

The other mule was laden with Jean-Claude’s rifle, his furs and hides, along with more of their meager possessions. A cast-iron Dutch oven and a metal bucket rode on top of the heap. Antonia shrugged into her own pack, hefted her rifle, and took the reins of both mules. She glanced behind for one final glimpse of her home, then resolutely turned forward and led them down the mountain trail.