Mystic Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series Book 6)

by Debra Holland

  Reverend Norton must be ecstatic to have almost everyone he serves gathered for this marriage.

  The groom, his son Micah by his side, strode up the aisle. Both were clad in fashionable dark blue suits. Micah sat down next to his grandmother, and Reverend Joshua took a place beside his father. The two of them exchanged a few low-voiced and obviously sentimental words.

  Caleb couldn’t count how many weddings he’d witnessed, both in the West and in Boston. Like most men, he attended the ceremonies out of obligation, rather than considering them the special occasions that women seemed to feel they were. In the last years, a few weddings—such as Elizabeth Hamilton’s to Nick Sanders—had been a downright annoyance, which he would have preferred to skip.

  So he didn’t expect Delia and Reverend Joshua’s ceremony—although the fanciest ever held in Sweetwater Springs—to be much different.

  But it was.

  The moment Blythe plucked the harp strings, sending the first strains of “O Perfect Love” resonating through the church, a wave of emotion flooded Caleb, the force strong enough to shake him to his soul. The piano joined the harp, and his heart beat to the musical notes. The twining of the violin and flute sent goose bumps washing over his arms.

  What is this? Caleb took careful inhales and exhales to regain his equilibrium but to no avail, for Sophia’s magnificent voice rose above the music, and the tide of heightened sensation continued. “O perfect love, all human thought transcending. . . .”

  Throughout the ceremony, Caleb struggled to hold his emotions at bay. But, for once, logic failed to order his thoughts or calm the thumping of his heart. Striving to find a sense of balance, he listed all that was different about this wedding from any other he’d attended, imagining himself ticking the points off on his fingers.

  Tick one: The force of his feelings must stem from knowing Delia and Reverend Joshua better than he did anyone else in Sweetwater Springs outside his family and Peter Rockwell. After all, he’d been a witness to the courtship that had taken place in his own home during Andre Bellaire’s convalescence. He’d quarreled with them and lately made up. They knew his and Maggie’s secrets, and he knew theirs. Caleb had shared with Reverend Joshua as he’d done with no other man.

  Tick two: Surely his emotions intensified from seeing the happy tears flowing down Andre Bellaire’s face as he escorted his daughter up the aisle. Certainly there were enough teary sniffs sounding throughout the church, and handkerchiefs coming out of sleeves, pockets, and reticules to lend credence to this point.

  Tick three: The bride’s glowing beauty stalled the breath in his chest. Delia was a vision in shimmering cream. Many gasped at the sight of her.

  Tick four: As he watched the approach of his bride, the love on Reverend Joshua’s face made Caleb’s chest tighten. He looked away, unable to bear the sight of so much vulnerability.

  Tick five: The tremor in Reverend Norton’s voice as he spoke the words “Dearly Beloved” sent a shiver through Caleb, and he clenched his fists to still the tremor.

  Tick six: The love and goodwill emanating from the congregation was so heavy it prickled the hairs on the back of his neck.

  Tick seven: He knew both Joshua and Delia had already suffered, so the couple had a greater knowledge when vowing “for better or for worse” than most couples who cleaved to each other in matrimony.

  Charlotte made a sound, and Caleb glanced down at the mother and child who’d become so dear to him.

  Maggie looked up at him. Tears brightened the gold flecks in her eyes. Her lips quivered into a smile, and she moved her hand to brush his in a brief acknowledgment of their shared emotion.

  The warmth from her touch lingered on his skin and broke the logical bonds he’d been forging to shackle his feelings. As he gazed into her eyes, his throat closed and his heart squeezed. In that moment, Caleb realized Maggie was the reason for the greatness of his emotion.

  I love her.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  After the ceremony, when Reverend Norton had pronounced his son and daughter-in-law man and wife, Blythe began to play the harp. To the heavenly strains, the couple moved down the aisle, an excited spring in their steps. The new Reverend and Mrs. Joshua Norton both wore glowing smiles.

  The newlyweds passed from the church, and then the elder Nortons walked down the aisle, followed by Andre and Micah. The rest of the congregation stood to leave.

  Ben and Edith hastened out of the pew, and the people sitting on Maggie’s other side left via the outer aisle.

  In no hurry to move from where she sat, Maggie shifted her sleeping daughter, who’d grown heavy, to give her arm some rest. She also needed time to allow the powerful emotions she’d experienced during the wedding—especially the moment of intense eye contact with Caleb—to subside.

  Caleb, who seemed absorbed in watching Sophia Maxwell, must have caught Maggie’s movement, for he looked at her and smiled. “I’ve never heard Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” played with only a harp. Blythe is immensely talented.”

  “She is. Such beautiful music. And Miss Maxwell was glorious.” Maggie dropped the singer’s name in a prod to test Caleb’s reaction.

  “Indeed, we are quite spoiled to have them both here. Did I mention how I want to ask Sophia and Blythe to put on a concert at the hotel?”

  Maggie gave him a perfunctory smile, and then chided herself for her childish reaction. Caleb’s friendships—who he loves—are none of my business. The scolding didn’t help her feel better.

  Caleb cupped Maggie’s elbow and assisted her to stand. When the crowd eased, he guided her out of the pew, down the aisle, and out of the church. “Why don’t you let me carry Charlotte? We’ll need to walk to the hotel, and with all these people, it will be slow going.”

  “My arms could use the rest,” she admitted.

  Caleb appropriated Charlotte, shifting her into one arm, with her head supported by the crook of his elbow. He held out his other arm to Maggie. “Have I told you yet, Magdalena Petra, how beautiful you look today?” He gazed at her in apparent admiration.

  Maggie lowered her eyes, wishing she could believe him. She looked up at him through her lashes and slipped her hand around his arm. “I am a wren to the peacocks.” She lifted her chin to indicate Sophia and Elizabeth exiting the church, together in animated conversation. “And Delia. . . .” She shook her head. “Exquisite.”

  “You are most definitely not a wren.” Caleb scowled. “What you don’t understand is how beauty is not about comparisons. Your attractiveness is not Delia’s or Sophia’s or Elizabeth’s. You are all unique. You are Magdalena Petra, your very own special self.”

  Her cheeks heated. No matter how special I am, I’m still Gypsy Maggie. Sadness made her look away, glancing down the street to see people flooding toward the hotel. The sound of happy conversations rose into the air. Already, a receiving line stretched into the street.

  Caleb followed her gaze and smiled. “Seeing all these people entering my hotel does my heart glad. I probably don’t have to tell you that I’ve been severely criticized for building such a monstrosity in Sweetwater Springs.”

  Immediately incensed, Maggie sprang to his defense. “Your hotel is not a monstrosity. It’s grand—quite the most magnificent building I’ve ever seen.”

  His smile broadened. “I appreciate your partisanship, even though it’s unnecessary. I meant I was criticized for the monstrous financial investment I made in such a large establishment. I took quite a risk.”

  “Why did you do so?”

  “Is it foolish of me to want to make my mark on this town in a way that will last for generations?”

  “Even if your fancy hotel is foolish, and I don’t think it is. . . .” Maggie said, slowly, thinking about his question. “If you have the money, then what does it matter to anyone else what you do with it? You’re not tossing money off a cliff. You are providing a service for the community—giving employment, accommodations for guests and dining, a place to hold spe
cial events—and hopefully, you’re making money, or at least breaking even.”

  “Since Christmas, we’ve been breaking even—ahead some weeks, behind some others. I’ll be satisfied with that for now. Hopefully, as the hotel becomes more established, I’ll earn back my investment.”

  They reached the line and stood behind a family she hadn’t met—a couple with three children, a boy around six or seven and two toddlers. The big, blond man looked like a farmer. He held his son, who looked about two or so years old.

  The boy squirmed to get down. But when he saw Maggie watching him, he stilled, staring at her with inquisitive brown eyes.

  She scrunched a face and wiggled her nose at him.

  His mouth opened into a wide grin that showed his teeth.

  Encouraged, she made another silly face.

  The boy let out an infectious belly laugh.

  Maggie couldn’t help but chuckle in return.

  The mother turned to see what had caught her son’s attention. She was tall like her husband, with dark hair and tanned skin. She wore a simple gold dress that matched the unusual color of her eyes and a straw hat with flowers on the brim. In her arms was a tow-headed baby girl with blue eyes who looked about a year or so old. The woman saw Caleb and smiled. “Mr. Livingston.”

  The warmth in the woman’s tone surprised Maggie. In the weeks she’d been around Caleb, she’d observed that people tended to address him in a reserved, respectful manner. Until now, she’d never heard anyone greet him with genuine friendliness.

  “Mrs. Muth.” Caleb smiled and nodded. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you since autumn.”

  “No, I remained home during the winter, although my husband braved the elements to deliver milk and take our son—” she dipped her chin to the older boy “—to school.”

  The line moved, and they all stepped forward a few paces.

  Mr. Muth turned to join the conversation, nodding at Caleb. He had pale eyebrows over blue eyes, ruddy skin, a wide nose and mouth, and a close-cut tawny beard. His smile was more reserved than his wife’s. He ran a curious gaze over Maggie’s face, but Charlotte drew his attention. He raised his eyebrows in puzzlement, seemed about to ask something, and then shook his head.

  “No, she’s not my daughter.” Caleb rocked the baby. “This is Mrs. Baxter, and Charlotte belongs to her. Although I do try to claim a percentage of the babe whenever I can.”

  “Spoken like a banker. Or a potential father.” Mr. Muth glanced at Maggie. “I’m Erik and this is my wife Antonia, who is holding Camilla. Our eldest is Henri.”

  The boy in his arms pointed to the ground. “Down,” he demanded.

  His father rubbed the toddler’s head, making the boy’s brown hair stand on end. “And this one is Jacques. I’m trying to keep him corralled and clean until we get inside.”

  “Down,” Jacques insisted in a more strident tone.

  His mother laughed. “We might as well give up. At least he sat through the wedding, and the street is paved, so he won’t get too dirty.” She tapped her older son’s shoulder to get his attention. “Henri, keep an eye on Jacques, please.”

  The boy had his mother’s gold eyes. “Yes, Maman.”

  “Jacques should be all right,” Caleb offered. “I had my employees clean the street pavers during the wedding. I can’t vouch for a few hours from now, though.”

  Mr. Muth set down Jacques.

  The small boy took off at a run, his brother after him.

  Mrs. Muth shook her head. “Jacques never walks when he can run.” Her daughter squirmed. “And Camilla is always after her brothers.” She held the girl tighter and said something quietly to her in what sounded like French.

  Mr. Muth reached out his arms. “Let me take her.”

  Without the baby in her arms, Maggie could see Mrs. Muth was in the early stages of pregnancy. She will certainly have her hands full with three children so close in age.

  As they talked, the line kept moving, and soon they walked into the hotel.

  Mrs. Muth’s eyes grew big, and she slowly pivoted to take everything in. “Well, I be never seein’ the like,” she marveled. Then she brought herself up, shot her husband a guilty glance, and repeated. “I’ve never seen anything so big and so fancy!” She annunciated each word.

  Mr. Muth grinned at her, as if they shared a secret, and their glances held.

  Maggie could see the obvious love between the two, and she looked away. Seems as if all the couples around me in this town are happily married. The thought made her bitter for what she’d missed with Oswald, and she glanced at Caleb, sad for what she wished for with him but knew was out of her reach. Trying to push away her melancholy thoughts, she studied the interior of the hotel. The lobby, which had seemed so large during her last visit, now was stuffed with people. And more to come. . . .

  On Maggie’s first visit, she’d centered her attention on Sophia Maxwell, so she’d missed many of the details beyond noting how grand Caleb’s hotel was. Now she looked around, seeing the high, coffered ceilings and the interior second-floor balcony that ran along the back of the lobby. Several people had already climbed there to hang over the railing, which was bedecked with swags of white roses and greenery.

  Maggie could understand the other woman’s awe, for she felt the same provincial feeling, as if she didn’t belong. The elegance of her surrounds made her resolve to firmly squash dreams of Caleb Livingston that tormented her, no matter how practical she tried to be about their relationship. “I quite agree, Mrs. Muth.”

  “Call me Antonia, please.” She patted her husband’s arm. “And this is my husband, Erik.” She gave Maggie a look of apparent uncertainty. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

  “I’d love to.” Maggie sensed the woman came from humble origins, the slip with her speech showing a lack of education. “Antonia is a beautiful name. I’m Magdalena, but everyone calls me Maggie.” Even Edith had given in and now used her nickname.

  Charlotte stirred.

  Caleb rocked the babe. “The Muths have a dairy farm on the prairie,” he informed her. “How many cows are you up to now, Muth?”

  The man smiled in quiet pride. “Ten. It’s as much as I can do to milk them in the mornings and still have Henri to school on time.” He glanced toward the mercantile. “I supply the milk for the store in town, and some—” he lifted his chin at Caleb “—like Mr. Livingston here, I deliver to directly.”

  “I should thank you, then,” Maggie said with a smile. “Having fresh milk every day has been quite a treat. And Mrs. Graves makes such sweet butter from your milk.”

  The tips of the man’s ears reddened, and he grinned. “Why thank you, Mrs., uh, Maggie. That’s about as fine a compliment as you can give me. The only thing I’m prouder of than my herd is my family.” He exchanged a tender glance with his wife.

  The receiving line moved, and the Muths took several steps forward, passing under a flowered arch made of white roses and greenery, just inside of the double doors.

  Caleb leaned close. “This is a second marriage for both. Their spouses died suddenly, and they had to wed quickly for the sake of the children. The boys are hers, and Camilla is Erik’s.”

  Maggie wanted to know more. Did the two mourn their loved ones, or was their situation like mine? She made a note to speak more with Antonia later. “They have a love match now,” was all she said, and she and Caleb walked into the hotel, closing up the space in the line.

  In front of the Muths stood an elderly couple, beside a strapping man who must be their son, for he looked like a younger image of his father, only bigger. He had the same kind of dark good looks as Caleb, but where the banker was refined and polished, this man looked rough-hewn—an outdoorsman—with a head of ebony curls and an air of coiled energy. From the laugh lines around his eyes, he looked like he enjoyed life.

  The elderly woman stepped forward and took Delia’s hand. “Blessings on you both.”

  Maggie couldn’t help overhearing.

&nbs
p; The old woman glanced from Delia to Reverend Joshua. “I’m Nina Kelley, my husband is Leith, and my son is Kael. We haven’t met you yet, living far in the woods as we do and not gettin’ into town much but a couple of Sundays a year. On the Lord’s day, we have our own services under God’s cathedral.” She gestured to the ceiling. The woman was tall and spare, her dress plain and outdated by a decade, but the look she cast at her husband was rich with love. “I wish for you as long and happy a marriage as Leith and I have had.” She stepped aside so her husband could take her place and gave Reverend Norton her hand.

  The old man moved with a limp. “Forty years, Nina and I’ve had, and I’ll tell ya our secret.”

  Maggie inhaled the scent of roses from the archway. Another happy couple. She leaned forward a bit, wanting to be sure she heard what Leith Kelly had to say. She noticed Caleb and the Muths paid attention, as well.

  Reverend Joshua smiled. “I can always use marriage advice, both for myself—” he looked down at Delia and smiled into her eyes before turning back to the elderly couple “—and for my parishioners.”

  “Singing,” the man said in a proud tone.

  “Singing?” Reverend Joshua looked puzzled.

  “Yep. When yar sweetheart gits angry with ya—” he winked at his wife “—just sing her a funny song and make her laugh. And when she needs a little wooing—and believe ya me, Reverend Joshua, women need wooing all their lives long—ya go on and sing her a love ballad.”

  His wife nudged him with her shoulder. “You old coot,” she said with affection in her tone. “The Reverend doesn’t need any such advice from the likes of us.”

  Maggie covered her mouth to hold in her laugh. She glanced up at Caleb and saw a corresponding twinkle in his eyes.

  Reverend Joshua chuckled. “I’ll be sure to pay you a visit so you can teach me some of your songs. Sounds like they might come in handy.”

  “Ya do that, young fella. Ya and yar bride are both welcome.”

  “I’d love to come, too,” Delia said in her soft Southern drawl.