Beneath Montana's Sky: A Montana Sky Novella (The Montana Sky Series Book 0)
Page 14
A young woman, her stomach extended by pregnancy, flicked a feather duster over a marble-topped table next to the settee. “I hear they use chloroform or some such medicine to keep a woman from feeling pains during the birthing time.”
“Sounds like a miracle,” the woman at the window said tartly. “And as unlikely to happen in Sweetwater Springs as fleas are to fly.”
The town doesn’t have a physician? Appalled by what she’d just learned, Pamela swept into the room. “I couldn’t help overhearing, ladies. Sweetwater Springs definitely needs a doctor!”
The one by the window just shrugged.
But the young lady stopped her dusting and placed a hand on her extended stomach. “Can you get us one, Mrs. Carter?” she asked with a begging look in her brown eyes.
“Yes,” Pamela rashly promised. “But I don’t know that I can work a miracle and have one here by your time….” She included the other women in her glance. “I apologize for not remembering your names. I’ve met so many people today.”
“I’m Addy Dunn,” said the window cleaner. “My husband Harrison and I have a small ranch in Green Valley. We have one son, Tyler, who’s probably out playing with the children.”
The older woman had fuzzed blond-and-white curls and a bulldog chin. “I’m Mrs. Pendell. My husband and I work for the Dunns.”
“And I’m Marybeth Ward,” the expectant mother said. “I have three months yet to go.” Her voice shook.
“I’ll do my best,” Pamela said. “Tomorrow, I’ll write a letter to my friend in Boston, asking for her help. She can scour Boston for an available doctor. And if she can’t find one willing to move here, I’ll have her write letters to every medical school in the United States and Europe to find a man who’s about to graduate and needs to set up a practice.”
Marybeth clasped her hands together. “Oh, thank you, ma’am. Even if he’s not here by my delivery time, just knowing I’d have someone to turn to if my baby became ill…” Her voice broke.
“I know,” Pamela said with compassion.
“Yes, having someone who could save our babies…or at least more of our babies, would be a godsend.” Mrs. Dunn straightened. “Perhaps we’ll have fewer small graves in the future.”
Silence followed her words. Pamela thought of John’s sister Sarah, of her own future children. Yes, please, God.
“We certainly are grateful.” Mrs. Pendell waved toward the doorway. “The three of us are setting your parlor to rights, Mrs. Carter. You’re not needed here, and I’m sure you have far more important things to do than clean in here.”
Pamela smiled and thanked them. She left the room, deciding to venture outdoors to see if her help was needed there.
By the horse trough with its long-handled pump, several women had set up tubs on benches under the shade of the trees and were busy at washboards, scrubbing wet clothing up and down. Primitive. Pamela made a mental note to inquire on the price of a modern washer. Perhaps, they could afford to acquire one.
A mountain of men’s clothing lay in a pile. Two young girls who looked about Nick’s age sorted through the stack, gathering up all the white garments. A load of bedding lay a few yards away. Pamela recognized the covers she’d stripped off the bed yesterday.
She peeked into a tub to see lace curtains soaking in soapy water. “Oh, my. Every scrap of material on the ranch will be clean.”
“Aye,” said a stout woman with a heavy Irish accent.
Pamela remembered she had a Gaelic first name that sounded something like Key-wreck.
“Once we’re finished, you’ll have an easier time staying on top of the laundry every week.” She tsk-tsked. “I don’t think those men have washed clothes since Dora died—God rest her soul. Would have taken you a week to work through this huge load.”
Probably longer, since I would have had to research what to do. But using a washboard and tub looked easy enough. Well, Pamela amended. A great deal of hard labor, but not so difficult to figure out how to do.
“We’ll be running out of clothesline before long.” The woman didn’t stop her up-and-down scrubbing of a sheet against the washboard.
Pamela glanced at the trees. “I’ll have some of the men string ropes.”
“Ah, a good solution, that is. I didn’t want to be draping them over a dirty fence.”
“I agree.”
“Away with ya, now, Mrs. Carter. You just have those lines put up and leave the washing to us.”
Pamela looked around for her husband, wondering what he was up to. She saw Nick unhitching a team from a wagon and hurried over to the boy. “Do you know where Mr. Carter is?”
“Last I saw him, he was in the barn.”
Pamela glanced over at the huge structure. She hadn’t yet been inside and chewed on her lip, thinking.
“Can I help you with something, Miz Carter?” Nick asked.
She explained what she needed for laundry lines.
He gave her a nod of understanding. “Don’t you worry none. I’ll see to it.”
Pamela let out a deep breath. “Thank you.” She turned, wondering where to head next. Movement in the fenced area by the kitchen caught her eye.
With a sense of finally treading on familiar ground, figuratively and literally, Pamela strode to the garden. On one side, several cowboys dug up the dirt, directed by a thin woman with the air of a commanding general, while nearby, a man knelt, planting seeds.
Pamela gathered up her skirt and walked between rows of young plantings brought by her guests and already tucked into the dirt. The couple’s last name was Murphy, but their first names escaped her.
Mr. Murphy looked up and gave her a gentle smile and a nod. But he didn’t stop his rhythmic movements, punching holes in the dirt with his forefinger and dropping in seeds.
The sharp-faced woman flicked her hand at Pamela in a shooing motion. “My husband Thomas—” Mrs. Murphy announced “—knows his way around a garden far better than any man or woman in these parts. You just leave the planting to us, Mrs. Carter.”
Something about the couple’s generosity brought a mist of gratitude to her eyes. “Thank you, Mrs. Murphy. And when Mr. Carter and I harvest, prepare, and serve the bounty from this garden, we’ll be thanking you then, too.”
The woman’s sniff didn’t hide the gratification in her eyes. “Thank the Almighty, as is proper, Mrs. Carter.”
“I can do both, Mrs. Murphy,” Pamela said gently. “There’s plenty of gratitude to go around.”
The woman gave a nod of acceptance and turned back toward her planting.
Pamela walked away. Prickly woman. She realized that if she’d met Mrs. Murphy under other circumstances, she probably would have taken a dislike to the woman. But how can I be anything but appreciative of someone who drove a long distance to spend her day laboring in someone else’s dirt?
Not knowing where to head next, Pamela stopped in the shade of the big oak tree.
She saw her husband sanding the porch railing and paused a moment to watch him, feeling secret pride that he belonged to her.
John straightened and spotted her. He waved and shot a grin her way before bending back to his task.
Pamela did a slow turn, surveying the bustle around her. Several men painted the house, a few on each side. Others worked on replacing the porch’s rotten floorboards. They’d moved the crates off the porch. Pieces of conversations drifted her way.
Many hands make light work. She’d never before realized the truth of that adage.
Pamela took a deep breath and soaked up the sense of community from this group of strangers, who by rolling up their sleeves and pitching in to help, had shown tangible care for their neighbors.
With a sense of wonder, Pamela realized she felt at home on this ranch, with these people. Somewhere in the last hours, she’d lost her sense of shyness, her discomfort with strangers. They’re no longer strangers, even if I don’t know their names. And I have something to contribute to this community. They need me too.
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A group of older children dashed by, laughing and shouting, engaged in a boisterous game of tag.
Nick, walking back from the horse pasture, paused to watch. His face displayed what she guessed was longing.
She glanced at the row of vehicles and realized the boy had unhitched all the horses and turned them loose in the pasture.
Go play, Nick, she urged, sensing he stood on the edge of rejoining his friends, embracing life. She sent up a prayer, asking for an angel to give the boy a little push.
As if in response to her petition. Nick rocked forward, then plunged into the group, throwing off his cares and becoming a child again.
Pamela wanted to cheer, and she wanted to weep. Instead, she blinked away the tears and rolled up her sleeves. She’d join the cleaning crew in the house. Goodness knows there’s plenty to do there.
But this time, the thought of the tasks didn’t overwhelm her. Instead, she relished the idea of making new friends while putting her home in order. Pamela took eager steps to the half-painted house, and gladness filled her heart.
* * *
After supper and leaving the kitchen spotless, the housewives collected their empty pots, pans, and eating utensils, and bundled tired, dirty children into their wagons and buggies. The men gathered their tools. With waves and calls of “good-bye,” riders and wagons began their trek home.
John slipped his arm around Pamela’s waist, and she leaned into him. Around them, Nick and the other hands spread out, watching as the crowd thinned.
“Got things ship-shape.” Shoah slapped the dust from his pants. “Good thing days are long, given the ride home those folks have.”
“Good thing there’ll be a full moon tonight,” Beans echoed.
Vey took off his hat and fluffed out his matted hair. “Can’t recall ever seeing so many folk in one place, no siree. Not even in those few times I set foot in Reverend Norton’s church.”
John laughed, glanced down at Pamela, and winked. “We got us a special attraction,” he drawled.
Pamela wrinkled her nose at him. “You make me sound like a circus.”
He gave her his skin-crinkling smile and jerked his head toward the house. “Water’s boiling on the stove for your…ablutions. I have some things to go over with the boys. Then we’ll head over to the hot springs for our new Saturday night ritual.”
Frank let out a dramatic groan. “It’s only Friday!”
Everyone laughed.
John shook his head. “I’ll be bathing, and what you smelly bunch do is your own business. I don’t have to sleep in the bunkhouse.”
Pamela left them, the sound of their good-natured ribbing following her.
She cast an admiring glance at the pristine white exterior, gray trim, and black door, glistening with still-wet paint. The painters had left the steps and a broad swath across the porch floor alone, so people could go in and out of the house. The windowboxes held plants that hopefully soon would bloom.
Once inside, she inhaled the air, redolent of beeswax and lemon. Not a speck of dust lay on any surface. Even the kitchen gleamed with cleanliness. Before everyone left, the Muellers had plenty of help with scouring the dishes and the room.
Pamela touched the table, smoothing a wrinkle from the blue-and-white checked tablecloth, a gift from the Addisons. With a towel, she picked up the handle of a pot of water and carried it upstairs, wishing for a bathtub with running water.
But in the bedroom, she found the tin tub already full of tepid water and realized that with a husband as solicitous of her comfort as John, she could get by without indoor plumbing.
Pamela poured in the hot water, undressed, and stepped into the tub. She took her time bathing, allowing her sore muscles to soak, and breathing in the scent of orange blossom.
She’d just dressed and gone downstairs when the plaintive sound of violin music made her heart kick up. She recognized the tune from a favorite hymn.
Pamela hurried down the hall and out the door, lured by the sound like the children of Hamelin by the Piped Piper.
The full moon bathed the yard in a milky glow.
Nick stood under an oak, the new violin tucked under his chin. He flashed her a grin, the first one she’d ever seen on him. His performance of “Simple Gifts” wasn’t perfect; he hit a few scratchy notes.
But even after having attended some of the premier concerts of her day, Pamela had never heard sweeter music.
John stepped out of the shadows and walked to her, grinning as he drew close.
Pamela looked from the boy to her husband. “Whatever are you two doing?”
“I told you I had a surprise for you.” John hugged her, then grinned at his godson. “I made a request of Nick, which he has been kind enough to honor. Although at first he protested that he hadn’t played in months, after running off to the barn to practice a few rounds, he agreed.”
John extended his hand. “May I have this dance, Mrs. Carter?”
Pamela’s cheeks grew warm with pleasure. “You may, indeed, Mr. Carter.”
Nick performed the song several times. Each round became smoother and more proficient.
John swung her into a turn.
In a dreamy daze, Pamela danced with her husband, remembering their first waltz. When they’d danced in Boston, she’d felt as if they were flying.
But tonight, John kept their steps languid. As they moved to the music, he held her close, looking into her eyes.
Her whole body tingled. And when we find ourselves in the place just right… ’Twill be in the valley of love and delight.
John slowed them until they swayed in place.
Nick stepped back, fading in the darkness until he disappeared from sight. The music was only a slight thread on the breeze, romantic and enticing.
“Compared to Boston, we have a simple life?” John made the statement a question.
“’Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,” Pamela quoted the second line of the chorus.
John pressed a kiss to her forehead. “When Nick’s family died, and suddenly we had no womenfolk, I thought Dora and Marcy had taken the heart of the ranch with them to the grave. And, indeed, they had for a time. But you, dearest Pamela, have brought the heart back to us. To me.”
She let out a happy sigh.
His arms tightened around her. “You, my wife, are such a delight to me. You’ve brought warmth and love to all of us, and I’m so very blessed. You are my beloved bride, the wife of my heart.”
His words brought tears of joy to her eyes. She reached up to cup his face, feeling the stubble of his beard on her palm. “I’ve found my right place, John, here in your arms…in this valley.”
With a scooping movement, he swept her off her feet.
The sudden action made her squeal and hold him tightly around his neck, laughing.
He gave her a lingering kiss before carrying her toward the house and over the threshold of their new life.
THE END
A Note To My Readers
Thank you so much for reading Beneath Montana’s Sky. John and Pamela Carter’s story marks the beginning of The Montana Sky Series, and you will see the two of them again in almost every book. Many of the characters in Beneath Montana’s Sky will also have their own stories set in the 1890s. Elizabeth Hamilton and Nick Sanders in Wild Montana Sky and Montana Sky Christmas. Wyatt Thompson in Starry Montana Sky, Tyler Dunn in Painted Montana Sky, Joshua Norton in Glorious Montana Sky.
In the 1880s-set Mail-Order Brides of the West series, brave young ladies will travel to Montana Territory, hoping to find love and a new life in Sweetwater Springs.
Beneath Montana’s Sky is also available in foreign language translations:
Spanish: Bajo el Cielo de Montana
Italian: Sotto i cieli del Montana
German: Unter Dem Himmel Von Montana
I have a brand new website: http://debraholland.com. Please check it out and join my mailing list. Once you join the list, you can access the Members
Only section, where I’ll be adding scenes I’ve cut from books and other things that occur to me.
Introducing
Montana Sky Series Kindle Worlds
launching February 9th, 2016!
Kindle Worlds stories are authorized FAN FICTION written by other authors, so you will see characters from the Montana Sky Series, including those from Mail-Order Brides of the West in books written by other authors. The fourteen fabulous launch authors have primarily set their stories in the mining town of Morgan’s Crossing. We first met the characters of Morgan’s Crossing and became familiar with the town in Mail-Order Brides of the West: Prudence, and now Mail-Order Brides of the West: Bertha.
Learn more about reading—and writing—Montana Sky Series stories here!
Books by Debra Holland
MONTANA SKY SERIES
1882
Beneath Montana’s Sky
1886
Mail-Order Brides of the West: Trudy
Mail-Order Brides of the West: Lina
Mail-Order Brides of the West: Darcy
Mail-Order Brides of the West: Prudence
Mail-Order Brides of the West: Bertha
1890s
Grace: Bride of Montana
Wild Montana Sky
Starry Montana Sky
Stormy Montana Sky
Montana Sky Christmas
A Valentine’s Choice
Irish Luck (March 2016)
Painted Montana Sky
Glorious Montana Sky
Healing Montana Sky
Sweetwater Springs Scrooge
Sweetwater Springs Christmas
Mystic Montana Sky (Summer 2016)
2015
Angel in Paradise