Healing Montana Sky (19 page)

After the women were through, he’d sent Henrietta home with some hens to replace the ones that had disappeared—hopefully, not stolen by Indians—and in appreciation for her help with his new wife’s and stepson’s wardrobes. He’d also filled her basket with some eggs and one of the Nortons’ jam jars.

Truth be told, he was relieved Henrietta had accepted Antonia, and the two looked to be starting a firm friendship. His new wife needed the support and guidance of other women, and he was glad to see his neighbor looking in far better health than Henrietta had been since she took ill.

When the wagon reached the children, Erik pulled up, setting the brake.

The O’Donnell siblings were dressed warmly in shabby coats, scarves, hats, and gloves, and carried their books and slates.

“Good morning, Charlie, girls.” Erik didn’t say the twins’ names because he could never tell the two apart. The identical ten-year-olds had their father’s navy-blue eyes and dark hair, as did thirteen-year-old Charlie and Sally, their older sister who’d gotten married.

“Hello, Mr. Muth.” Charlie grinned. “Thanks for the ride.” He gave Henri a short salute. “Howdy, Henri.”

The boy mumbled a hello.

“You probably know I’m Charlie.” He tugged on the nearest girl’s braid, lifting the end to show the blue ribbon. “This is Idelle. Her color is blue.”

Idelle grimaced and elbowed him.

With a cheeky grin, Charlie released her and pointed at the other girl. “Isleen has the green ribbons. Don’t worry. I won’t let them switch colors on you. We all promised Ma we’d be friendlylike.”

Knowing Charlie was a talker, Erik cut short the introductions. “Into the back you all go. And cover yourselves with the blanket.”

“A ride under a blanket instead of a long, cold walk? Boy, are we lucky.” Charlie flashed him a grin and set his schoolbooks over the side of the wagon. The girls did the same with theirs.

Once the children had clambered aboard, Erik released the brake. Then he hesitated. “Would you like to ride in the back?” he asked Henri.

The boy shook his head.

Maybe he will tomorrow.
Erik flicked the reins, and the horses started up. They traveled the rest of the way to Sweetwater Springs listening to Charlie’s constant chatter.

When they reached the town, they drove past children walking or riding to school. From the back of the wagon, Charlie called out greetings.

Henri shrank down under the fur as if he wanted to hide, although his gaze darted around, taking in the sights of the town.

The boy had probably been overwhelmed when he’d arrived here after his father’s death and hadn’t noticed much.

Even this early, men were hard at work on a nearby office building and farther down the street on the banker’s new hotel going up near the railroad station. A breeze blew the smell of sawdust their way, and the sounds of sawing and hammering rang through the air.

Erik pulled up before the school, set the brake, and tied off the reins, taking the fur off of them.

Charlie launched himself over the side, grabbed his things, and called, “See you later, Henri,” and tore up the steps of the school.

“Here you are, Henri.” Erik tried to make his tone hearty but suspected he fell flat. After checking to make sure the O’Donnell twins were out of the back and headed toward the school steps, he walked around the wagon to escort Henri to meet the teacher. They’d arrived early enough that she hadn’t yet appeared on the steps to ring the bell.

Henri’s eyes widened, and he pointed behind Erik.

He turned to see the Thompson children riding their horses, while their mother, Samantha, drove a tiny buggy pulled by a pair of her midget horses from Argentina that had some fancy Spanish name. One was brown with a black mane, and the other gray.

Erik had seen the miniature horses once before and was just as taken by the little critters this time around. He glanced down to see his stepson’s reaction and was equally taken by the wondering expression on Henri’s face. He looked from the boy to the equipage and had an idea.

Taking a breath, he girded himself to go over and speak to the wife of one of the richest ranchers around—someone, like John and Pamela Carter, whom he’d barely said “good-day” to before. But if doing so would ease Henri’s passage into school, he’d put himself forward.

He tilted his head in the direction of the Thompsons. “Come on. Let’s go meet the little horses. Maybe Mrs. Thompson will allow you to pet them.”

The eager expression on Henri’s face spurred Erik forward, the boy walking at his side.

Mrs. Thompson, a beautiful redhead with sky-blue eyes, set the brake of the buggy and glanced from him to Henri.

On the verge of introducing his stepson, Erik hesitated. He doubted word of Daisy’s death and his remarriage had traveled as far as the Thompson ranch.
How do I explain?
Dread filled him as he realized this probably wouldn’t be the first awkward introduction he’d have to make.

Mrs. Thompson leaned forward, her gaze intent. “The children brought the tragic news home with them. I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Muth. So shocking. Why, I’d just spoken to your wife at the ice cream social.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled, not sure what to say.

Her gaze traveled to Henri, who’d drifted closer to the small horses. “My Falabellas have been known to work magic on children who are hurting,” she said to Erik before shooting a quick glance toward the schoolhouse, then back to him. “I believe there’s time.” She shifted, grabbing the side of the buggy.

Erik extended a hand to help Mrs. Thompson out.

Her youngest son rode over to them. Daniel Rodriguez Thompson, who looked to be about eleven, had the golden skin and dark hair of his Argentine father, but his eyes were the same blue as his mother’s. “Hiya, Idelle,” he called to the twin remaining outside. He saw Henri and raised his slanted eyebrows. “Who are you?” he bluntly asked, his curiosity obvious. Without waiting for an answer, he dismounted. “I’ve never seen you before.”

Appearing shy at the older boy’s attention, Henri ducked his head and didn’t answer.

Erik lowered a hand to his stepson’s shoulder. “This is Henri Valleau. Henri Valleau
Muth
,” he said, making a spontaneous decision to add his name to the boy’s in the same way Wyatt Thompson had branded Samantha Rodriguez’s sons as his own when he married her—including the three adopted ones. “This is his first day of school, and he doesn’t know anyone.”

Daniel bounced on his toes, the motion making him appear not much older than Henri. “Not anymore. Now he knows me, don’t ya, Henri?”

“He’s shy, too,” Erik quickly added, not wanting Daniel to be discouraged by Henri’s silence.

Daniel’s mother extended the reins of the buggy to her son. “Why don’t you take Henri for a quick ride so he can become acquainted with Chico and Mariposa? Just to the train station and back, mind you.” She glanced at Erik. “If that’s all right?”

“More than all right,” he assured her, feeling an enormous sense of gratitude. He’d only hoped for Henri to be allowed to pet one of the little horses. Falabellas, he corrected himself. He held out a hand to his stepson. “I’ll hold your lunch pail and slate.”

“Come on, Henri!” Daniel handed the reins of his mount to his mother and climbed into the buggy, sliding over to make room for Henri.

With a quick smile at Daniel, Henri lost no time in crawling in next to the older boy.

Daniel flicked the reins, and the Falabellas took off at a trot.

Erik watched them for a ways before turning to Mrs. Thompson. “I’m mighty grateful for your kindness and that of your boy. In the last few days, I’ve rarely seen Henri smile much and decidedly not at
all
this morning. He’s never been to school before.”

Mrs. Thompson, too, stared after the buggy. “Poor boy. His life has been upended.” She gave Erik a determined glance. “I’m certainly glad I drove in with Daniel today. I’d heard Mack Taylor has a litter of puppies at the livery stable, and I’ve come to pick out one for my children, especially Christine. Our other dog is so old, and I don’t think she’s going to make it much longer.”

Erik thought back to losing his dog—watching the animal grow old and struggle to move. The pain of the old boy’s death, the shadow that walked at his heels for days. . . . “I know how that feels.”

“It’s not fair that our dogs don’t have longer lives. When I get to heaven, I intend to scold God for that.”

Erik couldn’t help but smile at the picture her words made, even if she sounded somewhat sacrilegious. “St. Peter might not let you through the pearly gates.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Guess I’ll have to hide my intentions better from the Almighty beforehand.” She glanced back at the boys and smiled. “Look, Henri is driving.”

Erik squinted over the distance and almost didn’t recognize his stepson, for Henri’s eyes sparkled and a spirited expression transformed his previously wooden countenance.

As she watched them, Mrs. Thompson’s expression saddened. “Daniel was about Henri’s age when his father died. Such a dark, difficult time for us.” She hesitated and touched Erik’s arm. “What I’m about to say isn’t to hurry you through your grief, as some—no
many—
will try to do. For I know all too well how mourning has its own seasons, and the winter of sorrow can feel interminable. But I want to give you hope. . .that happiness and love can await you on the other side—in the springtime, to continue the metaphor.”

Erik wasn’t sure his winter would ever end. But with both hands, he grasped the hope Mrs. Thompson offered, for he and Antonia, as well as their children, deserved the arrival of spring. “Thank you for. . .” His throat closed, and he couldn’t finish the words.

Daniel pulled the buggy to a stop in front of them, a grin on his face, eyebrows riding high.

Henri leaned toward Erik. “Did you see me drive, P-Pa?” he asked in an excited tone.

This is the first time the boy has spoken directly to me. The first time he’s called me Pa.
Magical miniature horses, indeed.

Touched, Erik wished he had a wagonload of money, so he could afford to buy Henri a Falabella. But such an indulgence was beyond his means. He had a loan to repay and a family to raise. “I did see you. You did a fine job, son. A fine job, indeed.”

From behind him, a clanging sound jolted Erik. He turned to see Mrs. Gordon on the steps, gray gown billowing in the breeze. Bell in hand, she summoned her students.

Erik held out his hand for the reins of Daniel’s horse. “I’ll take him to the livery for you. We can’t have Daniel being late after he’s befriended Henri.”

With a quick smile, Mrs. Thompson placed the reins in his hand.

Erik tied them on the hitching rail.

Mrs. Thompson hurried to Daniel’s side of the buggy and took the reins from him, while the boys climbed out. She waved good-bye before taking a seat.

Erik waved back, more of a salute really, wanting the gesture to acknowledge the woman’s kindness. Lowering an arm to Henri’s shoulder, he steered the boy toward the schoolhouse.

Daniel fell into step on Henri’s other side. “You’ll sit with Tony Barrett and Luke Salter. They’re your age.” He scrunched a face. “And the girls. Lizzy Carter and Krista Swensen.”

When they reached the steps, Daniel dashed inside. “Talk to you at recess, Henri,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

Erik paused at the foot of the stairs to make eye contact with the teacher.

Mrs. Gordon was a brown-haired woman about Daisy’s height. The schoolmarm was married to a man even taller than Erik—a relative newcomer to Sweetwater Springs, who now owned the newspaper and the new office building going up.

Rather than climb the steps to tower over her, Erik stayed where he was. “Good morning, ma’am.”

“Good morning, Mr. Muth. I see you’ve brought me a new pupil.”

“This is my stepson, Henri Valleau Muth. He’s never been to school before, so he’s starting from scratch.”

Mrs. Gordon had big gray eyes, which now brimmed with compassion. “I’d like to express my condolences on the loss of your wife.” She looked down at the boy. “And to you, as well, Henri, on the death of your father.”

The bad news certainly has traveled fast.
“Thank you, ma’am. We are dealing as best we can.”

“I’m sure you are, Mr. Muth.” She gestured to Henri. “Come inside, and I’ll make sure you’re settled.”

Erik stooped to look Henri in the eyes. “You mind your teacher, now.”

Henri gazed at him, his wooden expression returning.

“School won’t be so bad. You’ll see,” Erik said in an encouraging tone. “And you’ve already made new friends with Daniel, Charlie, and the twins. When you get home, you can tell
Maman
how you drove the little horses. Just think how she’ll want to hear all about that, and everything else you do at school as well!”

Henri’s lips quivered into a tiny smile.

“Good boy.” Erik gave him a brief squeeze around his shoulders and walked toward Daniel’s horse, surprised by a surge of emotion.
I feel as though I’ve become attached to that boy—like a father.

Erik glanced at the mercantile, thinking through the list of what he had to buy. Impulsively, he decided to purchase some candy as a treat for Antonia and Henri. Then, after he dropped off the milk and eggs and did his shopping, he’d have the far less pleasurable task of driving to O’Reilly’s carpenter shop to pay for Daisy’s casket.

His gaze drifted toward the livery, his first stop to drop off Daniel’s horse. Remembering Mrs. Thompson’s errand to get a puppy, Erik made another spontaneous decision.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

T
he inside of the schoolhouse, which seemed to Henri to be almost as big as the church and his new pa’s barn, was packed with more people then he’d ever seen in his life. The sound of voices filled the room and buzzed in his ears.

Mrs. Gordon directed him to hang up his coat on a peg by the door.

Henri stuffed his mittens into the pocket, draped his scarf over the top, and then his cap. He set his lunch pail on a shelf with everyone else’s and took his slate with him.

When he turned, Henri saw rows of tables and stopped moving, wishing he didn’t have to go any farther into the room, that he could go home. Just then he didn’t care where home was, Henri just wanted
Maman.

He glanced at a shelf holding more books than Pa had.
I’ll learn to read those books for
Maman
.
He curled his toes in Charlie’s hard leather shoes lest his feet take him out the door.

Mrs. Gordon patted Henri on the shoulder. “The students are arranged by age. The youngest sit at the tables in the front and the oldest in the back.”

The noise of the room stilled as the children turned to look at him.

Many of the students had lighter skin, as well as hair and eye colors he’d never seen in children before. He would have wanted to look his fill at them. Instead, feeling like a mouse eyed by a flock of hawks, Henri took a step back, only to be constrained by the teacher’s hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” Mrs. Gordon said in a cheerful voice. “You aren’t the only newcomer.” She gestured to a boy sitting in the middle of the room who looked to be Daniel’s age. “Micah Norton arrived here from Africa not too long ago.”

Micah must have heard his name for he glanced over, the expression on his face sullen.

His vivid blue eyes made him seem familiar, but Henri knew he’d never seen the boy before.
Norton, like Reverend Norton?
He must not want to be here any more than I do.
Somehow, the thought of a fellow sufferer made him feel better.

Mrs. Gordon patted his shoulder. “And my own niece, Natalia Stevens, is paying us a visit.”

Henri wasn’t sure what a
niece
was.

“Since Natalia plans to be a teacher, she is assisting me with my pupils.” She waved to a young brown-haired woman who was tying a ribbon on a little girl’s braid. “Come here, Natalia, and meet Henri Valleau Muth.”

Natalia wove through the tables to them, smiling at each child she passed. She wore a dress almost the color of the flowers
Maman
held when she married Pa and that they threw into Daisy’s grave. She had a friendly, freckled face and the same gray eyes as his teacher.

The smile Natalia gave him eased some of the tightness in his belly.

“Natalia, dear. Will you take Henri to the end of that table there? Once we finish the pledge and prayers, I’d like you to start teaching him the alphabet as far as he can go by lunchtime. Uppercase letters only. He can use his slate.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Natalia beckoned for Henri to follow her.

When Henri hefted his slate, the chalk and a piece of cloth tied to a string through a hole in the bottom swung free. He made a grab for them. Pa told Henri to loosen the chalk once he was at his desk and tie it back up again before going home so he wouldn’t lose it.

Last night, Pa had showed him how to use the chalk to scratch marks on the slate. He would have liked to draw more, but Pa said he had to take a bath in the tub and go to bed.

Remembering that unpleasant experience—especially how the soap stung his eyes—made Henri wrinkle his nose.
I hope I never have to take a bath again.

Natalia patted the end of the table. “I sit here when I study with a pupil. Take a seat while I obtain a primer.”

What’s a primer?
Henry slid onto the bench. He laid his slate and the piece of chalk on the desk in front of him.

She walked over to the shelf of books, selected one, and returned to the table. She set the book on top and patted the cover in obvious affection. “Battered old thing. This primer’s been used to teach a lot of children.”

When Natalia sat next to him, Henri caught a whiff of something sweet.
She looks and smells like a flower.

Mrs. Gordon walked to the front of the room. “Good morning, students.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Gordon,” everyone chorused.

The teacher waved in their direction. “I’d like to welcome another newcomer to Sweetwater Springs, Henri Valleau Muth.” She smiled at Micah Norton. “Isn’t it so exciting to make new friends?” Her gaze swept the room. “I know you all will extend a warm welcome to Henri.”

Natalia whispered to Henri what he needed to do. Bow his head for prayers, and hold his hand over his heart for the Pledge of Allegiance.

The children all recited the prayer and pledge together, the words filling the room in a rolling beat that reminded him of the rhythm of Indian drums. The sound thrummed in his ears. Henri followed along as best he could, although most of what they said didn’t make sense.

Afterward, Mrs. Gordon gave directions to the students.

“Never mind her,” Natalia said in a low voice. “Just listen to me.” She picked up his slate and the chalk. “First, we will learn an
A
. Watch me make it. Up one side and down the other.” As Natalia talked, she drew two slanted lines, with another in the middle. “Now you try.” She handed him the chalk.

Henri imitated what he’d seen her do, making an
A
, which looked similar to hers.

Natalia shot him a look of astonishment. “Very good, Henri. I thought you didn’t know your alphabet.”

For the first time, Henri had a good feeling about school. He pointed to the letter. “Shaped like a teepee, it be. Or an arrowhead.”

“Why, Henri, I do believe you’re right. I’ve never seen a teepee or an arrowhead, only had them described to me. Quite an interesting observation. I wonder if any of the other letters will evoke images for you.”

Why does she have to use such big words?

Natalia motioned to the slate. “Go on, make some more until you fill up the whole slate.”

Henri bent to his task. Engrossed in learning, he didn’t notice the morning speeding by.

Mrs. Gordon clapped her hands. “Lunch time. Enjoy your recess.”

The room, which had been silent except for the sound of the teacher’s voice and a student answering her question, erupted into noise as the pupils surged from their seats.

“Just wait a minute for the herd to pass,” Natalia said. “You did bring lunch?”

“Ha,” Henri laughed. “They be not
cattle
.”

Natalia laughed, too. “You’re right. However, you’re supposed to say, ‘they
are
not cattle,’ not ‘they
be
not cattle.’ Now repeat after me. ‘They
are
not cattle.’”

“They are not cattle,” Henri echoed, the sentence sounding strange to his ears.
They are not cattle
, he repeated to himself.

“Take your food outside. You’ll have time to eat and play awhile. When you hear the bell, come back in. You’ve done well on your letters. I’m going to advise my aunt that we switch to numbers for the afternoon.”

Right then, Henri became aware of hunger pinching his belly. Although reluctant to leave Natalia and join the herd, as she’d called them, he wanted to eat. His lunch pail was the second to last on the shelf. He grabbed the handle and trotted out the door and down the steps.

At the bottom, Henri came face-to-face with two smaller girls who were holding hands. One had braided hair the color of the sun and wore a dress that reminded him of sage leaves. She studied him with eyes as blue as a robin’s egg.

Fascinated by her coloring, Henri stared back, wishing he could touch her cheek to see if the pale skin felt as soft as Camilla’s. But he didn’t know her and wasn’t sure if he should do such a daring thing.

The sunny-haired girl was the first to speak. “I’m Krista Swensen, and this is Lizzy Carter.”

Carter?
He looked at the other girl.

Lizzy shrank closer to Krista. A ribbon the color of the sky at dusk was tied around her head, matching her eyes and dress and holding back her flowing brown hair. She peeked up at him through long eyelashes, gave a tiny smile, and then slid her gaze away.

Like Micah, Lizzy seemed familiar to him, although this time he knew why. Henri wondered if he should say something, but he didn’t know what.

“Come on, Henri,” Daniel yelled, running past him with a smack on the shoulder. “We’re gunna play ringer. You can watch and learn how.”

Bewildered, Henri stared after him.

Most of the girls sat at a long table under the thick branches of a huge oak. He saw the O’Donnell twins on the end.

The boys ate as they walked, heading to an open area on the other side of the tree.

Henri couldn’t see the reason for their direction, for only some thin boards and long sticks lay on the ground, but he followed them anyway.

One of the older boys stopped and eyed him. “
Henri.
Frenchified name. Can’t you go by a good ole American one?” His lip curled.

The boy was almost the size of
Père
. The look in the boy’s brown eyes reminded Henri of a badger they’d once trapped that spit and snarled at them before
Père
killed it.

“Heard your ma dresses like a squaw.”

Another boy, about the same size but with the dark skin and hair of an Indian yet wearing the same type of clothing as the other students, shot Henri a slight smile and nodded before shoving the first one on the shoulder. “Leave him be, Ben.”

“Why should I do what you say, Injun?”

Seeing the Indian boy made Henri feel better. He hadn’t forgotten his Blackfoot friends, even though he and
Père
and
Maman
hadn’t visited the tribe since long before Jacques was born.

The Indian boy didn’t say anything, merely raised an eyebrow and cocked a fist.

A third one about their age approached. “Knock it off, Ben and Hunter, or recess will be over by the time we get started.” He spoke the words in a calm tone of command.

Seeing his blue eyes and hearing the way the third boy spoke made Henri realize he must be a Carter, for he sounded just like his father.

Without waiting for a response, the Carter boy picked up a narrow board, scraping the edge across the dirt until he made a clear, flat space. Then he tossed it down and chose a stick, drawing a large circle on the ground. When he finished, he made a line under the bottom of the circle and another one across the top. He threw the stick next to the piece of wood and pointed at a thin boy with hair the color of carrots. “Matthew, you won last time, so you lag first.”

Matthew extended his hand to show a small green ball made of glass. “Better watch out. I’ve made a special wish on my marble here. You all might never have a chance to play.”

Henri edged closer to see the marble.

Ben pulled out a red-and-white one from his pocket. “You should make a special wish, Matthew, seeing as you Salters only have three marbles between the four of you.” He tossed his into the air, and then snatched it. “We’re playing for keeps.”

The Carter boy shot him a disgusted look. “Don’t you get tired of saying that every time, Ben Grayson? We play for fair, and that’s that!”

Ben caught Henri staring at him. “What you looking at Frenchie? Go over where you belong.” He pointed to a spot beyond them where the younger boys were drawing circles in the dirt, apparently separating themselves by age.

Ben’s badger look and mean tone gave Henri a belly ache. Carrying his lunch pail, he shuffled away from the group. He looked for Daniel, but he was in the midst of several other boys his size, talking and gesturing with his hands.

Henri turned and walked past a group of girls who’d finished eating. Two turned a long rope in circles, and another jumped through it. He paused for a minute, thinking the jumping looked fun and wondering if he could try. Then he realized that only girls were lining up. Shrugging, he drifted toward the school.

Three older girls sat on the steps, eating and talking, their heads together in what looked like a serious discussion.

He climbed past without them seeing him and slid through the partially opened door.

Mrs. Gordon and Natalie, their backs to him, wrote on the big slate in the front of the room.

With the quiet
Père
showed him when hunting, Henri took his pail of food and moved to the corner and sat with his back pressed against where the two walls joined. The students’ tables hid him from the view of his teachers. He pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. Dropping his head on his arms, he pretended to be home—his real home, not the farm—moving silently through the leafy evergreens, needles thick under his moccasins, their spicy scent filling his nose.
Père
had taught him to know each bird and animal, and he listened to the sounds of the forest.

He found his favorite place, a hidden burrow made by the toppling of several massive pines, and crawled inside. In his den, Henri had often made believe he was an animal—a wolf, a bear, or a fox. He strained to remember the feel of the forest and, after a few minutes, almost forgot the voices of children playing, the hard feel of the wooden floor, and the smell of chalk and books.

After a while, Henri felt peaceful again, although he still ached with longing for his den and his life before. A rumble from his belly made him remember he hadn’t eaten, and he rummaged in the pail for the food
Maman
had packed—cold baked potatoes, some nuts, and bread spread with butter and huckleberry jam. He bit into the bread, savoring the sweet taste.

The only good thing about the changes be this bread and jam!
Then he thought of Pa, Camilla, and the horses, and Natalia. . . . They were all good, too. Henri wished he could have them
and
Père.

No sooner had he eaten when the clanging of Mrs. Gordon’s bell brought an end to recess. He scrambled to his feet just as the children poured through the door, setting their pails on the shelf. Since they seemed to be going to their places, he did likewise, taking a seat.