Healing Montana Sky (27 page)

Antonia poured a puddle of liniment into her palm and stepped behind him, rubbing her hands together to coat her fingers and palms and warm the oil.

The lamplight played over the ridges of his bare back. Erik had the well-muscled body of a hard-working man.

The sight made her heart thump harder. She lowered her hands to his shoulders, first slicking the oil over his skin, and then skimming her fingers over the muscles, assessing where he felt tight.

“Hmmm.”

“You be having rocks here under your skin,” she teased.

“Feels like it.”

She kneaded the muscles of his shoulders, paying particular attention to the tight areas.

Sometimes he made a sound, a grunt or groan, which told her when she’d hit a hurting place or one that felt good. She spent time on his shoulders and neck, then moved to probe with her fingertips between his shoulder blades.

Rubbing liniment over Erik felt more intimate than washing him had, for there was no cloth between her fingers and his skin. Placing her hands directly on his body felt like a whole new kind of exploration. She took her time rubbing, kneading, stroking, and imagining her fingers soothing all his aches and pains. She reached his lower back. “Stand and brace yourself against the table.”

With a swing of his leg, Erik turned in the chair and rose. “I’ve never felt anything like this.”

She stared at him in astonishment, careful not to let her mouth gape.

“Well, not so. . .” Erik waved his hand to indicate his upper body. “Daisy would rub on a sore spot if I asked her. But not the whole back like you just did. And she never volunteered to do so.”

“I ain’t be done.”

He turned and lowered his hands to the edge of the table, bending so she could reach his lower back.

As she worked on him, Antonia mulled over what he’d just revealed. For the first time, Daisy didn’t seem like such a perfect wife. She couldn’t imagine a couple not using massages to relieve stiffness and pain and lead to a deeper physical and emotional connection.

With her thumbs and knuckles, she dug into his lower back, which must be aching from the bending and twisting he’d done the last few days. Hers certainly was.

Erik growled.

She laughed. “I’ll be making the same noises when you do this to me.”

“I’m massaging you?” He rotated to see her face. “I wasn’t sure you’d be comfortable with that.”

“Ain’t sayin’ it’ll be comfortable. Fact that it be our first time doin’ this.” She smiled at him. “You should be knowin’ by now. . .we’ve had uncomfortable firsts and will be a havin’ many more.”

Erik grimaced. “That we will.” He raised his eyebrows and gave her a cocky leer. “I’m looking forward to
some
of those firsts.”

“Oh, you.” Antonia playfully swatted his arm. She circled her finger in the air. “Turn around and sit back down. Let me do your front.”

He twisted his head from side to side and rolled his shoulders. “Much better.”

“There be more to come.” Her flirtatious tone surprised her. Rubbing Erik’s front felt more intimate. As she kneaded his shoulders, Antonia was acutely aware of how close her breasts were to his face, of the heat pooling in her body, the rich scent of the herbs on his skin.

She didn’t make eye contact as she worked. Instead, she kept her gaze lowered and concentrated on his right shoulder. But when she snuck a peek at his face, she saw his eyes were closed, which made her feel less tense. When she finished both shoulders and arms, she asked him to stand.

With that lazy smile she was coming to love, he obeyed. In the lamplight, the hair on his chest gleamed golden, the muscles were shadowed. She wanted to skim her fingertips over his hard flesh, and then trail kisses over the same path.
Not this time.

Antonia rubbed her palm over his chest, pausing over his heart, feeling the beat—hard, fast, and so very alive. The rhythm echoed in the pulse thrumming through her body. If she concentrated, she could almost feel as if they flowed together, his blood to hers. She could have stood there, palm to chest for a long time.

Although reluctant to finish the massage, Antonia knew the evening was growing late for a busy farmer and his wife. They needed to be up with the dawn, especially with another day of haying planned. She moved her hand to knead the muscles between his arm and chest, eliciting a groan.

When her hands started to ache, Antonia patted his shoulder in a sign she’d finished.

Erik squeezed her into a hug, burying his face in the crook of her neck for a kiss. His body pressed against hers.

The touch of his lips on her skin tickled, and she squirmed.

Erik kissed her cheek. “Your turn, wife,” he growled and released her. He reached for the liniment bottle.

With her back toward him, Antonia untied the strings of her tunic and rolled it down to her waist. The air was cool on her skin. She hitched up the bottom of her tunic to straddle the chair, leaning forward over the seat back. Intensely aware of her naked upper body, of the weight of her breasts hanging loose, she lowered her head to her arms, waiting in anticipation, listening to the sound of Erik rubbing his hands together.

His palms came down on her back, instead of her shoulders as she’d assumed.

The unexpected touch gave her a ticklish shock, and Antonia gasped and flinched.

Immediately, Erik pulled back his hands.

“No, no, I be fine. That be a good jump.”

“If you’re sure. . .” He splayed his hands over her back, hesitated, as if waiting to be sure she was ready before he moved, seeking her sore areas. “You’re tense.”

“I know.”

His palms and fingers settled on her, soothing and sure. His hands were bigger than Jean-Claude’s, his touch different, more exploratory but no less deft.

The sensations of Erik’s rough hands on her body felt exquisite. Warmth from his palms tingled into her muscles.
I needed this.
Not just the massage for her stiffness, but a man’s caring focus on her body. Like chilled butter set in the sunlight, she gradually melted into a deep sense of relaxation.

After he’d massaged her neck and shoulders, Erik moved to the middle of her shoulder blades.

An area that she hadn’t known was sore until his fingers probed the muscles. She gasped at the sharp pain, and tears pricked her eyes.
Where did that emotion come from?

“Too hard?”

“No. Just a hurting place.” Her voice sounded wobbly.

“I expect you’ve been carrying far too many burdens lately.”

’Spect so.
Antonia blinked back tears, grateful for his understanding.

“Would you like me to stop?”

She shook her head.

“I’ll go back to your shoulders for a while. When I return here, I’ll start softer then increase the pressure.” His fingers probed the area where her neck and shoulder met. He lifted her braid and pressed his thumb around the base of her neck.

The feeling of needing to cry ebbed. Antonia began to relax and enjoy the sensations he awoke in her.

The more Erik worked on her body, the more the tightness in her aching muscles eased. Pleasure simmered under her skin.

Antonia felt his mouth on her shoulder as he dropped a kiss on the exposed skin. She shivered, and a pleased hum escaped her.

“Like that, do you?”

Too much.

She didn’t turn to face him, although she longed to do so.

“I want to love you tonight, Antonia,” he said softly, his mouth near her ear. “And I think you want that, too.” He paused, obviously waiting for her answer.

The silence stretched. She could only nod.

“But I’m not sure we’re really ready or how we’d feel in the morning. I couldn’t bear to feel guilty, as if we’d done something wrong, even if we know that’s not so.”

“I know. You be right.” Antonia pulled up her tunic and fastened the ties. When she finished, she swiveled on the chair to face him.

He extended a hand to assist her to her feet and gathered her into his arms for a kiss.

His lips and tongue, the taste and feel of him, were familiar now, yet just as new and exciting as earlier today.

Erik’s kiss was demanding, yet also patient, arousing her, as well as promising fulfillment in the future. He lifted his head and touched her heart with his forefinger. “We’ve been planting seeds, you and I, between us.” He moved his finger from her chest to his and back again. “And with you to my daughter and me to your sons. The seeds have sprouted and are growing just fine. We need to see they are watered and the weeds kept away so they bear fruit. The harvest will come in due time when the fields are ripe and ready.”

Touched beyond words, Antonia reached up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “You be a good man, Erik Muth, and I thank you for your patience.”

“I have enough patience for
tonight
.”

Left unspoken was a question, hovering in the air between them.
How long should we be patient?

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

T
wo days later, Antonia and Erik stood at the window watching the drizzle mist the early Sabbath morning. Behind them, Henri still lay in bed, although he was awake. He’d been so hard to rouse that she’d taken pity on him and let him lie for a bit. She’d already changed and fed Jacques and had given him two spoons to play with.

Antonia held Camilla in her arms, gently rocking the baby. “Yesterday’s cuttin’ be lost,” she lamented, thinking of all the work they’d done to make more hay. She glanced at Erik, wondering if he was upset.

His hair was still damp from driving the cows into the barn to be milked. “We had an unusually long sunny spell. I didn’t expect even two days’ worth, so we’re ahead.”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“My outlook has changed, Antonia. Last year at this time, I’d have bemoaned the ruined hay.” He shrugged. “Now I know what real loss is. So I’m seeing things differently. I’m focusing on being grateful to have hay for the livestock, and I have even more than I’d originally thought I could manage because you helped.”

She pursed her lips, struck by the truth of his words.

Jacques banged on the floor with his spoons.

Antonia glanced at her youngest son.

With a wide smile, Jacques tapped again, apparently delighted at using the floor for a drum.

“I tell you, wife.” Erik’s voice changed from serious to playful. “I have a powerful hankering for fried chicken. Would you mind cooking up one for Sunday dinner tonight?”

“No, I be not mindin’.” The agreement slipped out before Antonia realized she did, indeed, mind. She’d grown fond of the chickens and didn’t want to serve any of them up for a meal.

“And, would you mind. . . .” His voice trailed off.

“Mind what?” she prompted.

“Well, Daisy always made my favorite kind of fried-chicken, even better than Ma’s—not that I ever admitted that to my mother on pain of being disowned.”

Disowned?

“The recipe is in her box, there.” He waved toward the shelf that held the tin box with the red flowers on the lid. “Daisy was particular about keeping everything written down. Her ma’s and grandma’s recipes are in there, too.”

Antonia’s stomach chilled.
Now be the time to tell him I cain’t read.
Since they’d arrived at such accord, she didn’t want to do anything to damage their growing intimacy. She’d seen how Erik prized book learning.
He’ll be ashamed of me.

“Would you try using her recipe? I promise I won’t compare.”

“And how could you not?” Antonia said tartly.

His expression fell. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have asked,” he said in a deadened voice. “You just fry the chicken your own way.” Erik turned back to the window. The drizzle has stopped. “I think we can go to church after all.” He reached for his coat. “I’ll go hitch up the horses and ready the wagon.”

Antonia regretted her sharp response. But she didn’t know how to explain. “Breakfast be waitin’ for you. I’ll fry some ham and eggs, quick like.”

He frowned. “If we’re going to town, then we probably don’t have time. Can you make something for us to eat on the way?”

“Of course.”

“Then, I’ll get the milk and butter from the springhouse,” he said, his tone back to normal. “And if you’ve eggs to spare for the mercantile, we’ll take them, too. The Cobbs only open up the store for an hour after the service, but they’ll still let me drop off everything beforehand.”

“I have plenty of eggs.”

“The more to sell then.” He left the house.

Antonia made a scooting motion to Henri, who’d lain and watched them from his bed of furs. “School clothes, son. Be gittin’ on with you now.”

Henri’s mouth pulled down. He was slow to slide out from the covering.

She shifted Camilla to one arm and walked over to ruffle his hair. “Natalia probably be there. You haven’t seen her for three days.”

The mention of meeting up with the older girl he idolized banished the sullen expression from Henri’s face. Once on his feet, he hurried to the bedroom to change his clothes.

Antonia shook her head at her son, grateful he’d taken such a liking to the girl who was helping teach him.
Far better for him to be wanting to go to church and school than for me to be a pushin’ him out the door.

Now, who will be pushin’ me out the door?

Camilla wiggled.

“You want to be gittin’ down, do you?” Antonia dropped a kiss on her daughter’s head, her lips brushing the fluffy hair, softer than the finest corn silk. “Sweet babe,” she crooned.

Camilla gurgled a noise of pleasure and waved a hand, promptly smacking Antonia’s chin.

She grabbed the baby’s hand. “You be dangerous, little one.” She kissed Camilla’s fingers and laid the baby on her back next to Jacques, propping her up a bit with some folds of the fur.

The baby waved her spoon and kicked both feet, seeming just as delighted in her makeshift toy as Jacques was with his.

Antonia boiled eggs and sliced ham, wishing she had bread for they’d used up all of her last baking. Slowly, she walked to the bedroom, feeling no desire to change out of her comfortable clothes, go to town, and attend an unfamiliar church service with people she didn’t know.

I can’t avoid Sweetwater Springs for the rest of my life.
But oh, how she wanted to.
I’m doing this for Henri and Jacques.
She glanced at Jacques and Camilla.
For my family, so we be part of this community.
The thought gave her strength. She would do
anything
for her children—indeed, had already done so.

You be knowin’ some good people.
Antonia thought of the Nortons, the Camerons, and the Carters, and realized she’d like to see them again.
Maybe goin’ to church be not so bad.

She stripped off her Indian garb and opened a bureau drawer, shoving aside the corset to reach her chemise, then had a sudden unpleasant thought.
I’ve regained the weight I’d lost. I might have to wear the corset to fit into the dress!

Antonia let out a French curse she’d learned from Jean-Claude. Realizing what she’d said, she clapped a hand over her mouth. Feeling guilty, she lowered her hand and peeked out the door to see if her sons had heard her.

The boys sat across from each other, playing a game with Jacques’s spoons.

Camilla lay next to them, her head turned to watch her brothers.

Good, they didn’t hear me.
Antonia quickly donned her undergarments, slid the dress over her head, and buttoned it. With relief, she realized the waist fit her perfectly. She glared at the corset and slammed the drawer shut.
I be spared the ordeal of wearing that contraption,
she thought, using some of the big words she’d learned from Erik. She made a mental note to try to speak properly while in town.

I’ll have to be watchin’ every word that comes out of my mouth.
Antonia caught herself.
I’ll have to watch every word
, she amended.

Erik strode into the house. “The wagon’s in front,” he called a moment before he appeared in the doorway of the bedroom. “I’ve packed up the food. There’s straw in the wagon, and I’ve folded your bearskin and laid it across the seat.” He stopped talking and gazed at her. “I like how that dress makes your eyes shine like gold.”

Antonia could feel heat creeping into her cheeks. Jean-Claude had been fond of giving her extravagant compliments, most of which she’d laugh at and dismiss. But something about Erik’s quiet words and the admiration in his eyes made her heart flutter.

With his forefinger, he tapped the side of his chin. “You’ve left your braid down.”

Embarrassment made her good feelings flee, and Antonia wished she could follow suit.
How can I tell him that I’ve never worn my hair any way but loose or plaited, or maybe in two braids like the Indian women?

She reached over to finger her braid and decided to admit her ignorance. “I don’t know another way.”

Erik rocked back on his heels as if stumped. Then he shrugged. “I can probably help. I saw Daisy do it often enough.” He walked toward the bureau.

She moved closer. A white glass chicken sitting on a nest was positioned on top of the drawers near Daisy’s comb and brush, which Antonia now used.

He lifted the hen. “Daisy kept her hairpins in here.”

To her surprise, the hen separated from the nest, which turned out to be hollow. Antonia tried to hide her astonishment from Erik about not knowing such a thing and moved closer. Inside the nest, she saw a scattering of bent wires shaped like long narrow horseshoes.

“A hairpin.” He picked one up. “My sister Kirsten once described it as ‘a piece of wire used for the express purpose of stabbing a woman in the head and tormenting her with too-tight hairstyles.’ She complained that wearing her hair up gave her headaches, and when no company was around, she refused to do so, no matter how much our mother scolded.”

Antonia thought she might like Erik’s sister. She wondered if Kirsten wore corsets at home but figured she couldn’t ask him such a question.

In the mirror positioned above the chest of drawers, Erik’s gaze met hers. He reached over to finger her braid. “Your hair’s a lot thicker than Daisy’s. You’ll probably need plenty of these.” He laid the hairpin back in the nest. “Tell me if I poke your scalp.” He made a twirling gesture with his finger.

She turned her back to him.

He twisted the plait up and over the top, looping the braid around and around. “I like how your hair shines auburn in certain lights.” His fingers brushed the nape of her neck.

An unexpected shiver trickled down her spine.

“There,” he said, satisfaction in his tone. “Hold this for me, and don’t let go until I say.”

Antonia reached up and grasped the mound piled just above her neck.

One by one, Erik took a hairpin and eased the ends into her hair.

One went too deep, poking the back of her head, and she winced.

“Sorry.” He pulled out the hairpin and tried again. “How’s that?”

“Fine,” she said, not sure that wearing her hair up like this was
fine
at all.

“Done.”

She lowered her hand.

Erik stepped back and examined his work. “Not bad. The bun’s a little lopsided, but not enough that I think anyone will notice. Well, maybe the people right behind our pew will.”

Antonia thought a bun was bread. But in remembering back to her childhood, she realized both had a similar shape. She turned her head from side to side. The unaccustomed weight of her hair pulled but didn’t hurt.

Erik strode over to a stack of three round containers covered with flowered wallpaper, next to the bureau.

Antonia had never looked inside them.

“Now for Daisy’s Sunday bonnet.” He lifted the lid of the first one and brought out a blue-gray cloth bonnet with velvet ribbons and flowers of the same color. Holding it up, he glanced from her dress to the hat. “Um.” He shook his head, set the hat on the bed, moved the first box aside, and took off the lid of the second one. “Her summer hat.”

This one was straw with shiny pink ribbons and pink and white blossoms on the top, like nothing Antonia had ever seen blooming. She imagined Daisy looked pretty wearing it.
But I’ll look like a gawky walking flower garden.

“I don’t know, Antonia,” Erik said in a skeptical tone, waving with his free hand, from her skirt to the hat he held. “Daisy set great store by her hats matching her dresses—or at least not clashing. I remember her nattering at. . .uh,
telling
me that much. But what do I know about female fashions?”

This whole business of hats be silly.
Antonia thought back to their wedding. Although she hadn’t really paid much attention at the time, Mrs. Cameron and Mrs. Carter had, indeed, worn hats that seemed a similar color to their dresses. Only Mrs. Norton, in her worn blue dress and faded black bonnet, hadn’t matched. That thought gave her hope.
Maybe it doesn’t matter after all. Or, at least, not to all women.
She pointed at the last box. “What’s in that?”

“An old one that Daisy refused to wear any longer.”

He slid the box out from under and pulled off the lid. Inside was another cloth hat. This one had faded to a sage green, and the ends of the ribbons were frayed. With a comical expression of dismay, he glanced between the hats. “Looks like it’s a choice between blue or pink that don’t seem like you at all, or this old thing.”

In spite of the tension in her stomach, Antonia couldn’t help but smile at the face he made. She reached out to touch the green hat. “If we trim the end of the ribbons, this be not so bad.”

“All these choices are bad,” he muttered.

“We be both havin’ the worst kind of bad, so what does a hat matter?”

Erik shot her an expression of admiration. “You’re right, wife.” He laid the bonnet on the bed, walked over to a shelf, and lifted the lid of the sewing basket. He rummaged around inside before pulling out a tiny pair of scissors. Picking up the end of each ribbon, he carefully cut off the frayed edge. “There.” He extended the hat toward her.

Antonia took a step, reaching for it. Her toes caught on her hem, pitching her forward.

As Erik moved to steady her, she did a quick step for balance, causing him to tread on her toes.

He caught himself, shifting his foot away from hers. “Did I hurt you?” He looked down to check.

“No.”

“You’re wearing moccasins, Antonia.” Erik frowned.

Her stomach clenched.

“I didn’t realize. I’m so used to seeing you in them. And on the day we bought your dress, I was too stricken to notice you weren’t wearing shoes. You could have been wearing shoes made out of gold, and I still wouldn’t have seen them.”

Antonia realized he wasn’t criticizing
her
but
himself
, and her stomach calmed. “I ain’t needin’ no gold shoes.” She tried to lighten his mood. “Likely they’d be hurtful to walk in.”

His frown remained.

She touched his arm. “I’ve managed without.”