Mystic Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series Book 6)

by Debra Holland

  “I remember he and Nathaniel were close.”

  She nodded. “George was supportive of our relationship, but he wouldn’t go against his parents and stand by his brother. He didn’t have Nathaniel’s spine.”

  “Ben has that spine,” Caleb said gently, crouching to take Edith’s hand. “The changes in him have been astonishing and so gratifying to watch.”

  She released his hand to dab at her eyes with the handkerchief. “I’m afraid for my son. I know how difficult it was for you and I to go back and forth from the West to the East—how we didn’t fit in.”

  He took a seat in the other chair. “The adjustment won’t be easy. But there are differences in Ben’s case. Think of it, Edith. We spent the majority of our formative years in the West, only returning to Boston for long visits. Just about the time we started to fit in, we were whisked away again. When we were there, Mama had no idea of proper Boston life. She was miserable, and Black Jack didn’t care what anyone thought. We were ill-prepared for society.”

  “That’s right,” she murmured, twisting her handkerchief.

  “On the other hand, Ben grew up in Boston. I imagine you and he could easily slip back into the same social circles you had before—and Ben would remember his school friends.”

  “Oh, Caleb,” Edith wailed. “What am I to do?” She sniffed back tears. “The Graysons caused Nathaniel such pain and strain. Such heartache we endured. Yet, my dear husband always stood steadfast by my side. Now they are sorry when it’s years too late.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  She shrugged and turned her head. “I don’t know.”

  “Let’s set out the possibilities, shall we?”

  Edith nodded.

  “You’ve never been happy living here.”

  She twisted her handkerchief some more. “I don’t know that I’d have felt happy anywhere after Nathaniel’s death. But at least here Ben and I had you.”

  Caleb swallowed down the emotion that lodged in his throat. “We had each other.” Difficult though that’s been at times. “As I see it, you can stay here, or you can return to Boston. You can also visit Boston to see if it suits you and Ben. And I would urge you to do that for Ben’s sake, both to bring Nathaniel’s family some comfort and for your son to become familiar with the company he will someday inherit. If Boston does not appeal, then you two can return. This doesn’t have to be a decision that is set in stone.”

  “Yes, yes, you’re right.” She straightened her slumped posture.

  “There is another possibility, not one I’d suggest. But if we are to consider all your options. . . .”

  She raised her brows in askance.

  “If you think you could find happiness someplace else, move to a different city, anywhere in America, or abroad for that matter.”

  “I don’t look to find happiness, Caleb. If Ben is happy, then I’ll be well pleased.”

  “Perhaps you should consider your own happiness,” he said with deliberate sharpness. “I do respect your grief for Nathaniel’s death. However, I think you’ve cut yourself off from the possibility of finding love again.”

  She flinched as if he’d slapped her. “I could never love another man like I did him.”

  “Of course not, Edith. Marriage with someone else would be different than what you had with Nathaniel. But that doesn’t mean the relationship wouldn’t be just as rich. As long as you close your mind to the possibility, a new love won’t happen for you.” He waited for a few minutes, watching her face to see if she absorbed his words. “Think of the happy second marriages we know of, where one or both spouses suffered previous bereavement. Just off the top of my head, I can think of the Thompsons, Barretts, Muths, Dunns. With a little thought, you’d come up with more.”

  She bit her lip.

  “Frankly, your chance of finding the type of man who’d interest you is minuscule in Sweetwater Springs. In all the time you’ve been here, only Wyatt Thompson mildly attracted you. In a few years, Ben will be off to school, and you’ll be alone. If you marry again, you might even have another child. You’re not too old.”

  “Are you just saying this because you’d like your home to yourself. . .because you want to take a wife. . .a certain wife?” she asked in a grudging tone.

  “Is that what my advice feels like?” he asked gently.

  She sighed. “Actually not. I feel how sincere you are.”

  “There will always be a home here for you and Ben, regardless of whether I marry.” Although that doesn’t look like it will happen, he thought in despair.

  “I thank you for that, brother.”

  Then he remembered Maggie’s Gypsy background and held up a hand. “Perhaps I should qualify what I’d just said. You might not approve of my choice of wife, but I would expect you to treat her with politeness and consideration.”

  “I’m used to managing my home, Caleb. If I choose to stay in Sweetwater Springs or return here after you marry, it would be best if I had my own house built.”

  “Well, the construction crew is almost done with the Norton house, and they’ll soon be available to work on another. Would you like to have plans drawn up?”

  Edith tapped her chin in thought. Her mouth broadened into a smile. “I think I will. Even if we live elsewhere, we can still return for the summers—to avoid the Boston heat and humidity.”

  Caleb forced a smile, hiding his sadness and the thought he might be rattling around alone in his big house for a long time. “I think, sister dear, we have a plan.”

  That night after a shocking talk with his mother, and after reading his grandfather’s letter, Ben glumly sought out his uncle, who’d retreated to his study. The contents of the letter had shaken him, and he didn’t know what to feel. He needed his uncle’s counsel.

  His stomach ached. Ben hadn’t been able to eat much supper. Not that Mother and Uncle Caleb noticed. They, too, had been quiet and had pushed their food around on their plates, probably for the same reason.

  One thing’s for sure—if I’m to leave Sweetwater Springs, I have things I want to do first. Ben knew he needed his uncle’s permission for some of them, because his mother would automatically say no.

  After he knocked on the door and was told to come in, Ben entered the darkened room, lit only by the fire and a single oil lamp burning on the desk. His uncle hadn’t even turned on the gas lights, but he sat by the fire, staring into the flames, obviously brooding. A snifter of brandy sat on the table next to him. He looked up and waved Ben to a chair. “I can tell by your expression your mother told you the news. What do you think about your grandfather’s proposition?”

  Ben shrugged, staring into the fire in the same way his uncle just had, trying to find words to express his feelings.

  The silence lasted for several moments as Uncle Caleb allowed him time to gather his thoughts.

  Finally, Ben looked up. “Can you feel good and bad about something at the same time?”

  “Yes. You can also think one way and feel another at the same time. Very disconcerting when that happens.”

  Encouraged, Ben started with what was foremost on his mind. “I don’t want to leave my friends. Leave you. Leave my horse.”

  “I’ll miss you, too.”

  Ben gave his uncle a direct look, and his throat tightened. He swallowed. “Matthew and I have planned some fishing trips, and Hunter is going to teach me to track game. Mark Carter invited me and Matthew to spend a few days at their ranch this summer being a cowboy.”

  “All those activities sound appropriate.” Caleb settled back in his chair. “As I see it, there’s no hurry for you and your mother to leave right away. Might as well finish the school term and spend part of the summer here. She and I also talked about the two of you returning every summer, although maybe to a home of your own and not this house.”

  Ben felt as if a weight had lifted from his chest, and he let out a long breath of relief.

  “Boston will have many compensations, Ben. In fact, you
might want to talk to Peter Rockwell about working at his family’s hotel like you’ve been doing here. If you’re interested, I’m sure he’ll write a letter on your behalf. Then again, there’s the Grayson retail business, which you should learn.”

  Ben thought about those ideas, and excitement quickened. “I’ll talk to Mr. Rockwell tomorrow.” He remembered his original purpose for seeking out his uncle. “I want to go along on the next expedition to the Indian reservation. Matthew is going. Hunter Thompson and Mark Carter, too.”

  Uncle Caleb steepled his fingers. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I don’t know how safe that trip will be for someone your age without the guidance and protection of a parent.”

  “The sheriff will be there, and Hunter’s gone twice without his father.”

  “Hunter Thompson’s situation is different, as well you know. Hunter is a Blackfoot adopted into a white family. He can understand the Indians and speak their language. That young man played a vital role in the success of those two missions.” He tilted his head. “What do you boys think you can accomplish?”

  “I don’t know,” Ben said honestly, still hoping for permission. “Hunter thinks we’re building peaceable relations with the tribe.”

  “Sounds like the sheriff’s words, although not a bad sentiment and a worthwhile goal.”

  Ben shrugged. “Hunter told us some stories. How hungry and skinny the children are.”

  “We have some hungry and skinny children in Sweetwater Springs. Certainly with wealth in your future, you must consider the needs of those less fortunate.”

  “No one here is dying from lack of food,” Ben protested. “If things get that bad, they have other people to help them. The Indians don’t.”

  The brown-eyed gaze settled on him, seemingly speculative. “Are Wyatt Thompson and John Carter going along with their boys? What about school?”

  “Mr. Carter, yes. Not Mr. Thompson, though, with the baby and all. Mrs. Gordon will work out lesson plans we can take with us so we don’t fall behind.”

  “Your mother will be against your going on this expedition.”

  “I know. But you can overrule her.”

  His uncle grimaced and shook his head. “Those conversations are never pleasant.” He stared into the fire.

  The melancholy expression on his face prompted Ben into a more delicate topic. “You’re going to be alone, here, Uncle Caleb.” Ben voiced another of his worries. “I don’t think Mrs. Graves counts.”

  Caleb gave him a wry smile. “You’ve quite the list this evening, Ben. I don’t want you worrying about me. I will manage just fine.”

  “What about Mrs. Baxter and Charlotte?”

  His expression closed up. “What do you mean?”

  Ben crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “I know you’re sweet on Mrs. Baxter. She made you happy. You doted on Charlotte. Yet, you let them go.”

  His uncle sighed. “I had no choice. Mrs. Baxter didn’t want to stay with me, and I couldn’t keep them prisoner here.”

  My uncle is square on the logical side of the emotional scale. Ben narrowed his eyes and asked the question he’d been wondering ever since Mrs. Baxter had up and left. “What did she say when you asked her to marry you?”

  His uncle frowned, and his eyes grew cold.

  Ben knew that look, and his knees trembled. But he forced his legs to still. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and this topic was too important to allow Uncle Caleb to intimidate him into silence. “Well?”

  To his surprise, his uncle backed down. He looked away and fiddled with the brandy snifter, moving it six inches to the left. “Mrs. Baxter made her feelings quite clear. She’d rather work at the bathhouse than marry me.”

  That doesn’t sound like something she would say. “Those were her exact words to you?”

  He hesitated. “Well, no.”

  Ben lost his patience and threw out his hands. “Uncle Caleb, did you actually propose? Down on one knee, diamond ring, and all?”

  “I never got that far.”

  Ben lowered his arms. “I think Mrs. Baxter loves you. I saw her feelings in her eyes when she looked at you and wasn’t aware anyone was watching.”

  The man shook his head. “No. She would have given me some indication.”

  “Meaning no disrespect, sir, but. . . . You’re good with money and business, but you stink when it comes to love and women.”

  “Bordering on disrespect, young man,” he warned, his mouth tight.

  “Yes, sir. Beg pardon. But I pay attention,” Ben retorted. “And Papa used to give me tips.” He deepened his voice to mimic his father. “‘Son, someday when you grow up and are courting a lady. . .’”

  His uncle laughed, but his expression quickly sobered.

  The pain in his eyes goaded Ben to give him another push. “Maybe Mrs. Baxter left because she didn’t think you loved her, or because she thought people would gossip. Might have gotten too hard for her to stay under those circumstances.”

  Uncle Caleb’s eyebrows pulled together.

  Ben thought some more about the situation. “And another thing. Frankly, Uncle Caleb, you’re a snob.”

  His uncle looked taken aback.

  Before he could respond, Ben plowed on. “So is Mother. So am I, but I’m trying to change. Everyone knows this about us. However, you weren’t that way with Mrs. Baxter. Not that I saw, anyway. Quite a shock that was at first, actually. But what if somehow she felt judged, or someone said something to make her think she wasn’t good enough for you?”

  His uncle picked up the brandy snifter and took a sip. “Your mother did act that way at first.”

  “I know. And Mrs. Baxter’s gotten awfully close with Miss Bellaire, uh, I mean the new Mrs. Norton. You won’t tell me what happened between you all, what the Bellaires did. But I bet you and Mother weren’t blameless. What if Mrs. Norton told Mrs. Baxter what happened?”

  Uncle Caleb set down the glass with a snap. He rubbed his forehead and let out a tired sigh. “You may be right.”

  “You’ll never know until you talk to Mrs. Baxter. Propose to her.” Ben patted his belly. The ache had eased, and suddenly he felt hungry. “I seem to recall a lecture on taking risks and trusting your gut. She says no, then you’re no worse off than you are now. And she might say yes.”

  His uncle stood, walked to Ben’s chair, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I will think on what you said, wise counselor. I’ll also think about you going to the Indian reservation and let you work your wiles on the natives.” He said the last words in a playful tone.

  A bittersweet pain went through Ben. He’d never thought the two of them could grow so close. Although he felt good that his uncle had taken his words to heart, he was sad at the thought of leaving. He hid the emotion under a bantering tone. “Well, don’t think too long. Mrs. Baxter’s a mighty pretty lady, and some other man might snap her up while you’re dillydallying.”

  When a customer walked in and rang the steel triangle she’d hung by the door—a sound that would alert her but not wake the baby—Maggie, on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor of her living area, rocked back onto her knees. The pungent smell of lye had made her eyes water, and she swiped an arm across her face before tossing her scrub brush into the bucket of soapy water. Then she rose to her feet, suppressing a groan from her sore muscles, wiped her wet hands on her apron, and went to the doorway of the waiting area.

  Caleb stood there, his hat in his hands.

  Her heart in her throat, Maggie watched him take in every detail.

  He didn’t see her at first, and his gaze moved from the white paint on the walls and floor to the polished furniture, to the sparkling glass of the windows and the crisp lace curtains that gave privacy but let in light, and finally to the neatly printed sign that didn’t make any mention of whiskey.

  Maggie stepped into the room, wishing she’d taken off her apron and washed up. She wanted to press her hand to her chest to calm her breathing, but instead clenched them
around the folds of her skirt. “Good afternoon, Caleb.”

  “You’ve done a fine job, Magdalena Petra.” His smile was warm, although his eyes looked sad. “Word is that your business is booming.”

  His use of her given name made her heart lift. She tried to yank the organ back in place where it belonged. “Yes. I’ve plowed almost every penny my customers have paid, except for necessities for us, back into the bathhouse.”

  He walked over to the cradle and crouched to view her sleeping daughter. She’d moved the cradle into this room while she scrubbed the living area floor.

  “She’s grown and it’s only been three weeks.” His jaw clenched as if he held back emotion. “I’ve missed her so.” He glanced up at Maggie, his dark eyes forlorn. “Missed you both.”

  I’ve missed you, too. So very much. She couldn’t say the words for fear of starting to cry. When Maggie thought she could speak without her voice trembling, she commented, “I heard you went to Morgan’s Crossing.”

  “Only a month or so later than I’d planned. Your friends all wanted the latest news of you and send their greetings. But I’m glad to be home.”

  Home. “Why did you choose Sweetwater Springs when you could live anywhere in the whole country?” This was a question she’d long been wondering. “There’s probably plenty of places where you’d make far more money.”

  Caleb took in a deep breath. “I wanted the freedom of the West.” He ticked off the list on his fingers. “I wanted a town small enough to make my mark. I wanted a place where the citizens were law-abiding and the leadership included men of integrity. I wanted to live among scenic beauty. I wanted a town that needed a bank and whatever other businesses I could provide. I wanted a community where I could feel at home—as much as that is possible for me anywhere.”

  “Did you find those qualities here?” Maggie thought she already knew the answer, for she, too, had discovered all of those special aspects in Sweetwater Springs.

  Caleb glanced down at her. “I thought I had.” With a tender smile, he brushed a wayward curl from her forehead. “But then I met you.”