Glorious Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series)

by Debra Holland

  The familiar sight of the pair made him wonder about lifelong compatibility—something he hadn’t obtained with Esther. He thought of the couples he’d seen tonight—of Nick and Elizabeth, Wyatt and and his wife and wondered what would happen to them in the future. But both couples had been married a couple of years, so they looked as though they were off to a good start. A niggle of jealousy tried to overtake him, but he pushed it aside.

  His mother pulled on his father’s arm to slow him down. She turned. “Did you have a nice time, Joshua?”

  He smiled at her. “Yes. Surprisingly, so.”

  “I’m glad.” She turned back, and the two resumed their walk.

  Joshua pondered his answer to his mother’s question, realizing that the heavy, dull feeling he’d carried around for so long had lightened, at least temporarily. Interesting how he’d enjoyed himself, especially the time he’d spent with Delia Bellaire, which was strange, really, when he hadn’t wanted to go to the ice cream social in the first place.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Delia walked home from the ice cream social with Caleb, Edith, and Ben. All of them were silent, even somber, and she wondered if they were tired, or if there were undertones to the evening that she’d missed. But her thoughts were too full of the experience, the people she’d met, the various conversations, and especially the time with Reverend Joshua, that she didn’t pay her companions’ behavior too much heed.

  Inside the house, they said good night and went to their separate rooms. Delia paused at her father’s door and tapped lightly. When there was no response, she hurried in, heart rushing, only to find Papa sleeping in a beam of moonlight. She watched the rise and fall of his chest and breathed a prayer of thanksgiving.

  Closing the door behind her, Delia went to her room and hung up her cloak and reticule. From the nightstand, she took the buttonhook and sat on the edge of the bed to unbutton her boots. Once she removed them, she wiggled her toes and stretched her feet. Her new boots had higher heels than she was used to and standing in them all evening had given her tired feet.

  But I had such a lovely time!

  Remembering the reaction of some of the women at the ice cream social at seeing Micah Norton’s toad, Delia smiled.

  Too bad she hadn’t been closer. She could have scandalized everyone by catching the toad herself. A toad wasn’t anything compared to an alligator, and she’d encountered those creatures before. They sometimes lay in the roads along the bayous.

  She started to undress, then stopped, too keyed up to sleep. After a moment’s debate, Delia decided to go downstairs to the library to see if she could find a book to settle her mind. Although she’d selected several volumes to read to her father during his convalescence, she hadn’t chosen any for her personal reading pleasure. Now would be a good time to start.

  The moonlight shining through the windows was strong enough for her to decide against lighting a lamp to take along. Silently, Delia glided down the stairs in the hallway, slowing when she saw soft gaslight spilling through the door. One of the family members must still be awake. She could announce herself, but. . .she glanced down at her stocking feet—not like this. She was about to retreat back up the stairs when she heard her name.

  “You must have offended Delia Bellaire tonight, Caleb,” Edith said, her tone sharp. “Although her behavior was too well-bred to show any reaction.”

  “Clarify your meaning, Edith.”

  “Whatever were you about, chasing after that woman in purple? Practically dragging her out of doors. Unseemly!”

  From where she was on the stairs, Delia could see into the doorway where the two stood. The two faced each other, both seeming to vibrate with anger.

  “I was not chasing her.”

  “Well, it certainly appeared that way.”

  “My behavior is none of your concern.”

  “It is when it affects me. I was so embarrassed about the slight you gave Delia.”

  “I didn’t slight her. I gave her every attention.”

  “After you went outside with that woman. Who is she, anyway? Pamela Carter said she’s a botanical illustrator.”

  “Lily Maxwell. She is sister to Sophia Maxwell, the Songbird of Chicago. You’ve heard me speak of her.”

  “Well!” Edith’s tone was slightly mollified. “At least, I can understand the attraction. You’ve long wanted to attend one of Sophia Maxwell’s performances. But still, Caleb, here we have a woman of beauty and wealth under our own roof. A perfect woman for you to court. How could you be so foolish as to leave the building with someone else?”

  “It was a mistake.” His voice was stiff. “It won’t happen again. I will turn my attention to Miss Bellaire.”

  “See that you do. However, if Delia had begun to develop romantic feelings, you may have hurt her and given her a poor opinion of the steadfastness of your character. You will have to work harder now to overcome such a setback.”

  “I said that I would,” Caleb said through gritted teeth. “Now, be done with the lecture!”

  Edith put a hand on her brother’s arm. “I only wish for your happiness, brother,” she said, her voice softening. “I know what it’s like to live in marital harmony with the one you love, and I want that for you, as well.”

  His stiffness relaxed. He placed a hand over hers. “Marital harmony, yes, Edith. I want that, too. But love?” He shook his head. “You can’t deny how unhappy you’ve been ever since Nathaniel’s death. I would never risk my heart like that.”

  Edith’s shoulders slumped, and she dropped her hand. “Perhaps you are right. Sometimes I hate Nathaniel for leaving me. For leaving Ben. I don’t know that I would advise a love match for either of us.” She let out a sad sigh. “At least, you have a chance to court an appropriate woman. I don’t have to tell you how rare that is in Sweetwater Springs.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Then see that you make the best of this opportunity.”

  “The opportunity is not mine alone, sister. I suspect that when Andre Bellaire is back on his feet, you might find him a possible match.”

  “And I might find myself a widow again soon, too,” she said, her tone bitter.

  “There is that,” he agreed. “But think on it. I’ve liked what I’ve seen of the man so far.”

  Holding up her skirt to keep from tripping and giving away her presence, Delia tiptoed up the staircase, then silently glided back to her room. Once she carefully closed the door behind her, Delia exhaled, groped for the arm of the nearest chair, and sank into it. She played the conversation over in her mind.

  She hadn’t been bothered by Caleb’s desertion at the ice cream social, but she was perturbed by his statement about not looking for love in a marriage. But I shouldn’t be. . .I was brought up for exactly that type of relationship with or without marriage.

  With a slow exhale, Delia realized she’d changed. Now I want love.

  I’ll have to work doubly hard to hide my past and find a way to keep my distance from Caleb, too, without offending.

  Too disturbed to sleep, Caleb Livingston said good night to his sister and wandered to the back of the house, through the sunroom, and out to the moonlight-drenched garden. His thoughts busy with his sister’s words, his feet carried him down the brick path and around the bubbling fountain before he turned right, taking the side walkway that led to a wisteria-covered arbor. He couldn’t help the bitter reminder that when he’d designed the garden, he’d imagined a wife enjoying either of the two arbors or reading in the gazebo, or having a party on the lawn.

  He took a seat on the wooden bench underneath the arbor. In the moon’s shadow, hidden from the world, he could allow himself to think of finding a wife.

  As Caleb thought back on the evening, he felt shame make his stomach clench. Edith was right to scold him about his neglectful behavior toward Delia Bellaire, but even worse, his
impulsive action of taking Lily Maxwell outside, trying to win her favor. Which in turn brought about her rejection. . .her choice of a rancher over him. Just like Elizabeth Hamilton chose Nick Sanders, instead of me.

  Tonight, he’d acted out of character, captivated by Lily’s delicate beauty, her unusual lavender eyes, and her connection to Sophia Maxwell, the Songbird of Chicago, whom he’d long wanted to hear sing. Caught up with the idea of a lovely, sophisticated woman visiting Sweetwater Springs, he’d moved without thinking, only wanting to cut her away from the herd of eager swains surrounding her. In his haste, he’d forgotten Delia Bellaire—that he had a responsibility to his guest—a woman as beautiful in her own way as Lily Maxwell.

  I need to settle down to courting, neither holding back and moving too slow, as I did with Elizabeth Hamilton when she first came to town, nor jumping too fast as I did with Lily Maxwell tonight.

  After all, one of the reasons he and Edith had invited the Bellaires to stay with them was because they both recognized the quality of father and daughter. Delia hadn’t given Caleb any indication that she was interested in his advances, but then she’d been completely focused on her father’s health. As her host, he wouldn’t have acted appropriately by indicating any interest in her.

  But now that Andre Bellaire was on the mend, and Delia was attending social activities, he could begin to court her. He mentally ticked off a list of her attributes. Attentive to her father, tick one. Soft-spoken, tick two. Attractive, tick three. Caleb pictured walking down the street with her on his arm. . .how all the men would look at her and envy him. The image eased the tight knot of shame in his belly.

  He and Delia hadn’t spoken much beyond social pleasantries and the topic of Andre’s condition. But surely as he became more acquainted with his guest, he’d find himself drawn to her.

  I’ll begin tomorrow.

  The next day, while her father napped, Delia decided to take a walk and explore the town. She donned a straw bonnet adorned with daisies and picked up a shawl and reticule. The house seemed quiet, and she wondered where Edith was but didn’t want to search for her hostess lest she become trapped inside when the outdoors beckoned.

  In New Orleans, she’d spent as much time as possible outside, at least in the nicer months. Just thinking about her home made Delia remember her mother, and she realized some of the hurt and anger she’d felt toward Isadora had ebbed. After all, if her mother hadn’t arranged such a frightening relationship for her, Delia wouldn’t have gone to her grandmother, found Papa, and be here now.

  Before she’d left New Orleans, Delia had sent a note to her mother, saying she was leaving the city, but she hadn’t said with whom or where she was going. I should write an actual letter, giving Maman more details. I’ll do so when I return to the house, she promised herself.

  She moved quickly down the stairs and across the entry to the door. Outside, Delia cleared the steps of the porch, inhaled a breath of fresh air scented with lilac from the bushes sprouting purple flowers at the corners of the house, and stood for a moment in the sunshine, absorbing the warmth of the rays. She turned her face to the beautiful blue sky, arching overhead. Her gaze lingered on a cotton-ball cloud. What a glorious sight!

  She made the sign of the cross and sent up a prayer of gratitude for her father’s survival, for landing in a town full of people who’d welcomed and helped them. We’ve been so blessed. Delia couldn’t repress a shudder, thinking about the alternatives, which could have been disastrous.

  She thought back to the earlier discussion with her father and Reverend Joshua about religious beliefs and realized that her prayers of desperation—to avoid becoming the mistress of Marcel Dupuy, for her father not to die—had been answered, and in ways she never would have expected.

  Perhaps we’ve been led here. A frisson of intuition tingled down her back.

  Not sure what to think, Delia hurried down the walkway and out the gate onto the dirt road, where she paused. Which way?

  She decided to walk toward the train station and set off down the street, making her steps slow so she could take everything in. The Livingston house definitely towered over the other homes in the area and even some nearby shops, both in height and in ornateness. Most homes were simple one- and two-story wooden structures. Only a few were on Main Street with Mr. Livingston’s, and she glimpsed others set back on side streets. Sweetwater Springs was bigger than the town first appeared.

  A woman passed her, wearing a faded dress and a sunbonnet.

  They exchanged smiles and nods.

  The sunbonnet seemed similar to a tignon in that it proclaimed a woman’s station in life. Every woman she’d seen wearing one was dressed in a plain style, the gowns obviously homemade, often well worn. Whereas the ladies in more expensive gowns wore hats decorated with ribbons or flowers or both. Delia touched the green satin bow of the straw hat she wore, still not used to being without her tignon.

  She lingered in front of a nicer home surrounded by a picket fence. Daffodils bloomed in planter boxes and a lilac in the corner added the sweet scent to the street. Rose bushes lined the fence, and she imagined they’d be quite beautiful when they bloomed.

  As she continued walking, homes gave way to businesses, and she saw a whitewashed brick building. As she drew close, Delia realized she’d reached the bank and wondered what important financial matters Mr. Livingston was working on.

  Her question was soon answered when the door opened and Reverend Joshua stepped out, setting his hat on his head. He saw her and exclaimed, “Miss Bellaire!” Shutting the door behind him, he trotted down the steps to join her. “How is your father today?”

  At the sight of him, heat rushed into her cheeks. “Much better, thank you. Jo. . .” She almost bit her tongue, so quickly did she clamp down on the urge to say his given name—the way she’d come to think of him. “Papa is sleeping, and I thought I’d take a stroll around your town. Perhaps see what is available in the shops.”

  “Shop, singular,” he informed her. “I’m afraid there won’t be the selection you’re used to.”

  If only you knew what I’m used to. “The town’s still all new to me, and that has its own appeal.”

  Joshua gave her a wry look. “Much of it is new to me, too.” He glanced up the street. “Would you like company on your explorations?”

  Oh yes! She restrained herself, only giving him a calm smile and nod.

  To her disappointment, Reverend Norton didn’t extend his arm toward her. Perhaps a minister needed to be more circumspect. He couldn’t parade down the street with a woman who wasn’t a relation, or. . .one whom he was courting. She blushed at the thought.

  “I was just meeting with Mr. Livingston and his architect—the one who designed the new buildings.” He gestured to one they were passing, which looked to be about three stories. “I want to expand the parsonage. It’s very tiny.”

  “What do your parents think of your plan?

  “They’re not really telling me their opinion. Perhaps on the way back, we can stop in, and you can meet them. You didn’t meet my parents last night, did you?”

  “No, and I’d like to,” she said, pleased that he wanted to introduce her.

  “Well, my son’s out exploring, so you should be free from toads and other unexpected surprises.” He paused. “Perhaps, I shouldn’t promise that. Micah’s been known to keep interesting. . .pets in the house that his mother and I knew nothing about, until we had unpleasant discoveries.”

  She laughed. “I’ll take my chances.”

  As they strolled down Main Street, Joshua pointed out the businesses and told stories about the owners or his childhood exploits, sometimes having her in stitches. After regaling her with the tale of chasing Mrs. Murphy’s squealing suckling pig down the main street after he’d accidently let the animal escape, he stopped and turned to face her. “I’m lucky that Mrs. Murphy never knew what I’d
done. Everyone knew what had happened, but I never said whose pig it was.”

  She giggled, imagining him as a boy chasing a pig down the street.

  “Being a minister’s son is not easy. Everyone expects saintly behavior. I could only be on my best behavior for so long before letting loose. Micah’s the same way.”

  “Like with the toad?”

  The skin around his eyes crinkled with his grin. “There’s no like about it. I had toads, too.”

  “Did you let them loose in the midst of polite society?”

  “No. But one got out when my mother had a friend over for tea. Luckily, the woman was unflappable. She didn’t blink an eye. She had seven sons of her own.” The corners of his mouth turned down. “For that reason, perhaps I’m too lenient with Micah. Esther. . .my wife, certainly thought so. But I always believed the way she tried to repress him only made him worse.”

  Delia wondered what kind of marriage he and Esther had, or if Joshua still mourned her. “Would your wife have wanted him punished for the toad incident last night?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Shock possessed her, and she let out a gasp. “You can’t mean it?”

  “Definitely. Bread and water for several days.”

  “Is that what you’re doing to him today?”

  “No. I’d do so if he’d deliberately brought Fred—that’s the toad’s name—to the ice cream social with the intent to cause mischief.”

  “I can see it now, a toad in the ice cream.”

  He gave a mock shudder. “Thank goodness, it didn’t come to that.”

  “Micah is lucky to have a father who understands.”

  “I have a father who understands. I can only strive to be like him.” He let out a slow breath. “All too often, I fail.”