Singing Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series Book 7)

by Debra Holland

  But me as a snail? Surely not.

  Blythe read, chuckled, and then leaned to take Sophia’s hand. “Before we arrive in Sweetwater Springs, I want to talk to you about something important.”

  Sophia gave her an I’m waiting look.

  “The ranch house doesn’t really have room for both of us to stay with Tyler and Lily. And if I stay at the hotel, with Peter working there, and you’re not around to chaperone….”

  Sophia could see Blythe’s dilemma and scolded herself for being too absorbed in her own troubles to give a thought for her friend’s reputation.

  “Before you leave for the ranch tomorrow, Peter and I want to wed in a small ceremony, so you can be present. Then he and I can be together at the hotel as husband and wife. I’ve written to Peter, and he’s agreed.” She smiled and squeezed Sophia’s hand. “When he’s working, I can drive out to the ranch and visit you. This arrangement will mean asking Reverend and Mrs. Norton for secrecy about your arrival, and perhaps Reverend Joshua and Delia, as well. But you know we can trust them.”

  With a pang, Sophia thought of the beautiful wedding they’d planned. Blythe had already chosen the songs. But it isn’t fair to make Blythe and Peter wait until my voice improves—if it ever improves.

  Nor should Blythe risk her reputation by staying alone at the hotel managed by her betrothed.

  I think a wedding tomorrow is a lovely idea. Sophia meant every word she wrote.

  Blythe let out a sigh of obvious relief. “I was so afraid I’d hurt your feelings.”

  You wouldn’t hurt a fly. Or in my case, a snail.

  Her friend read the two sentences and let out a shaky laugh. “Oh, Sophia, I can hardly wait to become the wife of my dearest Peter.” Her eyes glowed with joy.

  Sophia smiled, but the thought of returning home to Chicago without Blythe, to not have her best friend living with her, made her heart sink. Yes, Blythe would come and stay for performances, but the rest of the time, she’d live in Sweetwater Springs. I’ll have to find a chaperone to reside with me for proprietary’s sake. If only Emma were older.

  She shrugged. Oh, well, I won’t be returning home for months. I’ll figure out my living situation later.

  A knock sounded on the door. “Miss Robbins,” called the conductor. “We’ll be pulling into Sweetwater Springs in five minutes.”

  “Thank you.” Blythe raised her voice to be heard through the door.

  Sophia stood, swayed with the movement of the train to get her balance, and moved to the closet where she’d left her ugly widow’s bonnet. Well, really, a fashionable widow’s bonnet, or as fashionable as a bonnet can be. When she placed the hat on her head, her shorn hair was completely hidden. She tied the ribbons under her chin before reaching up to pull the veil over her face.

  She glanced at a hexagon mirror hanging over a side table. No one will know it’s me.

  Blythe looked over at Sophia’s widow’s garb and shook her head, then she returned to gazing out the window.

  Sophia wished she could summon up her usual enthusiasm about visiting Sweetwater Springs and seeing Lily and her family, but her emotions remained numb. Although she did want to see her family. Really, I do.

  Just not under these circumstances.

  With the hiss of steam and the jerk of brakes, the train slowed as it pulled into the station.

  Blythe turned to kneel backward on the cushioned chair, peering out the window. “There’s Peter!”

  Sophia peeked over Blythe’s shoulder to see the man standing in front of the brown train station. He ran a nervous hand through his short-cropped, tawny curls.

  Blythe waved so hard she almost overbalanced.

  Sophia caught her shoulders to keep her upright.

  Peter beamed and waved, trotting alongside the window until the train stopped.

  The conductor returned to assist Sophia and Blythe from the train, set their traveling satchels and Blythe’s harp on the platform, and then disappeared from sight to see to the offloading of their trunks.

  As soon as her feet touched the wood of the platform, Blythe flew into the arms of her betrothed for a tight embrace.

  Sophia followed more slowly, her pad and pencil ready, to greet Peter. No other passengers had disembarked.

  She held her breath to avoid inhaling a wind-blown gust of smoke from the train engine and marveled at her friend’s exuberance. Blythe was normally so shy except with people she knew well. To see her excitement touched Sophia’s heart. Yet, at the same time, how she envied the love the two shared! Oh, to enfold myself into my darling’s welcoming embrace. She shook off the melancholy feeling and slowly moved forward.

  Peter released Blythe to extend a hand to Sophia, his usually open expression becoming solemn. “Miss Maxwell, I’m so sorry—”

  Sophia made a slashing motion before briefly taking his hand. She released him, propped the edge of the pad against her stomach, and wrote: First names between friends.

  His shy smile lightened his honey-brown eyes. “I’d be honored.”

  I hear there’s a wedding tomorrow, she wrote, and then showed him the comment.

  He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t mind?”

  Again, she propped the pad against her stomach, wishing for a less cumbersome way to write. Some kind of portable desk with legs? I mind only because my wretched situation has foiled Blythe’s lovely wedding.

  Peter laughed. “That’s from a woman’s point of view. As a man, I can say a quick, simple ceremony making Blythe my wife could not be more perfect.”

  Sophia had to chuckle, even if no sound came forth. I suppose you’re right.

  His expression grew serious. “Sophia, I know you didn’t want to let Caleb into your confidence. However, I think to bar him from our wedding would hurt him and also cause grave offence.”

  She bit her lip. He’s right. Caleb Livingston was a good friend to Peter and had also become friends with Sophia and Blythe. She nodded her acceptance.

  Peter let out a breath of obvious relief. “Thank you! Caleb’s in the office at the hotel, so we can tell him in private.” He glanced at their satchels and trunks. “Are those yours? I’ll send someone for them.”

  Sophia looked over to where he’d indicated and saw that two extra trunks, which she recognized as hers, were with the others. She tugged on Blythe’s sleeve for her attention, pointed at the trunks, and held up six fingers.

  Blythe enfolded Sophia’s hand with hers. “Yes, my dear. I had Mavis pack two extra trunks with some of your regular clothing and hats. That way, when you get tired of the grieving widow charade, you can be yourself again.”

  I’ll never be myself again. Even if her voice was restored, she regained her lost weight, and with her hair grown longer, Sophia wouldn’t be herself. Collapsing in the middle of a performance had shaken her confidence. But Blythe meant well, so Sophia leaned forward and kissed her friend’s cheek.

  “We’d better hurry.” Peter extended an arm to each lady. “Our stationmaster, Jack Waite lets very little slip by him. As a distraction, I sent one of the bellmen to talk to Jack about the mail. But as soon as he’s finished, you know Jack will be moseying over here to greet you both. Although, even if he found you out, Sophia, he’d keep the news to himself if asked. The soul of discretion, he is.”

  I’d prefer the stationmaster didn’t know.

  Peter escorted them across the street, paved in rough-cut bricks of the same pinky-brown polished quartz that clad the four-story hotel. Luckily, a sweeper from the hotel kept this part of the street clean of dirt and horse droppings.

  The Livingston was the biggest and most elegant building in the whole town. The hotel looked incongruent amid its humbler neighbors of wood and brick. They passed under the arches in the front, across the concrete porch, and into the spacious lobby.

  Sophia was glad to see nothing had changed since their last visit, which made her feel at home, for she loved the décor—the wing chairs covered in blue velvet or tapestry situated
by marble-topped side tables, the Persian rug under their feet, the dark wood paneled walls and coffered ceiling, and the large front windows that let in plenty of light.

  “Ladies, welcome to The Livingston.” With a teasing smile in his eyes, Peter repeated the exact same greeting he’d given them on their very first visit. His loving glance down at Blythe belied his formality.

  Blythe returned his smile. “Sophia and I were just discussing how much has changed since we first walked through these doors.”

  “Only my entire life, and this visit will make even more changes.” Peter nodded at Isaac, the young man behind the counter, but kept on going, leading them to the office.

  Caleb Livingston sat at the desk, pen in hand, absorbed in the ledgers before him, and he didn’t immediately look up.

  The office had a more finished look than the last time Sophia saw the room. Books and ledgers filled the shelves. Blue velvet curtains hung at the windows. Impressionist paintings graced the walls. His choice of artwork surprised her. She’d have thought the conservative banker and hotel owner would display traditional works.

  Sophia studied Caleb Livingston. A handsome man with even features and brown hair and eyes, he had an air of sophistication that most men in Sweetwater Springs lacked. As always, he wore one of his expensive suits.

  Caleb looked up, saw Blythe, and a pleased expression crossed his face. “Well, look who’s here.” His puzzled gaze rested on Sophia.

  She released Peter’s arm and with a shaking hand drew back her veil. One more person to know of my condition.

  Caleb’s face lit up. “Sophia! What a surprise.” He stood and hurried around the desk to first greet Blythe and then Sophia with kisses on the cheek. “Welcome, ladies.”

  She inhaled the scent of bay rum from his soap.

  Caleb’s expression darkened. He touched the edge of her veil. “What is this? Widow’s weeds? Surely, I’d have heard if you married, much less became a widow. And how could this happen when you’ve been ill near to death?”

  Sophia opened her mouth to explain, remembered she couldn’t talk, and closed her mouth. “Sophia?” Caleb said, a question in his voice.

  Blythe hurriedly stepped forward, pulling Peter with her. “Sophia’s in disguise. She doesn’t want anyone to know she’s here.”

  Caleb glanced from her to Sophia, his mouth flattening. “But why?”

  Sophia touched her throat.

  “She’s lost her voice and isn’t supposed to talk,” Blythe explained.

  His stricken look made Sophia’s eyes fill with tears.

  Caleb pulled out a handkerchief and pressed the cloth into her hand. “Please don’t, Sophia. You’ll make me feel like the greatest wretch for making you cry.”

  Sophia shook her head, wishing she could tell him that he wasn’t making her cry, her circumstances were. Better to just stop crying than try to explain. She wiped her tears and handed back the handkerchief.

  Caleb took it from her. “But I still don’t understand the secrecy.”

  With a sigh, Sophia reached up and untied the ribbons of the bonnet, lifting the ugly hat off her head.

  He sucked in a breath and first pulled back in a slight recoil, but then he stood his ground. “Oh, Sophia.”

  Sophia glanced at Peter and saw the same disturbed expression on his face. Their reactions are what I came to Montana to avoid! Feeling ridiculously hurt by both men, she turned to gesture for Blythe to make an explanation.

  While still recovering in Chicago, Sophia had written her friend a long letter spelling out her feelings about her circumstances, why she wanted to retreat to Sweetwater Springs, and her insistence on secrecy, so Blythe was clear about her wishes.

  Her friend released Peter’s arm, took Sophia’s hand and shot the men disapproving glances for their reactions—probably the first such scathing look her betrothed had ever received from his gentle bride-to-be. “Look how you two just responded to the sight of her hair,” Blythe scolded. “That’s why. Sophia wants to be spared people’s pity or commiseration.”

  Both men looked sheepish.

  “Or, even—” Blythe continued “—gloating, for there are those who enjoy witnessing the misfortunes of others—especially those of a successful, beautiful woman.”

  “Surely not gloating?” Caleb murmured.

  “You don’t know Sophia’s rivals,” Blythe snapped, her posture rigid.

  He held up a hand in placation. “I think I see the picture.”

  Sophia’s annoyance with him ebbed.

  Caleb turned to Sophia. “How long do you intend to stay here? And will you be living at the hotel or the Dunns’ ranch?”

  Sophia held up two fingers and then three.

  “Two or three months?” Caleb guessed.

  She smiled at his understanding, and then pointed in the direction of the ranch. Pantomime is easier than writing.

  He nodded. “Ah, well, I hope you’ll at least grace us with your presence tonight.”

  Peter smiled tenderly down at Blythe, who’d resumed holding his arm, before looking at Caleb. “There’s more. Due to the circumstances, Blythe and I will wed tomorrow, provided either of the Reverend Nortons is available to perform the ceremony. I’d like you to stand with me as my groomsman.”

  Caleb gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder.

  The casual, good-natured gesture showed Sophia how much Caleb had changed since meeting Maggie Baxter. The stiff, proper banker and hotel owner Sophia had first met at Christmastime would never have exhibited such informal behavior. Falling in love has been good for him.

  Caleb grinned at Peter and Blythe. “So, you two will beat Maggie and me to the altar.”

  “Well, one of the reasons you were waiting to marry was because you two wanted Sophia and Blythe to perform. Now that Sophia cannot sing, you might want to reconsider. You no longer have to wait until the opera season has ended.”

  Caleb looked struck by the idea. “You’re right.”

  “Want to make it a double wedding?” Peter asked in a teasing tone.

  “I’d be delighted to. But the ladies have been knee deep in planning and won’t hear of it. At least my sister won’t. Edith has her fingers in all the plans and has even invited our relatives in Boston. Some actually will attend. My Maggie, I suspect, wouldn’t mind marrying me tomorrow. She’s not interested in all the pomp and circumstance but is gamely going along with everything for Edith’s and my sake.”

  That sounded like Maggie, whom Caleb had met when his buggy had accidently ran her Gypsy caravan off the road. The accident had killed her abusive husband.

  Caleb’s forehead furrowed. “Will your voice return soon?”

  Sophia shook her head and shrugged, feeling suddenly exhausted. She couldn’t stay on her feet much longer. She reached out and patted Blythe’s shoulder.

  Blythe caught the message and nodded. “The doctor doesn’t know when or even if Sophia’s singing voice will return. But I’ll be delighted to play for your wedding.”

  “Maggie and I would enjoy that. And—” Caleb reached for Sophia’s hand. “More than your singing, we’d like your presence at our wedding, even if you’re draped head to toe in widow’s weeds.”

  That, you can have. Sophia nodded, squeezed his hand, and released him. Stepping back, she pointed in the direction of the staircase.

  Caleb raised his eyebrows. “Good thing your regular suite is available. I wonder how that came to be?”

  Blythe placed a protective hand on Peter’s arm. “Don’t blame him.”

  With a sly smile, Sophia tapped her chest.

  Caleb let out a mock sigh. “I should have known you’d be the instigator.” He crooked an arm in her direction. “Shall I escort you to your room?”

  You can indeed. Sophia placed her hand around his arm, feeling better after the conversation with her friends—her caring friends.

  Perhaps staying in Sweetwater Springs won’t be so bad, after all.

  * * *

 
Sophia’s good feelings only lasted until the evening. Blythe had already retired, wanting to get her beauty rest for the night so she’d look her best in the morning. But Sophia was too fidgety to sleep and hadn’t even gotten ready for bed.

  Their suite was situated at the back of the hotel to avoid the noise of the street. She stood at the window, looking out at the blackness that she knew was the garden, only slightly illuminated by the half moon.

  You’d think I’d appreciate peace and quiet after several weeks of people practically camping in front of my house.

  Instead she was bored.

  What if I go for a walk? Fresh air. Exercise. Different surroundings.

  Not that much can be seen at night. But at least I’ll be outside, which is better than being cooped up in this room. I’m tired of being caged!

  In Chicago, she’d never leave the house to take a walk unaccompanied in the evening. But this was Sweetwater Springs. I’ll be perfectly safe. Even as she assured herself of her well-being, Sophia knew she shouldn’t go outside alone. But the numbness inside her had given way to a restless impulsiveness that didn’t allow for logic or caution.

  Before she could change her mind and sensibly go to bed, Sophia took her coat from the wardrobe—a plain black wool without any adornment, not at all like her favorite purple coat with velvet trim and pearl buttons that she’d left at home. Although maybe it was in one of the trunks Blythe had secretly brought.

  With a sigh, she donned the coat and reached for her bonnet. She was about to put it on, and then changed her mind, not wanting to wear the ugly thing for another moment. I’ll stay in the shadows where no one will see me.

  With a glance at the pad and pencil, she dismissed them as well, not planning to get close enough to anyone to talk, even if there was light to read her words.

  In keeping with her promise to move in stealth, Sophia snuck down the staircase into the lobby. The hotel used electricity, but the lights were dim and most were turned off, leaving the vast room in darkness with only occasional pools of light.

  Isaac, the desk clerk still sat at a high stool behind the counter. But he’d laid his head on his arms and slept.

  As Sophia walked across the lobby, she chose a path that took her over the Persian carpet, threading her way between the chairs and small tables, so her footsteps wouldn’t be heard. When she had to step on the polished wooden floor, Sophia tiptoed until she reached the front door and turned the knob. It wasn’t locked, and she slipped through and out into the night.