Mystic Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series Book 6)

by Debra Holland

  I don’t agree. In Ben’s opinion, Mrs. Baxter might just be what his uncle needed, even if he hadn’t yet realized that fact. I think their courtship could use a hand. He splayed his fingers. My hand.

  A brilliant idea came to him inspired by a story told by Peter Rockwell, the manager of the hotel. At Christmastime, Mr. Rockwell had borrowed Mrs. Thompson’s miniature horses and sleigh and had taken harpist Blythe Robbins for a romantic ride. Ben glanced out the window at the darkening sky. Barring a sudden blizzard, there wasn’t enough snow on the ground for the Thompson’s little sleigh. But the little buggy. . . . Maybe if they had several sunny days and the roads dried, Mrs. Thompson would drive to town and loan Uncle Caleb the equipage.

  Old shame shattered his excitement. A weight settled on his chest, and Ben’s stomach tightened in dismay. I’ll need to ask the Thompsons if I can borrow the Falabella horses and buggy—the very family who has the greatest reason to dislike me and deny my request.

  When the door closed behind Ben and Caleb, Edith walked over to the nightstand and removed the glass shade and chimney from the oil lamp. Then she opened the drawer and took out the silver matchbox. She struck the match, lit the lamp, and replaced the chimney on the cut-glass base. She went over to the chest of drawers and did the same thing with the lamp there.

  Maggie watched Edith’s movements, trying to gauge her feelings, but the woman kept her face expressionless. No matter what she says, I will act friendly. It’s the least I can do when Caleb has been so kind as to invite us into his home.

  After she returned the matchbox to the drawer, Edith gave Maggie a strained smile. “I’m not sure which way is up.”

  Not certain how to take the woman who until a few minutes ago had been so unfriendly—even hostile—Maggie pointed at the ceiling.

  Edith rolled her eyes again. “The ceiling is up. Yes, I know.” She placed a hand on her tightly corseted stomach. “I feel most unsettled.”

  “I’m sorry if we are causing you discomfort,” Maggie said, wishing she could get out of bed, take Charlotte, and leave. . . . That I had someplace to go if I did so. Thinking of the vardo made sadness pang through her.

  Edith lowered her hand. “Perhaps not all discomfort is bad.” She shrugged. “I’m not sure yet, which you and your daughter will prove to be.”

  That’s fair.

  “I think since we are in such close confines and will be so for a while. . .you should call me Edith,” the woman said with the condescending air of conferring a favor.

  This time, Maggie wanted to be the one to roll her eyes. But she didn’t, for she thought this might be Edith’s idea of an olive branch. She’d been on a first-name basis with some of the women in Morgan’s Crossing, but not Mrs. Morgan or Mrs. Tisdale, the matriarchs of the town. She sensed that starched-up Edith Grayson wasn’t in the habit of familiarity. “Very well. . .Edith.”

  “And if I may address you as Magdalena?”

  Maggie must be too plebian a nickname for her to use. Yet. . . . “My grandparents always called me Magdalena.”

  With a that’s settled gesture, Edith picked up another parcel and shook it. “Shall we guess?”

  “After the doll and the women’s undergarments, I have no idea what to expect.”

  Edith’s laugh was surprisingly light. “Caleb surprised me, too. I never would have suspected he’d purchase such things. I can only hope no one else was in the mercantile at the time, or the gossip will be all over town.”

  “What about the shopkeeper? Won’t she share the delicious details?” The word came out sounding as cynical as Maggie felt.

  Edith’s mouth tightened into a moue. “The Cobbs? Not if Caleb told them not to.” As she spoke, she continued to open the parcels and hold them up for Maggie to see and admire, before refolding each item and neatly stacking everything. Edith picked up a small, nubby package and squeezed. “This is too hard to be clothing.”

  “A miniature corset?” Maggie joked. “Perhaps for the doll.”

  “This feels harder than whalebone.” Edith opened the parcel and held up a small silver cup. “Pretty. Ben has one like this. Caleb will need to send the cup away to be engraved with Charlotte’s name and birthdate.”

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Maggie said hurriedly. She didn’t want to draw attention to the actual day Charlotte was born.

  “What’s your daughter’s middle name?”

  “Victoria.”

  “Pretty. We have a lot of Victors and Victorias in our family.”

  I know.

  “That was what Nathaniel and I had planned to call our daughter. But we never had one. . . .” Edith’s voice trailed away, and her eyes looked sad. She tried to smile but couldn’t seem to make her mouth turn up. “I’ve mentioned Ben’s father twice today.”

  “Is that unusual? You don’t mention him often?”

  “Very. Nathaniel’s loss pains me still.”

  “You must have loved him very much.”

  “I did. I tried to be a good wife to him, but I don’t know if I succeeded.” She sighed. “Nathaniel was a loving son to his parents, but they were very. . .proper and refined. I didn’t live up to their criteria, and they disapproved of our marriage.

  Although Maggie had heard some of the details from Caleb, Edith’s sad tone and downcast eyes showed how much her in-laws’ judgment still hurt. “I can’t imagine anyone thinking you aren’t proper and refined.”

  Edith shrugged. “I am now. A lot of hard lessons learned.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Nathaniel quarreled with them, and the relationship became quite strained. We were happy together, but he always struggled with the pain of dealing with his parents. I’ve wondered if that led to his death—not that they killed him, but that—” She thumped her chest. “His heart wasn’t as strong to fight the illness that took him from us.” She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes.

  Maggie remembered Caleb urging her to share her feelings with his sister and realized she intuitively felt Edith needed to hear a different point of view. “I envy you,” she said frankly.

  Edith abruptly lowered the handkerchief. “Envy me?” she echoed, her expression disbelieving. She dropped into the chair. “How could you possibly envy me?” she asked in a bitter tone.

  Her gaze lowered, Maggie ran a hand over the blue bed covering. “My marriage was ghastly. I was trapped with a man who beat me whenever his will was crossed in the slightest. I tiptoed around him.” She made a walking motion with her fingers. “I never knew what would set him off. I feared for my life and that of my child.” Her gaze met Edith’s. “The accident was the best thing that ever happened to me, for I was set free. And your brother. . . .” Emotion choked her throat, and she had to swallow before she could go on. “Your wonderful brother saved our lives.” Maggie almost mentioned him delivering Charlotte, but she remembered in the nick of time to keep their secret.

  Edith pressed a hand to her mouth, a stricken look in her eyes.

  “I’d give anything to have experienced a devoted union, a caring father for my child—even if only for a few years, even if I went the rest of my life missing him—for I would have loved and been cherished in return.” Maggie dropped her voice to a whisper. “I would pay the price of lifelong mourning to have had that.”

  Edith lowered her hand and leaned back in the chair. She closed her eyes, but a tear leaked out and rolled down her cheek.

  Maggie felt awful. My instincts were wrong. I should have kept my feelings to myself.

  After several uncomfortable minutes, Edith sniffed and opened her eyes. She didn’t move from her slumped position against the back of the chair, only gazed at Maggie. “I’ve not uttered a word, not even to Reverend Norton, about how bitter I’ve felt about Nathaniel’s death. Thank you for giving me a different perspective, Magdalena. I will think on your words.” She blew her nose and sat up in a rigid ladylike posture. “Dear me. I’m so emotional today.” She s
ounded more like herself.

  Maggie laughed, relieved her intuition had been right, after all.

  Edith leaned forward and picked up another small parcel. “We still have a few more to go. My brother must have thought today was Christmas.” She unwrapped the package and held up a rattle, giving the toy a shake. “Now this is much more practical for Charlotte at her age than that ridiculous doll.” She handed it to Maggie.

  Maggie examined the silver rattle, marveling at the expensive toy—something she never could have given her daughter. “I’m sure she’ll love it.”

  Edith stood and moved closer to the bed, stretching to reach some of the bigger packages. One by one, she unwrapped them, exposing the contents.

  Maggie’s favorite was the red shawl, and she immediately picked it up and draped it around her shoulders, enjoying the thick warmth.

  Edith stepped back, tilting her head as she surveyed Maggie. “That is an excellent color on you. We are of a similar coloring, so vibrant hues—red, rose, as well as black or navy—will look good on you. Although—” she pursed her lips “—I don’t wear red, for I consider it too bright for a woman of my age.”

  “Pshaw,” Maggie scoffed. “Considering that gawky son of yours, you can hardly claim to be a girl. You must be in your midthirties, but you don’t look it. . .or at least, when you smile, you don’t look it.” She straightened, pulled the shawl from around her shoulders, and held it out. “Put this on and go look at yourself in the mirror,” she commanded.

  With a slight grimace and shake of her head, Edith obeyed, moving to the washstand to look in the mirror.

  “Smile,” Maggie ordered. “Your brother says I’m bossy, and you’ll know that, too.”

  Edith chuckled and then turned to the mirror. “Oh, my!”

  Maggie couldn’t help but laugh. “Is that an ‘oh, my, you’re right, Magdalena’?” she teased.

  Edith let out a breath. “Oh, my, you’re right, Magdalena,” she parroted, and then laughed in evident delight.

  “Then you’ll buy yourself something in red?”

  Edith tried to frown, but a smile broke through. “I’ll think about it.”

  Maggie sat back against the pillows, satisfied that she’d brought a genuine smile to Edith’s face. After yesterday’s lack of welcome, she never would have imagined the woman would warm up to her. Is it too much to hope we can be friends? Or at least on friendly terms?

  Probably.

  Edith frowned at the clothes on the bed.

  “What?”

  “Of course, you should dress in black.” Edith pursed her lips. “But I don’t consider black a good color to wear to weddings.”

  “Do you think it’s bad luck?”

  “Silly superstition, isn’t it? But Nathaniel had a whole flock of aunts and cousins who’d worn mourning for years. They descended on our wedding like a flock of crows.”

  I won’t jinx Reverend Joshua and Delia’s marriage. “I’ll wear the white shirtwaist and one of the skirts. No crows for this ceremony.”

  Edith took off the shawl, folded it, and walked back to set it on the bed next to Maggie. She leaned forward to stare into Maggie’s face. “You have gold flecks in your eyes, so perhaps gold would be another color that would suit you.”

  A knock on the door heralded Caleb carrying Charlotte.

  At the sight of him with her daughter, Maggie’s heart gave a traitorous thump. “How was she?”

  “Perfect.” He raised an eyebrow, taking in everything spread over the bed. “Well?”

  Edith moved to him. “Not a bad selection, brother, given the limited choices at the mercantile.” She held out her arms. “May I please hold Charlotte?”

  He glanced at Maggie for permission. At her nod, he gave Edith the baby and moved closer to the bed. “Do you like everything? What’s your favorite?”

  Maggie patted the red shawl.

  “I guessed that right.” Caleb preened, in obvious jest. He leaned over his sister’s arm as if to see if Charlotte agreed with him.

  Maggie shook her head at his silliness, but warmth bubbled inside her. They felt suspiciously like a family. Even as her heart longed for that in truth, her mind told her to stop with the fanciful thoughts. The likes of me are not for the Livingstons.

  Soon you’ll be leaving. Don’t get attached.

  She glanced at Caleb, who was touching her daughter’s cheek, and amended her self-counsel. Don’t become more attached than you already are.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Dressed in his nightshirt, Caleb stood before Maggie’s bedroom door, feeling the chill of the night on his legs. She’d bade him close her door before she went to sleep, not wanting Charlotte to wake anyone when the baby cried during the night. But he was uneasy with the idea of her managing the baby by herself, or trying to walk if she needed to use the toilet. So he’d waited until he thought everyone in the house must be asleep and then crept down the hall like a thief in the night to scratch at her door. When he heard no sound, he silently opened it.

  Maggie had wanted the curtains left open so the faint moonlight of the half moon would illuminate the room enough for her to see the baby. The dim light only showed him her form on the bed, curled on her uninjured side.

  Satisfied that she slept, Caleb returned to his bedroom, determined to rest lightly so he could come to her aid if need be. He climbed onto the bed and scooted under the covers. The sheets were cool, but he was too lazy to crawl back out and load the bed warmer with some coals from the fireplace.

  He fluffed up the goose down pillows, thinking he should feel grateful for their softness and the comfort of his mattress after two nights of sleeping in the cabin and one on the ground. So, too, should he have let himself sink into the crisp linen of his bedding, still smelling of the outdoors from drying on the line, because the clean sheets and the softness of his mattress were a luxury he usually didn’t appreciate. But he found he missed Maggie’s presence—the intimacy of lying only a few feet away—where he could open his eyes and see her and Charlotte in the firelight.

  For all the luxury at his fingertips, Caleb wished he was back at the wayfarer’s cabin with Maggie and the baby. We were a team pulling together for Charlotte’s sake. Now he was aware of feeling alone, of Maggie also being on her own with the baby. Caleb was helpless to care for them as he felt he should.

  The feeling didn’t sit right with him. No, it felt downright wrong. But there’s nothing I can do about it.

  He dozed, only to startle awake at the sound of a cry. Caleb scrambled out of bed and was halfway across the room when he realized it wasn’t the baby he was hearing.

  “No!” Maggie’s voice was thready, vibrating with fear.

  A nightmare. He cursed the accident; he cursed the brute who’d abused her.

  Caleb dashed from his room and down the hall to hers and went inside, quietly closing the door behind him.

  She thrashed from her side to her back, one hand flinging out.

  “Maggie,” he said softly. “You’re having a nightmare.” Obeying an inner nudge, he moved to the other side of the bed and crawled next to her on top of the cover. He captured her flailing hand before she hit him, and then slid close to her body. “Maggie, wake up.”

  She raised her head off the pillow. “Caleb?” Her voice was thick as if she’d been screaming in her nightmare.

  “Yes, it’s me.” He took her in his arms, sliding one hand under her shoulders and gathering her close. “Everything’s all right. You’re safe.”

  “Safe,” Maggie repeated. Shivering, she burrowed her face into his chest.

  “Hey, that’s your bad side.”

  “I don’t care.” Her voice was muffled.

  Caleb smiled at the petulance in her tone. “Here, let’s shift you to your other side. I’ll be right here.” He put gentle pressure on her other shoulder to coax her to turn.

  “Wait, I want to see my baby.” She sat up and leaned over the side of the bed, peering closely into the cradle. She
placed a hand on Charlotte’s chest. “She’s breathing.”

  Maggie tucked the blanket tighter around the baby and then lowered herself back to the bed. She followed his silent command, letting out a small groan of pain when she moved.

  Caleb spooned her close to him.

  Maggie gave a little sigh and relaxed in his arms. “We shouldn’t be doing this, but it feels so good.”

  “Sleep, Maggie. You need your rest. I will keep guard.”

  Gradually, her breathing evened out.

  Only when she slept deeply did Caleb extract his arm from under her, rise, and pull out a wool blanket from a drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe. He moved back to the bed, covering himself with the blanket and curling around her, breathing in her scent—Edith’s soap combined with Maggie’s skin, making a fragrance that was all her own. I’ll keep the gargoyles away for a bit and then leave her sweetly sleeping.

  A few hours later, the baby cried.

  Caleb jolted awake, realizing he was still on top of the bed with Maggie. “I’ll get her,” he murmured. He pulled his arm out from under Maggie, climbed out of bed, and went around the side to take Charlotte from the cradle. When he slid his hand underneath her bottom, he felt wetness. “Her soakers are damp. Change or feed first?”

  “I’ll change her quickly.” Maggie sat up, grabbed some of the new diapers from the nightstand, and spread one on the bed to protect the covering. She took Charlotte from him and laid her down, quickly stripping off the sodden soaker and diaper.

  He extended a hand for them.

  “Thank you,” she said, giving him the wet ones. He dropped them in a pail on the other side of the nightstand.

  A few days ago, I never would have imagined accepting a wet diaper with equanimity. Caleb had to smile at the irony. He reached for the small bottle of oil on the nightstand and handed it to her. “We’ll have to replenish this in the morning.”