Mystic Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series Book 6)

by Debra Holland

  While in the past he’d often sided with the Cobbs on civic issues and other matters, he’d never warmed to the couple, and he knew they could treat some of their customers abominably, especially those they considered beneath their notice. If Maggie had arrived here with Oswald and that Gypsy caravan, the Cobbs would have given her short shrift. He intended to prevent that kind of behavior if he could.

  Inside, Caleb inhaled the familiar smell of pickles and baked goods. In the last year, as the town grew, the Cobbs had crammed the store with goods that might appeal to a wider variety of customers. Lately they’d talked about hiring Caleb’s construction crew to add another room to the building when the men were through with the Norton-Bellaire house.

  The large room was quiet, and Caleb didn’t hear movement on the other side of the high aisles. He was grateful no one was in the store at this time, for he didn’t want to have to explain more about Maggie and Charlotte than he had to. Nor did he want prying eyes gossiping about his purchases. Probably everyone was home getting ready for supper, and no one would disturb him.

  Mr. Cobb stood behind the counter, adding figures on a ledger. His wife was nowhere in sight. Although it was still bright, the sun only starting to drop, he’d lit a lamp for extra illumination. The glow of the lamp reflected off his shiny bald pate, rimmed by a tonsure of hair. He looked up and his bulbous red nose twitched. “Ah, Mr. Livingston, you’ve returned. Always a pleasure to serve you.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Cobb. Is your wife around? I have some shopping. . .eh, female shopping to do.”

  The man cleared his throat. “Mrs. Cobb is making supper, but I’ll send her right in.” He disappeared through a partially opened door that led to their personal quarters.

  In a few minutes, Mrs. Cobb hastened out to meet him. She was as short and round as her husband was tall and thin. The woman gave him a professional smile, which didn’t come near to reaching her close-set brown eyes. She wore a dark-gray shirtwaist and skirt trimmed with red embroidery. The balloon sleeves made her arms look heavy.

  Edith had also taken to wearing the fashionable puffed sleeves. Caleb thought the style ridiculous, but he had a feeling Maggie might like a dress with red embroidery. “Mrs. Cobb, I have guests staying at my house—a woman and her baby. Due to an accident, they are in need of new clothing and other necessities. . .well maybe more than necessities.”

  The shopkeeper’s gaze sharpened. “I heard there was trouble. That you have a guest.”

  “While driving from Morgan’s Crossing, Mrs. Baxter and her husband suffered an accident with their wagon. Unfortunately, Mr. Baxter was killed. But mercifully, his wife and baby daughter were spared.”

  “Ah,” Mrs. Cobb said in a knowing tone and laying a finger to the side of her nose. “And you were on your way to Morgan’s Crossing for banking matters. How lucky they are that you rescued them. Why—” she warmed to her story “—they probably would have died out there in the wilderness.” With a flourish, she laid a hand on her ample chest. “You are a hero, Mr. Livingston.”

  Enough of the dramatics. “Just someone who was passing by, Mrs. Cobb,” he said in a dismissive tone. “No need to make more of my assistance than it was.”

  “But they are staying with you. That’s assistance, indeed. I’m sure Mr. Gordon will want to interview you for his newspaper.”

  Caleb was sure of that, too. He suppressed a groan. He didn’t like the idea of prevaricating with Ant Gordon, who was a friend. The two had partnered in business, as well, using their joint building projects—Ant with his office building and Caleb with his hotel—to make deals on supplies and materials.

  “Now. . . .” Mrs. Cobb changed from gossiping biddy to greedy merchant. “If you could give me Mrs. Baxter’s height and approximate measurements. She just had a baby, you said?”

  “Only a few days old.” He tried to think back to when Maggie had stood outside the caravan. Seems the top of her head had come up to his chin. “She’s yay-high.” He measured her height with his hand. “And about this. . . .” With both hands, he outlined Maggie’s figure. The back of his neck burned. “Money is no object, Mrs. Cobb. Please bring out what you have.”

  Her close-set brown eyes gleamed. “She’s in mourning. I do have some items in black that should fit her, with perhaps some simple adjustments.”

  Mourning? Caleb frowned. He didn’t want to see Maggie wearing black for Oswald, but he supposed pandering to tradition was necessary.

  “I also have several white cotton shirtwaists, some with lace.”

  Caleb nodded in approval.

  Mrs. Cobb frowned in obvious thought. “She’ll need her skirts looser for a while, but she can always take them in when she has lost weight. I have several plain ones—a navy blue and a dark gray should do.”

  He remembered that the faded dress—probably once a burgundy hue—Maggie had worn since he’d known her had suited her coloring. But Caleb supposed he couldn’t purchase anything bright for her until some respectable period of mourning had passed. “She needs a coat,” he said briskly. “Hat, undergarments, night attire, shoes.” He tried to think of the size of Maggie’s feet and spanned the air. “About this size.”

  Mrs. Cobb tapped her chin. “Let me gather what I have in mind. Have Mrs. Baxter try everything on. As long as she doesn’t wear anything, you can return the item for a different size.”

  Caleb nodded his permission. While Mrs. Cobb selected items and carried them to the counter, he perused the shelves, wondering if there was anything else that would take Maggie’s fancy. Some jewelry in a case on the counter near the door that led to the living quarters caught his eye. Pearls would be a good replacement for those cheap-looking earrings she wore.

  But a gentleman didn’t give a lady who wasn’t his wife or female relative such expensive gifts. He toyed with the idea of using them as a celebration of Charlotte’s birth but knew that still wouldn’t be right. And even if he offered, he suspected Maggie wouldn’t accept the earrings.

  His gaze fell on the boxes of chocolates, some imported from Europe. Now that would be an appropriate purchase. Caleb moved a gold foil box to the center of the counter. I probably should buy some for Edith to sweeten her disposition about our guests.

  He added a second box along with some peppermint sticks for Ben before looking around for more. He wished he could buy Maggie oranges or lemons for lemonade. But at this time of year, exotic fruit wasn’t obtainable.

  Caleb opened the top of a square box made of thick rose-patterned paper to see handkerchiefs. He selected two plain ones and another bordered with lace. A red knitted shawl in a neat stack next drew his attention. Maggie will like the bright color. He glanced at Mrs. Cobb, busy removing a hat from a hook on the wall, and grimaced, pulling out a black shawl instead.

  He walked over to the counter and set it next to the chocolate. He frowned at the bleak color, then spun on his heel, stalked to the pile, and grabbed the red one, as well, bringing his latest acquisition back and thumping it on top of the black one. Luckily the thickness muffled the sound, and Mrs. Cobb, who’d vanished around an aisle of shelving, didn’t pop back out and demand an explanation.

  Caleb suppressed a grin and searched for what else he could purchase, strolling up and down the two aisles. He noticed an ivory toiletry set, comb, bristle brush, and hand mirror and remembered how he’d had to lend Maggie his comb. He added the set to the goods on the counter.

  Several shelves held children’s toys, and he wandered over to see if there was anything for babies. He chose a rattle and a miniature cup, both made of silver. In the middle of the shelf a German Bisque doll with blonde hair and blue glass eyes stood in pride of place. That doll is probably the dream of every girl in Sweetwater Springs. He chuckled and took the doll off the shelf, holding it up to the light from the windows, so he could examine the blue silk and lace dress.

  The doll was longer than Charlotte, but he couldn’t resist. She’ll grow into it. He carried the toys to the ever-grow
ing pile on the counter.

  Mrs. Cobb raised an eyebrow when she saw the doll lying on the red shawl.

  He braced himself for a critical comment.

  But the shopkeeper made no such remark.

  She’s probably too busy counting her profits.

  Instead, Mrs. Cobb laid a hand on her latest deposit. “I have diapers and several pairs of soakers. You’ll need a lot of those. A blanket, baby garments, and two bonnets—one plain and one lace.”

  Caleb stared at the mound on the counter and realized he should have brought Ben and Jed on this expedition to help him carry everything home. “I’ll take some of the baby things with me, as well as a few of the necessities for Mrs. Baxter. I’ll either return for the rest or send someone.”

  “Shall I put this on your account, Mr. Livingston?” Mrs. Cobb moved behind the counter and opened a ledger.

  “Please. I’ll settle up with you at the end of the month like always.”

  With a sly smirk, she asked, “Shall I wrap everything?”

  Caleb could just imagine the sight he’d make walking down the street carrying a doll and female clothing. “Of course.” He waited with impatience while Mrs. Cobb recorded everything.

  When the woman finished, she began with folding the undergarments.

  The sound of the door opening made him turn to see his nephew walking through the door.

  “Uncle Caleb.” The boy bounded over. “You’re back early.” His gaze fell on the overflowing counter. “You’re buying all this? A doll? Women’s, ah. . . .” Ben turned away from a camisole edged with lace and threaded with rose satin ribbon to stare at Caleb, his gaze narrowing until he looked suspiciously like his mother when she was on a rampage. “What is going on?” His tone held a disrespectful edge.

  “We have company at the house,” Caleb said with a quelling look. “A family that suffered an accident and lost everything. I’ll tell you more on the way.”

  The boy’s critical expression vanished.

  Caleb picked up the packet of women’s underthings that Mrs. Cobb had wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine from the counter and shoved it at Ben’s chest. “You’re just in time to help me carry all this home.”

  Ben eyed Caleb’s purchases. “I think you should have borrowed El Davis’s wagon to haul that lot home.”

  “You’ll do just fine as a pack mule, Ben.” As Mrs. Cobb finished wrapping the parcels, he gave each one to his nephew. When the boy could no longer hold any more, Caleb began loading his own arms. Luckily with the clothing neatly folded, the garments didn’t take up so much space, and he wouldn’t need to make a second trip.

  Mrs. Cobb, wearing a self-satisfied air, bustled out from behind the counter. “Let me get the door for you.”

  Caleb walked outside, giving a nod of thanks to the shopkeeper.

  Ben followed. The boy took a long step to Caleb’s side. “What’s this all about, Uncle?”

  He glanced at his nephew, figuring he needed to be clear about the delicacy of the situation. “One thing I’ve noticed since you’ve been working at the hotel is how you’ve developed discretion. The urge to feel important because you have knowledge that no one else has can be quite powerful, which is why people spread gossip.”

  “You mean like Mr. O’Reilly?”

  “Yes, if necessary the carpenter does keep business matters close to his chest, as do the Cobbs—I will give them that. But O’Reilly isn’t mean-spirited about gossip—he’s more the curious type. The Cobbs seem to enjoy malicious gossip. But, if you ask for their discretion, they’ll keep what’s bought in their store close to their chests.”

  “So, you buying the doll and the woman’s clothes needs my discretion?”

  A wary note in the boy’s question made Caleb hasten to explain. “Nothing improper or illegal, I assure you. There will be enough gossip as it is, and as much as possible, I’d like to keep it to a minimum.”

  “Understood, sir. Now are you going to tell me?”

  Caleb hesitated. Since working at the hotel, Ben had contracted a case of hero worship. Only now, when he was possibly about to tarnish his nephew’s image of him, did Caleb realize how much the boy’s regard meant to him. He took a breath. “On the road to Morgan’s Crossing, I was driving too fast.” He sent the boy a wry glance. “Let that be a lesson to never let inattention overcome you when traveling through hilly countryside.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “A wagon was approaching from the opposite direction, the driver deliberately urging his team to a reckless speed. We came around a bend, narrowly avoided crashing.”

  “I’ll bet that was your doing.”

  “And perhaps a few angels riding my horses.” The thought hadn’t occurred to him before, but the fanciful notion seemed right, somehow. “The other driver wasn’t so lucky. He went off the road. His team swerved to miss a tree, but the wagon crashed. He was killed. His wife and infant daughter survived.”

  Ben listened to the story with a rapt expression. “Were they hurt?”

  “The mother, Mrs. Baxter, was able to protect her child. But she suffered massive bruising and a sprained ankle. She is quite lucky, though, that her injuries weren’t worse.”

  Ben hefted the packages in his arms. “So they’re the ones you bought all this for.”

  Caleb tipped his hat to a woman they passed. “The Baxters seemed to have few possessions anyway, and much of those were damaged. Also, in my haste for us to leave the accident site, I didn’t take the time to gather more than a few necessities for them.”

  “What about the man?”

  “I buried him.”

  Ben fell silent, looking ahead.

  Caleb wondered what his nephew was thinking.

  “How awful for you. And even though the accident sounds like it was the other man’s fault, your inattention was a contributing factor that must make you feel responsible.”

  Caleb halted, staring at the boy—no, young man, for Ben was almost tall enough to look straight into his eyes. He hadn’t expected his nephew to show so much empathy. Then he caught himself. He was thinking of the old Ben—the boy of three years ago, who’d acted with malicious intent to harm the twins. But the young man he’d been seeing since Christmas had displayed sympathetic qualities on several occasions. I should have noticed sooner. “You are growing up to be a good man, Ben. One I’m proud of.”

  Ben flushed and ducked his head.

  Caleb resumed walking. “You are right. I do feel bad about what happened to the man and responsible for Mrs. Baxter and baby Charlotte. But not because she is requesting my assistance. She has shown bravery in a difficult situation, and I must confess to finding Charlotte endearing.”

  “So you got her the doll?”

  “Yes. I’m sure both Mrs. Baxter and your mother will give me grief over that purchase.”

  “I don’t know about Mrs. Baxter, but I do know my mother, and you’re in for it, Uncle Caleb.”

  “Yep,” he agreed. “When we get home, you’d best toss the parcels on the floor and run for it. Take refuge in your room.”

  “I won’t stand craven,” Ben said in a scornful tone.

  Caleb grinned. “I was jesting. However, I should not have been disrespectful toward my sister. I know she means well.”

  Ben grimaced. “If Mrs. Baxter is poor, Mother won’t like putting them up. It was different with the Bellaires.”

  “You just leave your mother to me.”

  “Oh, I intend to,” Ben said wryly.

  Caleb thought for a moment and decided the best way to deal with Edith was to not have to deal with her. “Let’s go quietly through the front door to avoid Mrs. Graves in the kitchen, then silently take the stairs to Mrs. Baxter’s room. If we’re lucky, no one will see us.”

  Ben grinned. “Sneaky, Uncle Caleb.”

  A little spurt of guilt had him questioning if he should be colluding with the boy against his mother. But, then again, this is for Maggie’s comfort, he tried to reassure hims
elf.

  No sense in setting Edith off and having Maggie get caught in the crossfire.

  “Whatever are you two about?” Edith’s stentorian tones rang down the entryway. With a swish of skirts, she bustled toward them, her heels clicking on the black and white tile.

  So much for a stealthy entrance. “A little shopping for Mrs. Baxter. Some necessities.”

  Her gaze swung from Caleb’s full arms to Ben’s. “How many necessities does one woman need?”

  “I don’t know, Edith,” Caleb said with an edge in his tone. “Judging from your wardrobe, a whole store full.”

  “It’s for the baby, too,” Ben said, obviously trying to rescue him. “Babies need a lot.”

  She glanced at her son. “And how would you know what babies need, young man?”

  Both of them winced.

  “Geez, Ma. Babies are all over the place.”

  Good point, although a tactical error in your delivery.

  “You know better than to call me ma, young man. And don’t you have schoolwork to do?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Caleb tilted his head toward the stairs. “Let’s take these parcels up to Mrs. Baxter, Ben. Then you can get started on your homework. If you still need help with your Latin, let me know and we can work on it after supper.” That should mollify Edith. He moved toward the stairs.

  “I’ll come, too.” His sister followed him. “I want to see these necessities you’ve bought.”

  Caleb stopped so abruptly that Ben almost walked into him. “All right, Edith. If you must know, more than necessities. Perhaps I did go overboard. But as I’ve explained, I bear some responsibility for Mrs. Baxter and her daughter’s plight. Therefore, I did not stint with my purchases.” His gaze bored into hers. “Even luxuries cannot make up for a death.”

  She lowered her gaze.

  “I do not want you making Mrs. Baxter feel uncomfortable or beholden.” Caleb jiggled the parcels in his arms. “For then her pride will not allow her to accept them, and she and Charlotte are in sore need.”