Healing Montana Sky

by Debra Holland

  One more time, he glanced back to where the horny toad had disappeared, hoping to see. . . .

  A gust of wind fluttered the grass.

  With heavy steps, Henri turned and moved toward his family.

  When Camilla wails reached him, Erik’s conscience bit, and he called a halt for the day. He looked around the broad area they’d cut—the windrows rolled into small stacks to protect them from the dew that would come overnight—and had the satisfaction that they’d accomplished twice as much today than if he’d been on his own. He glanced over at Antonia.

  She pushed back her sunbonnet and ran an arm across her forehead.

  “You go take care of Camilla and the boys, and I’ll hitch up the horses.”

  With a tired smile, she nodded.

  Once he’d harnessed the team, he took the empty keg and bucket back to the wagon, smiling to see Henri writing on his slate.

  Antonia stood in the shade. The baby suckled at her breast, and Jacques clung to her leg. Fatigue shadowed her eyes, and guilt stabbed him.

  She worked beside me without complaint all day. He hadn’t given a thought to her well-being, assuming that when she’d had enough, she’d start complaining. That’s what Daisy would have done. He thought back through the day and realized he’d been the one to stop them for lunch. The oddest feeling of pride in her and disgust at himself tangled in his chest.

  “Sit and rest,” he ordered, pointing at the blanket. “I’ll pack up.”

  She sank to her knees, clutching the baby.

  He picked up a jar, filled it with water, and handed it to her. Then he scraped the bottom of the crock to get the last of the water with the dipper and took a draught.

  After he’d drunk his fill, Erik quickly put the tools in the wagon. He lifted the boys into the back and then reached down a hand to help Antonia to her feet.

  His wife leaned on him more than he figured she would have normally done, and his guilt deepened. He kept a steadying arm around her while escorting her to the wagon. Then he took Camilla while Antonia climbed up.

  His daughter squirmed in his arms and let out a squawk, anxious to return to her feeding, which she did as soon as he lifted her to Antonia.

  Once in the wagon, Erik would have liked to urge the team to a faster pace so they could return home sooner, but he couldn’t be sure Jacques was secure.

  Dusk was settling as they approached the house. Although the guilt continued to stab him, Erik had the livestock to attend to. The needs of his wife and family would have to come second.

  As he unhitched the horses, groomed and fed them, then milked the cows, Erik pondered the realization that something had changed today with his relationship with Antonia. That something felt both good and bad. While his hands went about their familiar tasks, he puzzled out what was different.

  He realized, for the first time today, Antonia had felt like his wife, his partner, and that was progress. Yet, if he became close with her, what did that mean for his memories of Daisy?

  Erik had struggled with these feelings since the storm but with the press of planting, taking care of the livestock, making repairs around the place, and driving into town every day, he’d been able to push them aside. He had no doubt he’d loved Daisy, loved her still, would always love her. So, how could he also feel satisfaction and an odd sense of intimacy and partnership with Antonia?

  Deciding such thoughts and emotions were too much for his tired male brain to figure out, Erik resolved to put them from his mind. He finished the milking and brought the pails into the springhouse, filled a pitcher with chilled milk, and carried it to the house.

  Antonia had set out supper, and the boys had clean faces and hands. She looked like she’d washed up, too, although she hadn’t changed clothes, and tiredness made her face look drawn.

  He smiled at her and set the pitcher on the counter.

  She took it and poured four glasses.

  Erik went back on the porch to wash up. When he came inside, he saw the table was set, and everyone was waiting for him.

  Camilla slept in the cradle near Antonia’s feet.

  He claimed a seat and gave thanks. Then they set to, as if they’d never eaten before. The meal was cold from the springhouse and pantry: pheasant, hard-boiled eggs, bottled green beans, potatoes, applesauce, and bread and butter. Even Henri, who never ate as much as Erik thought a boy should, piled into his food.

  The milk went down as quickly as the food, until, at the end of the meal, the boys nodded over the scraps left on their plate.

  Antonia gathered up the children and took them into the bedroom, tucking them into the bed. She placed the cradle next to them. Later, when it was time for Erik to go to bed, they’d transfer the boys to the pile of furs in the main room.

  His wife returned, lighting an oil lamp before she sat again at the table. She placed it between them.

  Erik used his last bite of bread to slop up the little bit of applesauce left on his plate, and then leaned back, too exhausted to move. He looked at Antonia.

  The lamplight burnished the gold of her eyes. The shadows hid the tired lines of her face.

  Once again, he felt that sense of connection that had gnawed at him earlier. “Thank you.”

  She gave him a puzzled look.

  “For helping today.”

  With a shake of her head, she made a dismissing gesture.

  He captured her hand in his, curled his fingers around hers, and lowered their joined hands to the surface of the table. “You were a big help to me today. Henri, too, what with him keeping an eye on the babies. I’m grateful. You worked as hard as a man.” He broke eye contact to look down. “I’m ashamed to say, I treated you like a man, too. Didn’t stop enough to rest. Assumed you’d tell me when you needed to stop. But you kept up with me the whole way through.”

  Her hand moved, and he thought she was going to pull away. But Antonia surprised him by turning up her palm and clasping his. “I didn’t need to stop, or I would have.”

  “I can see how tired you are. How sore and stiff.”

  She gave him a wry smile. “Course I be tired and sore and stiff. You be, too.”

  He started to protest.

  She held up her other hand to stop him. “I’m proud of what we done today, Erik. Please don’t be snatchin’ that away by criticizin’ yourself.”

  He shook his head, feeling the pressure behind his eyes that seemed to hit him so often since Daisy’s death. He waited awhile until he could speak without betraying any emotion. He was about to order her to bed. . .to tell her that he’d go haying alone tomorrow, to give her a day to rest. But he paused, realizing that wisdom dictated he ask Antonia’s opinion. “I can do it alone tomorrow.”

  She gave their clasped hands a little thump on the table. “You’ll do no such thing, Erik Muth. We’ll all go together.”

  Smiling, he brought their joined hands to his mouth and placed a kiss on her wrist. “So be it.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The next morning, Antonia woke from a deep sleep to see the house filled with morning light. I’ve overslept. The lack of sound from the bedroom told her Erik must be up and about, and her conscience prodded her to get out of her bed of furs.

  Still drowsy and in no mood to jump up, she glanced over at the boys, surprised that they hadn’t woken her. Antonia watched them for a moment, thinking how beautiful they looked to her and how very blessed she was to have them.

  Thoughts of Jean-Claude didn’t bring the usual pang of grief, just a feeling of gratitude and warmth. Curious, she probed at her emotions. Her circumstances had changed so completely since Jean-Claude’s death—her day-to-day life, her focus—everything so different than before. In some ways, Antonia felt years had gone by since that day she’d buried him in the mountain garden. In that respect, perhaps she was luckier than Erik, for he still lived in the same surroundings and had to struggle with a stranger and her children stepping into Daisy’s place.

  Antonia wasn’t foolish e
nough to believe her grief had passed. Nor did she want the feelings to wane, for a beloved husband and the life they’d shared deserved to be mourned. No, this be just a respite. She repeated the word, respite. From Henri at his lessons and Erik in his everyday speaking, she was learning new words, new—proper—ways of saying her thoughts. And this, too, moved her further and further from Jean-Claude.

  Judging from the way her grief ebbed and flowed, Antonia was fairly sure something soon would happen, perhaps in just a few hours, which would once again make her want to weep or kick the side of the house. Although, if I be lucky, this be a good day.

  “Thank you, Jean-Claude. Thank you for giving me our children,” Antonia said aloud, hoping he could hear her. It wasn’t the first time she’d made the statement, and it wouldn’t be the last. I’ll be eighty years old and thinking the same thing. Although, God willin’, I be givin’ thanks for children and grandchildren. . .and maybe great-grandchildren.

  Antonia sat up, but then wished she hadn’t moved. Every muscle ached from the haying. She had to suppress groans of pain as she rose from the pile of furs and struggled to her feet. Leaning over, unable to stand upright without hurting, she hobbled to the table to take hold of the back of a chair, where she forced her stiff body to straighten.

  As she creaked and inwardly groaned through dressing, the walk to the privy, and the washing-up afterward, she wondered what Erik had planned for the day. Antonia figured she’d go find him after she fed the chickens. But needing some willowbark tea to soothe her aches and, she suspected, her husband’s aches as well, Antonia first stoked the stove.

  When Antonia moved the teakettle, she found it full, even though she knew she’d used up the water the previous night and hadn’t refilled it. She must have slept too deeply to hear Erik moving around, and she blessed his thoughtfulness.

  Since the children were still sleeping, and the tea needed to steep, she headed out to feed the chickens and gather any eggs they’d already laid. Once she brought the pan of feed and opened the door of the henhouse, the birds flocked to her. The chickens hadn’t taken long to transfer their loyalty from Daisy to her. Whoever feeds them. . .

  By now, Antonia had learned to distinguish the twelve birds they had left after Erik gifted three to Henrietta. The black-and-white one was the fastest, beating the others to attack a bug. Little brown Sadie needed extra feed scattered at her feet, but not until the rest of the hens were busy pecking away at their food and wouldn’t notice. Otherwise, some of the bigger birds pushed her out of the way. Penny, a copper-colored hen, was the most affectionate, seeming to enjoy being petted.

  The birds joined Antonia when she worked in the garden, pecking at the weeds and worms she uncovered. She’d come to enjoy their company, although she had to watch Jacques, who loved to crawl after them. So far, they’d evaded him, but she could tell he’d be walking any day now. Already, he could take a step or two on his own before dropping back down to his knees. Once sturdy on his feet, those chickens would be in trouble.

  After Antonia had fed and watered the chickens, she gathered the eggs—another task she’d become adept at. Even with the broody ones, she thought with pride.

  Then the black one managed to nip the back of her hand.

  Antonia winced and shook her head. Spoke too soon. I be not moving fast enough today.

  Carrying the wire basket of eggs, she strolled to the barn to return the pan. Her muscles had loosened up, making it easier and slightly less painful to move. Before going into the barn, she glanced at the house and strained to hear any sound the children might have made. So far, no cries told her the babies were awake.

  Looking down, she saw the copper-colored hen had followed her, wanting attention. Forgetting her stiffness, Antonia crouched, and then regretted the movement before she’d gone far, but it was too late to stop her downward momentum. Her leg muscles protested, and she made a sound of pain.

  Setting down the egg basket, she scooped Penny into her arms and stood, running her fingers over the hen’s back.

  The bird shifted, fluttered her wings, and gurgled softly.

  “Like a cat, you be, Penny. Likin’ being rubbed.” The two of them had developed this morning ritual. The hen’s feathers were soft, and Antonia found petting the chicken soothing. A few times, when she felt in need of comfort, if Erik wasn’t around and the babies napped, she sought out the chicken and took Penny to the porch, sitting in the rocking chair with the bird in her lap.

  Erik walked out of the barn, carrying the hay rakes. He stopped when he saw Antonia holding a chicken. “What have we here?”

  “Penny follows me. Not just for food.”

  “For affection.” He smiled. “Sadie always trailed Daisy around for petting. Guess Penny’s taken a liking to you.”

  Penny likes me better than Daisy. She’d assumed the chicken had acted the same with both women. The thought gave her a secret little thrill.

  “There be willowbark tea a brewin’ for your aches and pains.”

  His eyebrows raised in surprise. “That’s thoughtful of you. Give me a few minutes.” He continued on to the wagon and set the rakes in the back, propped against the side, then moved around the barn and out of sight.

  Deep in thought, she stroked the chicken, wondering why Erik had seemed surprised by the offer of tea and why Penny liked Antonia better than the woman the hen had always known. Mayhap neither hen nor man be receivin’ enough attention from Daisy. Could be she stopped doing as much when she became pregnant.

  To Antonia, Daisy seemed the perfect wife. In comparison to her, she’d felt gawky and ignorant—just as when she was a girl—and supposed everyone else viewed her the same way.

  Only a chicken but still. . . . In gratitude, she gave the hen some extra attention before setting her down and picking up the egg basket. As she headed toward the house, Antonia wondered if Erik would take a liking to her as well. Not more than Daisy, a course. She accepted that Daisy would always have first place in his heart, like Jean-Claude did in hers. But I’d be a liking to be a close second.

  She chided herself for indulging in fanciful thoughts. Erik be caring about me, and I be caring for him. Best not think about more.

  Today’s haymaking was much a repeat of yesterday. After getting the children settled in the wagon and the horses picketed, Erik and Antonia spread out the mounds of hay to dry in long windrows. Then they moved on to cut a new section. Erik was intent on being more solicitous of Antonia, insisting she halt for some water or to spend time with the children.

  Finally, she shot him a glance that told him to stop.

  He chuckled. While he felt half-dismayed she didn’t appreciate his attempt to be a better husband, he was also amused that he’d already learned to read her so well.

  After lunch, the children napped beside them on the blanket in the shade of the wagon. Henri had exhausted himself “helping” gather the hay, and he slept mouth open, sprawled between the babies.

  Erik propped his arms on his knees and looked over the horizon. Lines of thin clouds feathered across the sky. A warm breeze ruffled the windrows, carrying the scent of mown grass their way. He watched a hawk glide and dive, pouncing on its prey. With mighty wing flaps, it rose, a hapless mouse clutched in its talons.

  Antonia sat straighter and smothered a yawn.

  “Don’t get me started.” Even as Erik said the words, he, too, yawned. “I know better than to lay down today. Probably would fall asleep. But we can still take a few minutes to sit here. Not too often we have some quiet time without a child awake.” Then, concerned lest Antonia think he was criticizing her boys, he shot her a contrite look. “That’s not a complaint.”

  Antonia patted his leg. “Didn’t take it to be.” She’d taken off her sunbonnet as soon as they’d sat in the shade and tossed it next to his straw hat at the edge of the blanket. A spiky wisp of hay speared through the waist-length braid she wore over her shoulder.

  Ever since the storm, they’d been more comfortab
le around each other, venturing small touches. He plucked the hay from her hair and held the piece in front of her face, so she could see what he’d taken. Playfully, he tickled her nose with one end.

  “Oh, you.” She wrinkled her nose and swatted his hand out of the way.

  “Do you feel you’re settling in all right?”

  “As well as be expected.” Antonia pursed her lips, obviously thinking. “Perhaps I be a tetch better than that. Ain’t sayin’ it be easy, mind you.”

  As she spoke, he dipped his head in slow nods. “I think I can say the same.”

  “I be thinkin’ something this mornin’.” She hesitated. “Livin’ together must be harder on you. Us ’uns here takin’ Daisy’s place. Jean-Claude. . .he be left in peace on the mountain.”

  Erik dropped the grass. “No one to disturb his memory?”

  “Aye.”

  “Sometimes it is hard. Pain comes like stabbing me in the chest with a pitchfork.” He pantomimed running himself through. “Then other times, it’s just plain uncomfortable—living with strangers who are now supposed to be family.”

  A quick duck of her head told him she agreed.

  “Getting better, though. We are becoming a family in truth. There’s been more good as well. Even a save-my-sanity, grateful-to-my-bones kind of good. I don’t know how I would have gotten through this time without you.” He reached over and touched Camilla’s foot. “And she’s still with us, which is the biggest gift of all. I hold on to that when Daisy’s loss hurts the most.”

  “Bein’ with her be healin’ me, too.”

  He nodded. “I’d known Daisy most of my life, decided early on I’d marry her someday. . . . She’s woven through my life history.”

  “I be fifteen when I met Jean-Claude, and we hitched up.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “That’s really young.”

  “My pa, he be glad to have me off his hands. Never done paid me much mind.”

  “A fort’s not a place for a young lady without a mother. How old are you now?”

  She shrugged. “Ain’t figured it out in a long while. We be wed four years afore Henri’s birth.” She counted silently on her fingers. “Twenty-five.”