Glorious Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series)

by Debra Holland

  She found the service, in English not Latin, to be much more understandable and spiritually compelling than she’d expected, when she could concentrate, that is.

  Although Delia tried not to let her gaze stray to the front pew on the opposite side where Reverend Joshua sat with his mother and son, too many times she found herself watching him, wondering how he felt about being back home in his father’s church. I hope I have a chance to talk to him after the service.

  She supposed the nuns from her convent school might consider her attendance at the Nortons’ church to be a sin. While on one hand, the thought did make her feel guilty, on the other hand, the idea made resentment flare at the strict and rigid nuns. She found the simple service to be beautiful and almost comforting. As far as she could tell, there was no reason besides dogma that she should be forbidden to attend. I wish Papa were here so we could discuss the topic.

  Delia brought her wandering attention back to the sermon, which she did, indeed, find interesting. If I don’t pay attention, I can’t discuss with Papa what Reverend Norton preached.

  She didn’t have a Bible and doubted if her father did, either. But she bet there was one on Mr. Livingston’s bookshelves that she could borrow and read later to Papa. I’ll look when we return to the house.

  Motion in the Nortons’ pew caught her attention. By squinting, she could make out a bee buzzing near Micah’s face, and Joshua turning toward his son, trying to help. Delia had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Micah and bees seemed like a certain collision.

  She hadn’t seen much of the boy, yet there was something about him that appealed to her.

  I’ll have to further my acquaintance with Master Micah Norton.

  After the service, when Joshua and his parents knocked on the door of the Livingston mansion, Edith Grayson answered, giving them a cool smile and a polite welcome.

  The lack of warmth toward his parents made Joshua inwardly bristle. With only a few exceptions, the people of Sweetwater Springs held his parents in great regard and gave them respect. He knew Mrs. Grayson was capable of affection, for he’d seen her display it to the Bellaires and her son. Why disdain his parents?

  She ushered them into the parlor, and Joshua reminded himself to remain warm but dispassionate toward the beautiful houseguest and seize every opportunity to access her nature.

  He hadn’t been in the room before. When he glimpsed the piano in the corner, covered by a fringed cloth, he wondered if Delia played. With a stab of jealously, he imagined Caleb Livingston sitting here in the evening, watching her as she performed his favorite pieces. The thought was ungenerous. Joshua forced it away and began to greet the people in the room.

  The other guests sat on the chairs and settees, cups of tea in their hands—Mr. Livingston, along with the Carters, Sanderses, Thompsons, Dr. Cameron and a redheaded woman who must be his wife, and one other couple he didn’t know. A woman dressed in men’s clothes and wearing a gun belt caught his attention. Joshua didn’t recognize her from his past, for he would have remembered her distinctive features and watchful gray eyes.

  Dr. Cameron stood and gestured toward the pregnant woman with curly red hair. “Reverend Joshua, let me introduce you to my wife.”

  Joshua took a step over to the woman and gave her a nod.

  “You look very like your father, Reverend Joshua,” Mrs. Cameron said in a brogue like her husband’s.

  Joshua smiled down at her. “I’ll accept that as a compliment, ma’am. There isn’t anyone else I’d rather take after.”

  “Your father’s a dear man. A dear, dear man. And your mother, too.”

  Dr. Cameron gestured to the rest of the group. “Do you know everyone, then?”

  “He hasn’t met us.” The speaker stood, towering over the other guests. “I’m Anthony Gordon. Call me Ant.”

  Joshua had never seen a taller man. Stretching a bit, his head might bump the chandelier. The nickname amused him. Dark hair and eyes and an angular face made the fellow rough looking; there was no mistaking his manly presence.

  Ant turned. “And this pretty lady is my wife, Harriet, whom you might have heard of as the former Miss Stanton, the schoolteacher.”

  Brown-haired Mrs. Gordon stood. Next to Ant Gordon, she was short. Intelligence shone from her eyes.

  “Oh, yes.” Joshua smiled at Mrs. Gordon. “My mother’s letters mentioned Miss Stanton.”

  Color flooded the schoolteacher’s cheeks. “Our marriage is recent, not yet a year.”

  “My congratulations to you both.”

  Ant winked at his wife.

  The color in her face deepened.

  To spare her blushes, Joshua changed the subject. “Tomorrow, you’ll have my nine-year-old son, Micah, starting school. At first, he’ll probably be subdued. But when he feels more comfortable, he’ll stop being so quiet. Quite the opposite.”

  She laughed. “I’m sure I’ll manage him, Reverend Joshua. Don’t you worry.”

  Mr. Livingston joined the conversation. “Gordon owns the newspaper and has the new building going up.”

  Ant’s right eyebrow peaked, and his smile was crooked. “I hope you’ll allow me to interview you for the paper, Reverend Joshua. After nine years in Africa, you should provide me with plenty of material. Perhaps I’ll do a series of articles.”

  Uncomfortable with the request, Joshua didn’t know how to respond. He hadn’t become a missionary for personal glory.

  “People will be very interested in reading about your time in Africa,” Ant added.

  Mrs. Gordon placed a hand on his arm. “I’m sure you’ll agree. . .anything that encourages people to read is a good thing. Why, some of my students who were never interested in books began to read the paper that Ant donated to the school. Eventually, they moved on to books and of course, the Bible.”

  Mrs. Gordon might be small in stature, but she knows how to get her way. “Your wife’s very effective,” Joshua said in a wry tone.

  Mr. Gordon’s mouth turned up. “Harriet used a similar tactic to get me to donate the paper to the school.”

  She laughed. “The big man toppled by the pushy woman.”

  Ant touched her cheek with the back of his finger. “Toppled by the beautiful, determined woman,” he corrected. He looked at Joshua, “Perhaps tomorrow we can take time for my first interview with you.”

  Joshua restrained a sigh. “That will be fine.”

  “Wonderful. Then I can write it up in time for our next issue.”

  Mrs. Gordon dimpled up at her husband. “Some educational articles about Africa—the natives, the customs, the landscape—would also be beneficial, dearest.”

  As Ant looked down at his wife, the tenderness in his eyes softened the harsh angles of his face. “Of course. I already had that planned for you.”

  Another obviously happily married couple, Joshua thought with an ache for what he’d missed. Seems Sweetwater Springs is crawling with newlyweds. Well, perhaps some of them had been married for a few years, but to him they seemed to be newlyweds.

  A movement in the doorway caught Joshua’s eye. With a little jump of his heart, he recognized Delia.

  She stood framed in the doorway, hesitating. Her silk dress was the color of new leaves and appeared fresh and spring-like, but her hazel eyes hinted of shyness. She shifted as if to flee.

  Her uncertainty moved Joshua. He strode over to her. “Miss Bellaire. Do come in.”

  Although her expression remained serene, Delia’s eyes filled with a sudden light. Her hand fluttered. “Edith mentioned you all were having an important meeting. I was going to have a tray in my father’s room so as not to disturb anyone.”

  “You’re not disturbing us, at all. Come.” He waved her inside.

  “I stopped to tell you. . .I mean your father, how much I enjoyed the service.” Her shy smile bloomed.

 
Unexpected warmth swirled through Joshua, and he had to restrain the grin that wanted to split his face. “I’m delighted to hear that. I don’t think you had a chance to greet my parents. By the time we’d left the church, you and the Livingstons were already walking away.”

  “Yes, they were in a hurry to return home and prepare for company.”

  Joshua wished he could touch her back to guide her to his parents, but with so many gazes watching, the gesture felt too intimate.

  They walked the few steps to where his mother and father stood talking to the Carters, cups and saucers in hand, and exchanged hellos. Joshua moved back and let his parents ask questions about Andre’s health.

  Joshua liked hearing Delia’s soft drawl. From his angle, he couldn’t see her eyes, but he saw the elegant line of her throat, the curve of her cheek, the thickness of her dark hair. He could have stood, mesmerized, but he didn’t want his interest in her to become obvious to the others. Instead, he stepped out of the conversational flow and crossed to the woman wearing men’s clothes, who sprawled in her chair in an unladylike slouch.

  She rose to her feet, a big woman with brown hair woven into two thick braids. She wore denim pants, a leather vest over a crisp white shirt, and a black string tie.

  Joshua imagined with her braids tucked up under a cowboy hat that she might pass for a man, and he wondered if that was her intent. Perhaps not, else she’d have cut her hair.

  Mr. Livingston sauntered over, a strange smile on his face. “Reverend Joshua, I believe you haven’t met our sheriff, K.C. Granger.”

  Sheriff! About to utter the usual polite greeting, Joshua had to lock his jaw before his mouth dropped, hoping he didn’t look bug-eyed in surprise. Now, he saw the star pinned on her vest.

  Sheriff Granger’s expression didn’t change. Nor did she show a hint of discomfort. Obviously, she was a woman comfortable with herself.

  Joshua had to admire her attitude, although he’d need a while to wrap his head around the idea of a female sheriff. His jaw loosened. “Sheriff Granger, I’m pleased to meet you under social circumstances.”

  She tilted her head. “As opposed to. . . ?” Her voice sounded husky.

  “I have a very mischievous son. Micah’s not a bad boy. But he is apt to find himself in trouble.”

  The sheriff’s eyes twinkled. “I heard about the toad. I’d left the social before then. And I saw the bee in church today. Neither is a hanging offense, Reverend.”

  Joshua let out a sigh. “Toads and Micah were inevitable, I suppose. I just don’t know what he’ll think of next. I can assure you, he’s never been malicious. . .”

  “You know the saying. . .boys will be boys. But thanks for the warning, Reverend. I’ll be on the watch to keep him safe.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff.”

  Mrs. Grayson entered the room. “Dinner is served. If you will all follow me.”

  Joshua glanced at Delia, standing a few paces away with his parents.

  “You must join us, Miss Bellaire,” his mother said. “I insist.”

  “I don’t want to impose.”

  Again her hand fluttered, a graceful gesture Joshua had noticed she used when she seemed anxious. He gave her a reassuring smile. “Please stay.”

  Delia looked back and forth from his parents to Sheriff Granger to him. “As long as I’m not intruding.”

  “Of course—” his mother began.

  “—No imposition at all,” his father boomed over her words.

  “We’re just discussing plans to expand the parsonage,” Joshua said. “We would welcome your opinions.”

  A smile lit her eyes. “Shall I suggest an ironwork balcony on the second story?” she asked in a mock demure tone. “They are quite nice to sit out on.”

  His mother’s eyes widened, and her hand rose to her chest. “Oh, I hardly think we’re adding on a second story, Miss Bellaire.”

  “She’s teasing, Mother.”

  His mother relaxed. “Oh, oh, of course.”

  He and Delia exchanged amused glances.

  We share a sense of humor, Joshua realized. Something missing with Esther, and when he was courting, he hadn’t realized the lack. After all, clergymen should be serious, or so he’d often been told in seminary.

  But try as he might, Joshua hadn’t been able to completely fit into that mold.

  The more I’m around Delia Bellaire, the more I’m drawn to her. And I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  After church, the dreaded test about the sermon didn’t occur. Instead, Micah learned, to his relief, that his father and grandparents had plans to dine at Banker Livingston’s and then have a meeting about building rooms onto the parsonage. I’ll be glad when I don’t have to share the lean-to with Father. I’ll have a space of my own again.

  Before they left the house, Grandmother dished up Micah a plate of stew, including a piece of apple pie that sent the smell of cinnamon into the air. He eyed the dessert, grateful he didn’t have to work for it.

  Father set an open Bible on the table and tapped one side with his forefinger. “I want you to memorize a chapter while we’re at Mr. Livingston’s.”

  Micah shot him a glance of resentment.

  With a pained look, Father sat in the nearest chair. “You know Sunday is a day of rest, Micah, not a time to play. When your mother became ill, we lost the habit of quiet Bible study in the afternoon. But our time at the Maynards showed me that we need to return to a regular Sunday routine.” He stood and ruffled Micah’s hair.

  Micah ducked away.

  “Sundays aren’t always quiet. I think you’ll like how we often visit on Sundays. That’s when people invite us for dinner. Eating with the minister is a special occasion to them, so they serve their best. . .including dessert.”

  “Why can’t I come with you today?”

  “We will be talking business, and the children won’t be there. So, enjoy Grandmother’s pie and do your studying. I’ll allow you to choose which chapter you want.”

  I’ll find a short one.

  As if he’d heard the words, Father gave Micah an enquiring glance, but he didn’t say anything. “Behave yourself while we’re gone.”

  With a surge of resentment, Micah realized that without Kimu and his other friends, he didn’t have anyone to sneak off and play with anyway. Not that trouble didn’t manage to find him when he was alone. . . . Micah gave a sullen nod of agreement.

  As soon as they left, Micah ate his pie first, enjoying the taste of apple and cinnamon. He fingered the edge of the Bible, turning a few pages, looking for a chapter to read while he ate his stew. But his simmering resentment grew into rebellion. He didn’t want to stay inside the house and obediently memorize a chapter. Father didn’t say I couldn’t leave the house.

  Curious about the meeting, Micah decided to go to the Livingston house. Father had spoken of his visits with the Bellaires and repeated some good stories Mr. Bellaire had told him. He liked Miss Bellaire and was curious to see her father. The sick man would be in bed upstairs, not with the others. And if the Livingston house was like the Maynards, everyone would be cooped up in one room, and he could sneak past them.

  He got up and ran to the front window, making sure his family was out of sight, then opened the door. He walked quietly across the porch, grateful he’d changed into his old shoes, which were much more comfortable than his clodhoppers, and peered over the rail of the porch. The coast looked clear.

  He waited a while longer to give his father and grandparents time to get well ahead of him before moving down the path between the house and the church. He paused to make sure his family wasn’t in sight, then sauntered onto Main Street, trying to act like a boy who wasn’t lookin’ for trouble.

  Which I’m not, Micah assured himself. The last thing he wanted was to get caught.

  Str
olling down the street, he nodded to the occasional person he passed. When he reached the big brick house, Micah loitered by the corner of the fence. Not seeing anyone who appeared to be coming this direction, he dashed to the gate, opened it, and trotted up the walkway. At the door, he hesitated. Should I go in?

  Goaded by what his mother had called his imp of mischief, Micah gingerly turned the knob and eased open the door. To his relief, the hinges were well oiled and didn’t squeak. No one was in the hallway, one even grander than the Maynards’.

  Careful not to make noise on the black-and-white tile, Micah tiptoed down the hallway, following the murmur of voices. He glanced inside a parlor, saw his father’s back to the door, and scuttled past, thinking to lurk on the stairs. He heard his father’s voice say, “Thank you, Sheriff.”

  Sheriff! With a clench of his stomach, Micah had a vision of the sheriff catching him in the Livingston house and hauling him off to jail. Too late to back out now. They might see me. He could only move forward toward Mr. Bellaire’s room and hope to hide in the house until after the meeting. He scurried up the stairway.

  At the broad landing between the first and second floors, Micah heard the sound of footsteps and whistling. With a thrill of fear, he plopped his bottom on a bench that ran along the wall and was covered by blue cushions and long fringe that reached to the floor, trying to pretend he belonged there. He shoved his feet back, expecting to hit his heels on the wood and, instead, realized the long fringe covered an empty space.

  Before he could examine the underside of the bench, he spotted an older boy trotting down the stairs. Micah had seen him at the ice cream social but didn’t know his name. He was almost man-size and had the same looks of the adults in the Livingston family. “Hey, it’s the toad boy. What are you doing here?” He stopped in front of Micah.

  “I’m not the toad boy. I’ve left Fred at home.” Not wanting the older boy to think him babyish, he strove for a matter-of-fact tone. “I’m Micah Norton.”