Glorious Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series)

by Debra Holland

  “Not everyone does the right thing.”

  The woman pursed her lips. “Unfortunately, that’s true.”

  Father set his hands on Micah’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, son. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”

  Micah wasn’t ready to stop being angry. Not about Father scolding him, or bringing him to America, or leaving him alone so much in Uganda. . .for not saving his mother. Nor would he forgive Father for making him leave Kimu. He would never forgive him for that. He shrugged away Father’s hands.

  His father sighed, a resigned look on his face.

  Micah remembered his errand. “Can I still buy the cookies?”

  “Yes. Hurry, though. The train is about to leave.”

  Micah looked up to thank the lady, but she’d moved away with an older gentleman. He gazed at her wistfully for a moment with an ache inside of him, wishing. . . .

  The cookie woman shuffled into his line of sight.

  He shook off his feelings Extra careful to avoid bumping anyone, Micah ran over to buy his treats.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  With a rising sense of excitement, Joshua recognized the gray peak of a mountain capped by snow, thrusting into the vivid blue sky. The ache for his parents, for home—a feeling he’d repressed for nine years—blossomed inside him. Soon, he’d step off the train into the peace and quiet of a Montana spring day. The air would smell crisp and clean, with a bracing coolness that would probably make his thin African blood shiver. But unlike Cambridge, he wouldn’t mind the chill because he’d be home.

  Micah had his nose buried in The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.

  This morning, Joshua had made him change into his new shoes, and ever since, his son had worn a sullen frown. He hated to bring the boy out of Tom Sawyer’s world, where he seemed much happier. He gave Micah a gentle nudge. “We’re almost to Sweetwater Springs.” He smoothed down the boy’s tousled brown hair, the same mink-brown color as his mother’s.

  Micah read on for a few more lines before slowly lifting his head. He closed the book and looked out the window, his eyes blank and an indifferent slump to his shoulders.

  “You will like it here, Micah.”

  The boy shrugged, not removing his gaze from the window.

  Joshua suppressed a sigh. He’d hoped the train journey home would pique the boy’s interest in America and banish his homesickness for Africa. So far that hadn’t happened, and he prayed that living with his loving grandparents and having the freedom of Sweetwater Springs, instead of being cooped up in Cambridge, would help Micah adjust. “Let’s get ready for our departure.”

  He closed the volume of A Treatise on Isaiah by Reverend Sidney Ord, a parting gift from his father-in-law, which he’d been reading, reached for his valise, and tucked the book inside. While he appreciated the opportunity to read a new book, a luxury for the last several years, Joshua would have preferred to cast off study and reread the adventures of Tom and Huck. Maybe he’d borrow it from Micah when his son had finished the story.

  Micah handed over Tom Sawyer and the glass bottle that had contained milk that they’d bought on their last stop.

  Joshua deposited both items inside the valise and set the bag back down.

  The conductor burst into the car. “Is there a doctor in here?” he called out.

  The desperation in his voice shot a chill through Joshua. As the train had traveled farther west, more and more people had disembarked. He didn’t recall seeing any of the remaining passengers in the typical Prince Albert frock coat that doctors often wore. He half stood, holding on to the seat in front of him.

  The conductor’s gaze went to Joshua’s clerical cravat.

  “I’m not a physician,” he hastened to say. “But I’m a minister. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  The portly conductor waved toward the first class car behind him. “A man has collapsed. His daughter is quite distraught. If you could give her some comfort.”

  “Certainly.”

  “I must see if there’s a doctor on board.”

  Joshua jerked his head toward the back of the car. “Go.”

  The conductor lurched by.

  Joshua slid out of his seat. “Stay here,” he ordered Micah.

  His son’s blue eyes were round and fearful. He gulped and nodded.

  Joshua rose and hurried up the aisle, pushing open the door connecting the two first class cars and going through to the other one.

  As in his car, there were only a few people in their seats. Most watched the front with avid curiosity, where a woman knelt, her arm stretched over the back of the seat, holding the hand of a man who was sprawled out, his legs bent into the aisle, feet touching the floor.

  “Papa! Please, Papa, speak to me.” Her low voice held a panicked note.

  Joshua recognized the woman he’d seen in St. Louis, the one who’d stood up for Micah, and the natural concern he’d feel for any human who was suffering suddenly became personal. He moved closer.

  She looked up, hazel eyes shining with tears and a pleading expression that begged him to help. “Are you a doctor?”

  “No, miss, I’m sorry. I’m a minister.” He touched his clerical cravat. “Reverend Joshua Norton. I thought I’d see if I could render assistance.” As he spoke, Joshua moved to where he could see her father.

  The older gentleman’s face was gray, his hazel eyes dull, although the slow rise and fall of his chest showed he yet lived.

  “Let’s make him more comfortable, shall we?” Joshua made his words soothing, hoping to infuse her with calm. “Untie his cravat and unbutton his shirt so he can breathe more easily.”

  She gave a small nod and hoisted herself over the edge of the seat, stretching to reach the black cravat around the man’s neck. Once the woman untied the ends, she let them dangle and unbuttoned his coat and vest, then two of the studs down the front of his shirt.

  With a hiss of brakes, the train slowed.

  A glance at the window showed Joshua they’d reached Sweetwater Springs. A crowd had gathered on the platform. What are they all doing here? Even as he thought the words, Joshua realized the citizens of the town had planned a homecoming celebration—the last thing he wanted. But if they were fortunate, the doctor his parents had written about was among the well-wishers.

  “Miss.” Joshua took her elbow. “This town has a doctor. Let me fetch some men to carry your father off the train to a place where he will have care. Can you gather your things?” He stared into her eyes until he saw some awareness penetrate her fear.

  “Yes, yes. I’ll do that.” Her soft voice held a southern accent.

  Joshua gave her a reassuring smile and squeezed her arm. “Good for you. This is my hometown. I promise, you and your father will be well taken care of.”

  Blinking quickly, she clung to his hand. “Thank you, sir.”

  The train came to a complete stop.

  The woman released his hand with obvious reluctance.

  Saying a prayer, Joshua hurried down the aisle. As he appeared in the open doorway, he heard a cheer go up. With a clash of cymbals, a brass band began playing a song he didn’t recognize. Two enthusiastic youths held poles supporting a banner with “Welcome Home” painted in black letters.

  Automatically, Joshua waved to everyone in acknowledgement. He trotted down the steps into the Montana air, tainted by the smoke from the train, and over to his parents standing at the head of the group.

  “Joshua, my dear son!” Mary Norton threw herself into his arms.

  He gave her a quick hug and kiss, then shot Reverend Norton a loving smile. “A passenger on the train is taken ill,” he told his father. “His heart, I believe. Is the doctor here?”

  “Yes.” With a nod, his father whirled. “Doctor Cameron,” he called to a man wearing a frock coat, with a bowler hat on his head, standing next to a pregnant woma
n. “Your services are needed on the train.”

  The doctor nodded and hurried toward Joshua.

  The crowd parted to let him through.

  “Your patient is right inside the door,” Joshua said. “His daughter is quite distraught.”

  The doctor trotted up the steps and into the train.

  Joshua looked around, his gaze settling on two brawny men in shirts and suspenders. One looked faintly familiar. “You two, come with me,” he ordered. “I’ll need someone to carry the stricken man off the train.” Scanning the crowd, he raised his voice. “Does anyone have a carriage or wagon nearby?”

  “A carriage,” one man called out, raising his hand.

  Joshua recognized rancher John Carter, his face more weathered, sandy hair thinning. “Thank you. We’ll need transportation to the doctor’s.” He hurried back into the train, almost bumping into the conductor in his haste.

  The man grabbed his arm. “I’ve spoken with the engineer. The train will wait until the ill passenger has disembarked. We are having their trunks unloaded, as well.”

  “Thank you.” Joshua peered around him, saw the aisle was jammed with people, and stepped off the train again. He turned to his parents and pointed. “Micah is in the next car. Can you see to him?”

  His mother touched his arm. “Of course, dear.”

  Joshua led them to the next set of stairs and into the car where Micah waited, one of his hands gripping the chair rail. “These are your grandparents, son. Please wait with them a few minutes while I see to the ill man and his daughter.”

  A mulish expression crossed Micah’s face.

  “Remember the lady who came to your aid when the man with the luggage ran into you? It’s her father who’s ill. She needs our help now.”

  Concern chased away the stubbornness. “Oh, yes, Father. Hurry and help her.”

  “Good boy.” He threw his parents a quick smile and squeezed around them to leave the car and enter the back of the other.

  The two men were in the process of lifting the sick gentleman off the seats. Dr. Cameron stood nearby. The young woman held a valise in each hand.

  Dr. Cameron placed a hand on her shoulder. “Your father is weak, but he has survived the attack. He will need rest and careful nursing, Miss. . . ?”

  She lifted her chin. “Bellaire.”

  Joshua went to Miss Bellaire and touched her shoulder. “Let me take those for you.”

  She turned and looked up at Joshua.

  Fear shadowed her eyes and made her features look drawn. He reached for a valise, not sure if his offer had penetrated her mind.

  Miss Bellaire released first one, then the other to him.

  The men hefted her father and followed the doctor out of the train.

  A moment later, she leaned over to scoop up her father’s hat and hurried after them.

  Joshua kept pace behind her.

  Once they were all outside, the doctor paused. “We don’t have a hospital. And both my spare rooms are being used. Perhaps, Mrs. Murphy’s?” He looked around, searching for the woman in question.

  Joshua caught sight of an attractive, elegant couple he didn’t know standing to the side, eyeing the Bellaires, as if sizing up their wealth and social station. An adolescent boy, with the same handsome features and dark hair and eyes as the couple, stood with them. The man looked at Miss Bellaire, an appreciative light in his eyes.

  Joshua bristled, an instinctive protective reaction that caught him off guard.

  The man exchanged glances with the woman at his side.

  She gave him a slight nod of obvious encouragement.

  The man stepped forward, took off his hat, and gave Miss Bellaire a slight bow. “I am Caleb Livingston, the town banker. I’m sorry that my hotel is not yet ready for visitors.” He indicated a building near the station. “However, my sister and I have a large house. You and your father are welcome to stay, and he can recover there.”

  “Thank you, monsieur,” Miss Bellaire said with a wan smile. “You are kind to offer your home. We are very grateful.”

  Joshua knew he should feel thankful the Bellaires had found a place to stay so easily. He certainly couldn’t invite them to the cramped parsonage, and he didn’t remember Mrs. Murphy as being particularly hospitable, although Mr. Murphy was a kind man. This is for the best, he tried to reassure himself and handed the Bellaires’ two valises to the Livingston boy.

  Mr. Livingston gestured to the street. “My sister and I walked here today, but the Carters have offered their carriage to convey you and your father to my house. Dr. Cameron will accompany you, of course.”

  Before he let Miss Bellaire leave, Joshua reached out and took her hand in his. “I will keep your father in my prayers and call upon you tomorrow to see how he fares. Send word to the parsonage if you have need before then.”

  She gave him a grateful smile, hazel eyes bright with tears, and pressed his hand before slipping hers away.

  Surprised by his reluctance to part with the young woman, Joshua made himself turn his attention back to his family. For the first time, he really saw the crowd gathered on the platform and spilling over onto the street. He hadn’t thought this many people lived in the entire town. And while he appreciated that they’d turned out to welcome him, he would have preferred a quiet homecoming with just his parents. He squared his shoulders and plastered a smile on his face.

  As Joshua scanned the crowd, he made eye contact with some people he recognized, some who looked vaguely familiar, and others who were strangers—at least, he hoped they were strangers and not townsfolk he was supposed to know.

  He saw his parents standing with Micah near the train and he worked his way over, smiling, nodding, shaking hands, and saying, “Thank you, it’s good to be home,” to his well-wishers. As people began to talk among themselves, the noise level rose, until the sound felt like a physical pressure on his body and made his ears buzz. Finally, he reached his family.

  Micah stood in front of his parents clutching the valise, a forlorn expression on his face.

  His father held one hand on Micah’s shoulder.

  Joshua’s heart clenched at his first good look at his parents. They’d aged in the last nine years. His father’s salt-and-pepper hair had turned all silver, his finely chiseled face had acquired more lines, but his features were still those of a scholar—not the type of scholar such as Abner Maynard, but a student of the Bible and shepherd of his fellow souls on earth. He wore an old rusty-black frock coat that Joshua remembered as being new—or at least, second-hand new.

  His mother, too, had grayed but still wore her hair pulled back in a tight bun. Her smile was as wide as ever, crinkling wrinkles on her face, and her blue eyes shone with joy. Her coat was too big for her small frame and was an unbecoming shade of brown.

  Since he hadn’t had a chance to savor the first greetings, Joshua swooped in for another hug for each parent, uncaring of the spectators. His Ugandan parishioners had taught him the importance of affectionate gestures. They were not afraid to embrace one another or to lift up their arms or clap their hands or even dance with joy during the church service. Quite a shock for his conservative sensibilities, but he’d come to value the outgoing expression of their feelings. Esther never had reconciled herself to their exuberance, and they’d argued when she tried to insist on making the congregation conform to a more staid form of worship.

  Thinking of his wife and the troubles in his marriage made him sad. While he didn’t regret his missionary work, in seeing how his parents had aged, Joshua wished he hadn’t left for so many years. He and Micah had missed too much time with them.

  Two men, both carrying toddlers, moved closer. One also had a youngster about Micah’s age at his side. The dark-haired, olive-complexioned boy had his father’s green eyes. “You won’t remember me,” the man said, taking off his hat and exposing his
shoulder-length blond hair. “Jonah Barrett. Me and Seth Flanigan, here—” he lifted his shoulder in the direction of the dark-haired man “—have our wagons parked just yonder. We can see that your trunks get to the parsonage.”

  Mary Norton placed her hand on the man’s arm. “Dear Mr. Barrett, so kind of you to offer.”

  “Jonah Barrett?” Joshua stared, speechless, remembering the young man who’d been about five years older than him. Jonah’s drunken father had pulled him out of school after the death of his mother, and, from then on, he’d only glimpsed the other boy going into or out of the saloon.

  “Yes, indeed,” Jonah said, extending his hand to shake. “I wanted to thank you for that time I showed up in the middle of the church service looking like a rag-picker. Hadn’t attended for years since my ma died. You. . .young shaver that you were. . .got up from your pew, calmly walked down the aisle, took my hand, and escorted me up front to sit with you.”

  Joshua had forgotten that incident, but as Jonah mentioned it, the memory came. Mostly he recalled his instinctive wish to give some comfort to a young man whom he could tell was hurting and out of place.

  “Scalawag that I was to them, the whole congregation was burning holes in my back,” Jonah added.

  “Mine, too,” Joshua grinned.

  “I never returned to church.” Jonah gestured to a woman holding the hand of two boys who looked to be about four and six. “Until Lina, that is. This is my wife, Mrs. Barrett.”

  The pride in Jonah’s voice and the look of love he gave his plump Italian-looking wife made a lump rise in Joshua’s throat. Who would have thought Jonah’s unhappy situation would turn out so well?

  Jonah jiggled the small girl in his arms. “But I never forgot your kindness. I had very little kindness. . . . What there was stands out.”

  The quiet words settled into the hollowness in Joshua’s soul, warming him. “Well. . .” He trailed off.

  Jonah grinned. “Once Lina came into my life, she changed everything. Church or Mass every Sunday that we can make it to town.”