Glorious Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series)

by Debra Holland

  How much should I tell him? She decided on some of the truth. “Because my mother didn’t love me.”

  “My mother didn’t love me, either.”

  “She didn’t?” At first, Delia felt shocked by Micah’s blunt statement but remembered some of the things Joshua had said about his wife. “Maybe she just wasn’t good at showing her love. But you had your father. You know he cares for you, don’t you?” she prodded.

  Micah didn’t respond.

  “I would have given anything to live with Papa when I was growing up. Won’t you miss your father when you leave? What about your grandparents? They’re such good people, and I know they love you, too.”

  His eyes looked downcast. “I guess so. But I don’t want to stay. Not if you and Mr. Bellaire aren’t here.”

  “I’ll tell you what. If you come out of the barrel and agree to return home, I’ll talk to my father about remaining longer in Sweetwater Springs.”

  Micah scrunched his face and shook his head.

  Delia decided on a blunt statement of truth. “I love you, Micah Norton, and I won’t let you be alone. If you won’t come out, you’d better move over and let me in.”

  “There’s no room.” He pushed his valise out of the barrel and to the side. Then he crawled to her and threw himself into her arms.

  Delia held the boy to her, wishing with all her heart he was hers to keep and to raise. She sniffed to hold back tears. “Come on, darling Micah. Let’s get you home.”

  Feeling anxious and weary, Joshua headed toward the Livingston mansion. He needed to reassure Delia and Andre that Marcel Dupuy was safely behind bars, and he wanted to ask her for some private time to talk. He knocked on the door.

  Edith answered. “Oh, Reverend Joshua, such a day this has been. Why, I fear for myself with that madman on the loose.”

  “Marcel Dupuy’s behind bars, Mrs. Grayson. Sheriff Granger will escort him to the train tomorrow and make sure he leaves town.”

  Edith made a dramatic sound of relief and put her hand on her chest. “I’ll be sure to pass the news on to Mr. Bellaire with he wakes up from his nap and Delia—” her voice hardened “—when she returns from her walk. We’ve decided not to say anything about her background.”

  “That is charitable of you.”

  “Of course, we don’t want to be involved in any gossip or scandal.”

  Not so charitable. “Is my son still here?”

  “No, Micah became upset when he heard the Bellaires were leaving tomorrow. They’re resuming their journey West. He ran out of the house.”

  Leaving! The news hit Joshua like a blow. His chest tightened with fear. What will this do to Micah? “I’d better go track him down. Good day, Mrs. Grayson.”

  “Good-bye, Reverend Joshua,” the widow said in a flirtatious tone, giving him a coy look and a flutter of her eyelashes.

  With Andre out of the running, it appeared she’d set her sights on Joshua. He didn’t relish the idea of hinting to her they were unsuited.

  Shaking his head at the idea, Joshua hurried down the street, hoping he’d find his son at home. Just as he was about to make the turn for the parsonage, he glanced toward the train station and saw Delia crouched down in front of a barrel.

  What in tarnation?

  The answer came as quickly as the question. Micah! He veered toward the depot. Delia appeared to be talking into the barrel. His son must be inside.

  Joshua’s throat closed, so touched was he by her care of the boy. Esther had never possessed Delia’s warmth toward Micah or her acceptance for the boy’s energy, his penchant for getting into trouble. Instead, she would have been yelling for him to come out at once.

  Esther’s in heaven. Perhaps now she understands Micah. Perhaps she even helped guide us all together. He liked the fanciful thought.

  Micah pushed a valise from the barrel, crawled out, and flung himself into Delia’s arms.

  The sight of the valise made him realize Micah was running away. For the second time that day, he felt kicked in the stomach.

  Dear Lord, please help me mend our relationship.

  As Joshua saw the two embrace, his heart came to life, thumping like an African drum. I thought I loved Delia before, but I didn’t know how much more I could feel for her. He broke into a run, dashing up the steps and over to them. Just as Micah and Delia rose, he caught them in an embrace. “My dears.”

  Micah stiffened.

  Discouraged by Micah’s response, Joshua released them. “Come.” He took Delia’s hand and dropped his arm across Micah’s shoulders, steering them both into the train station to take a seat on a bench.

  For a few minutes, they sat in silence as Joshua grappled with what to say to Micah—a scold, punishment? He sensed doing so would make the situation worse, driving a bigger wedge between him and his son.

  From the mailroom, Jack Waite leaned over the counter. “You all aren’t here to buy tickets, are you?”

  Joshua glanced at Delia and his son. “Absolutely not.”

  “I have a letter for you, Reverend Joshua.” He disappeared, then reappeared holding up a letter.

  Joshua stood and crossed over to take it. “Thank you, Jack.”

  “You all have a nice evening.” The stationmaster gave him a small wave and hobbled out of the building.

  Joshua glanced at the envelope to see Abner’s familiar handwriting. He frowned, thinking to read the letter later.

  “Who’s it from, Father.”

  “Your grandfather.”

  Delia fluttered her hand at the letter. “Go ahead and read it.”

  Reluctantly, Joshua opened the envelope and pulled out the letter. Abner wrote in a firm hand, the letters forceful. He skimmed the contents. “He wants us to return to Cambridge. Says the time has come for me to prepare to teach the next term and for Micah to attend a school that has a fine educational standard.”

  Delia gave a quick intake of breath.

  Joshua glanced at Micah and saw the sullen expression on his face. How can I reach him? He settled on a simple admission of truth, hoping to build a bridge to the boy. “I miss our Baganda people, too. Miss living in Uganda.” He held his breath. Will Micah reject me as he had so many times before? He couldn’t bear it. Not now. Not when he was so open. . .so vulnerable. Not when he was about to attempt a relationship with Delia.

  Micah stared at him, wide-eyed, mouth forming an O. “You do? You never said so,” he accused.

  “I know.” Joshua let out a long breath. “I think my mind was stuck on this past year, how much I struggled when your mother was dying. How I felt I’d failed her. . .In so doing, I forgot. . .the joy, the love we shared with our people. I needed to forgive myself for her death before I could remember all the good things about Uganda.”

  “Remember how they’d sing and dance and wave their arms in church?” Micah swayed a bit on the seat as he spoke.

  “Yes,” Joshua said, his voice thick.

  “Mother hated that.”

  His arm tightened around Micah’s shoulders. “Yes, she did. But she didn’t hate them.”

  “Seemed like it sometimes,” Micah muttered.

  “Your mother was a good woman, but she didn’t understand the natives, and she didn’t understand you and me.”

  “Are you sure we aren’t going to live in Cambridge?”

  “Why do you ask that?”

  “I heard Grandfather Abner and Grandmother Ruth talking about it. They sounded very certain.”

  So many weeks to hold this secret trouble. “I wish you would have told me. I could have relieved your mind.”

  Micah leaned against him.

  The relief of his son’s surrender almost made him weep.

  “We can’t return to Uganda, son,” Joshua said gently. “Although you may chose to do so when you’re grown up.”
<
br />   “ ’Til then, I wanna stay here in Sweetwater Springs.”

  Joshua gave his son a hug and dropped a kiss on his head. “Then this is where we will live.”

  Micah straightened. For the first time, excitement sparked in his eyes. He glanced over at Delia. “Will you stay in Sweetwater Springs, too, Miss Delia? I don’t want you and Mr. Bellaire to leave.”

  “Oh, you darling.” Tears glistened in her eyes, and she cupped Micah’s cheeks and planted a kiss on his forehead. “I’d love nothing better. But I don’t know what will happen now.”

  “Micah, I need to speak privately with Miss Delia,” Joshua said. “Can I trust you to go straight home to your grandparents? Grandfather’s home, by the way.”

  Turning to face her, Micah touched Delia’s knee. “You won’t leave without saying good-bye, will you?”

  She cupped his cheek. “Of course not.”

  “Then I’ll go.” He jumped to his feet. “Father, I think you should ask Miss Delia to get married. I know you’re sweet on her.” He flashed them a smile and took off at a run. In his haste, he left the quilt and valise behind.

  His face heating from his son’s challenge, Joshua looked around. This isn’t a romantic setting. But he didn’t know where else he could take Delia. The Livingston gazebo was obviously out of the question.

  “Come with me.” He stood and extended his elbow.

  Delia gave him a shy glance and tucked her fingers around his arm.

  Joshua led her to the corner where they’d be out of sight from the windows. He turned to face her. “Why didn’t you tell me about Marcel Dupuy? If I’d known you were hiding from him. . . . Fear for your safety puts an entirely different construction on the deception.”

  She shook her head. “Fleeing from my mother and Marcel was only part of the reason. Papa wanted me to be his real daughter. I’d just been reunited with him and I couldn’t say no. I was too happy just to be with him. I’m complicit in the deception, Joshua. I cannot allow you to think otherwise.”

  “Delia, you are his real daughter.”

  A smile sketched her lips and then disappeared. “You know what I mean.”

  “I do.”

  “Everyone will know I’m not Delia Bellaire. I don’t even know if I should be called Miss Bellaire or Miss Fortier.”

  He brought her hand to his lips. “How about if they call you Mrs. Norton?”

  Her eyes widened. “Joshua,” she whispered.

  He sank down on one knee. “I should have flowers for you. . .a ring. . .a romantic setting. But all I can give you is my love.” Unable to contain his emotion, he grinned. “And obviously Micah’s love.”

  She made a choked sound of laughter.

  “Will you marry me, Delia Fortier Bellaire?”

  “Oh, Joshua I love you so much. . .you and Micah. But we can’t, Joshua.” She squeezed his hand. “You’re a minister! Your wife’s background should be above reproach.”

  Now that he knew what he wanted, no deserved, Joshua wasn’t about to take “no” as an answer. He patted her hand. “Because I’m a minister, darling Delia, I know we are all forgiven and have new chances.”

  Her eyes looked wary. “Are you sure?”

  Joshua ran a finger down her cheek. “From now on, no more lies. Only the truth between us.”

  “No more lies,” she echoed. “I promise.”

  “Edith and Caleb have decided to keep this situation secret. But we can’t depend that news of your background won’t get out. If you’re not prepared to live with what may come from that, we can move elsewhere.”

  Shaking her head, Delia placed a hand on his lips. “Don’t even think such thing. We couldn’t separate Micah and his grandparents.”

  “Very well. We’ll stay. I know being a minister’s wife won’t be easy. But you have a good heart, Delia, and that’s the most important requirement.”

  “But our differences. . .I’ll convert, but. . . .”

  “I still think compatibility is important, dearest Delia, and we have that on the inside where it counts. But I’ve learned love is even more important—the deep love I feel for you. I thought I knew love before. . .” He shook his head, trying to speak what was in his heart. “What I feel for you is so much more. I trust that whatever comes our way—prejudices, differences, difficulties. . .our love for each other, and God’s love for us, will see us through.”

  Her smile bloomed into joy. Her eyes glowing, Delia squeezed his hands. “Yes, oh, yes, Joshua. I’d like nothing better than to be your wife and Micah’s mama.”

  “And I think Micah will be delighted to have Miss Delia as his new mother and Andre for a bonus grandfather.”

  Delia laughed. “Oh, I hope so. He will keep me on my toes, that boy will.” She tugged on his hands so he could stand in front of her.

  Filled with more gratitude than he could ever remember feeling, Joshua rose and wrapped his arms around her, inhaling her sweet scent.

  Delia tilted her face up. Her lips parted.

  His heart full of love, Joshua lowered his head and kissed her.

  Read on for an excerpt of Healing Montana Sky

  CHAPTER ONE

  In the mountains above Sweetwater Springs

  Spring 1895

  Antonia Valleau cast the first shovelful of dirt onto her husband’s fur-shrouded body, lying in the grave she’d dug in their garden plot—the only place where the soil wasn’t rock hard. I won’t break down. I can’t break down. Pain squeezed her chest like a steel trap. She had to force herself to take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of loam and pine. I must do this.

  She drove the shovel into the soil heaped next to the grave, hefted the laden blade, and dumped the earth over Jean-Claude, trying to block out the thumping sound the soil made as it covered his body. Even as Antonia scooped and tossed, her muscles aching from the effort, her heart stayed numb, and her mind kept playing out the last sight of her husband. The memory haunting her, she paused to catch her breath and wipe the sweat off her brow, her face heated from exertion in spite of the cool spring air.

  Antonia touched the tips of her dirty fingers to her lips. She could still feel the pressure of Jean-Claude’s mouth on hers as he’d kissed her before striding out the door for a day of hunting. She’d held up baby Jacques to him, and Jean-Claude had tapped his son’s nose. Jacques had let out a belly laugh that made his father respond in kind. Her heart had so filled with love and pride in her family that she’d laughed with them.

  Stepping outside, she’d watched as Jean-Claude ruffled the dark hair of their six-year-old, Henri, then strode off, whistling, his rifle carried over his shoulder. She’d thought the day would be a good one—a normal day. She’d assumed her husband would return to their mountain home in the afternoon before dusk as he always did, unless he had a longer hunt planned.

  How can Jean-Claude possibly be dead? How can he be so alive in my thoughts, yet lie there still and quiet at the bottom of a grave?

  All day, a bad feeling had grown in Antonia. Finally, by midafternoon, she could no longer stand the suspense and knew she had to check on her husband. Carrying her rifle, bandages, and a hide just in case he was injured and she had to drag him to the mule, she’d left the sleeping baby with Henri and had ridden along the route Jean-Claude had told her he would take, searching for her husband.

  Antonia tossed another shovelful of dirt into the grave, struggling not to dwell on the memory of climbing the game trail into a tiny clearing and seeing Jean-Claude and the grizzly. . .so much blood. . . . No!

  With an effort, she wrenched away her thoughts, tried to keep them on his last kiss. But even that memory hurt. Without her volition, the dreadful images returned.

  This can’t be real, she’d thought even as she’d untangled her husband from the claws of the dead grizzly, wrapped him in the hide, hefted him onto the mule, and hau
led his body back to the cabin. There, she’d dug the long hole and rolled him inside.

  As Antonia filled the grave, she denied she was burying her husband. Jean-Claude’s away checking the trap line, she told herself, flipping the dirt onto his shroud.

  She moved through the nightmare with leaden limbs, a knotted stomach, burning dry eyes, and a throat that felt as though a log had lodged there. As Antonia shoveled, she kept glancing at her little house, where inside Henri watched over the sleeping baby. From the garden, she couldn’t see the doorway.

  Antonia worried about her son—what the glimpse of his father’s bloody body had done to the boy. Mon Dieu, she couldn’t comfort him. Not yet. Henri had promised to stay inside with the baby, but she didn’t know how long she had before Jacques woke up.

  Once she finished burying Jean-Claude, Antonia would have to take her sons and trek to where she’d found her husband’s body clutched in the great arms of the dead grizzly. She wasn’t about to let his last kill lie there to the ravages of animals and elements. Her family needed that meat and the fur.

  She heard a sleepy wail that meant Jacques had woken up. Just a few more shovelfuls. Antonia forced herself to hurry, despite how her arms, shoulders, and back screamed in pain.

  When she finished the last shovelful of earth, exhausted, Antonia sank to her knees, facing the cabin, her back to the grave, placing herself between her sons and where their father lay. She should go to them, but she was too depleted to move.

  Jacques appeared on his hands and knees, peering around the corner of the cabin. His eyes lit with pleasure when he saw her. The baby flashed Antonia his wide grin and scooted toward her. Only in the last two days had he gone from pushing himself across the floor to a hands-and-knees crawl.

  Henri trailed so close behind Jacques that he had to walk wide-legged so he didn’t step on his brother.

  The baby reached her, placed his hands on her legs, and pressed himself up, grabbing at the front of her tunic. “Mummum.”

  Antonia hugged Jacques to her. He’d soiled his rabbit skin diaper and smelled, but she held him close, needing to feel him in her arms.