Mystic Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series Book 6)

by Debra Holland

  Caleb nodded in response.

  Edith lifted her gloved hand in a regal movement that was barely recognizable as a wave.

  They drove by a three-story building with a polished rose-quartz façade. Just before they passed, a boy and a woman stepped out the front double doors, followed by the tallest man Maggie had ever seen.

  “Oh, there are the Gordons,” Edith exclaimed. “See that dark-haired man who’s as tall as a tree?” Her wave to the family was more effusive than her previous, stingy ones. “Remember I told you? Anthony Gordon—he prefers to be called Ant—is the owner of the building and the newspaper business on the ground floor. Mrs. Gordon is the schoolteacher, and the boy is their nephew David.”

  Mrs. Gordon was a petite, pretty woman. The disparity in the couple’s heights was almost comical.

  The man noticed Maggie and gave her a crooked smile. Of course, as the newspaper editor, he’d be interested in a new face in town, especially if he’s heard about me already.

  “David is the son of Mr. Gordon’s sister, murdered by her husband, who then kidnapped the boy and brought him west. Terribly abused he was.”

  Maggie gasped, thinking of Oswald. Her arms tightened around her baby. That could have been me.

  “That’s enough, Edith,” Caleb commanded, taking the reins in one hand and briefly laying the other on Maggie’s arm in silent reassurance.

  “But David’s fine now,” his sister protested.

  Caleb shot a concerned look at Maggie.

  She gave him a nod, silently telling him she was all right, but really thinking of her lucky escape. Why do some men cause pain to those they should most love and cherish? Maggie supposed that was a question she’d never be able to answer.

  Caleb glanced at her. “I’ll halt at the church steps. You wait until I come around to help you down. I don’t want you trying it on your own,” he said in a firm tone.

  “Now who’s bossy,” Maggie muttered, even if she agreed with him.

  Edith choked back a laugh. “Telling him so won’t change my brother one bit, Magdalena.”

  “Hope springs eternal,” Maggie quoted from Alexander Pope.

  Caleb laughed. He slowed the team to a walk and headed the horses toward the front steps of the church. The white clapboard building had a steeple with a cross and black doors and window trim.

  He had to rein in the horses and wait while a family with several children strolled by. Then he nudged the horses forward until they reached the steps. He braked, tied off the reins, and jumped down, hurrying around to give a hand to Edith.

  Once on the ground, his sister thanked him with a small smile and nod. She stepped out of the way.

  Maggie slid to the end of the seat and handed Charlotte to him.

  Caleb passed the baby to Edith. Apparently conscious of so many eyes on them, he didn’t try to swing Maggie off the seat. Instead, he placed his hand under her armpits and lifted her, gently setting her down. “I wish I could carry you up the steps and into the church to spare you pain,” he murmured, holding out an arm.

  With one hand, Maggie grabbed up her skirts just high enough to preserve dignity. She slipped the other around his arm and started up the three steps, Edith following with Charlotte.

  He let her climb at her own pace, leaning heavily on his arm. At the top, she paused to catch her breath.

  Reverend Joshua came out of the church, saw them, and walked over. “Good morning, Mrs. Baxter, Mrs. Grayson.”

  “Good morning, Reverend Joshua,” they chorused, sounding like schoolgirls.

  The minister gestured toward the surrey. “Mr. Livingston, I’ll help Mrs. Baxter to a pew, so you can move your vehicle.”

  Maggie glanced up at Caleb. Although he seemed reluctant to relinquish her, Caleb must have recognized the wisdom in the minister’s suggestion, for he nodded. Maggie let go of his arm. With a backward glance to make sure Edith was nearby with the baby, she took Reverend Joshua’s proffered arm. Once inside, she saw the church was only sparsely full. Those already present turned to look at her with curious expressions.

  The interior was plain, with clear glass windows on each side. A white cloth-covered altar held a simple cross and a wooden bowl, which she supposed would be used for Charlotte’s christening, as well as a small vase of the same purple crocuses that Caleb had brought her. Maggie wondered if those flowers came from the Livingston yard. A piano was in the left front corner, and a cylindrical stove for heat warmed the right corner, sending the smell of burning coals into the air.

  Self-conscious, Maggie slowly hobbled down the aisle, trying to hold up her head and pretend she was walking normally. Leaning on Reverend Joshua’s arm—although his was no less strong than Caleb’s—didn’t feel as comfortable, and she couldn’t help wishing for a different escort.

  Reverend Joshua gestured toward the front. “Since Charlotte is to be christened today, I’ll seat you in the pew near my mother.”

  When they reached the last row, the pews open to the front of the church, Mrs. Norton rose from the left side where she’d been sitting with a Bible on her lap. She laid the Bible on the seat and held out her hand, greeting Maggie with a gentle smile that crinkled the wrinkles on her face. “Dear Mrs. Baxter. So good to see you on your feet today. An answer to our prayers.”

  The thought the woman had prayed for her gave Maggie a warm feeling of belonging. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness.” She released Reverend Joshua’s arm and took hold of the back of the pew to steady herself.

  Reverend Joshua stepped back to allow Edith to move closer.

  Mrs. Norton’s blue eyes lit up. “And here is dear baby Charlotte.”

  Edith unwrapped the top of the blanket to expose the baby to view. The christening gown cascaded over Charlotte’s feet.

  Mrs. Norton tilted her head. “Why, doesn’t she look adorable? I don’t believe I’ve seen that christening gown before.”

  Edith smoothed the material. “Ben was the last one to wear this.”

  Mrs. Norton cast a shrewd glance from Maggie to Edith. “Perhaps I’ll see the gown again.”

  Maggie’s cheeks grew hot. Surely, she can’t mean I’ll have another baby? She couldn’t imagine ever marrying again. What if I thought my husband was a good man, but he turned out not to be? She gave Edith an assessing glance. Mrs. Norton must mean she hopes Edith will have a baby. She’s still young enough.

  Delia bustled up. Like Edith, she looked the picture of sophisticated elegance, in emerald green instead of blue. Pale gold swags of leaves and flowers patterned the material, with the wide collar and the tight part of her sleeves in plain emerald green without the designs. At the hem, a row of small fringes under a band of grosgrain gold ribbon swished when she moved.

  A dapper gentleman who could only be her father, for they shared the same hazel-colored eyes, accompanied her. He walked with a black, silver-headed cane.

  Delia gave a cool nod to Edith and a sweet “good morning” to Mrs. Norton before turning to Maggie and leaning forward to press cheeks together. “So delighted to see you on your feet.”

  Maggie inhaled the scent of Delia’s perfume along with the intimate friendliness of her greeting.

  Delia straightened and placed a hand on her father’s arm. “Papa, this is Mrs. Baxter, whom I’ve told you about, and her darling baby, Charlotte.”

  Maggie covertly studied the pair. Delia, with her delicate features, looked like a feminine version of her father. Her skin was more olive than Mr. Bellaire’s, and her dark hair had only a hint of auburn, unlike his, which was a rich red-brown streaked with white.

  The lines around Mr. Bellaire’s eyes and mouth deepened when he smiled. His concerned gaze rested on her bruised face. “I hope you are recovered from your ordeal, Mrs. Baxter.” His Southern drawl wasn’t nearly as obvious as his daughter’s. “Such a horrendous experience for you.”

  “I’m getting better, sir. Thank you for asking. And I appreciate Delia’s kindness in calling upon a stranger so ofte
n this week. I have been most grateful for her company.”

  He glanced at his daughter with a doting expression. “She will make an ideal minister’s wife.”

  Color crept into Delia’s cheeks. “Papa, how can you speak so? No one is ideal.”

  Reverend Joshua leaned in. “I agree with your father, dearest.”

  Delia’s blush deepened. “I’ve enjoyed calling upon Maggie,” she protested. “I didn’t visit from a sense of duty.” She looked around as if trying to change the subject. “Where is Micah?”

  Reverend Joshua glanced behind him to the church entrance. “I left him outside with Scotty Salter. Here he comes now.”

  A boy of about ten moved up the aisle, obviously restraining himself to a sedate walk. He stopped at Mr. Bellaire’s side and grabbed the man’s arm, his expression alight with mischief. His eyes were the same vivid blue of his father and grandfather, although his features looked more rounded. “Grand-père.” He tugged on the older man’s sleeve.

  Mr. Bellaire bent down so Micah could whisper in his ear. He straightened and grinned. “Certainly.”

  “I’ll tell ’em.” Micah whirled and started to run before apparently remembering he was in church and slowed to a walk, weaving in and out of the people coming up the aisle.

  Mr. Bellaire gazed after him, a smile on his face. Then he looked down at Maggie. “Nothing like a grandson to keep an old man young. I’m glad my son-in-law-to-be has provided me with one already old enough to play with. That boy is an endless source of amusement. He wants to bring his friend over to play chess with me tomorrow.”

  “He called you grand-père?” Maggie asked, curious.

  “Since Micah already has two sets of grandparents, I thought it best we call upon the language of my native New Orleans for a title.”

  Maggie didn’t know anything about New Orleans except for the city’s designation on the map of the United States, which her schoolteacher had made her pupils memorize. “But New Orleans is in Louisiana.”

  “Yes, but the city once belonged to the French, and their influence lingers, especially in our language. We—the Creole—speak French and English.”

  “I must go to the piano,” Mrs. Norton said with a sigh. “I don’t think the Sanders have made it into town today. I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with my poor performance, Mrs. Baxter, instead of Mrs. Sanders’s divine music.”

  “Any music is a treat, Mrs. Norton,” Maggie assured her. “I’m sure I will enjoy your playing very much, indeed.”

  The minister’s wife thanked her and headed toward the piano. She took a seat and began to play a hymn Maggie didn’t recognize.

  She sat down, making sure to leave space for Mrs. Norton, and reached up for Charlotte.

  Edith handed her the baby. “I’ll stand until Caleb and Ben arrive so they can see where we are. This isn’t our usual pew. We typically sit in the middle of the church. Mrs. Graves and Jed always prefer to find room in the back.” With a widening of her eyes, she raised her chin to indicate a couple walking down the aisle. “Here are the Walkers come to town, after all.” She waved for their attention.

  The white-haired man held the hand of a child of about seven, her brown curls in long ringlets. The child stopped to talk to a girl her age, and he waited with her.

  Her mother continued down the aisle toward them. She had brown hair drawn back from an interesting bony face and intelligent gray eyes, accentuated by the silver-sage green of her gown. The fullness of her sleeves and the wide collar of pale lace draped around her shoulders and ending in a V at her middle disguised the thinness of her frame. But even the well-cut tailoring couldn’t hide her pregnancy.

  Edith greeted the new arrival with a welcoming smile.

  When Mrs. Walker saw Delia, her smile widened, and she held out a hand. “Miss Bellaire, I’m glad to see you looking so well after your long absence from Sweetwater Springs. I’m so anticipating your wedding.”

  “I’m most anxious for the happy day.”

  Careful not to jostle Charlotte, Maggie stood to greet the newcomer. Mrs. Walker’s large pearl earrings of shimmering gray made her feel self-conscious about her brassy hoops.

  “Mrs. Baxter, I’m delighted to see you again.” Mrs. Walker leaned forward to study the baby. “She’s so beautiful.” She straightened and patted her stomach. “One of the few nice things about only meeting someone once or twice a year is how babies can slip into a family and be a complete surprise when you meet up again.”

  Delia gestured to the woman’s stomach. “I’m not the only one looking forward to a future event. Mrs. Walker, I see we’re to congratulate you.”

  Mrs. Walker’s gray eyes grew misty. “We are so blessed.” She slid a sideways glance at Maggie. “Neither my husband nor I expected to marry,” she explained. “Finding each other, having Julia—” she gestured toward her daughter “—has made me the happiest of women. Although I’d hoped for more children, I was well contented with the one I had. Now, after so many years. . . .” She seemed unable to go one.

  Edith stepped in. “Mrs. Baxter’s baby is going to be christened today. We’re having a small get-together at the house afterward, and I hope you and your family will be able to attend.” She slid her gaze to the Bellaires. “You two, as well.” As she spoke with the father and daughter, her expression grew pinched and her tone changed from inviting to grudging.

  “I don’t want to impose,” Mrs. Walker murmured. “Surely, you didn’t expect us.”

  Maggie laughed. “Quite the contrary. We did. Please come. We’ll need your help to eat all the food, for Edith expected to invite the whole town.”

  Edith smiled. With a faint shake of her head, she said, “With the weather, many families are staying home today.”

  Mrs. Walker glanced down the aisle at her husband. “Of course, they must stay safe. Luckily, my dear Gideon knew I needed some social activity, so we came into town.”

  Maggie tucked the blanket around Charlotte. “You’re not concerned about the weather?”

  “No, if it starts to rain, we’ll stay at the hotel for as long as need be. We have the horses with us, and no other livestock to worry about. We get our milk and eggs from the Barretts, who are our nearest neighbors. You met them at the Morgans’ party.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Barrett and I had a long chat about babies.”

  “That’s Lina. There’s nothing she likes better than children. I’m sure she’d be whisking your baby away from you right now. Unfortunately, because of their animals, the Barretts are more homebound than we are.” She touched Maggie’s arm. “I’d be delighted to further our acquaintance at the party.”

  “I would like that, too,” Maggie exclaimed with gratitude.

  “A social gathering is less of an ordeal when you already have acquaintances,” Mrs. Walker agreed with a sage look of understanding. “When I lived in New York, I used to dislike such events. But out here, I’ve made such good friends, and each opportunity to gather together is a pleasure. I’m sure you will soon have similar experiences.”

  With a touch on Mrs. Walker’s arm, Edith drew the woman’s attention.

  Maggie glanced back at the church, which was starting to fill. With a dip of her stomach, she saw Caleb walking up the aisle, looking handsome in a navy blue suit.

  He stopped to talk to Gideon Walker.

  Their conversation appeared serious, and she wondered what they discussed.

  With a nod, Caleb disengaged and moved toward them. He, too, greeted Mrs. Walker warmly but only nodded at Delia and Andre.

  Maggie itched with curiosity, wanting to know why Caleb and Edith seemed distant from the Bellaires. Now that she thought about it, Edith had never joined the visitors in Maggie’s room when Delia was present, although she sometimes had when Mrs. Norton or Mrs. Cameron came to call.

  The more she observed Caleb and Delia together, the more she suspected he had feelings for her and had suffered rejection. From the corner of her eye, she watched his face to see i
f his eyes gave anything away. But his impassive expression left her no sense of his feelings.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Even months after he’d learned the truth about Delia Bellaire’s illegitimacy and Negro blood, Caleb didn’t know how to treat her and her father. They’d lied to him—to the whole town—perhaps not so much in words, but by their actions. Now, he and Edith knew the truth. So did the Nortons and Sheriff Granger. But he and Edith could hardly cut the Bellaires’ acquaintance, for the town was too small for such odd behavior to go without remark. And with Delia Bellaire about to become Mrs. Joshua Norton, Caleb had to at least show common courtesy.

  At the time of the discovery, Reverend Joshua had seemed more upset about the deception than about Delia’s antecedents, but he’d obviously forgiven her. Although the lie bothered Caleb, he was more annoyed that he’d begun to court a mixed-race woman. What if I had married her? He suppressed a shudder.

  Since the discovery, Caleb focused on feeling thankful his heart wasn’t engaged, that only his pride had taken the blow. The Bellaires’ departure for Crenshaw had helped speed his return to his usual equanimity. With his hotel unfinished, there’d been nowhere in town they could stay—Widow Murphy’s not being the kind of rooming house anyone would want to live in for more than a few days. Even with the recent expansion of the parsonage, there still wasn’t enough room for father and daughter, especially with Andre convalescing from his heart attack.

  I’ll ease back into a friendship with them.

  So, instead of paying attention to Delia, Caleb peered down at Charlotte. As usual, when he looked at her, his heart swelled with love—a reaction that still sometimes caught him off guard. “How is my goddaughter?”

  Maggie chuckled. “She’s not your goddaughter yet.”

  Caleb made a dismissive motion with his hand, and the corners of his mouth twitched. “A mere matter of minutes. . .well, depending on the length of the good reverend’s sermon. . .whichever reverend gives it. . .maybe more than a few minutes.”