Glorious Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series)

by Debra Holland

  Micah glanced up at her.

  “I know you’re not happy, my dear boy. Can you at least understand how being here makes your grandfather and myself. . .not just happy. . .overjoyed? And, so deeply grateful that you both are alive and well.”

  Her words made a funny feeling churn in his belly—a good funny feeling.

  “Perhaps knowing that your presence is making a difference to your grandparents will make things a tiny bit easier for you.”

  Micah didn’t think anything would make leaving Uganda easier. But he politely refrained from saying so. “Can I drive the horse?” he asked, eager to change the subject.

  She smoothed back his hair. “On the return trip. Old Matilda will be tired, and I won’t have to worry that an accident could happen.

  With a feeling of anticipation, Micah settled back in the seat. There might be some good things about Sweetwater Springs, after all.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The next morning, dressed for the day, Delia felt the weariness of a restless night. She’d kept waking up and checking on her father, making sure he still breathed. Sometimes, she just sat and held his hand and prayed. And always she worried about what would happen if he died—the gaping hole he’d leave in her heart. How could she possibly live without him? Her fearful thoughts circled round and round in her head, making sleep difficult when she finally returned to her bed.

  She brushed out her hair, marveling at the time it took to make the heavy mane into a neat chignon. She glanced into the silver-framed mirror over the washstand. How much easier to pin up the thick mass into a loose braid hidden by her tignon. Even now, her head felt naked without the headcovering, and Delia wondered how long before she became used to the differences in her life. She gave her image in the mirror an ironic smile. I have freedom from more than my tignon.

  Once she finished dressing, Delia tiptoed into her father’s room, not wanting to disturb him if he was still sleeping, and silently shut the door behind her. Light peeked though a crack in the curtains.

  Andre Bellaire was already awake and propped up by a second pillow. His color looked better—not the grayish hue of yesterday, not back to normal yet, but better.

  Relief made her knees weak, and she tottered to the side of the bed and sank onto the chair beside him, reaching to grasp his hand, her anchor. “Papa, how are you feeling?”

  He gave her a smile, not his hearty one, but still an upturn of his lips. “As weak as a kitten. But I’ll be all right, daughter.”

  “Oh, Papa.” Unable to contain her feelings, Delia bent forward and kissed him. She laid her cheek on his shoulder. “I’ve been so frightened.”

  “I’m sorry, dearest.” Andre brushed a hand over her head and rested his palm on her cheek. “God has given us more time together.”

  “I will enjoy every minute by your side,” Delia said fiercely, straightening and taking his hand again.

  “As will I. However, I want to see you living life, as well, Delia. Watching you experience everything that has been denied to you will be my joy in the coming days, God willing.”

  She gave him a tremulous smile. “You are the most important experience that was denied to me. Having a father is so. . .wonderful.”

  “I hope in time you ask for more, Delia. I want to see you settled in marriage with a man you love. Perhaps God will give me enough time to hold a grandchild in my arms.”

  She inhaled a sharp breath, aching with all her heart to give him what he desired. But with my secret background, how can I lure some unsuspecting man into matrimony?

  I cannot. Delia opened her mouth to say so, but then closed it. Now wasn’t the time to debate the issue. She’d only distress her father, and Dr. Cameron had warned her that he wasn’t to be troubled. To keep him from seeing any sign of worry on her face, she rose and walked to the window, flinging back the velvet drapes. Sunshine flooded the room. “It’s a beautiful day, Papa. I can see the sky and the mountains. A stunning vista.”

  A soft knock sounded at the door.

  “Come in,” Delia called.

  Mr. Livingston appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray. “I’ve brought you some breakfast, Mr. Bellaire. I thought perhaps my housekeeper Mrs. Graves’s habitually sour expression would put you off your feed.”

  Her father chuckled.

  Although the sound was weak and unlike the boisterous laugh she’d heard a great deal lately, just the fact that her dear papa could feel some levity made her relax. “How kind of you, Mr. Livingston.”

  “Not at all. And you two must call me Caleb.” He sent Delia a charming smile, walked over to the bed, and set down the tray at the opposite foot. “There’s only food for an invalid. No steak and potatoes,” he teased.

  “Perhaps tomorrow,” Andre joked in response.

  “Or the day after,” Caleb agreed. “You have beef broth, scrambled eggs, and a custard. There’s tea. . .weak tea, I’m afraid.” He glanced at Delia. “Breakfast will be served in the dining room in half an hour. When you go downstairs, the room is to your left.”

  “Oh, no, thank you, Mr., uh, Caleb. I’ll remain with my father.”

  Her father pressed her hand. “Nonsense, daughter. You need your sustenance. I will be fine for a while without you. I insist that you go to breakfast with our host and hostess.”

  Reminding herself not to argue, Delia pressed her lips together, took a breath, and meekly agreed. “Yes, Papa.”

  “Good!” Both Caleb and her father spoke at the same time.

  She shook her head and had to smile. “Let’s first get you sitting up so you can eat.”

  Caleb stepped over to the bed. “I’ll lift him, and you set more pillows behind him.”

  Working together, the two soon had her father propped up.

  Delia gave Andre an anxious glance. “How does that feel, Papa?”

  He rubbed his chest as if checking. “Fine. No tightness or pain. Hopefully, this confounded weakness will pass soon.”

  “Perhaps getting some food inside you will help.”

  Caleb gave a little bow. “Then I’ll leave you two alone.”

  “Thank you, Caleb.” Delia waited until the door closed behind him and then went to pick up the tray.

  “He’s a well-formed man,” her father remarked. “Of good social status. Obviously well-off. And thoughtful. How many men would deliver a tray to an invalid?”

  A frisson of uneasiness ran down Delia’s spine. “Papa, stop playing matchmaker.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “But you’ll admit Caleb Livingston is a fine figure of a man.”

  Reverend Norton’s blue eyes sprang into her mind. Was he a fine figure of a man? She didn’t know. All Delia could remember was how his kindness had soothed her, and his touch lingered in a way Caleb Livingston’s hadn’t. “I will admit that.”

  “Ah,” he said in a satisfied tone.

  To divert the conversation, Delia brought over the tray and deposited it on his lap. She tucked the linen napkin into the top of his nightshirt and the other end under the edge of the tray. “Why don’t we start with the beef broth? Mrs. Graves thoughtfully poured it into a mug, so you can drink it, rather than having to use a spoon. It smells appetizing, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yes, although I don’t have much of an appetite.” He picked up the mug and drank.

  “Well?”

  “Delicious.”

  Delia didn’t know if he was serious or just trying to reassure her.

  “Let me take a few breaths before starting on the eggs. I’d rather try the custard, but I was never one to eat dessert first.”

  “Why not?” Delia said in a gay tone, picking up the ramekin of custard and a spoon. “We’ve made a lot of changes in our lives, Papa. What’s one more?” She scooped up a spoonful and held the custard to his mouth, eyebrows lifted in challenge.

  Andre�
�s eyes twinkled, which did more to ease her fears about him than anything else had, and he opened his mouth and accepted the bite before taking back the spoon and the ramekin and finishing the rest.

  As she watched him eat the remainder of the custard, Delia realized the act of caretaking—of giving to her beloved father, instead of just receiving as she’d done since they’d met—solidified the bond between them. Before, he’d been her dream-come-true father, but now, with a satisfied realization she knew. . .I’m truly his daughter.

  Joshua stopped before the imposing brick mansion, shocked by the sight. The house looked as if it belonged in a wealthy section of Cambridge, not in Sweetwater Springs, and showed him how much had changed in his once-sleepy hometown. He shook his head and opened the iron gate.

  As he strode to the door, Joshua admired the sunshiny faces of the daffodils planted on either side of the walkway. He’d always liked the flowers, thinking of them as the harbingers of spring, even more than the snowdrops and crocuses. Being away for so long made him appreciate even the smallest of God’s creations he used to take for granted.

  Joshua knocked on the door and waited, studying the stained glass panels. Looking at the architecture of the house made him remember he needed to do something about expanding the parsonage. The banker, with his hotel under construction, would probably be the man to talk to about his plans, especially since the parsonage didn’t belong to his parents, but to the church. He might have to request permission to make changes. Not that Joshua doubted he’d receive it, especially since he wouldn’t be requesting funds for the additions.

  An older woman in the black dress and white apron of a servant opened the door and scowled at him.

  Taken aback by the hostile greeting, Joshua paused a moment before saying anything, franticly wondering if he should know her, if he’d slighted her in any way.

  “Yes?” the woman prompted in an irritated tone.

  “I’m Reverend Joshua Norton, here to call upon Mr. Bellaire.”

  Her dour expression didn’t change. She held open the door in a silent gesture to enter.

  Joshua stepped inside, wondering if the woman was characteristically this way, or if something was paining her. He made a mental note to discretely find out—to see if there was anything he could do to help.

  She motioned to the staircase. “Mr. Bellaire is in the first bedroom on the right of the stairs.” The woman made an abrupt turn and left before he could inquire her name.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said to her retreating back.

  Feeling uncomfortable about walking through the house unaccompanied, Joshua climbed the staircase. The blue-patterned runner silenced his footsteps. A few pictures of landscapes hung on the walls. The hush of the house made him wonder where everyone was, and he hoped Mr. Bellaire wasn’t still asleep. He’d feel awkward disturbing the man’s rest.

  But when he knocked quietly on the door frame of the first bedroom and entered, Joshua saw the invalid was awake and reclining on some pillows. His eyelids were drooping, as if he was about to fall asleep, but when he saw his visitor, Mr. Bellaire’s hazel eyes, the same striking hazel shade as his daughter’s, opened, and he shifted as if to raise himself.

  Joshua held up a hand. “Don’t bestir yourself, sir.” With a couple of long strides, he moved to the bedside. “I’m sure your daughter would be quite displeased with me if I caused you any strain.”

  The man gave a laugh. “I’m as weak as a babe.”

  “That’s to be expected.” Joshua gave him a reassuring smile. “You probably won’t remember me, but I’m Reverend Norton, that is, Joshua Norton. My father, also Reverend Norton, is the minister in this town. I was a passenger on the train yesterday when you took ill. I wanted to call upon you to reassure myself of your condition and to render any aid or comfort to you and your daughter that I can.”

  Mr. Bellaire made a tentative gesture to the chair. “I welcome the company, Reverend Norton. My daughter is at breakfast, and I’m not used to lying about idle.”

  “In that case, Mr. Bellaire, your recovery might definitely be an ordeal.” Joshua took a seat in a blue wingchair.

  “Call me Andre. I have a feeling a fine young minister like you will be dutifully paying me many visits.”

  “A pleasure, sir, not a duty. I just thank the Lord you survived. That’s what’s important.”

  “Oh, I’m very grateful. I would not have wanted to leave my daughter unprotected. She’s very dear to me, and we’ve spent so little time together.”

  Joshua raised his eyebrows, curious to hear their story.

  “I have spent the last twenty years in New York on business. Delia’s mother and I were. . .estranged, and my daughter stayed with her.” He paused. “This isn’t my first heart attack. My doctor warned me to give up my business and to take life easy. So I sold my company and returned home to New Orleans and my daughter.”

  “Are you talking about me, Papa?” said a teasing voice that made his heart lift.

  Delia—he already thought of her in a familiar manner—wore an amber-colored dress that turned her eyes to gold. She seemed to bring the sunshine with her into the room. Joshua stood. “Good morning, Miss Bellaire.”

  “Reverend Norton.” She held out her hand. “I’m so glad you’ve come to call. I’ve been wanting to thank you for your help yesterday.”

  “I didn’t do much. And wished I could do more.” Joshua took her hand in both of his and held on for perhaps a little too long before releasing her, meanwhile studying her striking face with the excuse of assessing her emotional condition. Her eyes held shadows, but her features were no longer tight with fear. She seemed equally reluctant to pull away, only slowly slipping her fingers out of his.

  “I think you did a great deal, and—” her voice softened “—you were there during a time of terror when I had great need.”

  “I’m glad I could be of service.” Joshua gestured to the velvet chair he’d just vacated. “Please, sit here.”

  She sank back in the chair and smoothed her skirt, her gaze lowered. “I’m afraid we disrupted your homecoming celebration. I’m sorry about that.”

  “Since I neither expected nor wanted a fuss, I can only be grateful, although—” Joshua tore his gaze away from Delia to look at Andre “—I’m sorry you had to be stricken down in order to take the unwelcome attention away from me.” He sat on a wooden ladder-back chair that looked like it had been brought into the room to provide extra seating.

  Andre gave a weak chuckle. “I’m glad to be of service,” he said, echoing Joshua’s earlier words.

  “My parents tell me there’s an ice cream social tomorrow night that’s not supposed to be in honor of my return.”

  “You don’t sound happy about that,” Delia observed.

  “I feel the need to settle in before jumping into the social pond.”

  “I would imagine everyone’s excited,” Delia said, settling her hands in her lap. “No doubt a small town welcomes an excuse for a party. I wouldn’t imagine that happens much around here.”

  “That’s true.” Joshua realized he didn’t really mind about the party. Not if there was a chance Miss Bellaire would attend. “Although, I suppose ice cream is enough excuse for a party. At least my son, Micah, will think so.”

  “Micah had no ill effects from his encounter with the nasty man with all the luggage?”

  “Nothing that some cookies couldn’t cure.”

  Just listening to their light discussion seemed to be doing Andre good. His eyes looked more alert. Joshua remembered the purpose of his visit, which was to bring spiritual counsel, not to indulge in a flirtation with beautiful Miss Bellaire. Not that they were flirting, but the way she affected him made it seem as if they were. He couldn’t describe his feelings. Cheerful? Buoyant? Carefree?

  All emotions I haven’t experienced in a long time.


  Joshua tried to resist his reaction to Miss Bellaire. She’s a stranger, and I don’t know her.

  Except she stood up for Micah. . . .

  Joshua became more serious. “Would you like me to pray for you, Andre? Or if you are Catholic, I could have Father Fredrick attend you on his next round. Unfortunately, we don’t have a priest who is permanently in Sweetwater Springs, only one who travels through several towns and is here every few weeks.”

  Andre made a small negating motion with his hand. “I’m not religious and don’t attend church.”

  Delia’s eyes widened in surprise. “I didn’t know that about you, Papa. I guess the topic hasn’t come up. We were traveling and didn’t even think what day of the week it was.”

  “That’s right, daughter.” Andre lifted an eyebrow. “What about you, Delia? I don’t remember your mother being particularly devout.”

  “Maman wasn’t.” Delia’s tone sounded bitter. “She sometimes attended mass but more for duty’s sake, not because there was any true belief behind her actions. I’m convent schooled at the—” She seemed to catch herself. Her cheeks paled, but her voice evened out. “I’m grateful. For the education was important, but I didn’t like the strictness of the nuns and the. . .meekness they drilled into us.”

  Andre tightened his jaw.

  “ ‘The meek shall inherit the earth,’ ” Joshua quoted. “But I don’t think the subservient attitude you’re describing is what the Lord intended by that statement.”

  Andre gave Joshua a thoughtful look. “I think I would like prayers for health, Reverend Norton. With my daughter in my life, I have a new reason to live.”

  “Certainly, sir.” Joshua had a feeling he might just have passed a test.