Healing Montana Sky

by Debra Holland

  Lizzy shrank closer to Krista. A ribbon the color of the sky at dusk was tied around her head, matching her eyes and dress and holding back her flowing brown hair. She peeked up at him through long eyelashes, gave a tiny smile, and then slid her gaze away.

  Like Micah, Lizzy seemed familiar to him, although this time he knew why. Henri wondered if he should say something, but he didn’t know what.

  “Come on, Henri,” Daniel yelled, running past him with a smack on the shoulder. “We’re gunna play ringer. You can watch and learn how.”

  Bewildered, Henri stared after him.

  Most of the girls sat at a long table under the thick branches of a huge oak. He saw the O’Donnell twins on the end.

  The boys ate as they walked, heading to an open area on the other side of the tree.

  Henri couldn’t see the reason for their direction, for only some thin boards and long sticks lay on the ground, but he followed them anyway.

  One of the older boys stopped and eyed him. “Henri. Frenchified name. Can’t you go by a good ole American one?” His lip curled.

  The boy was almost the size of Père. The look in the boy’s brown eyes reminded Henri of a badger they’d once trapped that spit and snarled at them before Père killed it.

  “Heard your ma dresses like a squaw.”

  Another boy, about the same size but with the dark skin and hair of an Indian yet wearing the same type of clothing as the other students, shot Henri a slight smile and nodded before shoving the first one on the shoulder. “Leave him be, Ben.”

  “Why should I do what you say, Injun?”

  Seeing the Indian boy made Henri feel better. He hadn’t forgotten his Blackfoot friends, even though he and Père and Maman hadn’t visited the tribe since long before Jacques was born.

  The Indian boy didn’t say anything, merely raised an eyebrow and cocked a fist.

  A third one about their age approached. “Knock it off, Ben and Hunter, or recess will be over by the time we get started.” He spoke the words in a calm tone of command.

  Seeing his blue eyes and hearing the way the third boy spoke made Henri realize he must be a Carter, for he sounded just like his father.

  Without waiting for a response, the Carter boy picked up a narrow board, scraping the edge across the dirt until he made a clear, flat space. Then he tossed it down and chose a stick, drawing a large circle on the ground. When he finished, he made a line under the bottom of the circle and another one across the top. He threw the stick next to the piece of wood and pointed at a thin boy with hair the color of carrots. “Matthew, you won last time, so you lag first.”

  Matthew extended his hand to show a small green ball made of glass. “Better watch out. I’ve made a special wish on my marble here. You all might never have a chance to play.”

  Henri edged closer to see the marble.

  Ben pulled out a red-and-white one from his pocket. “You should make a special wish, Matthew, seeing as you Salters only have three marbles between the four of you.” He tossed his into the air, and then snatched it. “We’re playing for keeps.”

  The Carter boy shot him a disgusted look. “Don’t you get tired of saying that every time, Ben Grayson? We play for fair, and that’s that!”

  Ben caught Henri staring at him. “What you looking at Frenchie? Go over where you belong.” He pointed to a spot beyond them where the younger boys were drawing circles in the dirt, apparently separating themselves by age.

  Ben’s badger look and mean tone gave Henri a belly ache. Carrying his lunch pail, he shuffled away from the group. He looked for Daniel, but he was in the midst of several other boys his size, talking and gesturing with his hands.

  Henri turned and walked past a group of girls who’d finished eating. Two turned a long rope in circles, and another jumped through it. He paused for a minute, thinking the jumping looked fun and wondering if he could try. Then he realized that only girls were lining up. Shrugging, he drifted toward the school.

  Three older girls sat on the steps, eating and talking, their heads together in what looked like a serious discussion.

  He climbed past without them seeing him and slid through the partially opened door.

  Mrs. Gordon and Natalie, their backs to him, wrote on the big slate in the front of the room.

  With the quiet Père showed him when hunting, Henri took his pail of food and moved to the corner and sat with his back pressed against where the two walls joined. The students’ tables hid him from the view of his teachers. He pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. Dropping his head on his arms, he pretended to be home—his real home, not the farm—moving silently through the leafy evergreens, needles thick under his moccasins, their spicy scent filling his nose. Père had taught him to know each bird and animal, and he listened to the sounds of the forest.

  He found his favorite place, a hidden burrow made by the toppling of several massive pines, and crawled inside. In his den, Henri had often made believe he was an animal—a wolf, a bear, or a fox. He strained to remember the feel of the forest and, after a few minutes, almost forgot the voices of children playing, the hard feel of the wooden floor, and the smell of chalk and books.

  After a while, Henri felt peaceful again, although he still ached with longing for his den and his life before. A rumble from his belly made him remember he hadn’t eaten, and he rummaged in the pail for the food Maman had packed—cold baked potatoes, some nuts, and bread spread with butter and huckleberry jam. He bit into the bread, savoring the sweet taste.

  The only good thing about the changes be this bread and jam! Then he thought of Pa, Camilla, and the horses, and Natalia. . . . They were all good, too. Henri wished he could have them and Père.

  No sooner had he eaten when the clanging of Mrs. Gordon’s bell brought an end to recess. He scrambled to his feet just as the children poured through the door, setting their pails on the shelf. Since they seemed to be going to their places, he did likewise, taking a seat.

  With a smile, Natalia walked over to stand in front of him. She tilted her head in inquiry. “What is it, Henri? When I sent you outside, you had on a happy expression. Now you look the same as you did when I first saw you this morning. Has something upset you?”

  Henri looked down, not knowing what to say. He glanced across the room at Ben, who slouched in his seat, an open book in front of him.

  Natalie followed his gaze. “Ben Grayson.” Her words were clipped. “He’s such a troublemaker. What did he do to you?” She slid into the seat.

  The kindness in her gaze coaxed the story out of him.

  When he finished, she patted his arm. “I’d tell you to not pay him any mind, but that’s hard to do with a bully like Ben Grayson.”

  Bully? Henri didn’t know the word.

  Natalia studied his face and said, “Someone who’s mean and pushes people around.” She pursed her lips. “Well. . .he is right about one thing. You do have a French name. The American version is Henry, with a huh sound. If you want, we could change it. What do you think about that?”

  “A chicken be Henree,” he muttered.

  She laughed. “Oh, Henri, how funny.”

  Liking that he’d made her laugh, Henri sat a little straighter.

  Natalia tilted her head so she was close to him. “My grandfather’s name is Henry. A good solid name.” She touched Henri’s nose with the tip of her finger. “I think he’d be pleased to share it with you.” She gave a decisive nod. “Henry. Sounds very dignified. Something I’m sure you’ll be when you grow up.”

  Puzzled, he looked askance at her.

  “Dignified. . .Reverend Norton is dignified. Although, from what I’ve seen of his son—Reverend Joshua Norton, who’s also Micah’s father—he’s not so dignified, maybe because he spent so much time in heathen Africa and lived in a hut.

  More words I don’t know.

  She ruffled his hair, seeming to understand. “I’d show you Africa on the globe, Henry, but first, I’d have t
o explain some geography to you. I think we’d best concentrate on learning your numbers and work up from there. After we work on your numbers, I’ll teach you how to spell your new name.”

  Numbers. At last, something I know!

  Henri’s absence left behind an emptiness that lingered in Antonia’s awareness all morning. He’ll be home tonight, she kept reassuring herself and managed to feel grateful for that fact. Jean-Claude’s death had taught her not to take her loved ones for granted.

  But even with Jacques’s babbling, to her, the house seemed silent. She hadn’t realized how much she and Henri spoke to each other during the day. This morning, she had only her thoughts for company.

  Today, she wore Daisy’s altered blue-flower print dress with an apron over it. The dress buttoned down the front, making it easy for her to nurse the babies. As she worked around the house, Antonia was aware of the material of the skirt swishing around her legs. Once she’d gotten tangled in the hem and almost tripped herself. Why be women wearin’ such no-sense dresses?

  With two babies in constant need of her attention, Antonia was slow to finish her chores. She’d always counted on her oldest son’s help with Jacques, and now she had no one to guard or play with him.

  What do women who have twins or several babies in a row be doin’, especially if they have no older child to be helpin’? She answered her question. Likely, they be goin’ mad.

  A few hours later—for all that Antonia had been listening for his arrival, eager to hear news of her son—Erik caught her by surprise when he walked through the door as she sat in the big chair nursing Camilla.

  Jacques, standing with one hand holding onto a kitchen chair while he pounded on the seat with the flat of his hand and chanted, “ba, ma, ba, ma,” was probably the reason she hadn’t heard the wagon.

  When he saw Erik, her boy shouted, “Pa!”

  Erik’s eyes lit with surprise, and he grinned at Jacques before nodding hello to her. He unwound his scarf, took off his coat and hat, and hung them on the hat rack. With two big steps, he reached Jacques and scooped up the boy, tossing him into the air, obviously enjoying the child’s chuckles.

  Antonia suppressed a proud smile. All morning, she’d been trying to teach Jacques to say Pa but had no idea her clever boy would say the word at just the right time.

  Still holding Jacques, Erik strode over and crouched down to eye Camilla. “How’s my little girl doing?”

  At the sound of his voice, the baby shifted her eyes toward her father but didn’t stop suckling.

  He rubbed his daughter’s downy head. “I think that’s my answer.”

  Antonia couldn’t hold back her curiosity and concern. “Henri?”

  Erik stood and again lifted Jacques into the air, smiling at the child’s laughter. “Well, my dear Mrs. Muth. I can report with some certainty that both your sons are doing well.” He lowered Jacques until they rubbed noses.

  Her son chuckled.

  Although hearing him call her dear Mrs. Muth cost her a pang, Antonia suspected Erik might have also suffered a similar emotion upon naming her thus. But he didn’t show any sign of distress, acting as if they’d been married for years and had many such conversations about the children.

  “As you can expect, Henri never said a word to me and barely one to the O’Donnell children. But once we got to town, he perked up when he saw Mrs. Thompson driving their little buggy down the street pulled by two midget horses. Yay high, they are.” He held his hand palm down at his hip. “Falabellas are what they’re called.”

  She raised her eyebrows in skepticism. “Those be mighty small for horses.”

  “You wait until you see the critters,” he said in a teasing tone. “Then you’ll believe me.” Holding Jacques with one arm, he bent his knees up and down while they talked to keep the child content. “The Thompsons are kind people, or so I’d heard, for I didn’t know them beyond a mere acquaintance. Their situation is not unlike ours, in that they’d both lost first spouses, although years prior. Samantha Rodriquez, as she was called, had a son, Daniel, and adopted three more, and Wyatt Thompson had a daughter. Sometime, I’ll tell you the tale of those ruffian twins of hers.”

  “What did Henri do?”

  “I introduced him to Mrs. Thompson and Daniel. He’s about eleven. She’d heard about Daisy and you and offered kindly condolences. Then, low and behold, she had Daniel give Henri a ride in the little buggy. Even better, Daniel let Henri drive the Falabellas. I tell you, Antonia, no prince in a royal coach was happier than your son in that moment.”

  Antonia’s deep sigh of relief seemed dredged from her toes.

  Camilla loosened her mouth from Antonia’s nipple.

  She raised the baby to her shoulder, holding her against a clean rag, and patted her back. The baby emitted a loud burp.

  Erik looked over at them with a smile and shook his head. “I can’t believe the noise that comes out of such a sweet little mite. She sounds like the roughest teamster.”

  Antonia pretended to frown. “Just as well she be comfortable.” She moved the baby to her other breast. “No sense havin’ a fussy babe with air in her stomach. I promise the wailin’ that be comin’ then be makin’ your own stomach ache.”

  Erik set Jacques down.

  The child clung to his leg like a sucker vine.

  Carefully, Erik shuffled sideways across the room, dragging the boy on his leg.

  Eyes bright, Jacques held on tight and chortled at the new game.

  “Daniel promised to introduce Henri to the children his age.” Erik took up the story. “Then Henri met his teacher and got all shy again but not as bad as before. Mrs. Gordon also expressed sincere condolences, both to me and Henri.”

  Antonia liked the sound of this teacher.

  “All and all, I couldn’t have hoped for a better start to his first day of school.”

  “Thank ye for all you be doin’ for my boy.”

  “He’s my boy now, too,” Erik said quietly, a firm set to his jaw. “But there’s something else I did that might upset you.”

  Her stomach tightened with dread.

  “I told you about the Thompsons. Well, Daniel goes by Daniel Rodriquez Thompson. So, liking that idea, I did the same thing with Henri. Introduced him as Henri Valleau Muth.”

  You be havin’ no right! A surge of anger and protectiveness had Antonia biting her lip to hold in the hot words. Grappling with her feelings, Antonia bent her head, pretending to look at Camilla, but really she was avoiding Erik’s gaze. The child in her arms—already her babe and loved with the same fierceness she felt for her sons—cooled her wrath. Truth be, if Daisy stood before her, demanding back her daughter, Antonia would not give up the baby.

  Erik has the right to be tackin’ his name onto Henri’s.

  Despite her fear of Jean-Claude being lost as this man took over their lives, she’d received nothing but kindness from Erik Muth. And their family would be better off if he came to love her sons as his own. . .if they all shared the same name.

  “Becoming a father to these little shavers of yours, Antonia. . . .” Erik spoke into the lengthening silence.

  She looked up and met his solemn gaze.

  He ruffled Jacques’s hair. “Let’s just say the boys are good for me.”

  “You done right,” Antonia admitted. “Be hard for me to swallow at first hearin’. But I be grateful for your care of ’em.”

  As if relieved, Erik rocked back on his heels. He glanced out the window. “I have one more field to plow, and I’d best be getting on with it.” He turned back to her. “We missed washday yesterday. Best do that all today while the weather’s good. Do you need me to get out the tub for you?”

  Why be yesterday washday? Antonia almost opened her mouth to ask but just as quickly held in the question to avoid showing her ignorance. She hadn’t needed to wash clothes for years since hers had long since worn out. Their leather garments didn’t need the same kind of care. But in the early days of her marriage, she’d b
eaten the clothing on rocks in a stream.

  She cast her memory back to her childhood, to the women of the fort working together on laundry day to wash clothes and linens. The youngsters—both boys and girls—had hauled pails of water and stirred the loads in the tubs with wooden paddles. As she grew older, she’d taken her turn at scrubbing clothing on the washboard.

  Her stomach relaxed. Although doin’ laundry be heavy labor, based on what I recall, I can figure it out on my own.

  Erik’s gaze lingered on Camilla at her breast. “The tub is in the barn—the same one you used for bathing,” he said referring to the baths they’d taken the night before. “Opposite the door where the tools are hanging. You’ll find the paddle and washboard there, as well as the can of soap shavings. The bar of soap, as you know, is in the kitchen. Do you want me to bring everything in and haul you some water? Daisy usually did the wash on the porch unless it was too cold. Saved her from having to mop up the floor.”

  Antonia looked down at Camilla. “Could you be bringin’ everything while I finish feeding her? Then I’ll be cookin’ up something for you to eat.”

  Erik pried a protesting Jacques off his leg, deposited him next to her chair, and left the room. He returned a few minutes later with two pails of water that he poured into the empty stew pot and set on the stove. Making two trips, he filled the kettle and another pot as well, then stirred up the banked coals inside the stove and added some wood. He went outside again.

  A few minutes later, she heard the clang of metal outside, and then the slosh of water.

  Antonia finished nursing, burped Camilla again, and moved to lay the baby in her cradle. Lying on the fur she’d spread on the floor of the main room, she cuddled with Jacques, allowing him to nurse as the quickest way for him to fall asleep, although she doubted she had much milk left for him.

  Once she saw Jacques slept, she rose. A glance at the cradle told her Camilla had fallen asleep as well. The baby seemed to need more rest than her boys had. Antonia hoped that was just because she’d come early and was so small. Or maybe because she was a girl? I’ll ask Henrietta when next I see her.