Even with the material wrinkled in fold lines, the ruffles flat, the fit loose, to Maggie the dress had seemed a magical creation, and she imbued the gown with romantic fantasies. When Maggie grew older and was invited to attend a barn dance, Grandma had altered the pink dress to fit her, gathering the extra material from the full skirt to flow over a bustle.
Wearing the dress that night had made Maggie feel elegant, and many men at the party seemed to agree, for she’d been danced off her feet. She’d enjoyed the attention but at the time had no plans to settle down. That came later, when everyone she loved had passed on, and she was left alone.
Maggie had planned to wear that same dress for her wedding, but Oswald had insisted on buying her a white gown—his last generous act and the one that convinced her to go forward with the marriage, even after she’d begun to doubt the wisdom of her choice.
Oh, no. Maggie bit her lip, remembering her grandmother’s dress was packed away in the vardo. She’d hidden the treasured possession in a cedar-lined storage box underneath the bed to keep Oswald from damaging it. She glanced at Caleb, who was talking with the sheriff. I need to ask him if there’s a way to obtain my dress.
Realizing she hadn’t been eating or paying attention to the conversation, Maggie took a bite of mashed potatoes, a favorite of hers. While potatoes had been a staple of their diet, she didn’t often have the extra funds for butter and milk. Since coming to Caleb Livingston’s, she’d eaten the food several times, and each time, she savored the way the potatoes melted in her mouth.
Ant Gordon looked down at the woman next to him. “Sheriff, can you tell us about your trip to the reservation?” he asked in a deep, gravelly voice, and then directed a crooked smile Edith’s way. “I won’t go so far as to take out my notebook and pencil at the table to scribble notes for my article.”
His wife chuckled. “No, but he might secretly set his notebook on his knee and write underneath the table.”
Everyone laughed before turning their attention to K.C. Granger.
The sheriff’s gray eyes saddened. “As most of you know. . . .” She glanced at Maggie. “I went with Red Charlie to check on the tribe to see how they fared through the winter.” Her jaw tightened.
Everyone waited for her to continue.
“Most made it through. Barely. Still, they lost babes and a few of their elderly.” She grimaced. “But not in the same amounts they would have if we hadn’t driven the cattle out to them and brought along other supplies.”
Ant Gordon leaned forward, his gaze intense, as if filing mental notes. “What about their attitude toward us?”
“Probably ’bout what you’d expect. A combination of grateful and angry.” The sheriff picked up her goblet of tea and drank.
Maggie tilted her head in askance. “Why angry?”
Sheriff Granger set down the glass. “Well. . .if some foreign government and its people had driven you from your ancestral lands, forced you to live within a certain area, hunted one of your main sources of food to almost extinction, promised to take care of you, and then reneged on that promise, wouldn’t you be angry?”
Maggie understood all too well the pain of promises broken when, in all trust, you leaned your life on them. “Betrayed, hurt, incredulous, resentful.” She spoke from bitter experience.
The sheriff gave Maggie an approving look. “There you have it.”
Mrs. Norton set down her fork. “We are lucky Mrs. Muth was acquainted with those braves. Who knows what else might have happened? God was certainly watching over us.”
The sheriff cut some pieces of roast beef. “The wagonload of supplies we brought out to the reservation won’t last long. We’ll need to organize a group to travel there. When I mentioned help with planting food crops, they actually seemed interested.”
Amos Salter cleared his throat. “I’ll go.” With all eyes on him, the color deepened in his ruddy skin. “I know the despair and helplessness of seeing your family starving before your eyes. . . .” He dipped his chin in Caleb’s direction, his blue eyes bleak. “Then through the goodness of God, to have a helping hand extended. . . .”
Moved by the simple passion and gratitude in the man’s tone, Maggie glanced at Caleb, wondering why Mr. Salter aimed his words at the banker, and saw Caleb looking uncomfortable—in a good way. She’d had enough familiarity with him to know, and she wondered what he’d done to help the Salters.
He’s such a generous man.
Mariah Salter patted her husband’s arm with a gentle hand. Tears glistened in her brown eyes, but she gazed at Amos with a luminous expression of love and pride that made her haggard face almost appear beautiful.
Envy stabbed through Maggie. She’d never looked at Oswald that way—had never even considered the importance of picking a man who would make her proud to be his wife.
Mariah squeezed her husband’s arm. “This time, I won’t worry when you’re gone to the Indian camp like when you were in the mine. Well, not worry as much, for you will be in good company.” She leaned forward to direct a shy smile the sheriff’s way.
Amos looked from Mr. Rockwell to Caleb. “I suppose I should check to see if I can be spared.”
Mr. Rockwell sent the man an approving smile. “We’ll miss what you bring in from your hunts, but we can go a few weeks without serving game.”
Caleb nodded in agreement.
Reverend Joshua cocked his wrist and flicked two fingers in a volunteering motion. “I’m not much of a gardener. But I can wield a shovel.”
His father shot him a look of pride. “And the Bible.”
“But not at the same time,” Reverend Joshua quipped.
Everyone laughed.
“I’ll be a newlywed, though. . . .” The young minister glanced at Delia. “I have to learn to start thinking like a married man and consult my wife about such decisions.” He glanced at Delia.
His betrothed lifted her chin. “I’m proud of you for offering. In fact, if you’ll allow womenfolk along. . . .” She sent a questioning look toward the sheriff. “Other women, that is. I’d like to go, too.”
In silence, everyone waited for Reverend Joshua’s answer. “Forgive me, my dear. I was so taken aback by your offer, so moved by your willingness to help the native people that I needed a moment to gather the words of gratitude.” He quirked an eyebrow at K.C. Granger. “However, I will defer the decision to the sheriff’s greater knowledge of the situation.”
As if tapping a pencil, Ant Gordon drummed on the edge of the table with a long finger. “I think I should come along.”
Caleb blinked in apparent surprise, and then his eyes narrowed, and he frowned. Watching him, Maggie wondered at his reaction.
Mr. Gordon’s right eyebrow peaked in an upside down V that matched his wry smile. “Like our good reverend, here, my gardening knowledge is minimal. Thank goodness when Abe McGuire sold me his place, he left behind a well-stocked garden and cultivated land that our hired man can handle.” He glanced at his wife. “But, for the sake of starving natives, we can put my—” he slapped a hand that seemed as big as a dinner plate behind his shoulder “—back to use. And I’d also like to write an article, both for our newspaper and to submit to my former editor in New York for a larger audience. Maybe stir some public sympathy, which would in turn put pressure on the politicians.”
Doctor Cameron let out a loud sigh. “I’d be a goin’ with you, for I’m sure there is need for my services,” he said, his Scottish burr strong. “But that would mean a leavin’ the people here without a doctor.” He huffed in apparent exasperation. “If only that young brother of mine would hurry himself to get out here. I’ve been expecting him for over a year. But he wanted some extra experience first. In the slums of London, of all places.”
Sheriff Granger looked at the doctor. “There is need, certainly. But if something happened while you were gone. . . .” She shook her head. “This is one of those times when you wish there were two of you.”
Mrs. Cameron’s glance
at her husband was loving. “Or more. I need one to stay home with me and the baby.”
Dr. Cameron winked at his wife. “One more to deal with the needs of my medical practice and one to travel to the reservation, while I stay home with my family.” He spoke the last in a thickened brogue that had everyone laughing.
Maggie snuck a glance at Caleb under lowered eyelashes to see him looking thoughtful.
His lips firmed, and then he said, “We can cover Amos’s wages.” He glanced at Peter Rockwell and raised an eyebrow. “Or what you estimate you would have paid him for the game he hunted. Average the last couple of months and come up with a weekly sum.”
Mr. Rockwell nodded.
Delia leaned forward and bestowed a beaming smile on Caleb. “That’s wonderful.”
Caleb looked surprised by Delia’s reaction, and then he held the woman’s gaze. The corners of his mouth turned up.
What do they mean by their covert exchange? Maggie wondered, unaccountably jealous. She didn’t like the idea that Caleb might share a secret with Delia.
The conversation flowed on, but Maggie stopped listening. Her stomach tight, she toyed with her food, having lost her appetite. She was not at all pleased with herself for allowing her emotions to interfere with her dinner.
With a growing sense of guilt, Caleb listened to the conversation about the Indians’ affairs, feeling torn between whether or not he should volunteer. A ridiculous impulse, really. He had no desire to haul off to the reservation and dig in the dirt, even if he knew a thing about planting or raising livestock, which he didn’t—beyond horses, that is.
He watched the faces of his guests. They were all attentive and obviously absorbed in the romantic notion of taming and saving the savages.
Maggie tracked the conversation, her eyes wide with obvious concern.
A growing sense of pressure made him consider the outlandish idea of participating in the plan. And because the impulse was so unlike him, he had to mentally take stock of his thoughts and feelings, although he was fairly certain the woman at his right and the baby in the cradle between them were responsible for the softening of his heart. No, not heart, his outlook on life.
Before meeting Maggie and going through their trials of survival together, Caleb doubted he would have experience any such concern about the situation. The thought of traveling to the reservation wouldn’t even have occurred to him. He certainly hadn’t felt any stabs of conscience at the time of the first expedition to the reservation to help the Indians, which took place last autumn.
Caleb wasn’t sure if he was happy about the change in him, and, after a few minutes of thought, he decided he wasn’t. Too uncomfortable. Life was cruel. As his father, Black Jack Livingston, used to say, It doesn’t pay to be soft. But still he had to do something to alleviate the odd sense of obligation and in so doing, maybe please Maggie, as well.
I can pay others. That’s a reasonable compromise.
Relieved to have wrestled his conscience into some sort of order, Caleb took a sip of his water, wondering if it was too early to serve wine. He set down the glass hard enough to make a thud.
Curious eyes glanced his way.
“I’ll donate supplies and cover the wages of several men who’d like to go but don’t want to lose out on their regular pay.” To his own ears, his words sounded stiff.
Mrs. Norton clasped her hands together. “Dear Mr. Livingston. So generous.”
Instead of assuaging his guilt, the emotion only deepened.
Maggie glanced over. She had no smile for him, only a look of penetrating contemplation.
Can she read my mind, see my ambivalence?
Reverend Norton nodded, as if giving Caleb a benediction. “Like before, we can ask the ranchers to contribute cattle and the farmers food and livestock.”
Another idea came to him. “We might even talk to Michael Morgan when he’s here for the wedding to see if any of his miners or other townsfolk would want to go.”
“Excellent.” Delia leaned forward to gaze at him. Her eyes sparkled. “I’ve never experienced anything like the way this community comes together to help in times of need.” She tilted her head toward her father. “Have you, Papa?”
Andre rubbed his chin. “Not in New York or New Orleans.”
Caleb smiled at her, surprised that he and Delia seemed to have returned to their former amicable relationship. I guess I’ve forgiven her. He glanced at Andre Bellaire. Both of them. The thought made him feel lighter.
He turned to Maggie, expecting, no anticipating, similar approval on her face.
But instead, she appeared solemn, and a small frown pulled down her lips. She glanced at her plate, picked up her fork, and pushed around the uneaten food. She hadn’t eaten much, which was unusual for a woman with a hearty appetite.
His spirits took a downturn.
What is concerning her? And what must I do to make her smile again?
For in truth, Caleb cared more for her happiness and the baby’s than for the plight of savages distant from him and capable of murdering them all.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
After dessert, Edith offered to play the piano in the parlor while their guests drank coffee or tea.
With exclamations of pleasure, everyone trailed their hostess from the room.
Feeling heavy-hearted, Maggie remained seated at the table. Her shoulders drooped, and she couldn’t muster the energy to stand. If only I could magically float instead of limp into the parlor.
Caleb returned to the dining room. “I’ll take Charlotte for you.”
Maggie tried to hide her flagging spirits. Apparently, she hadn’t succeeded.
Caleb swooped in on her. “You need to rest.”
“But the company,” she protested.
“I’ll take you upstairs, and anyone who wants to visit you can go to your bedroom. I’ll bring up Charlotte in the cradle.”
“I can walk,” Maggie insisted, feeling obstinate. “Besides, what will people think?”
“No one is around to see. They are all in the parlor, eyes and ears on Edith.” Caleb won the argument by picking up Maggie and carrying her upstairs.
Being in his arms, inhaling his familiar scent, felt so right, which in turn made her weepy. Feeling discombobulated by the emotion, Maggie held back tears so he couldn’t see them.
Caleb strode into the room and laid her on the bed on top of the coverlet. He took the extra pillow from the other side of the bed and used both to prop her upright. “Don’t move,” he ordered, leaving the bedroom.
Free of Caleb’s presence, Maggie hurriedly pulled her lace handkerchief from her sleeve, blotted her eyes, and blew her nose before stuffing the square of linen inside her cuff. By the time he returned with her daughter in the cradle, Maggie had erased all evidence, or so she hoped.
He set down the cradle, handed her the baby, and stopped to stare into her face.
Maggie avoided his gaze by cooing at Charlotte and leaning forward to kiss her forehead and inhale her baby smell.
“Magdalena,” he said, drawing out all four syllables. “Is everything all right?”
She flashed him a false smile. “My ankle was paining me, but now that I’m off my feet, I’ll be fine.”
He frowned. “Why are you so stubborn? You could have told me, and I would have brought you up earlier. You could have been resting all this time.”
“Don’t fuss so, Caleb.”
His eyebrows drew together.
“If you could be so kind and bring a glass of warm milk.” She put a plaintive note into her tone.
He gave her a shake of his head, his frustration apparent. “What am I going to do with you?” He stalked from the room.
She stared after him. I don’t know.
Caleb soon returned with the milk, which he deposited on the table next to the bed. “Is there anything else you need?”
She forced her lips to turn up. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t look convinced. He crossed his arms o
ver his chest and waited.
“Caleb, you have a houseful of guests. Go be a host.” She waved a hand toward the door.
Quick as a whip, he caught her wrist. “That’s the second time today you’ve done that, bossy lady.”
This time her smile was natural. “I may be bossy, but you don’t follow orders well.”
He chuckled. “You noticed that, did you? We’re quite a pair, then.” Keeping his gaze on hers, he bent to kiss the back of her hand.
Although Maggie tried to hide her reaction, the touch of his lips made her shiver. Something in his eyes said her attempts at concealment hadn’t succeeded.
“I’ll check on you soon.” He lowered her hand to the bed and left the room.
“That man!” Maggie whispered to Charlotte, scooping the baby into her arms. “Caleb Livingston takes pride in tumbling me about.” She warmed to her theme. “I’m a tumbleweed rolling in the wind around that man.”
Charlotte gazed at her face as if fascinated.
Maggie gently touched the baby’s nose. “Yes, your godfather. That’s who I’m talking about.”
A soft knock sounded at the open door.
“Come in,” she called.
Delia Bellaire stuck her head in and smiled. “I see you two are settled.”
Delia was the last person Maggie wanted to talk to, but she managed a friendly smile.
“May I keep you company?” The woman’s eyes looked concerned.
Maggie couldn’t turn her away. “Please.” She gestured to the wingchair.
“I couldn’t help but notice you were quiet tonight.” Delia took a seat. “Subdued, actually.”
How could she tell? I thought I was acting normally.
“Perhaps a bit. . .tired.”
Delia gave her a speculative glance. “Is that all?”
I can hardly tell her I’m bothered Caleb might be in love with her.
“You’ve been through quite an ordeal,” Delia said, as if feeling her way. She smoothed a wrinkle from the coverlet. “I’m sure your recovery will have setbacks, both physical and. . .emotional.”
Mystic Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series Book 6) Page 18
