Glorious Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series)

by Debra Holland

  Thus, I need to forgive myself for how I handled my marriage and my son, for failing to make Esther happy, for failing to keep her alive and well.

  When he finished, Joshua raised his head, feeling as if a burden had lifted from his shoulders. . .and his heart. With two fingers, he traced a cross on Ann Swank’s wrinkled forehead.

  A small smile remained on Mrs. Swank’s lips, and her expression was tranquil. “Thank you. . .Preacher. Now. . .I can. . .die. . .in peace,” she said, her words halting and breathless.

  For a few seconds, Joshua gazed at the old woman, feeling a connection with her, with these people. He glanced back and saw the small circle of family all holding hands, as if they, too, had been touched by his words.

  In that moment, Joshua realized that this pastoral visit hadn’t been about him and what he had to give to this family but about the power of God flowing through him. I am only a vessel. It doesn’t matter if I’m personally empty or full. The thought brought him a deep sense of spiritual comfort.

  Slowly, he stood. “Blessings on this household.” He sketched the sign of the cross in the air, then stooped to pick up the empty saddlebags.

  “Surely, you’re not leaving now?” Hildie exclaimed, sitting forward. “It’s night time!”

  “The moon is bright. The stars are out. I’ll enjoy the ride home.” Joshua walked out the door, and the family followed him, murmuring their thanks.

  Zan ran to get the horse and saddle him.

  “You’ll be careful, Reverend Norton, won’t you?” Hildie asked, an anxious tone to her voice.

  Sam Swank glanced over his shoulder toward the house. “Perhaps. . .when my ma passes, we’ll be able to get to town on a Sunday,” he whispered, as if not wanting Mrs. Swank to overhear him.

  “Oh, Sam,” his wife said on a happy sigh, placing a hand on her chest. “That would be so lovely. And we could see the preacher’s ma. Thank her for the kindness.” She glanced at Joshua. “You’ll speak of our gratitude to her?”

  “Of course.”

  Zan led the gelding to him.

  Joshua tightened the girth, buckled on the saddlebags, and swung into the saddle. He waved good-bye to the Swanks and headed for home.

  Although setting out in the dark when he didn’t have to was probably foolish, the truth was Joshua hadn’t wanted to spend the night. Sleeping on the floor, wrapped in his blanket, and being attacked by fleas would not make for a peaceful rest. Or worse, have the Swanks give up their bed because he was company, and then they’d have to sleep on the floor, and he’d feel guilty. The route along the river had been clear enough. He shouldn’t have any problem finding the way home.

  But even as he told himself the mundane reasons he’d left, Joshua knew the truth—he had a lot of thinking to do. Throughout a lifetime—even as a minister—there were few moments when one felt the tangible presence of God. In the Swank’s humble abode, not too different, he surmised, from the stable in Bethlehem, he’d been given a gift. The Lord had renewed his spirit, and Joshua savored the feeling of gratitude and humility as he rode through the night.

  Hours passed, and Joshua grew weary. The night chilled, and he halted near a stream to water the horse and put on his coat. Mounted again, he draped the blanket over his legs. To keep himself alert, he thought of Delia. He sensed she had feelings for him, yet she’d held back, turned away from him. The time has come to talk to her, find out how she really feels and what’s holding her back.

  The decision made, he settled back in the saddle. I’ll approach her right after Father returns home and my time is my own again.

  His mind at ease, Joshua rode on. Soon, however, he became aware of a change in the night.

  Many years had passed since he’d sensed a Montana storm moving in, but Joshua could feel the heaviness in the air and knew one was brewing. Hoping to make it home in time, he turned the gelding from the stream to cut across the prairie, following the familiar path of stars.

  Swift-moving clouds blotted out the stars. Utter gloom descended, the darkness so thick Joshua couldn’t see his hand before his face. With no trees to block the wind, icy fingers penetrated any gap in his clothing, making him shiver.

  I made the wrong choice leaving the Swanks. Dread settled in his belly.

  The blackness was so complete Joshua couldn’t navigate his way. For all he knew, he could be riding in circles, or miss the town completely.

  As long as snow didn’t fall, he should be all right. Joshua didn’t allow himself to think how an icy rain could freeze him just as well as snow could. Or a lightning bolt could hit him, or any of a dozen other dangers. And a snowstorm could happen in Montana in the summer. . . .

  Fear rose in him. He tried not to think about never seeing Micah again. . .of his parents’ grief. . .of missing the chance to love Delia, holding her lissome body in his arms, and building a life together.

  He loosened the reins, allowing the horse its head and hoping the gelding would find the way back to town. “The Lord is my shepherd.” For the second time that night, Joshua spoke the familiar words of the psalm, then began to pray aloud, asking the Divine Shepherd for guidance.

  Just as he finished his petition, ahead of him a bolt of lightning split the sky. In the brief illumination, Joshua saw the outline of Sweetwater Springs in the distance. With relief, he said a prayer of thanksgiving and urged the tired horse toward the safety of home.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  On Sunday, Delia sat between her father and Edith, listening as Joshua conducted the church service. She hadn’t seen him for two days, and something about him seemed different, although she couldn’t put her finger on what.

  Before they’d arrived at church, she’d wondered if he’d be nervous preaching in his hometown to what might be a critical audience. But his body seemed relaxed, his expression calm. There was an assurance about him that she found appealing, so different from the confidence bordering on arrogance that she’d seen Caleb sometimes display.

  As Joshua spoke, Delia watched his mouth. She remembered kissing him, and flutters of sensation ran through her body. The strong hands that now held the prayer book had touched her with tenderness and passion. She ached with longing for what couldn’t be. Ashamed, she tried to turn her mind to more pious thoughts and concentrate on Joshua’s message to the congregation.

  His sermon was eloquent, his enthusiasm contagious. Delia was mesmerized by his words. He spoke of spiritual renewal, of springtime coming after a long winter, of forgiving yourself in the same way that God forgives us, and of making wise choices for the future.

  Joshua’s words spoke to Delia’s heart, and her secret lay heavily on her mind, a burden she no longer wanted to carry—at least, not with him. Should I tell him the truth?

  After they’d driven home from church and had dined with the family, Andre lay down for a nap. Needing to be alone to think, Delia went to her room.

  She took a seat at the window, staring down into the front yard and what she could see of the town that had come to mean so much to her—a community where she wanted to grow roots, a place to call home. She could convert, marry Joshua, raise a family, and do her best to be a minister’s wife.

  Dare I confess to him? Not just her own but her father’s reputation was at risk. They had lied about her illegitimacy, her Negro blood.

  Fear tightened her stomach. Joshua might reject her, denounce their lies to the community, and see them shunned. Picturing people turning their backs on them made shame rise in her chest.

  But even as Delia imagined the horrible consequences of revealing the truth, she knew regardless of how Joshua personally felt he would not make their deception public.

  What if he loves me no matter what? She imagined him taking her hand, drawing her into his arms for a tender kiss. Her heart fluttered at the thought. Oh how I wish. . . .

  Delia ruthlessly shoved away the daydr
eam, needing to make a dispassionate decision.

  Even if Joshua accepted her background, she knew the fact that she’d lied would bother him. She had a feeling he’d see the lie as a sin and perhaps also a lack of trust in him. He’d lose trust in her, in Papa. Can I make him understand?

  Delia clenched her fists. I have to try. Even if Joshua rejects me, at least he’ll know why I pulled away when we kissed and the reason I haven’t told him much about my life. As things stand now, I can’t marry him, no matter what my father believes. The thought of Andre made her pause. If their secret became public, he’d be very upset with her, which might harm his health, perhaps even lead to another heart attack. Dare I jeopardize his health?

  But I need to be me again. To no longer live in fear of discovery, to be loved for who I truly am.

  Trying to gather her courage, she leaned her head on the window frame. Joshua had asked for her honesty a number of times, and she’d withheld it. How would she pave the way to the truth? To his trust?

  If I tell Joshua the truth, I risk everything—I may lose his regard, and oh, how that will hurt. Delia pressed her hands to her heart. But at least I’ll know how he feels.

  And if worse comes to worse, I’ll encourage Papa to leave Sweetwater Springs and make the life on the West Coast that we’d planned.

  Movement on the street caught her eye. A familiar figure strode toward the Livingston house. Joshua. Her stomach bounced. Delia took a moment to watch him. How very dear to her he’d become. . .how much she’d miss him if. . . . Her body trembled with fear. I need to tell him. Now! Before I lose my nerve.

  Delia glanced at herself in the mirror, smoothed back her hair, and pinched her cheeks. Hoping to intercept Joshua before he knocked, she hurried out of her room and down the stairs. She didn’t want anyone else to know he was here. Breathless, she reached the entrance. Opening the door, Delia found Joshua with his hand poised to knock.

  “Miss Bellaire.” He smiled and lowered his arm.

  “Will you come out to the garden with me, Reverend Joshua? There’s something important I’d like to discuss.”

  Concern flitted across his face. “Of course.”

  Committed to her course of action, Delia turned and walked down the hall, her knees trembling with each step. She heard his footsteps behind her, and the space between her shoulder blades itched, knowing Joshua was watching her. They moved through the sunroom, where angel trumpet flowers bloomed in several pots, releasing their sweet fragrance into the air.

  Once outside, Delia was too distracted to enjoy the beauty of the garden or the dry warmth of the summer, so unlike the humidity of New Orleans. She led him to the shade of the gazebo, where she took a seat and patted the bench beside her.

  Joshua didn’t accept her invitation. His face expressionless, he sat across from her—a safe distance away.

  Pain stabbed her. She’d caused his careful reaction to her presence by rejecting him after they’d kissed.

  Now that Joshua was before her, Delia’s resolve faltered. “There’s. . .there’s something I need to tell you. Explain. . .”

  He waited, his gaze never leaving her face.

  “I’m not Delia Bellaire,” she blurted out. “My name is Delia Fortier. I’m the illegitimate daughter of Andre Bellaire.” She inhaled as deep a breath as her corset would allow, forcing out the next words. “And I’m quadroon. Octoroon, actually—one eighth—but women of color are usually called quadroon.” She clasped her hands together and, feeling on tenterhooks, waited for his reaction.

  Delia’s words buzzed in Joshua’s ears, and he felt as if she’d kicked him in the stomach. Anger buzzed through him. Of all the reasons he’d speculated for her reticence, he’d never come near the truth. And the truth wasn’t what infuriated him; it was the lie.

  Her hand fluttered in a pleading gesture. “That’s why when you kissed me, I pulled away. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t allow myself to become close to any man.”

  “Did you think your background mattered to me?” he asked, feeling hurt tighten his chest.

  “Does it?” She threw back the question. “Does it matter that I’m illegitimate and have Negro blood?”

  “I don’t know, Delia,” Joshua said, still reeling. “You just dropped this information on me, and I haven’t had a chance to figure out how I feel.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “It’s more than just your background, Delia. You lied to me.”

  “I know.” She looked up at him, her tear-filled eyes jewel-bright. “I tried to find the courage to tell you.”

  The pleading expression on her face tore at him. “Couldn’t you have trusted me?”

  “I obeyed my father’s wishes.”

  “Couldn’t you both have trusted me?” His voice sounded raw with pain. “Do you know me so little?”

  “I’ve wanted to, Joshua, but I couldn’t upset my father.” She stared down, twisting her fingers together.

  He turned away from her lest her beauty draw him in and stared blankly at a blue morning glory, quivering in the summer breeze. Emotion heated his skin, swept away reason. “I need to think about this.” He swallowed and stood. “Pray about it.”

  Delia bit her lip. She wouldn’t meet his gaze.

  Without looking at her, Joshua bade her good-bye and left, hurrying through the house so as not to meet anyone. On the way home, Joshua realized he’d strode the same route far too many times thinking about Delia Bellaire and trying to puzzle her out. He’d made many attempts to know her mind and heart, but she’d evaded and lied.

  Now I know.

  His emotions swirled like snow blowing in a blizzard, feeling just as cold and heavy. Joshua’s chest ached, and he had a hard time breathing. The hurt from Delia’s lack of trust in him reminded him of the pain of his marriage. Esther hadn’t trusted him—oh, not that he’d ever be unfaithful, she knew that about him. But she didn’t trust the kind of minister he was, and that attitude had leached into her trust of him as a husband.

  He shook his head. I couldn’t bear to be in a marriage like that again.

  At the parsonage, Joshua planned to go to his bedroom. But as he passed the open door of the study, he saw his father writing. Papers and several books covered the surface of the desk. But the rest of his library was neatly stacked in the bookcase. He paused in the doorway. “You’re home.”

  The Reverend looked up from his work and smiled a welcome. “Yes. Father Fredrick has done his job well. There wasn’t as much need as I thought. I performed three weddings yesterday in Morgan’s Crossing, then I left after the service and made good time on the road. Mack Taylor’s horse made a big difference in my speed of travel.”

  Joshua moved into the study, threw himself into one of the leather chairs across from the desk, and let out a tortured breath. “Father, I’m in need of your wisdom and counsel.”

  His father set down his pen, placed a bookmark in his Bible, and closed the book. “What’s on your mind? Not Micah?”

  “No.” The story of Delia’s background came spilling out, along with his feelings of shock at her deception and hurt about her lack of trust in him.

  Throughout the recital, his father listened attentively until Joshua came to an end. “An illegitimate Catholic with Negro blood.” His father slowly shook his head. “You’ve set yourself a difficult path, my son.”

  “I don’t know that I’ve set myself for anything.”

  “You care about her.” Father made a statement, not a question.

  “Yes. Do you disapprove?” He waited for the response, his body tense.

  “I think the question is if you disapprove.”

  Joshua shook his head. “If I’d known from the beginning. . .no. Delia is. . . .” He shook his head. “I can’t describe how special she is.”

  “Your mother and I like Miss Bellaire. We have been aware of your growing regard for her an
d how she has brought your spirits back to life, which makes us grateful to her. She has a kind heart and has diligently nursed her father. She helped with building this house, which shows a willingness to work hard. Micah has certainly responded well to her. I believe she is genuinely attached to him, and I think she will make a good mother, not only to him but to any other children you might have.”

  Although he heard his father’s list of Delia’s good qualities, Joshua could still hear some doubt in his voice. “I think I’ve fallen in love with her. But how can we marry? What if people found out about her? Do I even care if they do? But some people, like the Cobbs, would make life so difficult for us. I couldn’t bear for that to happen to her.”

  “So many questions. Only you can decide the answers. You do have a choice. Move to a different place where she can continue her deception—where people would accept her as the white woman she appears to be. Or you can stay here and face whatever prejudice might come your way.”

  “Modern-day Pharisees with their ill-founded disdain.”

  His father nodded. “Or the way the Jews looked down on the Samaritans.”

  “Why do you suppose people have to categorize who’s acceptable and who’s not?” Joshua mused.

  His father steepled his fingers. “You know the answer to that question, son. It goes all the way back to the Garden of Eden.”

  Joshua gave a wry twist of his lips. “Adam and Eve have a lot to answer for.”

  “From what I’ve heard and read about the South, prejudice is very strong there.”

  “There were some Southern men at the seminary. I guess things haven’t changed much since I’ve been away.” Joshua let out a slow breath. “I can see why Andre might want a different life for his daughter.” He settled back in the chair. “When I look at the situation in that way, I guess I can’t blame them for the deception.”