Healing Montana Sky (32 page)

“Besides, we need that money set aside for the future. God forbid, what if the crops fail, or the cows die, or the barn catches on fire?”

“But what if
nothing
be goin’ wrong?”

Erik gave her a sharp look. “This is a
farm
, Antonia. Inevitably,
something
will go wrong.” He waited a beat. “Besides, I saw how your eyes lit up at the thought of Henri going to college. That will take money. Far more than what you have stashed away. We’ll have to save for years in order to make that opportunity happen. And that’s just for one child. What about Jacques or Camilla? There’re colleges for women. And any children we might have together.”

Antonia looked down, torn between what he was saying and the emotion whirling around in her body.
Not helping feels wrong. But using funds my family might need also feels wrong.

She wished she knew what to do.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

E
rik pulled the wagon into the yard and stopped in front of the barn. He set the brake, tying off the reins. “As much as I enjoy going to town, I like coming home even more.” He winked, then jumped off the seat and came around to take Camilla from Antonia before helping her step down.

Her skirt tangled in her legs, and she tugged the material to free herself.

“I’m looking forward to that chicken dinner later,” he said with a smile, handing the baby back to her.

Antonia’s stomach clenched. She’d forgotten his earlier request.

“Daisy told me that Penny was the next hen she’d planned to use for dinner. Apparently, her egg production has slowed down.”

She inhaled sharply.
Not Penny!

Erik didn’t notice Antonia’s reaction. He went to the back of the wagon, leaned over the side, and lifted up the puppy. “Come on,
Schatz
.”

The dog woke up and licked his hand.

Erik gestured to the barn. “Henri, you bring your puppy and help me in the barn.
Maman
’s going to be busy cooking us up a feast.”

The boy scrambled out. “What’s a shots?” He reached for the puppy, gathering her to him and staggering a few steps with her weight.

“
Schatz
,” Erik corrected. “German for
sweetheart
. When I was a boy, we had a dog named
Schatzy
.”

Henri kissed the dog’s head. “I like that name. Can we call her
Schatzy
?”

“
Schatzy
is a good name for a dog,” Erik agreed. The two walked into the barn.

Antonia gazed after them. Only recently had Henri begun going along with Erik without first glancing at her for permission or reassurance. She carried Camilla into the house and laid the baby in her cradle, then returned to the wagon for the sleeping Jacques and placed him on the bed.

Hoping the babies would nap for a long time, Antonia left the house and walked with a leaden heart toward the henhouse.

While they were at church, they’d left the chickens cooped inside for safety. When Antonia opened the door of the henhouse, the birds billowed out and swarmed around her, acting as if she was about to feed them for a second time.

Usually, she enjoyed the chickens’ liveliness but not today. She looked at every one, seeing the coloring, the quirks that made each unique—even the black one.

With a sigh, Antonia turned her back on the flock and walked toward the porch. She paused, unable to resist a glance behind.

Penny tried to follow her, but several other more aggressive chickens boxed out the copper hen.

Antonia paused and bit her lip.
Don’t be gittin’ close,
she warned herself.
Penny be only a bird. Not like she be family.
But she couldn’t scold away her feelings. With a determined whirl, she waded through the chickens to reach Penny. “Here, girl.” She picked up her favorite bird. “One last time, let’s go sit awhile.”
I need to nerve myself up.

Antonia carried the hen to the porch and sat in the rocking chair. As she rocked and petted Penny, she wished the ritual they’d developed would comfort her now. But instead, she only felt dread.

The thought of eating this chicken had taken away the good feelings from her time in town. Antonia couldn’t understand her own reluctance. Before coming to live on this farm, she never would have believed she could care for a
chicken
. Over the years, she’d killed hundreds of birds and all kinds of other animals—did so even yesterday.

But never one that brought me comfort. . .that I loved.

I’ve already lost so much.

Antonia tried to chide herself into a different attitude—after all, the death of a chicken to provide food for her family was nothing compared to the death of a husband.

But maybe I feel so strongly because of Jean-Claude’s death. Maybe losing him softened me somehow.

I won’t do it!

A wave of anger pushed Antonia out of her chair and off the porch and into the yard where she put Penny near the other chickens. She stormed into the house, took off her boots, hat, good dress, and undergarments, and donned her Indian tunic and moccasins.

After gathering everything she’d need for hunting, Antonia took her rifle from the rack over the front door and moved outside. She marched halfway across the yard before some common sense penetrated her intense emotion, and she attempted to rein herself in.
Descending on Erik like a lightning bolt during a thunderstorm probably not be wise.

In the barn, Erik bent over Shandy’s front leg, cleaning out the gelding’s hoof, packed with smelly muck. He was looking forward to finishing up the chores, so he could sit down to a special Sunday dinner.

Henri had put the pup in the wheelbarrow and was mucking out the mules’ stalls.

His back to the aisle, he was focused on scraping out the caked-in dirt with a pick and didn’t look up at the sound of Antonia’s footsteps. “Cornell Knapp wasn’t in church today,” he said, keeping his gaze on the hoof. “Tomorrow, I’ll ride out there to talk to him about using his bull.”

Antonia barely registered his words, so focused was she on chickens, not cows. “I’ll not be killin’ Penny for dinner.”

“You don’t have to,” Erik said absently, brushing away the loose dirt he’d dislodged. “I always killed the chickens for Daisy. I’ll take care of it as soon as I’m done with Shandy.” He lowered the hoof to the ground. “There, old fellow. One down, three to go.”

“We ain’t havin’ Penny for Sunday dinner.”

“Don’t get all riled up, now,” Erik said in a reasonable voice. “Just pick another chicken then.” He swiped sweat from his forehead with his wrist. “’Bout time to raise up another batch of chicks so we have roosters for the pot. We can’t afford to sacrifice a layer every time I have a hankering. But just this once. Let me know which chicken you want.” Feeling as if he’d taken care of this chicken debate, he stepped to the horse’s rump, and slid his hand down Shandy’s hind leg.

The horse obliged by lifting the hoof.

“Don’t be botherin’ yourself.”

The edge in Antonia’s voice—one he’d never heard before—stopped him. Erik lowered Shandy’s leg, straightened, and faced her. From this angle, he could see her through the open stall door.

Antonia stood with one hand on her hip, her color high, eyes sparking. She held her rifle with her other hand.

He recognized the signs of female wrath but wasn’t sure what was wrong. “Why are you dressed like that?”

“We ain’t eatin’ any chickens.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” he said in exasperation and leaned an arm on the horse’s back.

Her chin lifted. “I’m goin’ hunting. I’ll get us a different bird. Pheasant or such.”

“What in tarnation is going on, woman? The Sabbath’s not a day for hunting.”

“The chickens be. . .”

“What?” he asked impatiently. “The chickens
are
. . .food?” He guessed at her answer and plowed on. “All the animals around here are food.”

Henri popped out of a stall, the dog clutched to his chest. “Not my puppy,” he said, brows drawn together in an anxious expression, eyes pleading. “Not Schatzy.”

Oh, for crying out loud!
Erik had forgotten the boy was still around. He barely kept himself from saying the words, instead reaching deep inside himself for patience. “No, Henri. Not your puppy or the horses or the mules or the milk cows. Just the pigs and chickens and bull calves are food.”

“Henri, take the puppy and play with her on the porch, please,” Antonia said, enunciating every word, apparently determined to get each one correct. “Your pa and I have some talking to do.”

They both waited until the boy left the barn.

Erik turned to her. “Now, wife, what’s got your dander up?”

Her eyes narrowed. “The chickens are special. I ain’t killin’ and eatin’ ’em.”

Antonia was obviously too upset to remember to speak properly. He held up a placating hand. “I know Penny’s special to you. Didn’t I just say pick another one? How about that black one that’s always pecking at us? Be glad to eat that critter.”

Antonia set the rifle down on a straw bale and crossed her arms. “She be a good layer.”

Why did women have to be so dang unreasonable?
Heat started to burn in his chest. “You’re the mighty hunter,” he said sarcastically. “Yet, you can’t kill a chicken?”

“I
can
kill ’em. I just ain’t gonna.”

“I just
won’t
, not
ain’t
. You don’t say
ain’t
.”

Her expression grew mule stubborn, and her hands jammed to her hips. “
Won’t
, then. I
won’t
.”

Erik threw up his hands. “Fine. Sabbath or not, go kill whatever dang bird you want. I’ll pretend it’s a chicken.” He turned back to Shandy and once again reached for the horse’s leg.

She lowered her arms. “Whatever bird I bring back won’t taste like Daisy’s chicken.”

“Of course, it will,” he said in a sharp tone. “Just follow the recipe.”

Antonia took a deep breath. “I cain’t,” she blurted out.

“
Can’t
, not
cain’t
,” he corrected. “It’s not that hard, Antonia. Even I’ve done it a time or two when Daisy wasn’t up to cooking.”

“I
can’t
read them.”

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“I don’t know how to read, Erik. I’ve never had no book learning. Might as well be chicken scratches for all I know.” Scarlet flushed her cheeks.

He caught a glimpse of shame in her eyes before she lowered her gaze. Stunned, he stared at her. He’d assumed Antonia hadn’t much of an education but figured she had some. He thought back over some of their conversations, and anger built inside.
She’s deliberately misled me.
In his book, that was as good as a lie.

With bated breath, embarrassed plumb down to her moccasins, Antonia watched her husband try to absorb her revelation.

Erik shook his head, pain in his eyes. “Why didn’t you just tell me? You’ve always seemed so forthright. I liked that about you. Now I find you’ve been keeping this secret from me.”

He doesn’t care about my lack of book learnin’?
For the first time, doubt touched her, and Antonia suspected she might have made a grave mistake. “You want an educated wife. Daisy had schoolin’. You be readin’ all the time.”

“I wanted a
nurse
for Camilla,” he said sharply. “Frankly, at the time, any breast filled with milk would do, and you had one, uh. . .two.” His face flushed. “I needed someone who’d care for my daughter. Being a loving wife and mother is more important to me than being an educated one.”

“You be wantin’ both.” She kept her gaze on him.
How did I go from bein’ the angry one to wonderin’ if I’m in the wrong?

“Lack of education can be
changed
, Antonia. It’s not like something set in stone about a person—as if I wanted a short wife and got you instead, so I chopped off your feet to make you what I want.”

With a sinking feeling, she realized he was right. The secret she’d thought so shameful turned out to be small when she finally admitted the truth. But Antonia couldn’t get a word in edgewise to tell him so because he barreled on without stopping. In the dim light his eyes were smoky blue and pinned on her face so she couldn’t look away.

“To be honest, no, I haven’t liked the way you speak. But with everything else going on, that didn’t matter. I focused on
what
you said, not
how
you said it.” The edge left Erik’s tone, and he sounded tired. “I knew you were smart and would probably change your speech on your own.”

He thinks I’m smart?
She’d never thought that about herself.

“And your efforts have paid off. I’ve been proud of you. Until today, have I ever said a word of criticism about your language? Ever corrected your speech?”

She shook her head.

“Have I been unkind or done anything else to make you think you had to lie to me?”