Healing Montana Sky (22 page)

“I be sorry.” She squeezed his shoulder.

“When Annabelle Lee birthed twins, I felt on top of the world—my world, anyway. I had this vision, Antonia, of the prosperous life ahead of me. But instead, fate twisted my dreams. Will everything be taken from me now?” He let out a harsh breath.

Not everything
, she wanted to protest but held her tongue, saddened to see such a strong man brought low by trouble. She understood how he felt. After Jean-Claude died, she’d struggled with similar fears.

Until now, Antonia hadn’t realized she’d felt more secure since marrying Erik and moving to the farm.
Erik has given me that—a respite from those fears.

Antonia wished she had an answer—one that would make everything right for him. But all she could do was haltingly explain her thoughts. “That be life, Erik. Like the harvest, eh? Some years the crops be good, and the cupboards full. Other years, they fail, and times be hard. You don’t stop plowin’ and plantin’.”

He leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the ceiling.

She wasn’t sure he’d even heard her.

But then, Erik reached up and briefly covered her hand with his and squeezed before lowering his arm. He didn’t move again.

Antonia waited for a few silent minutes, and then pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Eat your victuals, now, while they’s warm. The little
’
uns had some afore you came in.”

With determination, she walked to the door.
I might not know how to read and sew shirtwaists and bake cake, but I know how to butcher a cow! Not that a milk cow be makin’ good eatin’.

I can’t take away his pain, but I can ease his burdens.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

A
s if in repayment for the storm, the weather for the next month alternated between rain and sunshine, followed by several days of unseasonable heat. The spring vegetables Daisy and Erik had previously planted in the garden shot up. The garden was six times bigger than the small plot she’d left behind. Each day while Henri was in school, Antonia spent long hours hoeing the weeds while the babies stayed in a sheltered corner—Camilla kicking and mewing on a blanket and Jacques playing in the dirt with a spoon and some rocks.

From time to time, they had visitors. Henrietta dropped by to help Antonia with making over Daisy’s wardrobe, and elderly Mr. and Mrs. Knapp, the neighbors on their other side, made a condolence call.

Once, Reverend and Mrs. Norton drove out to see how they were managing. The minister privately spent time with Antonia, and she welcomed the chance to talk freely about Jean-Claude and her grief for him—for speaking about a former husband to a current one wasn’t easy. She knew the visit did her good, and she suspected Erik’s own talk with Reverend Norton was also beneficial. But neither of them shared what they’d discussed with the minister.

Erik had taught her how to make butter, an area where Antonia’s physical strength came to her aid, for pumping the churn up and down was a tedious and tiring chore. After a few awkward attempts, she soon made butter that her husband said was as good as Daisy’s. He added her butter to the milk and eggs he took to the mercantile.

During the babies’ naptime, Antonia often took the rifle and rode out on one of the horses to hunt game. She left the babies near Erik so he could watch over them while he planted the fields. He’d rigged up a straw-filled box for them to sleep in that sheltered them from critters.

Antonia brought back prairie chicken, pheasant, a wild turkey, plenty of rabbits, and once a deer. Because she wanted to share the chores, she continued to be the one who dressed out the game.

Erik had taken a while to adjust to her hunting ability, but one day, he gave her a quiet smile and expressed appreciation for how her efforts allowed him to concentrate on plowing and sowing the fields, while she augmented their larder. He even joked that he might never have to hunt again.

His praise warmed her heart.

In preparing the wild game for meals, Antonia was able to serve the kind of food—mostly stews—she was used to making. She hadn’t had a chance to visit Henrietta to learn how to bake desserts, but so far, Erik hadn’t complained about her cooking.

During their quiet evenings, instead of the stories Jean-Claude would spin about his day, often making her laugh, Erik would read a book or the weeks-old newspaper, while she mended clothes. Henri would do his homework at the table.

If he had any questions, she’d told her son he was to ask Erik. Thus, often her husband sat next to Henri, gently instructing and correcting his letters and sums, as well as teaching him proper grammar, although he didn’t correct the boy at other times.

So far, Erik hadn’t questioned why Antonia wasn’t the one helping her son. She tried to absorb everything he was teaching Henri, hoping that she too would learn enough to read and speak properly. Sometimes, when her husband wasn’t around, she’d ask Henri to draw letters for her on his slate. But it seemed a long way from learning the alphabet to actually reading.

Tonight, Antonia perched in what had become her chair and mended a tear in her husband’s shirt. Henri had already nodded off over his slate, and she’d put him and Jacques to bed on the bearskin.

Across from her, Erik sat in silence, and she wondered why he wasn’t reading like usual. She thought back through the day and realized he’d been unusually silent at dinner, too. Well, she
amended, unusually silent for Erik.

Is he upset with me? With one of the boys? Missing Daisy?
She couldn’t think of anything that she or the boys might have done wrong, so she figured his withdrawal might be about grief. She was all too familiar with the longing for a lost love, the ache of missing him, of wanting his presence, right here, right now, often accompanied by an intense burst of anger that he was gone. She hated how the yearning for Jean-Claude could seize her in its grip and shadow her every footstep.

In spite of their growing closeness, Antonia didn’t doubt Erik had times of looking over at her sitting in Daisy’s chair, and wishing his wife was still there. Mayhap this was one of them.

Should I ask?

Antonia debated for a while. When she’d finished repairing the rip in the shirt—not with the tiny, almost invisible stitches Daisy used but with serviceable ones, nevertheless—she folded the garment and set it aside. She picked up one of Daisy’s aprons that she’d taken to wearing, intending to attach the corner of the pocket where the edge had pulled away. “You be silent tonight, Erik.”

He stirred and gave her an absent-minded smile. “I guess I was out on the prairie, thinking things through.”

Curious, she set down the apron and stared at him, waiting.

He let out a sigh. “I was as pleased as punch when my cows dropped their calves. But at the same time, one cow alone requires a lot of feed, especially if I want her to keep a good supply of milk. Now that I have more. . .”

“What be you thinkin’ of doin’?”

“There’s all that wild hay out there, just waiting to be cut. We’ve had a spell of hot days, and I want to take advantage of the weather, for it won’t last. Now’s a good time to gather in some of the new grass before it flowers. I usually harvest a batch at this time, using a scythe.” He swung his arm in a demonstration. “At the end of the summer, the Knapps, the O’Donnells, and I will band together to rent a mowing machine.”

“I never be hearin’ of such a thing.” Antonia thought of the laborious task of using a long knife on hay—holding a clump and chopping off the bottom—that she’d done to gather fodder for the mules while Jean-Claude was out hunting. “A marvel.”

He gave her a brief smile. “If you let a lot of high grass grow around the fields, you make a good place for bugs and everything else to hang around. I try to get to those areas once or twice over the summer. In the past, working by myself in the grasslands, I could harvest enough to keep the animals through the winter.” He leaned forward. “But with the new cows, the herd is bigger. I’m debating about hiring a man to help me and bring in more hay. I just don’t know if I’ll make the money back that I pay him in savings from not having to buy any.”

“What be havin’ an extra man do?”

“I scythe the hay, but I also have a sickle another fellow can use. Better yet, he can bring his own scythe. We rake the hay into rows—windrows—to dry, turn the windrows a few times to dry the batch underneath. Hopefully, the day after, we toss the dried hay into the wagon. Then I have to climb into the wagon and stomp on the hay to pack it down. Jump out, pitch more in, stomp it down, until the wagon is full. Then I start all over again with the cutting. With another man, I could work twice as fast.”

“You don’t be needin’ to hire anyone. I can be helpin’ you.”

He shook his head. “It’s hard work, Antonia. Especially backbreaking those last few hours of the day. And what would we do with the children? It’s hot out on the prairie with no shade.”

“If we be cuttin’ the hay, we’ll put ’em in the wagon.” She made a spreading motion with her hands. “Be puttin’ up the canvas top so they’ll be shaded. Henri watches the babies.”

“He’ll have to miss school for a couple of days. . . .” Erik rubbed his chin. “I don’t like it, but missing school is a given in a farming community. The boy’s been doing well with his studies. That little whippersnapper is smart.”

She glowed at his praise of her son.

Erik jumped to his feet and began to pace the floor. After a few minutes, he said, “That just might work. At least, we can give it a try. I’ll have to ride over early and tell the O’Donnells not to expect us while the weather holds.” He stopped in front of her chair and grinned. “What do you say, wife? If it’s sunny, shall we spend the day on the prairie tomorrow?”

An unexpected feeling of warmth washed through Antonia. He never called her “wife” before, and, for the first time, she felt hopeful, like maybe they were forming a team, able to pull together in harness. “I think that be a fine idea, husband. I be packin’ us food.”

“We’ll need to bring water, lots of water, for the horses and for us.” His face sobered. “I’m warning you, it will be hot, thirsty work, Antonia, and there’s no water where we’re going. You sure?”

“I be sure.”

“Good then. We’d best get an early night.” He leaned over and gave her an unexpected kiss on the cheek. “Thank you.”

Antonia could feel a blush creep into her face, and she hoped he couldn’t see it in the lantern light.

He turned, and, with another smile, went into the bedroom, and closed the door.

Needing time to recover from the intensity of emotions churned up by the storm and sharing a bed, Antonia had moved back to sleeping on the bearskins with the children. Since Erik didn’t protest, she’d suspected he, too, needed to pull back some.

Antonia stared at Erik’s closed door, the feel of his kiss lingering on her skin. She reached up and softly touched her cheek.

In the shadow of a hill, Erik pulled the team to a halt. He studied the prairie before him. The golden grass undulated in the slight breeze, and the sharp blue sky almost hurt his eyes. For as far as he could see, no trees broke the horizon.

He’d timed their arrival perfectly. The sun had just risen enough, and the day hadn’t yet become too warm. The dew was still on the grass. The first hour or two would be the easiest before they became hot and tired.
And sore.
He didn’t want to think about how much his body would hurt tonight.
A necessary evil.

He braked, tied off the reins, climbed down, and then went around to take Camilla from Antonia and helped his wife off the wagon. Wearing Jean-Claude’s leather britches, with one of Erik’s cotton shirts tucked into them, her sleeves rolled up past the elbows, Antonia navigated getting down far easier than if she’d worn a skirt. She’d shocked him when she first came out of the bedroom wearing men’s clothing.

He’d almost protested her choice of apparel, ready to order her to change into proper clothing, or even her Indian garb. Luckily, common sense had taken over his thoughts before he opened his mouth and said anything that might cause trouble. Men’s clothing was far more practical for what they were about to do, and no one was around to notice, anyway. All he’d done was insist on her taking along one of Daisy’s sunbonnets to protect her face from becoming burned.

Surely, I’ll get used to seeing Antonia in her new raiment and won’t keep ogling the outline of her legs and having thoughts. . . .

Erik wrenched his mind back to where it should be—on the job at hand. He handed Camilla back to Antonia and reached up for Jacques. He put his hands on the little boy’s sides and lifted him high in the air, just to see his reaction.

Jacques squealed with laughter, making Erik chuckle in response. He set down the little one, patted his head, and reached up for Henri, and lifted him over. The solemn boy didn’t crack a smile.
Someday,
he told himself.
Someday, that child will smile at me. Me, not some charming little horses.

He left the little ones in Antonia’s capable hands while he unloaded the tools from the wagon, as well as the cask of water for the horses. Then he spread the blanket over the straw underneath the canvas.

Antonia laid Camilla down.

He scooped up Jacques and placed him in the corner of the wagon bed, then helped Henri climb in.

The boy had brought his slate, intending to practice his letters—if Jacques allowed him to. Henri settled himself next to the babies, near a small Indian basket that held crude wooden toys.

When he had a few minutes of free time, Erik had started carving some animals. He wasn’t proud of his efforts, but he needed to make the toys in haste. He’d do a better job when winter hit, and he was homebound.

Erik hefted the crock of water with the wooden cover, placed it in the other corner, and set the dipper on top next to two glass jars they’d use to drink from. Then he went to the front of the wagon to unhitch the horses, staking them on a grassy hillock and filling their bucket with water.

Antonia repeated instructions to Henri that she’d told her son earlier, and then with a nod to indicate she was ready, walked to Erik’s side.

He gave her his extra pair of leather work gloves and pointed to the spot where he wanted to start, about thirty feet away from the wagon—still within eye and earshot of the children.

Erik took out the sickle and handed it to Antonia, keeping the scythe for himself. The wooden handles were smooth. He’d taken care to rub linseed oil on them when he put them away for the winter. He pulled work gloves out of his pocket and put them on.

He made a back-away motion with his hand and took his first swing. It was awkward, as first swings always are. Usually, he’d settle into a rhythm fairly quickly, but today, conscious that Antonia watched him, he fumbled, cutting the grass in a jagged swath. Embarrassment made him clumsier.
She won’t know the difference
, he tried to assure himself, shooting a glance her way to see if she was watching.