Healing Montana Sky (29 page)

“She’s beautiful. Very like Daisy. Oh!” Elizabeth glanced at Antonia in obvious consternation. “You don’t mind me saying that do you?”

“Why not?” Antonia asked with her characteristic straightforwardness. “Be. . .
it’s
the truth.”

Erik’s chest swelled with pride. His wife was trying so hard to speak well.

“Seems like only yesterday Carol was that small,” Elizabeth said with a wistful tone. “They grow so fast.” She kissed her daughter’s head. “I waited so long to have her, and I’m trying to enjoy every minute.”

Humor glinted in Nick’s blue-green eyes. “Perhaps not
every
minute.”

They all joined in his laughter—a mutual sharing on the more
challenging
aspects of parenthood.

To Erik, the two baby girls looked similar—blue eyes, wispy blonde hair, and unformed faces—although Camilla was far tinier. “They could be sisters. Perhaps when they’re older, they’ll become the best of friends.”

“Or bitter rivals, each the queen of a circle of admirers,” Nick joked.

“We’ll be fighting off the boys with a shotgun,” Erik quipped. Not that he could imagine his little mite as a woman grown.

“No doubt about that,” Nick agreed. “The thought of Carol as a young lady, looking as beautiful as her mama, is enough to keep me up at nights.”

Erik could share in that vision.
Least I won’t have to warn off fortune hunters like Nick will.
“Thank goodness, we have plenty of time before then.”

Elizabeth handed her daughter to Nick. “Your turn for baby duty.” She turned to Antonia. “I need to start the processional.” With a smile of farewell, she hurried off.

Antonia stared after her with a puzzled look.

“Elizabeth plays the piano,” Erik explained. “Music for the service.”

The bell in the tower on the white clapboard church began to ring, the rich tones summoning the congregation to worship. As if being herded, everyone moved toward the door.

Only Sheriff Granger remained still. Even on a Sunday, the officer of the law was dressed like a man in a gray three-piece suit.

The idea of a woman wearing men’s clothing had shocked Erik when he’d first heard the story. But after two months of exposure to Antonia, he thought differently. Now he approved of the sheriff’s apparel. She couldn’t effectively do her job wearing a dress.

Sheriff Granger watched them with cool gray eyes, nodding as they passed.

Erik dipped his head in return.

The sheriff returned to surveying the crowd.

He wondered why she looked so alert. He couldn’t recall her being so stern before. Then again, he and Daisy had only attended a couple of church services between Christmas, when the sheriff was hired, and Daisy’s death. Maybe he’d missed the sheriff’s serious attitude.

Reverend and Mrs. Norton stood opposite each other at the foot of the church stairs welcoming their flock.

Mrs. Norton patted Erik’s arm. “I’m so glad to see you, dear Mr. Muth. You and your family have been in my thoughts and prayers.”

“Your prayers have helped.”

“Good.” She patted him again before stooping to say hello to Jacques and Henri.

Reverend Norton greeted Antonia by taking her hand between both of his own and saying something in a voice too low to hear.

Antonia smiled and nodded.

The minister touched Camilla’s head, as if blessing her, before turning to the next person in line.

Erik swung Jacques into his arms, mounted the stairs after his wife and oldest son, and entered the church. Once inside, he removed his hat and guided Antonia to a pew near the back, in case one of them had to make a quick escape with a fussy baby. They took a seat amid other families with babies, and the single cowboys, who tended to group themselves by the ranch they worked at, packing the pews fuller than a pod stuffed with peas.

They claimed their spot. At the same moment, Elizabeth, sitting at the piano in the front corner of the room, began to play a piece that must be her favorite, for she often opened the service with the same music. As always, the first notes of the piano worked their magic on the congregation, for they settled down.

Erik had to set his hat on the floor underneath him, for there was no other spot for it, and Jacques took up his whole lap.

Antonia stared at Elizabeth, an enraptured expression on her face.

Erik suspected she’d never heard anything like the complicated music.
Well, most people in small Western towns probably hadn’t.
Bach, Mrs. Norton had once told Erik when he’d asked.

During the service, Erik did his best to guide Antonia with gentle nudges, stand and pray; sit and listen to the reading; stand and sing; sit and listen to the sermon, so she’d be no more than a little behind the rest of them.

Jacques enjoyed the singing, pounding Erik’s thigh with the palm of his hand, almost in rhythm to the hymns, adding an occasional, “baa, baa, baa!” Luckily, the other voices drowned him out.

Erik noticed Antonia wasn’t singing, and he wondered if she didn’t know the hymns or had forgotten them.
Maybe I can ask to borrow a hymnal, and she can learn some at home.

Jacques fell asleep during the first few minutes of the sermon, much to Erik’s relief.

Aside from some gurgles, Camilla was content to look around or hold Antonia’s fingers.

After the conclusion of the service, the family filed out. Henri found a friend and darted away.

The members of the congregation must have gotten used to seeing Erik and Antonia together, for they received more greetings than before church, with the women nearest them wanting to coo over Camilla.

Unlike Sundays in the past, when Erik had drifted off to speak with the men, and Daisy had surrounded herself with her female friends, today he stuck to Antonia’s side. Erik and Antonia hadn’t taken many steps away from the building before the doctor’s redheaded wife, Alice, snagged Antonia. She, too, held a baby in her arms.

Normally, he would have stayed to politely view the new arrival, but with a jerk of his head, John Carter, in serious discussion with fellow ranchers Wyatt Thompson and Nick Sanders, summoned Erik to join them.

Although he didn’t want to leave Antonia, Erik couldn’t turn down the invitation to speak with the three leading ranchers in the area. He shifted the sleeping Jacques to a more comfortable position for carrying and walked over to them.

John made an inclusive gesture, making space for Erik in the circle. “Sorry to pull you away from your bride, but we wanted to speak to you without our wives present. No need to worry them.”

Wyatt Thompson, who owned the second largest ranch in Sweetwater Springs, exchanged a sardonic glance with Nick. “Our wives won’t be pleased when they find we’ve been keeping things from them. We probably need to be more worried about the ladies going on a warpath than the Indians.”

“Indians?” Erik said sharply, remembering the conversation from the day he’d married Antonia. With the press of other concerns, the loss of some livestock around the area had slipped his mind. Truth be told, some of his memories of that day still remained hazy.

John swung off his Stetson, scrubbed his high forehead, and frowned. “The thefts that started a few months ago have continued. As long as no one spotted any Indians again, there wasn’t anyone to focus the blame on. We wanted to know if there’ve been any problems at your place.”

“Not with disappearing livestock,” Erik said wryly.

The grimaces that crossed the men’s faces acknowledged the fact that Erik had suffered far greater losses.

Sheriff Granger, along with Ant Gordon and Caleb Livingston, the banker, joined them, nodding greetings.

Erik was a big man, used to towering over most others. Wyatt Thompson was about his size, and John and the banker were almost as tall. But Ant Gordon topped Erik by at least four inches. His size and dark angular features gave him the appearance of a villain in a penny dreadful novel. But in spite of his looks, he’d managed to snare the affections of the petite town schoolteacher. The man had been a foreign news correspondent before settling in Sweetwater Springs, and on several occasions, he and Erik had spoken of history and world events.

The sheriff was tall for a woman—topping Nick Sanders’s height—with a solid build covered by the men’s three-piece suit she wore. With her husky voice and brown hair tucked up under her hat, she could easily pass for a man.

Erik figured she hadn’t dealt with more than drunken cowboys since accepting the job. But before that, she’d captured a murderer on the outskirts of Sweetwater Springs. Story was, she’d trailed him for weeks all the way from Wyoming.

“Sheriff Granger, what are your thoughts on the matter?” Erik asked, making sure to sound curious rather than critical. He didn’t want to get her back up. Wouldn’t do to offend the law.

“When something’s reported, I go investigate.”

“You, ah. . .go alone?” he asked.

“I deputized the blacksmith. When Red Charlie can spare the time, he comes with me. He still has connections with the reservation.”

A smart choice for a deputy.

“Some losses I can put down to natural causes. But the others. . .” She shrugged. “They cover their tracks well.”

The hard glint in her eyes told Erik she meant business. “They?”

Ant Gordon shifted to get their attention. “Hank Anderson, a small farmer out on the prairie past my house, rode to tell me that he shot and injured a rustler on his place. Seemed pretty sure he was an Indian.” The newspaperman had a low, gravelly voice in keeping with his dark appearance. “In the morning, Hank followed the trail of blood—three sets of moccasin prints, one with a limp, and three sets of hoof prints—until he hit a stream, and the sign disappeared.”

“Rode up or downstream, no telling,” Sheriff Granger commented. “I’ll head on out there and see for myself. Hopefully, I’ll find where they left the water and pick up their trail.”

“I haven’t heard back from the Bureau of Indian Affairs. I think another letter is in order.” John Carter snugged on his hat. “Now with one wounded, maybe they’ll stop,” he said. “But. . .” He shot a glance at Erik. “As your wife said, the Indians are starving.” He sighed. “Can’t blame them. I’d beg, borrow, or steal if my family was starving to death.”

Erik thought of the boys, of his fragile daughter.
So would I.

The looks on the other men’s faces told him they had similar feelings. Only Caleb Livingston seemed to dissent, shaking his head and frowning.

“Stealing’s against the law of God and of our country,” Sheriff Granger said with a sharp slash of her hand.

“I agree,” the banker interjected. “
Borrowing
is a better place to start.”

Nick frowned at him. “You’re in the business of lending money. Of course, you’d agree.”

Caleb Livingston shot Nick a dark look.

Erik had heard the two had hard feelings between them due to Nick making off with the fair Elizabeth right under the banker’s nose.

Wyatt Thompson pinned the sheriff with a stern look. “And neither of you is a parent.” Their gray gazes held and clashed.

Erik had the sense that Wyatt didn’t much approve of their new officer of the law, and he wondered why.

Wyatt broke the standoff to glance around the circle. “As fathers, we are given families to love and protect.” He flicked the sheriff a critical look. “You might feel different if you ever have a baby, a child depending on you, whose very life is in your hands.”

Erik remembered his desperation with newborn Camilla, knowing he had only hours to save her.
Yes. Becoming a father has changed me to my very core.

Wyatt’s gray eyes, burning with intensity, met Erik’s, as if reaching across the few feet separating them. “I, too, lost a wife in childbirth. When I held my baby daughter for the first time, a fierce protective love seized me and has
never
let up, although my Christine is strong and healthy. The image of her mother.”

The man’s words punched Erik in the chest, for he’d felt the same driving love for Camilla.

The sheriff made a cut-off gesture. “Sentiments or not, we have a potential war brewing.” Although she appeared perfectly composed, her voice held a chill. “If it’s Indians, and they keep stealing, or if God forbid, someone from Sweetwater Springs is wounded or killed. . .” She shook her head. “Hotheads will rile things up. Those caught up in a mob become crazed and lose their ability to think rationally. We’ll have a self-appointed vigilante posse sweeping onto the Indian reservation. They’re just as likely to gun down the entire encampment, including innocent women and children.”

John made a sound of protest.

The sheriff rode roughshod over any attempt to speak. “Later those idiots might suffer remorse, or believe their actions didn’t matter because they only killed
savages
.” Sheriff Granger’s tone made it clear what she thought about that. “Even if only a few are wounded or killed, the Indians might retaliate.” She didn’t have to say more.

John looked troubled. “Pray, God, it doesn’t come to that.”

“We won’t let it,” Nick said fiercely.

Wyatt’s dark eyebrows drew together. “We’ll speak with our men. Any cowboy of mine who joins that kind of mob will be out of a job, regardless if he’s prosecuted by the law.”

Ant crossed his arms in front of him. “I’ll run an article in the newspaper urging calm. We can’t keep the Anderson attack quiet for long. The town’s already buzzing about the thefts, although we’re trying not to worry the womenfolk.”

Erik remembered the groups of men he’d seen talking before church. “That’s a mistake,” he said bluntly. “I’d as soon have my wife and her rifle at my side as any man. She’s a crack shot.” The truth of the words surprised him. “I think the women need to know. Prepare them. Warn them to be watchful. This probably isn’t the time to wander off alone or with small children, picking flowers and such.”

The sheriff eyed Erik with approval. “I agree.” Her lips twitched. “Most of the women around here seem sensible enough. For those few ladies who don’t take the news well—” she jabbed a thumb toward her chest “—send any hysterical female over to the jail, and I’ll set her straight.”