Mystic Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series Book 6)

by Debra Holland

  “What if she cries?”

  “We’re used to crying babies.”

  “You must have a big church to fit everyone.”

  Mrs. Norton laughed. “Quite the contrary. We will have the pews packed as well as standing room in the back and on the sides. We have to do that on the Christmas Eve and Easter services, although in the winter, many don’t risk a long drive. Thank goodness a wedding ceremony doesn’t take much time at all, and we can use the hotel for the reception.”

  Delia shot Mrs. Norton an impish smile. “I believe the time has come to build a new church. One that could hold everyone.”

  “Oh, my, such a lovely idea.” Mrs. Norton’s forehead crinkled. “But we don’t really need one. Such an expensive undertaking.”

  Delia patted Mrs. Norton’s arm. “Something to think about for the future.”

  “A reception at the hotel. . . .” Maggie clasped her hands together and let out a romantic sigh. “Sounds like a lovely party.”

  Mrs. Norton nodded. “So good of Mr. Bellaire to take care of all the arrangements.”

  “You mean he insisted,” Delia said with a fond smile. She glanced at Maggie. “Papa is over the moon. I’m his only child. Most of my life we’ve been separated, me living in New Orleans with my mother and him in New York. So he delights in spoiling me. Reverend Joshua and I tried to rein him in, but we ended up allowing him his head.”

  “Can you believe Mr. Bellaire is having hothouse flowers brought in?” Mrs. Norton’s tone marveled. “And orange blossoms for Delia’s bouquet. And the hotel is catering all the food. We are not to cook a thing.”

  Maggie wondered why Caleb hadn’t mentioned such a big event for his hotel. “Mr. Livingston must be doing a lot of work for your reception.”

  “Oh, not at all. Peter Rockwell manages the hotel. Everything is in his quite capable hands.”

  Maggie wondered if organizing Delia’s wedding reception was too painful for Caleb. Is he suffering in silence? Her heart ached for him.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  As the week went on, Maggie’s bruises faded, and her ankle mended enough that she could hobble to the bathroom on her own. She still had nightmares every night. Each time, Caleb would hear her cry out and climb on top of the covers, taking her in his arms, chasing away the demon named Oswald, and making her feel safe. In the morning, she’d awaken alone and missing him.

  The secret of their nights followed her around during the light of day, even though neither referred to that time together. Yet it showed in the ease between them, the way the touch of his hand on her arm or back—conventional to any onlookers—conveyed a silent intimacy.

  Often Maggie had to chastise herself for allowing her dependency on Caleb to grow, instead of weaning herself from him—especially if he had feelings for Delia Bellaire. Even though she warned herself that this time with him wouldn’t last—that if she came to care for Caleb too much, she’d suffer when she left the Livingston residence to forge a life on her own with Charlotte, Maggie couldn’t seem to make herself stop.

  Every day, members of the Norton family called on her. Sometimes the elder Reverend Norton came with his wife or alone. Other times Mrs. Norton and Delia Bellaire came together, or Reverend Joshua dropped by alone or with either one.

  Mrs. Cameron visited with her small son Craig, who was starting to crawl. The two of them had indulged in lovely discussions about their babies. In many ways, Mrs. Cameron reminded Maggie of Mrs. Tisdale, both women having a great deal of common sense and a practical knowledge of medical matters, especially concerning babies.

  In the evenings after Ben’s homework was done, everyone gathered in her bedroom. Ben started teaching Maggie how to play chess, while Edith and Caleb vied for holding Charlotte. Caleb usually won the argument, pointing out that his sister had time with the baby during the day while he was at the bank.

  On Saturday morning after breakfast, Edith entered Maggie’s bedroom carrying a linen-wrapped bundle tied with white satin ribbon. “I have something for Charlotte to wear tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow? Maggie wasn’t sure what Edith meant.

  “The christening.”

  Maggie hadn’t given Charlotte’s christening any thought, having fallen out of the habit of weekly church attendance. In Morgan’s Crossing, the christening wouldn’t have taken place until one of Reverend Joshua’s monthly visits and might have been lumped in with any other event, such as a marriage or a funeral.

  She shifted the baby to one arm so she could take the bundle. One-handedly, she untied the ribbon and opened the linen covering to see a lacy baptismal gown and bonnet in soft ivory. The bodice had embroidery and delicate tucks, and lace edged the sleeves, hem, and collar. The bonnet matched. “Oh, these are beautiful.”

  “My mother made them when Caleb was a baby. I wore them and so did Ben.”

  Maggie’s eyes filled with tears. She tried to sniff them away and when that didn’t work, she swiped the back of her hand across her eyes.

  “Are those good tears or bad tears?”

  “Good. You are all so kind.”

  “We do our duty.” Edith’s voice sounded stiff.

  Maggie suspected the woman was holding back emotion, not really meaning to act distant. She patted the gown. “This isn’t duty, Edith. Duty was Caleb buying baby clothes for Charlotte that would have been just fine for her to wear tomorrow. Letting my daughter borrow the Livingston christening gown is generosity, indeed.”

  Edith smiled. “This actually isn’t the Livingston christening gown. That one remains in Boston. The garment is many generations old and is a family heirloom. I don’t know how many babies have worn it. There’s so much lace adorning the material, the baby weighs twice as much. And one of my aunties watches the gown like a hawk to make sure nothing is spilled on it, and the baby is changed as soon as he or she is wet. And of course, the infant wears extra layers of diapers.”

  Maggie laughed. “The mother of the baby must spend all her time fretting about protecting the gown, rather than enjoying the service.”

  “Yes.” Edith patted the gown. “And for that reason, as well as sentimentality, I used this one for Ben.” Her lips turned down. “Nathaniel’s parents attended, but they didn’t insist on my baby using their gown—the one he and his brother wore.” An echo of old pain lingered in her tone.

  “I’m sorry they hurt you.”

  “Strange, really. I hadn’t thought of that memory in years.” Edith gave a slight shake of her head. “Enough of the past. The future is what’s important. Let’s concentrate on Charlotte.”

  “I hadn’t really considered the christening.” Maggie swallowed. “Would you be willing to be a godmother to Charlotte?”

  Edith’s eyes lit up. “I’d love to. I’ve come to care for her. I suppose you’d want Caleb to be her godfather.”

  “There’s no one else more suitable.” No man loves my baby more than he does. A wave of emotion swept over her. Maggie didn’t stop to figure out what she felt or why she was experiencing it. She touched the lace on the hem of the christening gown and returned to the original subject.

  “The obligation of wearing the Livingston christening gown sounds enormous. I think I’d refuse to allow Charlotte to wear the gown, even if we were in Boston and someone in your family condescended to offer it.”

  A look of discomfort crossed Edith’s face, quickly suppressed.

  But Maggie could tell the thought. The highfalutin Livingstons would never have offered the sacred gown for Gypsy Maggie’s baby to wear, even if they didn’t know I was one. “Does Caleb know about this?”

  “I mentioned it at breakfast, and he was quite approving. Now, for tomorrow. . .there’s more than just a service.” Edith rushed the words out as if anxious to change the subject.

  “What do you mean?”

  “My brother has decreed that we’ll invite any of our friends who attend church to come to dinner after the service. Since the list is quite large, Mrs. Graves has been cooking
up a storm. And we’ve placed a large order with the baker, as well as at the sweet shop.”

  Maggie could only stare at Edith, mouth agape. She forced her jaw closed. “A party?”

  “I don’t know that we’d classify it as a party. That’s a larger and more arduous affair. No, this is a small gathering—perhaps thirty people. At least you’ll be spared the Cobbs. At this time of the year, they keep the store open for several hours after church, not just for one as they usually do. They know many families who haven’t risked the drive during the winter are coming into town for the first time in months, and they will need to stock up.”

  “Whom are you inviting?”

  “The Nortons, of course. Dr. and Mrs. Cameron. And Delia Bellaire, whom you already know, although you haven’t met her father, Andre. Are you acquainted with the Walkers? I believe Darcy Walker is friends with Prudence Morgan. Mrs. Walker comes from quite a wealthy, distinguished family in the East. Neither she nor her husband is much for socializing, so we don’t entertain them very often. But if they are in town, we will invite them.”

  “I’ve met the Walkers. They attended the party the Morgans threw for the christening of their youngest daughter.”

  “Ah, you probably know all of the former mail-order brides and their husbands, then.”

  “We’ve met.” Maggie wouldn’t count interacting with the Walkers, Flanigans, and Barretts among a group of about a hundred people for the two days the families stayed for the party as knowing. “I’m best acquainted with Mrs. Brungar.”

  “I don’t believe I’ve met her.”

  “Bertha Brungar, the former Miss Bucholtz, is shy, but so kind.” Maggie thought with regret of her friendship with Bertha, whose biscuits were legendary in Morgan’s Crossing. When Oswald was at his most difficult—something hard to hide in the close confines of a tiny town—the woman would bring over a basket of her biscuits. Eating them seemed to soothe the savage beast within Oswald, and Maggie had always been so grateful. “She manages the boardinghouse in Morgan’s Crossing, and I doubt you could pry her or her husband from their home to come to Sweetwater Springs.”

  “Probably just as well. There are only so many the dining room can comfortably hold. I also expect to see the Carters, Sanders, Thompsons.” Edith ticked off the families on her fingers. “All ranchers. The Gordons—he runs the newspaper, and she’s the teacher. Sheriff K.C. Granger. Mr. Rockwell, the manager of the hotel. Who else? Oh, yes. Caleb has taken quite a liking to the Muths—dairy farmers on the prairie. They were quite instrumental in ending the recent thieving by the Indians.”

  The recitation of names made Maggie’s head spin. “You call that a small gathering?”

  Edith laughed. “Well, I must say our intimate dinners have grown in the last few years as more people have moved to Sweetwater Springs. And of course, as either Caleb or I form new friendships. . . .”

  The idea of such a gathering for Charlotte’s christening overwhelmed Maggie, especially she and the baby being the center of attention. She wondered if it was too late to put a halt to the planning, and then remembered that Edith had already placed an order with the baker. “I can help Mrs. Graves with the cooking. Sit at the table and chop things, for instance.”

  “I’ll mention it to her. I’m sure Mrs. Graves would appreciate the help, although she’ll never let you know it. The woman wears a perpetual frown.”

  Charlotte stirred and made a small sound.

  Maggie glanced over to check on her. “Oh, I’m not yet used to thinking about my baby and what to do with her when I’m working.”

  Edith lowered a hand to touch the cradle. “I’ll have Jed bring this to the kitchen, so Charlotte can be with you.”

  “That would be wonderful, thank you.”

  Edith tapped her chin. “I think I’m missing a few people.”

  Oh, dear Lord. “What does everyone do with their children? Do Ben’s friends come, as well?”

  “The children will eat in the kitchen.” Edith looked around as if searching for something. “I should have brought my list. Ben will want the family of his best friend to attend, and I need to write them down. Normally, we wouldn’t socialize with the Salters. The parents work at the hotel. Mrs. Salter is the laundry woman, and Mr. Salter contributes game for the kitchens. But Caleb is fond of them as well.” She shook her head in apparent disbelief. “Not that they aren’t nice people. Perfectly fine, salt of the Earth, and all.

  Not for the first time, Maggie wondered what Caleb had told Edith about her. Surely if the woman knew of her low-class origins—her Gypsy origins—she would not be holding a party to celebrate Charlotte’s christening. What will happen when she finds out?

  Sunday morning, Maggie, wearing her black dress, waited at the kitchen door, under strict orders from Caleb not to stir an inch until he brought the surrey as close to the side of the house as possible. They’d gotten ready early because she moved so slowly, careful of her injured foot, and he wanted her and the baby situated well before church started.

  After some slight alterations, the new black dress fit her perfectly. Maggie reveled in the froth of chiffon around her neck and spilling over the front of the bodice and also in a straight line down the skirt. The puffed balloon sleeves gathered above her elbow, ending with ribbon cuffs at her wrists. When she moved her head, the ends of the huge bow on the side of her black hat fluttered near her cheek.

  From seeing herself in the bathroom mirror, Maggie knew the dark color became her, and she’d never felt so elegant in her life. She couldn’t bear to don her coat until the last minute, so she’d placed the garment on the table.

  In her arms, Charlotte lay swathed in a blanket to keep her warm from the chilly spring breeze. She’d just nursed and had dry diapers, and Maggie hoped her daughter would be good throughout the service. Edith had lent her a black velvet reticule in which to carry extra diapers and another pair of soakers in case the baby had an accident. Maggie glanced at her daughter, who looked adorable with the bonnet framing her sweet face.

  “Mrs. Baxter.” Ben bounded across the kitchen to join her. “Uncle Caleb said for me to help you to the surrey. Mother will go with you. I’ll walk with Mrs. Graves and Jed to church.”

  Edith followed her son. She looked striking in a midnight-blue outfit. The skirt and balloon sleeves were attached to a high-necked, cream-colored lace bodice. She carried a capelike half coat, the sleeves cut wide to fit her dress and trimmed with mink. She wore tasteful sapphires in her ears and a matching necklace. She cast an anxious glance out the window and pressed her lips together. “Oh, dear. I see clouds on the horizon. I think we’ve just lost half our guest list.”

  Thank goodness. Maggie kept her expression calm, not wanting Edith to see her relief. The woman had worked so hard to organize something special for Charlotte’s christening.

  Ben winked at Maggie. “More for us to eat!”

  Edith shrugged. “Well, there is that. We’ll have more than enough food for everyone. I won’t have to rein anyone in.” She tapped Ben’s shoulder. “Like the son who has an appetite like a grizzly.”

  Ben grinned. “Grrrr.”

  “This time,” said his mother with a fond smile and shake of her head, “you boys will be able to eat your weight in food—after the adults have helped themselves, of course. And we can send leftovers home with the Salters.” She glanced at Maggie. “You can’t believe how pitifully thin that family was before Mariah and Abel started working at the hotel. But with four growing boys. . . .”

  Edith took a step back to survey Maggie. Her gaze rested on the earrings, and her expression pinched in disapproval.

  Maggie wondered if Edith would criticize her for wearing them, for she knew ladies did not flaunt hoops, especially brass hoops. Too bad. A Gypsy never parts with her gold, unless she intends to spend it.

  The surrey pulled up to the door.

  “Here, Magdalena.” Edith held out her arms. “Let me take Charlotte.”

  Maggie handed the b
aby to Edith and put on her black coat. The shoulders were wide to accommodate her sleeves, and a big button fastened the cuffs tight around her wrists.

  Edith gave a decisive nod of approval. “That coat fits you well. I’m surprised the mercantile had a fashionable one in the right size at this time of year.”

  “This is Montana, where we need coats all year around. We’ve been known to have snow in the summers.”

  “That’s true.”

  Leaning on Ben for support, Maggie hobbled to the surrey. Although she tried to walk normally, biting her lip against the pain, she couldn’t manage to disguise her limp. She paused at the step, knowing she’d have to put her full weight on her bad foot, and took a breath, preparing to boost herself up.

  “Hold on!” Caleb called from the surrey. He jumped down and came around the side. “I saw you trying to hide how much you’re hurting.” Without waiting for a response, he swung her up onto the seat.

  As much as Maggie hated being helpless and in pain, she couldn’t help the thrill that went through her whenever he picked her up. She thanked him with a smile.

  Once she was settled, Caleb took Charlotte from Edith and handed the baby to Maggie.

  Neither woman commented on his overbearing ways. As much as I hate to admit it, sometimes he’s right.

  Edith gathered her skirts. With the assistance of her brother, she climbed in to sit next to Maggie.

  Ben saluted. “See you at church, Mother, Mrs. Baxter.”

  Caleb walked to the other side and climbed in. He spread a blanket over their laps and then took the reins and released the brake. With a flick of his wrists, he set the team trotting.

  The air was cold on her face, but Maggie was cozy between Caleb and Edith. If she’d been with Oswald, she would have been wearing her old coat, worn thin in places. Or if she still didn’t fit in it, she’d be wrapped in a blanket and too ashamed to go to church.

  They were still early enough that they passed only a few families walking to church on the sides of the street, leaving the middle open for vehicles and riders. As they drove by, most glanced up and waved at the occupants of the surrey.