Healing Montana Sky (11 page)

The late afternoon sun had begun to cool. A budding rosebush grew nearby, and Antonia made a mental note to pick some when they bloomed to place on Daisy’s grave. She made a stop at the privy, pumped some water in the trough by the well to rinse her hands, and filled the bucket.

She moved to the house, trying not to look at the coffin in the wagon. When she walked through the open door, she saw the two other ladies had made themselves at home. Antonia smiled at her sons.

Someone must have brought the basket inside, for it sat on the table, contents scattered across the surface.

Mrs. Carter had tied on an apron with blue embroidered flowers across the top and hem over her dress. “Daisy Muth left a well-stocked larder,” she said in approval. “That will make cooking meals easier for you.” From a shelf, she picked up a tin box decorated with red flowers painted across the top and held it up. “I found Daisy’s recipes. That will help you make Mr. Muth his accustomed meals.”

Shame rose in Antonia. She couldn’t read the recipes, but didn’t want the women—or Erik for that matter—to know of her ignorance. She gave a quick nod of agreement, mentioned bringing the water to Mrs. Norton, and escaped from the conversation. Walking to the bedroom, her chest tightened and her breath came in gasps.
What am I going to do?

CHAPTER NINE

J
ohn Carter had insisted on finishing up the grave and sent Erik back to bid his farewell to Daisy. At first, Erik argued, and then the man firmly said that digging the grave was good for him. He was counting his blessings with each shovel full.

Erik wanted to curse at Carter for that statement. . .for having a beloved wife, children, prosperous ranch, when he had. . . . But he’d sucked up the feeling, remembering he was beholden to the man.

He detoured to the barn to grab some of Antonia’s possessions, taking up a big parcel wrapped in hide. As he approached the porch, he could see Reverend Norton sitting on the rocker, a Bible open on his knee. Erik climbed the steps and set down his fur-wrapped bundle.

“The womenfolk chased me out,” Reverend Norton said, looking up from his reading. “They want to prepare the body. You wait here until they’re ready.”

Erik felt a surge of gratitude for the reprieve from having to see his wife in the rigors of death. He remembered how Daisy’s body had looked when he left, and he’d dreaded seeing her again that way.

The minister rocked his chair. “I decided the best help I could be was to sit here and pray for you and your new family.”

“I appreciate that, Reverend. We’re certainly in need of prayers.”

The minister patted his Bible. “The Lord promises He won’t give us more than we can bear, but He certainly comes mighty close at times.”

Like right now.

“He brings us comfort as well.”

Erik thought of his beautiful baby, of the support from people he’d barely known before today. “But there’s so little compared to all the pain.”

“We receive small doses to sustain us. Sometimes from different places. Not much, perhaps, if you look at them individually. But they all add up to enough to keep us going, until someday, we find the pain is lessened.”

Antonia poked her head out of the doorway, and, when she saw Erik, she stepped outside. “Mrs. Norton wants to know which dress you want Daisy buried in?”

How in the heck do I know
? Suppressing his irritation, he rubbed a hand over his head, as if the gesture would give his brain some energy to think. “Her best dress, I guess.” But then he paused and held up his hand, signaling her to wait. Daisy was awfully proud of her navy-blue dress with the puffed sleeves and the lace around the collar and neck—the one her parents had sent her at Christmas. But he’d loved his wife in her second-best dress, a light blue shirtwaist and skirt that made her eyes match the sky.
That’s the one.
He described it to Antonia.

Giving a nod, she vanished into the house.

Erik walked over to the pitcher and ewer, set on a bench at the end of the porch, and washed his face and hands. With a sigh, he settled down to wait. For the first time, fatigue hit him, and he realized it had been a long time since he’d slept. He thought about getting up and poking around the kitchen for something to feed his guests, but he didn’t have the strength. Thank goodness, Mrs. Cameron had sent along a basket of food.
That will have to do.

Mrs. Norton came out onto the porch. She looked at him, compassion in her eyes, and nodded.

It is time.
With a heavy sigh, he stepped over the threshold and into his comfortable main room.

On the braided rug, Mrs. Carter knelt in front of Jacques, holding his hands and letting him bounce up and down. “Ma, Ma, Ma,” he chanted, grinning.

Antonia sat in the rocking chair, nursing Camilla. She looked up when he entered, her eyes shadowed. She didn’t say anything.

But Erik could feel her gaze on him as he crossed the room to enter the bedroom. He paused at the door, then with a deep breath forced himself to enter.

His wife lay on the big bed, a cover pulled up to her shoulders. She looked almost relaxed, her eyes half-lidded, her mouth slightly open.

If he squinted, he could believe she slept. But when Erik touched her hand, he failed to feel any warmth, any life, and he knew Daisy was really gone.

Erik let out a slow exhale, maybe the first deep breath he’d taken since this whole tragedy started. He dragged the ladder-back chair to the side of the bed and settled onto it. He rubbed his hand down Daisy’s unresponsive arm, desperately wishing she’d open her eyes and come back to him. Yet at the same time, he knew she wouldn’t.

Baby Jacques crawled through the open door. He reached Erik’s leg and pulled himself up. The baby solemnly glanced up at Erik and patted his knee, as though comforting him.

Erik gave Jacques a small smile.

The baby reached out one chubby hand toward the bed, trying to touch Daisy.

At first, Erik was tempted to push away Jacques’s hand. But something in the little one’s face stayed him—curiosity, but also tenderness beyond his years. It seemed to him as if briefly an old soul peeked through those dark eyes, lending an elder’s wisdom and compassion to the baby’s countenance.

With one finger, Jacques touched Daisy’s hand in a tender gesture that brought tears to Erik’s eyes. He rubbed a hand over the boy’s black curls, feeling a connection to the child, akin to the love he had for Camilla.

The wise look on the boy’s face faded, and then Jacques was only a baby, whose legs gave out. He plumped down on his bottom, then turned, and crawled out the door.

Erik stared after the baby, feeling awe and the first stirrings of peace since Daisy had gone into labor. Then he pushed the strange incident to the back of his mind and turned his attention to his wife. “Daisy, we have a beautiful daughter. Thank you for giving her to me. I swear I will do everything in my power to keep her alive and happy.”

He paused, not wanting to say the next words. “For Camilla’s sake, Daisy, my love, I’ve taken another wife. I think you would like her. She’s saved our baby, Daisy. And for that alone, she’ll have my undying gratitude.”

A fanciful thought struck him, and he stopped to think it over, feeling that maybe it wasn’t so fanciful after all. “Perhaps, my dearest, you already know this. Maybe the first thing you did after crossing through those pearly gates was arrange for someone who would save our daughter. . .and thus save me. Maybe we’ll all save each other.”

Erik brushed back the hair from her forehead. “And sweetheart. . .if you haven’t already met him. Go seek out a man named Jean-Claude Valleau. Tell him I promise to take good care of his family. I’ll provide for them as if they were my own.”

Swallowing hard, he leaned over and pressed a last kiss onto her forehead. “Good-bye, my love.”

In the other room, Antonia picked up her baby son when he crawled to her and hugged him. The other two women had stepped outside to give Erik privacy, taking Henri and Camilla with them. But Antonia felt she should stay near Erik if he needed her—not that she knew what, if anything, she’d be able to do for him.

Jacques laid his head on her breast, and she took a seat in the leather chair. She couldn’t help overhearing Erik talking to his wife, and she didn’t want to disturb him by closing the door. But as the conversation continued, Antonia was grateful she hadn’t, for his words deeply touched her.

A powerful emotion flowed through her body, comprised of pain and gratitude, and the beginnings of affection for the man she would now call husband. This time, she couldn’t stop the tears that rolled down her face. But they weren’t just for her loss or that of her boys’, but also for Erik and Camilla.
And Daisy, too.
She leaned her head against Jacques’s and let them flow, ’til the wetness dripped on his curls.

As she cried, Antonia echoed Erik’s prayer that Jean-Claude and Daisy meet up and together watch over the two families, who, from necessity, had now become one.

The burial party formed a semicircle around the open grave with the coffin resting inside. Reverend Norton stood at the head, near a cross Erik had quickly lashed together, a prayer book in his hands.

Gentle hills ringed the area, shutting out the sight of the house and the barn. A breeze swept through the group, bringing the scent of grass and dust, and ruffling the women’s skirts.

Antonia held Jacques, while Henri clutched her skirt. At the house, she had broken apart her wedding bouquet and passed out flowers to the mourners. Although, at Mrs. Norton’s suggestion, she’d held back one bloom to save as a keepsake.

Erik stood next to her, nearest the minister. On Antonia’s other side, Mrs. Norton held Camilla, who watched the proceedings with her unfocused blue eyes. Then came the Carters who stood close enough for their arms to touch.

Everyone, even Jacques, carried one of her roses, denuded of thorns, although his had lost most of the petals. There’d been just enough flowers to provide one for each person.

Reverend Norton bowed in prayer. When he lifted his head, he looked at Antonia. “Before we begin,” the minister said, “I’d like to take a moment to say a few words for Jean-Claude Valleau, who didn’t have the benefit of a formal funeral.”

Antonia suppressed a gasp of shock.

“I didn’t personally know Jean-Claude Valleau, but through his wife and sons, I have come to know him—as a man who loved his family and did his best to provide for them, even when the task was dangerous for him to do so. Therefore, I also see him as a brave man. We ask that God have mercy on his soul and give comfort to his widow and children. And when we hear the words of the service for Margaret Marie Muth, we remember Jean-Claude Valleau as well.”

Tears pricked Antonia’s eyes.

Erik glanced at her; then seeing her emotion, he tucked his hand under her elbow.

The gesture brought her unexpected comfort.

The rest of the service passed in a blur of words and grief. Antonia let her mind drift, for if she focused on the grave, the sight brought to mind another shallow one filled with the body of her husband, and once again, she shoveled dirt onto her beloved—the sensations as vivid as when they happened six days ago.

“The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.” Reverend Norton’s words brought her to the present. “Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

They echoed his words.

“Into His hands, we commit the spirits of Margaret Marie Muth and Jean-Claude Valleau. May we rise in glory to see them again. Amen.”

“Amen,” everyone murmured.

Reverend Norton looked at Erik and made a small throwing motion.

Erik tossed his rose into the grave. In a flutter of pink petals, it landed on top of the coffin.

The rest of them threw their flowers into the opening.

Jacques held onto his, and his brother reached up and pried the flower from his clutched hand. “Ba!” Jacques protested.

Antonia jiggled him, while Henri dropped the rose into the grave.

There was a pause, and Reverend Norton led the women and children toward the wagon and buggies, while the two men made quick work of filling the grave.

Antonia glanced back, saw the mound over Daisy, and bit her lip, wishing for some way she could comfort Erik.
But how can I do that when I can’t even comfort myself?

Still, when he climbed on the wagon and settled himself in the seat next to her, she reached over and placed her hand on his leg for just a moment. With the small gesture, she tried to convey her support and understanding.

He gave her a quick sideways glance and a slight nod.

Small gestures will have to be enough.