Beneath Montana's Sky: A Montana Sky Novella (The Montana Sky Series Book 0)

by Debra Holland

  Elizabeth’s casual tone didn’t fool Pamela. Her friend only spoke in such a way when she was trying to be subtle about her quest for information.

  “I like him very well, indeed.” Heat flooded her cheeks, and she hoped Elizabeth didn’t notice the telltale color.

  “Too bad he doesn’t live in Boston. I don’t suppose we could persuade him to move?” Elizabeth shot Pamela an assessing glance. “He’s a good man. I think he’d make a fine husband.”

  “I believe so, as well.” She strove to keep her voice from trembling. “As we spend time with him, I like him more and more. But what about moving to Montana Territory?”

  Elizabeth smiled. “Sounds like an adventure. Marriage to a man like John Carter would have many…benefits.” She tapped her chin with one finger. “But the thought of Nick troubles me.”

  Pamela felt a surge of sympathy for the boy. “He’s at that uncertain age between child and man. He still needs maternal love, not that he’d admit it.”

  “And food,” Elizabeth joked. “Remember how much the boys ate at that age?”

  A knock sounded.

  “Come in,” Elizabeth called.

  A maid entered the parlor, carrying a laden tray. The scent of tea and fresh baked cookies followed her into the room. She set the tray on the small table in front of the settee and left.

  “Not for me.” Pamela rose. “I need to be getting home. I want to rest before the Harte’s party tonight.” She motioned for her friend to stay seated. “You sit and have your tea.”

  But Elizabeth stood and unexpectedly hugged Pamela, before releasing her. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  With a lump in her throat, Pamela hurried out of the room, knowing her friend was also anticipating a future where they would be separated. And not just by the miles. When Beth marries John, she will be a wife and eventually, a mother. I’ll remain an old maid. She bit her lip to hold in the sadness.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Three days later, John strode up to the door of the Burke-Smythe residence, hoping he wouldn’t find Pamela’s father or brothers at home. He wanted to spend some time alone with her—see if she’d consider the idea of marrying a rancher—before he formally approached her father to ask for his daughter’s hand.

  He’d spent the last days keeping company with Pamela, chaperoned by his great-aunt and always shadowed by Elizabeth. Now that John had turned his focus on Pamela, he wondered how he could have missed the fact that she was a much better match for him than her friend.

  Hester concurred with his decision. She, too, had noticed Elizabeth’s reaction to the news of Nick’s bereavement. At first, his great-aunt had thought to keep searching for suitable brides, informing John of the loss of the Burke-Smythe fortune—warning that the most Pamela would bring to the marriage was a meager dowry. Once he explained to her that he didn’t care about money, Hester became a strong supporter of his courtship.

  Since that time, Great-Aunt Hester had seized any opportunity to engage Elizabeth in conversation, giving John and Pamela the illusion of privacy. Like a flower unfolding delicate petals, as she’d grown more comfortable with him, she’d lost her shyness and become more open. Making her smile warmed his insides, and he delighted in their conversations. They spoke of poetry, of Pamela’s charity work, of his childhood on the ranch. He even shared stories about Andrew—something John thought he’d never do—surprised he could remember his friend with laughter.

  Today, Hester had somehow ascertained Elizabeth was otherwise engaged, leaving Pamela free for the afternoon. His great-aunt had come up with the idea of John inviting the young woman for a drive to the harbor. She’d even offered to lend him her carriage. He’d chosen the surrey over the calèche, not wanting a driver, and knowing the smaller seating space would feel more intimate.

  At the Burke-Smythe mansion, a handsome brick edifice more down-at-heel than the Hamilton place, a maid answered his knock and ushered him inside. In the last week, he’d become familiar with the Burke-Smythe abode. It wasn’t quite as large as the Hamilton or Burton homes, and the furnishings were more comfortable, and even on the shabby side, than the other houses he’d visited.

  The maid escorted him to the open door of the library, where he found Pamela sitting in a leather chair in a beam of sunlight from a nearby window. Normally, he would have focused on the books lining the floor-to-ceiling shelves—a grand wealth of volumes. Probably the whole number of books in Sweetwater Springs wouldn’t fill up these library shelves. Now, instead of searching out titles, dipping into the pages, delighting in the discovery of some musty classic, his gaze was drawn to Pamela.

  Dressed in a white shirtwaist and brown skirt, she had a gray kitten curled on her lap. With her head bent over her darning, she didn’t immediately notice him.

  He watched her deft fingers industriously ply the needle and wool thread through the heel of the black stocking, wondering why she was doing the housewifely chore, instead of leaving the task to a maid or sewing woman.

  I have plenty of stockings that need darning.

  Dora had been the one responsible for keeping the men’s clothes clean and stockings darned. Since her death, they’d all taken on a disheveled look. Remembering her, familiar sadness rolled over him. But for the first time, the sharpness of the emotion was tempered by thoughts of Pamela putting to rights his clothes, his home, his grieving godson, and perhaps even his aching heart.

  The kitten stretched and looked at him with sleepy golden eyes. Yawning, the small animal exposed sharp teeth and a tiny pink tongue.

  Sensing him, Pamela looked up, and her eyes widened. “Mr. Carter.” She hurriedly rolled the sock around a darning egg and tucked it inside a basket. She picked up the kitten, rose, and set the critter back on the chair, where it mewed in protest. “Stay here, Smoky.” With a gentle touch, she patted the kitten’s head before walking over to John. “I wasn’t expecting visitors.” She peered around him, as if looking for Hester.

  “I’ve come to see if you’d like to go for a drive. I haven’t yet seen the ocean, and I cannot return to Montana Territory without doing so. My Great-Aunt Hester assures me it is perfectly proper to ask you to accompany me.”

  “I’d love to. Let me send someone to ask Elizabeth if she’s free to go with us.”

  “Great-Aunt Hester told me that Elizabeth was already engaged for the afternoon.”

  “Oh.” An adorable expression of confusion came over her face. “But wouldn’t you rather wait for another occasion when Elizabeth can come too?”

  He chose his words carefully, knowing her shyness might make her draw back. “The sun is shining, and it’s beautiful outside. I don’t have much time left in Boston, and so I need to make the most of each day.”

  Her hand crept to her throat to finger a bit of lace on her shirtwaist.

  “Please, Pamela,” John coaxed, with a smile. “I don’t have many friends in Boston, and I’d like to have someone to share my first sight of the ocean—someone who’d appreciate my sentiments.”

  “Why, of course.” Pamela lowered her hand. “I’d be honored to accompany you, Mr. Carter. Let me run upstairs for my bonnet and a shawl.” She hastened out of the room.

  Once they were outside, John handed her into the surrey. He needed to stay alert—concentrate on his driving, so they headed toward the ocean in silence. Bad enough his unfamiliarity with the city and the crowded streets, but he didn’t know the horse. Probably the gray would be fine, but he missed having his own horseflesh whose foibles he knew.

  “Head toward State Street.” Pamela smiled and indicated the direction she wanted to go. “See that huge building?” She pointed toward a massive six story structure, clad in rough granite. “Long Wharf is there.”

  John headed the horse toward the largest building he’d ever seen.

  Pamela directed him to an area where they’d have a clear view of the harbor, with the many masted ships moored at the wharf or anchored farther out in the water. Longboats hauled sailors fr
om their vessels to the land. The dock was crowded with stevedores unloading their ship’s cargo. Sailors were distinguished by their rolling gait. Porters pushed carts full of goods, and other individuals whose purpose John couldn’t discern bustled about.

  He breathed in the briny smells, caught a whiff of fish, and felt the caress of the wind, somehow different from the same invisible force that moved through the air of Montana Territory. But most of all, he tried to look his fill at the expanse of olive green water, to impress upon his senses the memory of the scene before him.

  John could feel Pamela stealing glances at his face, obviously wondering what he was thinking.

  Finally, she couldn’t seem to stand the suspense any longer. She grasped the ends of her shawl and leaned forward. “Is it as you imagined, Mr. Carter? The harbor, the ships?”

  John glanced down at her. “‘I never saw a Moor—I never saw the Sea…’”

  “Emily Dickenson.” Her eyes lit up. “‘Yet know I how the heather looks, and what a billow be,’” she finished. “So it is, then?”

  “Yes,” he agreed, happy she knew the poem. “But not the vastness.” John pointed straight ahead. “Where the edge hits the horizon.” He shaded his eyes, scanning the area. “But I also didn’t imagine so many ships.”

  “Ships from all over the world come here,” she said with a proud tone.

  “Stirs the imagination.”

  “Yes.” Pamela flashed him an understanding smile. “The smallest one—” She pointed. “See there, the one with the single forward mast?”

  He leaned close so his gaze could follow her finger. “I do.”

  “That’s a cat boat. The majority of those are three-masted schooners. The largest of the schooners travels to England or the West Indies for trading. The ones with two masts are ketch rigs.”

  Her knowledge fascinated him, and he wondered if she’d have a hard time living away from the ocean. “You certainly know a lot about them.”

  “My family is in shipping.” Pamela raised an eyebrow in obvious irony. “The problem with our business is storms, pirates, or other calamities….” She let out a slow breath. “Two of our ships sunk this year, taking down with them valuable cargoes…. But the deaths our crews….” Her shoulders sagged, and she shook her head. “A terrible loss. I knew some of the officers…”

  At the sight of her sadness, he reached for her hand and squeezed.

  Pamela briefly allowed him to comfort her before she pulled away her hand. “My father ensures that our sailors’ families are compensated for life, no matter the financial burden to us. Most ship owners don’t do so.”

  The Burke-Smythes are good people. He stared at the sea.

  Regardless of the danger, an unexpected tug of longing pulled him toward the ocean. “Working outdoors with good men, fine horses, and healthy cattle is a blessing, yes indeed. But I’m mighty tempted to climb on board one of those ships and sail out to sea—explore the four corners of the earth.” He stretched out the words into a drawl. “Which is really a strange sayin’ considering the world is round—or so my schoolteacher led me to believe.”

  She laughed as he’d hoped. “This is only the bay. The ocean is even more vast.”

  “‘Till my soul is full of longing, for the secret of the sea.’”

  She joined him in quoting Longfellow’s words. “‘And the heart of the great ocean, sends a thrilling pulse through me.’”

  “Bravo, Pamela. A perfect poem to express my sentiments.”

  Dipping a chin for a moment, she colored up. “Would you like to get out and have a closer look at the ships?”

  “I would.” John hesitated. “But the dock area might be too rough for a lady.” He wouldn’t want to put her in danger. “Perhaps I’ll return another day. Right now, I’d rather find someplace quiet and peaceful.” More romantic.

  “How about we drive along the Charles River? The park area is quite lovely.”

  Although reluctant to leave the view of the sea, John took one last glance, imprinting details of the scene, and the warm feelings that were deepening toward his companion, and flicked the reins. The gray started into a steady walk.

  Pamela directed him toward the river, where he reined in the horse under the shade of the trees and set the brake. Seeing the manicured park made him miss the untamed wilderness of Montana Territory.

  He inhaled the smell of trees and grass combined with sea air and stared out at the water, which looked far more placid than the rivers he was familiar with. This seems like a good place to propose. He wondered if they should get out and stroll along the paths or remain in the surrey. Perhaps remain. He liked having her so close to him.

  “Is being in the city hard for you?”

  Keeping hold of the reins, he shifted to face her. “I’m used to wide open spaces. So many people live here, many of them elegant enough to make me stop and stare. Actually, I did stop and stare a time or two my first days in the city. In Montana Territory, I’m surrounded by simple, rustic folk—the salt of the earth—and not very many of them at that. The deer and the elk outnumber the humans.” He grinned at her, enjoying her widening eyes. “And the grizzly bears outnumber the people.”

  Her mouth rounded into an O. “What about Indians?”

  “We have them, if that’s what you’re asking.” Does the idea frightened her?

  “Yes.”

  “Nearest are the Blackfoot, Salish, and Crow tribes. None too close, though. Mostly, they’re peaceable. Helped out my grandparents back in the day. From time to time, some will ride through my land, and I give them a haunch of beef. They’re like most people—treat them right, and they’ll treat you right.”

  She nodded in encouragement for him to go on.

  “In Boston, there are so many strangers. Rare to meet a stranger in Sweetwater Springs. And a woman new to town is scarcer than hen’s teeth. Her appearance is well nigh a cause for a celebration.”

  She laughed and fiddled with the ribbons of her bonnet. “Tell me more about Montana Territory.

  “You get used to living in the wild. Making do. In the course of a day, the temperature can change from freezing cold to burning hot, so you’d better always be prepared for changeable weather.”

  John realized he sounded discouraging. Hardly a way to sell Pamela on moving West.

  But I have to be honest about what she’ll face.

  Better add something positive. He pushed his hat back. “We have plenty of natural springs in our area. The cool springs have the sweetest water you’ll ever taste—hence the name of our town. And it’s never too cold for a Montanan to sit in a natural hot spring, even if it means your wet hair turns into icicles.”

  Her hand rose to cover her mouth, and her eyes widened.

  He laughed at her shocked expression.

  Pamela lowered her hand. “Hot springs outdoors? In the winter?”

  “Hot springs feel down right good to soak in anytime, especially when the air’s cold outside. The hot water soothes sore muscles and is good for what ails you. But I also have a river through my property. I’ve dammed up a spot that makes for a nice swimming hole when it’s hot in the summer.”

  A blush rose in her cheeks, and she glanced to the side.

  “Very refreshing,” he teased, just to watch the pink deepen.

  “I’ve heard it’s so cold there…long winters.”

  “Yes, but I’ve heard—” he echoed “—from some settlers who came from other states…that the cold often doesn’t seem as bad as what they’d experienced where they come from because the air is very dry; it lacks humidity.” He shrugged. “But I wouldn’t know about that.”

  Pamela fanned her face with her hand. “You stick around here for the summer and you’ll learn about humidity.”

  Her words sobered him. Not only wouldn’t he stick around for several months, he couldn’t stay for several more weeks. Hardly long enough to properly court a woman. Will I lose the opportunity to wed Pamela because I can’t give her the
time she might need? If she rejected him, he’d have to start all over on his wife hunt.

  The thought of doing so almost nauseated him, and John knew right then and there that he didn’t want another woman.

  I’ve found my bride.

  * * *

  Pamela watched Mr. Carter’s resolute expression, and she wondered what he was thinking. Having to invite her because Elizabeth had been already engaged was really too bad. Her friend would have enjoyed this time with the rancher, especially learning more about his home. Pamela tucked away the details, storing up the information so she could impart all to her friend when next they were together.

  But even as she thought of Elizabeth marrying Mr. Carter, at the same time, Pamela couldn’t help the dreamy vision of bathing with him in a hot spring, touching each other as the snowflakes swirled around them. She let out a sigh. So romantic. Shivers coursed through her body.

  The next minute, Pamela became aware of her thoughts. No! She wrenched her mind away from the image, ashamed of coveting a relationship with the man meant for her friend.

  Mr. Carter shifted the reins into one hand and gave her an uncertain smile. With his free hand, he reached for hers, his thumb playing over her knuckles.

  Even through her gloves, she could feel his touch—a delightful shock.

  “Miss Burke-Smythe…I came to Boston in search of a wife. Someone with a good heart who could adapt to life on a Western ranch. I know it would be a lot for you to give up…but would you do me the honor of marrying me?”

  The words buzzed in Pamela’s ears. Her body tensed, and she stared at him in shock.

  His eyes pleaded. “I know it’s too soon. You should have a proper courtship where you have time to come to care for me as I do you. But if we wed, I’d be willing to delay…physical relations until you were comfortable with me.”

  After a traitorous thump of her heart, Pamela could think only of Elizabeth. Mr. Carter was supposed to give her friend a new life. I can’t tell her this. I don’t want to hurt her.

  Mr. Carter must have decided to aim his sights lower than the beautiful, wealthy Miss Hamilton—settle on someone he could see had no hopes of marriage, a woman who’d jump at the chance to land a husband, any husband. Her stomach clenched against the pain of being second best. Her mouth dried, and she couldn’t even find words to turn him down. All she could do was shake her head.