Mystic Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series Book 6)

by Debra Holland

  Edith entered with Charlotte.

  Maggie glanced at her, expecting to see the woman frowning at being forced to carry the baby.

  But as Edith bent over the cradle to lay down the child, her pinched expression softened, and a hint of a smile lingered about her mouth.

  My Charlotte works her magic. Feeling better, Maggie allowed herself to recline. Plump goose down pillows cushioned her sore back and shoulders. Ahhh.

  Without a word, Edith left the room. Her lips, once again, pressed thin.

  The woman needs to hold Charlotte for several hours, so the baby’s goodness can seep into her heart. Maggie shifted so more of her weight rested on her uninjured hip.

  Not that I can spare my baby for so long. My darling is still too new and precious to give her to someone else for more than a few minutes.

  Caleb came in and tucked the featherbed around her. “Are you comfortable?”

  “Very.”

  “I’ll be up with a tray and some ice for your ankle.”

  Although she was hungry, Maggie grimaced. “I’m sorry you have to wait on me.”

  Caleb’s eyebrows drew together. “We won’t go over that argument again,” he said in a stern tone.

  “Why not?” she asked, unable to resist teasing him. “I’ll keep winning.”

  He shook his head. “You’re a guest in my house. I have to let you win.”

  “Oh.” Maggie chortled. “And what was your excuse when I wasn’t a guest in your house?” Laughter bubbled within her. She couldn’t remember ever having this sense of playfulness with a man. The feeling was rather intoxicating. Am I flirting with him? She’d never behaved in such a way before, but she’d witnessed other women flirting with handsome men.

  “I think being in the midst of childbirth makes you a winner in any dispute.”

  “I should have thought ahead, then, and had all our future arguments at once.”

  “Oh, no! That was enough of a nightmare experience without you making it any worse.” Caleb chuckled.

  The sound swelled her heart. Caleb always seemed so serious. Making him laugh gave her an odd sense of feminine power. “A little disagreement is good for the soul,” Maggie said in a smug tone.

  “Says what philosopher?”

  She made her smile mischievous. “The one whose name starts with M.”

  “Only you, Magdalena Petra. No one else dares cross me.”

  Maggie wrinkled her nose. “It’s not good for anyone—especially a grown man—to always get his way.” She tilted her chin as if in hauteur. “He becomes too self-important.”

  Caleb’s smile died away.

  Oh, dear. Did I just hurt his feelings?

  A knock sounded on the doorframe. The stableman stuck his head into the room. “Ah, sir. . . .”

  “I’ll be right back,” Caleb told Maggie. He walked out the door, partially closing it behind him. “What is it, Jed?”

  “I went to the parsonage like you wanted, Mr. Livingston. The elder Reverend Norton wasn’t there.”

  “Did you leave a message for him to call on Mrs. Baxter?”

  Although Maggie tried not to eavesdrop, the rumble of the men’s low voices was loud enough to hear.

  “Ah, no, sir. Reverend Joshua was there with his ma. Mrs. Norton kindly invited me in and asked me what I needed.”

  A pause followed. “I suppose Reverend Joshua will soon be paying a visit.”

  “I ’spect he’s right on my heels.”

  “Tell Mrs. Graves to add tea, sandwiches, and cookies for Reverend Joshua to the tray for Mrs. Baxter. I’ll send him up when he arrives.”

  Maggie wondered why Caleb’s voice sounded resigned. Does he not like Reverend Joshua? She couldn’t imagine how he could dislike the personable minister, who she’d known from Morgan’s Crossing. Perhaps Reverend Joshua has chided Caleb in some way, thus earning his disapproval.

  Maggie had only met the elder Reverend Norton once, for the minister was too busy to leave Sweetwater Springs for Morgan’s Crossing more than once or twice a year. With his son’s return from a stint in Africa as a missionary, Reverend Joshua had begun a circuit to Morgan’s Crossing as well as Buffalo Hollow and Honey Grove, two tiny prairie towns a few days ride away.

  She still remembered Oswald’s anger toward the younger minister, who’d asked to speak to him before he’d performed their wedding ceremony. After his discussion with Reverend Joshua, Oswald had erupted from the meeting hall, his face red with anger. He’d complained about the minister sticking his nose into their business. Another warning I should have paid attention to.

  In her meeting with him, Reverend Joshua had discussed not just the joys of marriage but also the difficulties. He’d questioned the speed of their courtship and stressed the need to wait to acquire more knowledge and surety of the disposition of her future partner. She’d had the impression the young minister might have spoken from personal experience, not just from that of those he ministered to or his recent encounter with Oswald. If only I had listened to him.

  She glanced at the cradle. No. Charlotte is worth all the pain Oswald caused me.

  Caleb entered the bedroom, leaving the door wide open. “Earlier, I sent Jed to alert Reverend Norton to your presence here. I thought, after everything that’s happened, you might be in need of, ah. . .spiritual counsel.”

  “Very thoughtful of you, Caleb. I think we might both be in need of spiritual comfort.”

  He grimaced.

  “Do you not like Reverend Joshua?”

  Caleb’s smile was rueful. “I wouldn’t say I dislike the man, rather. . . .” He shrugged. “The story is not completely mine to tell, so I will say no more.”

  Curiosity made her want to question him further, but Maggie held her tongue. She could only think the better of him for not spreading gossip. Oswald had always enjoyed relating news of others’ misfortunes in the most mean-spirited way possible. She’d often wanted to press her hands over her ears to shut out the sound of his voice. But she hadn’t dared, for that would have angered him, with dire results.

  I’ve spent our whole marriage tiptoeing around Oswald lest I set him off.

  Once again, Maggie glanced at the cradle. I have to be strong for both of us.

  The days of holding my tongue out of fear are over!

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Having satisfied his ravenous appetite, Caleb retired to his study to await the clergyman, wanting to intercept the minister before he spoke with Maggie. He wasn’t looking forward to telling the man what had happened, but he felt Reverend Joshua needed the information so he could best counsel her.

  Caleb had taken several months to stop inwardly bristling around Joshua Norton, although he always treated the younger minister with polite reserve, which the man returned in kind. He apparently hadn’t forgotten Caleb and Edith’s repudiation of Delia Bellaire when they’d discovered his houseguest had Negro blood but was passing herself off as a white woman.

  Delia’s father, Andre, had suffered a heart attack on the train, landing the two of them in Sweetwater Springs. Caleb had invited them to stay while Andre recovered. Egged on by Edith, Caleb had initiated a mild courtship of beautiful Delia. While his heart hadn’t been engaged, he’d admired the young woman and believed her wealth and education would make her a suitable match.

  Instead, she and Reverend Joshua had fallen in love, which turned out to be a good thing. Caleb did not want a bride with Negro blood; whereas, the minister didn’t seem at all put out by the idea of Delia’s murky racial heritage. He understood the quality of the woman beneath her skin, his conscience pointed out.

  Since the quarrel with the Bellaires, Caleb had seen the minister around Sweetwater Springs and listened to his sermons when he preached instead of his father, but the two men had only exchanged polite greetings. Otherwise, they steered clear of each other.

  Their mutual avoidance was made easier by Reverend Joshua taking on the role of circuit preacher and being gone part of every month. Whi
le their new house was being built in Sweetwater Springs, the Bellaires departed on the train for the city of Crenshaw. Even when Caleb’s hotel opened at Christmas, the Bellaires hadn’t returned, probably not wanting to be his guests even if they were paying for the privilege. The minister made frequent visits to his betrothed.

  Andre Bellaire had started building a new brick house—a mansion that rivaled Caleb’s in size—for himself, his daughter, and his soon-to-be son-in-law on a back street near the Reiners’. With the completion of Anthony Gordon’s office building, and later Caleb’s hotel, there were plenty of skilled workers to throw at the new house, and the dwelling had gone up at almost magical speed, helped along by a milder winter than usual. Now that the house was livable, Joshua and Delia’s wedding was scheduled to take place in a week, with the reception being held at the hotel.

  A knock sounded at the front door. Probably the subject of my thoughts. He moved from his office to the front door to answer.

  Sure enough, Reverend Joshua waited on the porch. The minister was dressed in a well-cut suit, something he could afford due to the fortune he’d inherited from his late wife’s family.

  Conscious of his dirty, rumpled attire, Caleb waved an arm to usher the man in.

  Although Caleb could tell Reverend Joshua noted his disheveled appearance, he appreciated the minister had too much tact to comment, merely uttering a quiet greeting. Once inside, the minister removed his bowler and placed it on the hat rack.

  Since his arrival from Africa, Reverend Joshua had put some weight on a frame that had been too thin, making his face less austere than his father’s. The lines around his eyes and mouth had smoothed out. The vivid blue eyes he’d inherited from his father showed more life than previously, and he had an air of energy, which before he’d lacked. Returning home and falling in love had obviously worked wonders.

  Caleb couldn’t begrudge the minister his recovery.

  They exchanged solemn greetings.

  “Jed said you wanted to see me? That you have a lady visitor? If she’s from Morgan’s Crossing, then perhaps I’m acquainted with her.”

  Caleb let out a long breath of relief, knowing Maggie would have an easier time speaking with the minister if he weren’t a stranger. “It’s a rather long story. Come into my study, and I’ll give you the. . .details before you go upstairs. Magdalena Baxter is her name, and she’s currently in the blue guest room.” No need to direct the man; he’d visited on many occasions when the Bellaires stayed here.

  They entered Caleb’s domain, a pleasant room with a big desk near windows bordered with stain-glass, plenty of bookshelves, and leather wing chairs bracketing a small round table in front of a fireplace.

  Instead of sitting behind the desk, he led the minister to the chairs and gestured for him to take a seat. “Can I pour you a drink?” He was sure of the answer but made the polite gesture anyway. He’d never known the Nortons to imbibe.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Very well. There’s tea for you in Mrs. Baxter’s room.” Caleb took the other chair. At a loss for where to begin, he steepled his fingers and stared at the pattern of red, blue, and green light falling on the floor from the angle of the sun through one of the stained-glass windows. “I’ve had a most tumultuous few days, and before you see Mrs. Baxter, I feel the need to explain what has occurred.”

  A shadow of concern swept Reverend Norton’s face. “I know Mrs. Baxter. Is she. . .well?”

  “Doctor Cameron says she is, but let me tell you more. You might be aware Michael Morgan does business with my bank, and that I make an annual business trip to Morgan’s Crossing. While on the journey, I was not paying close attention to my driving and allowed my speed to increase.” With a forefinger, he made an S motion. “That hilly section after you cross the second stream.”

  Reverend Joshua nodded, his gaze intent.

  “From the opposite direction, Oswald Baxter was driving that ungainly caravan of theirs, whipping his team to a dangerous pace.”

  Reverend Joshua sucked in a swift breath.

  “Yes.” Caleb’s stomach tightened at the nightmarish memory. “They drove off the hill and crashed into a tree. Oswald Baxter was killed, and Maggie, uh, Mrs. Baxter was thrown clear, and she went into labor a few hours later.”

  “Jed said there was a baby. Amazing she and the child survived.”

  His heartbeat sped up. “I don’t have to tell you of my fear that they would not make it—alone in the wilderness, not another woman for miles—with only me, who hasn’t the slightest bit of knowledge of babies, much less how to deliver them.”

  “You must have been terrified.”

  Caleb let out a long slow breath and leaned his head back against the chair, unable to put his experience into words.

  The two sat in silence for long moments.

  Finally, Reverend Joshua shifted. “I sometimes receive what I call God-prompts—strong, ah, intuitive or Divine messages—nudges, actually—encouraging me to say something that seems most unusual or unlikely or even. . .vulnerable. Most of the time my response to these God-prompts is reluctance—sometimes the utmost reluctance, for to speak up would seem to open myself to ridicule.”

  Caleb lifted his head and stared at the man in puzzlement. Whatever does that have to do with what I just told him?

  Reverend Joshua rested his gaze on him. “Over time, I’ve learned to heed the God-prompt. Doing so seems to accomplish the purpose.”

  “Stop talking in riddles,” Caleb growled.

  Reverend Joshua held up a placating hand. “Sometimes I’m the most obtuse when I am uncomfortable to reveal something about myself or discuss topics. . .private topics that men do not normally talk about—such as childbirth and other intimacies in their marriages. But I’m receiving that prompt now to speak of a time that was very painful, a story I’m reluctant to share. But perhaps you will find my experiences helpful.”

  Although still annoyed, Caleb settled back to listen. Hopefully the man would soon stop going in circles and get to the point.

  “When we arrived in Africa, Esther, my wife, was already with child and not having an easy time of it. In spite of her zeal to bring the Gospel to the heathen, she was not adapting well to the reality of life in a Ugandan village. She wanted to preach to the natives but not live among them—holding the people at a distance and not developing friendships with the women. This philosophical difference caused a great rift between us that never healed.”

  Caleb found himself interested in spite of his impatience and began to see a glimmer of where the man might be going.

  “When her time came, Esther refused to have a native midwife attend her. So there was only me.” His voice rasped.

  Caleb grunted in agreement.

  “Of course, I knew nothing about birthing a child, and neither did my wife. Her labor was a hellish nightmare. Long, painful. She screamed and cried and railed at me.”

  Caleb could vividly imagine such a horror.

  “I believe Esther might have died, and Micah with her, if several of the women, including the midwife, hadn’t forced themselves into the house and pushed me out of the door. I don’t know what those women did, but somehow eventually the baby arrived, and both he and my wife lived.” He took a breath. “So you see, I know how frightening it is to deliver a baby when it seems the mother’s life and that of the child are in your hands.”

  Caleb jerked to his feet, strode over to the silver tray holding bottles of water and spirits, and poured himself a glass of brandy. He took a sip, feeling the fiery liquid burn away the tightness in his throat. “At least Maggie knew what to do.” In the emotion of the moment, her given name had slipped out, but he didn’t correct himself. “Thankfully some of the other women in Morgan’s Crossing had given her information, and she had her mother’s tales. But if she hadn’t known. . . .” He shook his head and took another sip. “She was a trouper.”

  Reverend Joshua’s gaze tracked him.

  Feeling a bit more re
laxed, Caleb returned to the chair. As he sat, his stiff muscles protested, reminding him of Maggie’s far more serious aches and pains. “From the accident, Mrs. Baxter has a sprained ankle and is sore and bruised all over, especially on the side where she landed. Then of course, there is the toll childbirth takes on a woman’s body, which I’m sure must be great, although she does not complain.”

  “Mrs. Baxter’s spirits seem well? That is, she is attentive to the baby?”

  Caleb looked askance. “Of course.”

  “There isn’t an of course about it. I’ve ministered to some women who fell prey to low spirits after a birth. Not bonded with the child as they should. Neglected the baby. But I’m glad to hear that isn’t the case here. Sounds like Mrs. Baxter sailed through with flying colors.”

  “Really, Reverend Joshua,” Caleb snapped, resentful. “I doubt any woman would say she sailed through childbirth.”

  Reverend Joshua gave an understanding shake of his head. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have spoken with levity about labor, which is really a harrowing. . .and sometimes fatal experience.”

  Silence settled. They sat in apparent male accord—grateful that men did not have to carry and birth babies.

  Caleb cleared his throat. “You missed the best part, though, by not being there in the instant your son was born.”

  The minister sent him a puzzled look.

  “When Charlotte came out into my hands, I’ve never felt anything like it. Her eyes met mine in a moment of connection. If ever I was in need of proof humans have souls. . . .” He shook his head, remembering and struggling to put his emotions into words. “She was only a minute old, but I saw the ageless soul within her. I wanted to fall to my knees in awe or weep or yell in triumph.”

  Apparent wistfulness showed in Reverend Joshua’s eyes. “Micah and I had such a moment as you describe, when first I held him. But I don’t think my wife felt that same sudden bond.”

  The very fact of having such a personal discussion felt beneficial in some way. Caleb ventured to comment. “Your marriage sounds as if it was. . .” Horrible, isolated, sad. . . . He couldn’t even find the right word to describe what he meant.