The Lady and the Mountain Promise (Mountain Dreams Series Book 4)

by Misty M. Beller

  The Lady and the Mountain Promise

  Mountain Dreams Series

  Book 4

  Misty M. Beller

  In God have I put my trust: I will not be afraid what man can do unto me.

  Psalms 56:11 (KJV)

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Epilogue

  Did you enjoy this book?

  Other books by Misty M. Beller

  About the Author

  Dedication and Copyright

  Chapter One

  October, 1877

  Butte, Montana Territory

  “I NOW PRONOUNCE you husband and wife. Bryan, you can kiss your bride.”

  Marcus Sullivan turned his gaze away from the couple, trying not to watch this man he barely knew kiss his baby sister in front of half the town.

  It was an honor to officiate over Claire’s wedding ceremony, the second one he’d performed in the three months since he’d taken this position at the church in Butte. His church. Correction, God’s church. And the flock He’d called Marcus to shepherd. Mining families. Hard-working people, faithful people, the people he felt called to serve.

  Once the lovebirds pulled apart, Marcus caught the blush spreading across Claire’s face. Something tightened in his chest, but he pushed aside the emotion and sent her a wink. How could he trust her care to another man? Bryan seemed like a good enough fellow, but Claire was his sister.

  Inhaling a breath, he raised his eyes to the crowd and motioned toward the happy couple. “I now present to you Mr. and Mrs. Bryan Donaghue.”

  Cheers and whoops from the surging crowd flooded the small chapel. Marcus stepped back from the clamor.

  Music echoed from somewhere to his right, a flowing sound like a brook rushing over stones. A sound so lovely, it pushed back the crowd noise and brought a smile to Marcus's face. He glanced over.

  He didn't recognize the woman seated upon the stool. Rich black hair styled in a simple knot, delicate features, dark eyes that were almost haunting. She was the loveliest thing he'd ever seen. Where had Claire found her? And how had he gone three months in this town without ever seeing the mysterious pianist before today?

  “Good job, Preacher.”

  Someone clapped him on the shoulder. Marcus turned. “Ol’ Mose. Thank you, sir.”

  The man, his new grandfather, offered a toothy grin. “Put me in mind o’ when ya married yer Gram an’ me. Yer a good man.”

  The man’s smile was always infectious. Marcus couldn't help but grin in response. "Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  The piano music faded, and Marcus glanced back to the woman sitting at the instrument. She started to rise. This was his chance to introduce himself. See if she’d like to play the Sunday morning hymns.

  He gave a reciprocal clap to Ol’ Mose’s wiry shoulder. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to catch someone.”

  “Sure, son.”

  Marcus swiveled, his foot poised to stride toward the piano, but the woman had disappeared. He glanced into the crowd. She couldn’t have strayed far in this mass.

  He scanned for anyone with black hair. A few grubby miners, but they sure didn’t fit the bill. What color had the woman been wearing? Something dark. Navy? Or it could have been green. Why hadn’t he paid closer attention?

  Marcus wove through the people, searching for a glimpse of her. A few hands snagged his arm.

  “Liked those verses you spoke, Preacher.”

  “Done good with the weddin’, Parson.”

  He nodded and waved to each person, never stopping his search. As hard as he’d worked these last three months to get to know the folks of this town, a guilty twinge settled in his midsection as he sloughed them off now.

  But he needed to find that woman.

  He burst through the open back door of the church. Sunlight glared in his eyes. He raised a hand to shadow his face. A crowd milled in the yard, preparing for the celebratory picnic Mama and Aunt Pearl had planned.

  No dark-haired woman.

  Where could she have gone? The lady couldn’t have disappeared into thin air.

  “Are you hungry, son?” His father stopped beside him. “I think your Mama’s trying to get everyone on the lawn, and I imagine she’d appreciate you shepherding your flock in that direction.”

  Marcus forced a nod to his father. “Yes, sir.”

  As disappointment weighed heavily in his chest, he turned to deliver the invitation to the congregation still lingering inside.

  ~ ~ ~

  THANK GOODNESS she’d slipped out of the church before anyone from the wedding could accost her.

  Lilly Arendale settled into the rocking chair and set the wooden runners in motion. The minister’s words of hope still echoed through her thoughts. That and the intense expression behind his smile.

  She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. Winter nipped at the heels of autumn, making the nights especially cold. Soon, she’d need to start building a fire in the tiny warming stove before they went to bed.

  Which meant she’d need to buy firewood. Either buy or gather, but she hardly had time to traipse outside of town with her two-year-old daughter to gather chunks of wood.

  After turning up the wick on the lantern, she picked up the leather-bound book and pencil from the table beside her. She stroked a hand over the surface, her fingers finding every groove and indentation in the binding. She opened to the first page. Her own handwriting. The Musings of Lilly Marie Arendale.

  Flipping faster, she found the first empty page. She’d almost reached the end of the book. A pang tightened her chest. This was one of the few possessions she had left of Pa-pa’s. Soon, she’d have to move on to a new volume.

  Fitting the pencil between her fingers, she opened her soul and wrote.

  To my better self,

  Today, I played the pianoforte for the first time since leaving England. It was the most rapturous, heart-rending thing I’ve done since Pa-pa died. I fingered the cold, ivory keys, heard and felt the familiar melodies soaring in my chest. I think it might have completely broken my heart, had I not sat before so many people.

  It was a good thing their eyes were captured by the more beautiful scene of love before them. Claire was a lovely bride with her flashing eyes and the white lace train on her dress.

  And the way she looks at her amor. She never gave a thought to music. Most likely did not hear a single note. Yet I am thankful I could add even a small amount of beauty to Claire’s special day.

  It is my own tiny way of partaking in what will never be.

  Dahlia stirred in the bed near the corner of the room and curled in a tighter ball. Lilly closed the book, replaced it on the table, then rose to lay another blanket on her daughter.

  As she drew near the bed, blanket in hand, Lilly drank in her daughter's sweet innocence. This precious child.
The one solace she’d been granted for the remainder of her days. The one bright flame amidst the darkness.

  Lilly settled the extra cover over her daughter, then raised a corner of the covers and slid into her spot next to the child. Together, they would fight against the chill.

  Together, they could fight against anything.

  Chapter Two

  “’PRECIATE YA stoppin’ by, Preacher.”

  Marcus shook the man’s hand as they reached the street in front of the little house. “It was certainly my pleasure.” He rested his free hand on his stomach, a little fuller than it had been an hour ago. “My thanks to your wife for her good cooking.”

  Paul Mason flashed a yellowed smile. “Nothing much better than Lauralee’s corned beef and potatoes.”

  “No argument here.” Marcus waved in farewell.

  As he strolled down the lane toward his house, his mind drifted back through the visit. The Masons were good, honest folk, just like he’d known back in North Carolina. Despite the rough appearance of this Montana mining town, he’d found a number of these salt-of-the-earth townspeople so far. The kind of people who made it a pleasure to be their pastor.

  He’d do his best for them, too. He’d organize games for the kids after services, giving the overworked men and women a chance to relax and enjoy the festivities. And he had plans to invigorate worship as well. Not just sermons, although his head spun every night with God’s leading for his messages, but in areas just as likely to touch hearts and change lives. Like the music.

  He had to find the lady who’d played piano for Claire’s wedding. He’d asked every person he’d met over the last few days if they knew her, but no one had any information to share. If Claire were back from her wedding trip, he could simply ask her. But apparently it wasn’t to be that easy. His parents were strangers in town, having traveled from North Carolina for the wedding, and Mama said Claire hadn’t mentioned anything about where she’d found the pianist. One of his parishioners said he’d passed the lady on the street before or maybe seen her in the dry goods store, but not a soul knew the woman’s name or any way to find her.

  How could she be such a mystery? Butte wasn’t so big that someone could simply disappear. Especially a woman as beautiful as she.

  Marcus reached an intersection and glanced to his right. Gram lived one block over. He should stop by and see how she and Ol’ Mose were faring today. When Gramps had died a year and a half ago, then Gram went completely blind last fall, they’d all thought she was in the tail end of her twilight years. Claire had traveled all the way from North Carolina to the Montana Territory to care for her in what they assumed would be her final days.

  A grin pulled at Marcus’s mouth. It’d been a bit of a surprise to Claire when she arrived and learned their sassy grandmother had a gentleman caller. They liked Ol’ Mose, though. Good thing, too, ‘cause one of Gram’s first requests when Marcus had arrived in town as the new preacher was for him to perform the wedding ceremony for the two of them.

  Now that had been a conversation.

  Marcus stepped onto the front porch of the little house Gram and Ol’ Mose shared when they weren’t running freight between Fort Benton and Helena. He tapped on the door. “It’s Marcus.” With Gram’s eyesight gone, he always tried to announce himself right away.

  “Come in.” Gram’s voice held its usual quiver.

  Marcus twisted the handle and peeked inside. Ol’ Mose and Gram each occupied one of the chairs by the fireplace in the little sitting area. There wasn’t a fire in the hearth. Mose looked to be polishing a harness while Gram worked with yarn.

  “Come in, Marcus, an’ visit with us. Have you had dinner? Let me fix you a plate.” Gram set her project aside and started to rise.

  “No, thanks. Just finished supper at the Masons’.” Marcus grabbed a kitchen chair and carried it over to join the older folks. “Thought I’d stop by and say hi.” He settled into the chair, then leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

  He nodded toward the leather in Ol’ Mose’s hands. “Y’all getting ready for a trip?”

  The older man sent a fond glance toward Gram. “Yer Gram’s got the travelin’ itch. Reckon we’ll head out the day after tomorry an’ run a load.”

  Marcus swallowed his concern as his gaze traveled between the wiry old man and his sweet little grandmother. He forced a grin onto his face. “You two sure have more get-up-and-go than I do.”

  Ol’ Mose flashed him a toothy grin.

  Gram smiled, too, her cloudy eyes staring in his general direction. “How’s the sermon coming for Sunday, Marcus. I hate we’ll miss it.”

  “I’ll be talking about that passage in Matthew eleven where Jesus tells us to join in His yoke, and we’ll find rest.”

  She nodded. “That’s a good one. You’re doin’ a fine job with the church, Marcus. I’m proud of ya.”

  Frustration niggled at his gut. “There’s still so much more I want to do, not the least of which is provide some music. I can’t for the life of me find a pianist. We have that beautiful pianoforte the Bryants ordered, and the only soul in town who can play it has completely disappeared.”

  The wrinkles on Gram’s forehead gathered into twin grooves between her brows. “Who do we have that can play the piano?”

  Marcus threw up his hands and leaned back in his chair. “There was a lady playing it for Claire’s wedding, but I can’t find her anywhere. It’s a pure mystery.”

  Gram’s lips pursed into such a thin line they were no longer visible. “Who was it Claire said she was trying to have play?” She mumbled the words almost under her breath, then sat up straighter. “Oh. That’s right.”

  Marcus dared not breathe lest he miss the name. When Gram didn’t speak, he said, “Well, who is she?”

  Gram eased back in her chair. “It was Lilly.” A smile played across her face. “Sure did a good job, too, didn’t she?”

  “Lilly who? Do you know where she lives?” Marcus gripped the seat of his chair and leaned forward.

  That thoughtful expression came over Gram’s face again. “Don’t reckon I know her last name. We just call her Lilly.”

  “How can I find her, Gram?” Marcus gripped the chair harder, trying to keep his voice from raising.

  “Best way’d be to go to Aunt Pearl’s, I reckon.”

  “The café?” Marcus blinked. “You think Aunt Pearl would know how to reach her?”

  “That’s where Lilly works, honey. In the kitchen.” Gram’s voice was gentle, as if she were patiently waiting for him to catch up with the conversation.

  “She works at the café.” Marcus released his grip on the seat and jumped to his feet. He strode across the room, took Gram’s face in both of his hands, and planted a kiss on her left cheek. “Thanks, Gram. You’re the best.”

  She patted his hand and chuckled. “I love you, too, Marcus Timothy.”

  Marcus clapped Ol’ Mose’s shoulder as he passed, then carried his chair back to the kitchen table. “I’ll stop by tomorrow night before y’all head out.”

  “All right, young feller. Good luck.” Ol’ Mose raised a hand as Marcus strode to the door.

  ~ ~ ~

  “WHAT DO YOU mean she won’t see me?” Marcus scrubbed a hand through his wavy brown hair, stopping with a handful of it in his grip.

  Aunt Pearl braced her arms over her chest like one of the old-time Roman soldiers guarding Jesus’s tomb. She wasn’t his aunt, nor kin to any person in town, as far as he knew. But everyone called her by the affectionate moniker, and through her good cooking and honest dealings, she’d earned a special place in the hearts of most.

  She raised her chin. “Miss Lilly’s got a right to decide who she wants ta be social with.”

  Marcus straightened, taking in a steadying breath. He forced a pleasant smile. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come to talk while she’s working.” He scanned the half-empty dining room of the café. “I only had a simple question, but I can wait until after dining
hours.”

  Aunt Pearl squared her feet and drew her brows into a tight pinch. The woman was more daunting than any Roman soldier. “Preacher, I thought I’d made it clear. Lilly don’t want to speak with you. Not now. Not later. Yer outta luck.”

  He stiffened. What did this bulldog of a woman think he was after? For that matter, what did Lilly think he wanted?

  “Aunt Pearl.” He kept his tone steady and reasonable. “Perhaps it would help if I tell you what I came to ask Miss…Lilly.” It felt so strange to call a woman he hadn’t even met by her Christian name. “I want to see if she’d be willing to play the piano for Sunday services. She did an excellent job during Claire’s wedding, and we have a need…”

  He let his voice drift off as he studied the woman’s face. The pinch of her mouth might have lessened a little. Maybe.

  “I’ll tell her what you asked, Preacher. But I can’t promise anything. Lilly likes ta keep to herself most times.”

  Apparently. He spread his most winning smile for Aunt Pearl. “I appreciate that.” He turned and spotted an empty chair right behind him. “I’d be obliged if I could have a bite of whatever sweet your serving tonight.”

  Her face softened. “It’s mincemeat pie tonight. I’ll get you a plate.”

  Less than a minute later, she settled a plate in front of him, close to overflowing with the savory sweet.

  “Thanks. This looks mighty good.” He raised his fork and hovered over the flaky crust.

  “Should be. Your Gram baked it.”

  He shook his head. “I’m sure it’s wonderful then.” It was amazing what Gram was still able to do, even in her condition. Baking both the bread and the desserts for the café. Claire had been helping her for the last few months, but now that she was married, would the burden fall back on Gram? What about when Gram was traveling with Ol’ Mose? He forced those thoughts from his mind. That was Aunt Pearl’s business. He had plenty to do focusing on his own work.