Surely, people will be kind and understanding of our hasty marriage, not judgmental. He didn’t mind so much for himself, but for Antonia. He was established here, known by most. But she was a stranger and still coping with grief, and—he glanced at Henri—the boy as well, for all he’d seemed better.
Only one cutting remark causes harm. And if they hurt, he would, too.
No hint of nervousness showed on Antonia’s face or in her upright carriage. Her expression remained calm. She’d left the raccoon skin coat in the wagon and now wore Daisy’s blue shawl, which was too small and the color didn’t become her.
When Erik studied his new wife, shame washed over him. He’d vowed to cherish this woman even if, in a haze of grief, he’d said the words to a stranger he’d met a few hours earlier, scarcely knowing what came out of his mouth. But I haven’t done a very good job.
Perhaps because Antonia seemed to want so little for herself, he’d been blind to her wardrobe needs. Daisy would have set up a screech to get what she wanted—especially regarding clothing—and he’d assumed Antonia would do the same.
Will others see what I do when I look at her? The strength in her features, the gilded eyes, a smile that warms me when it appears? Or will they see the moccasins on her feet? A faded bonnet and a too-small shawl that’s the wrong color for her dress—items they recognize as having belonged to Daisy?
Mrs. Carter’s words, uttered in the store on the day of Daisy’s death, came back to him. A lady can wear rags, but as long as she holds up her head and carries herself proudly, people will see her, not her clothing. She’d meant to chide Mrs. Cobb and Mrs. Murphy and bolster Antonia’s confidence, but she should have directed them straight at him.
Maybe I’m taking on too much of Daisy’s thinking. Plenty of women in this town only had one or two dresses that had to last for years. The same with their hats, shawls, coats, and shoes. Until now, Erik hadn’t realized how he’d come to view the social world through Daisy’s eyes, as well as his own.
Daisy had always approached church with an air of smugness that increased when she wore a new outfit, especially a fashionable one sent from her parents. She was secure in her appearance as a pretty, popular woman, with—she’d once told him—a husband who was both handsome and as strong as an ox. She’d basked in her popularity, smiling and waving at everyone and calling greetings to her particular friends. They’d stop a dozen times to have short conversations before they even reached the building.
Today, though, as the street grew crowded, few people did more than nod in their direction. Others slid their gazes away and quickened their steps. A few gave him strained smiles but didn’t stop to talk. Here and there, someone openly stared at them.
Erik couldn’t really blame them. He never knew what to say to someone who’d suffered the death of a loved one. Better not say anything at all, than something that might cause more pain instead of bringing comfort.
But he also noticed men stopping to talk to one another. From the serious expressions on their faces, he wondered what was going on. Maybe the storm damaged their places—homes, barns, livestock—although such discussions wouldn’t exclude the womenfolk. . . . Erik shrugged. I’m probably not the only one who shields my wife from unpleasant discussions.
Antonia’s face brightened. “There be Pamela and John. Oh, I hope to meet their children.”
“I know them.” Henri skipped ahead a few feet and waved. “Hiya, Lizzy!”
Erik exchanged an astonished look with Antonia and felt himself relax. The boy’s despondency had weighed on him.
Lizzy Carter, holding her mother’s hand, wore a blue dress with lace at the cuffs and sleeves, a frock that looked like it cost more than the price of a cow. She gave Henri a shy smile and curled her hand in a tiny wave, and then tugged her mother in their direction.
Pamela Carter, stylish in a brown-and-cranberry plaid dress with balloon sleeves—a new style Daisy had coveted until her parents satisfied her craving by sending her a gown of the fashionable design—glanced their way and smiled. She bent to say something to Lizzy, and the two came over to them.
“My dear Antonia.” Pamela released her daughter and placed a hand on Antonia’s arm. “I’m so pleased to see you are looking well.” She glanced up at Erik. “And you, too.” She leaned over Camilla. “Let me see this dear one.”
Antonia held out the baby so Pamela could view her. “Oh, she’s grown so! Such lovely eyes.” She placed a hand over her heart. “The sight of her makes me teary.”
Sadness welled in Erik. Don’t get me started. He wanted to get through this day without becoming emotional.
Antonia shifted Camilla to one arm and took Pamela’s other hand. “She be makin’ me be teary sometimes, too.”
Pamela patted her chest as if pushing down her rising emotion. “Enough sentiment.” She lowered her hand. “Come meet my dear friends, Nick and Elizabeth Sanders.” She gestured to a couple talking to John. The woman held a baby.
As with the Carters, Erik didn’t know the Sanders except for an exchange of greetings. Even Daisy had been intimidated by the wealthy Boston belle who’d come to visit the Carters and ended up married to a local cowboy. The couple joined the Carters and the Thompsons as leaders of the town, although that group also included Banker Caleb Livingston, Reverend Norton, Dr. Cameron, the Cobbs—as unpleasant as they were—Ant Gordon the newspaper owner and his wife the schoolteacher, and now the new female sheriff, K.C. Granger.
Blonde, blue-eyed Elizabeth Sanders’s beautiful countenance was one a man could stare at. If said man wasn’t married, of course. She was plumper since the birth of her daughter but wore the serene glow of a contented wife and mother. The babe-in-arms, about five months older than Camilla, was bundled in a pink blanket. The mother glanced down at her child with a loving gaze.
I wonder if Daisy would have looked so after Camilla’s birth? Somehow, he couldn’t see her taking the same delight in her daughter as Elizabeth Sanders did in hers. The thought made him feel disloyal, even more so because he suspected Antonia enjoyed being a mother far more than Daisy would have.
Jacques wiggled to get down.
Erik clamped his arms around him. Once on the ground, the boy would be filthy quicker than a dog could roll over.
“Pa,” Jacques demanded. “Paa!”
On second thought, perhaps it was better to let the boy get out his fidgets before the service, for containing a baa, haa, paaing Jacques would be well-nigh impossible. Erik set the boy on his feet and held his hand, taking small steps while he walked and hoping the toddler would stay upright and out of the dirt.
Jacques seemed content enough, at least for now, toddling along at Erik’s side.
They reached the other couple.
John greeted them, his gaze lingering on Antonia’s face. He gave a slight nod and a satisfied smile. “Antonia, may I say you are looking better than when last I saw you?”
“I could hardly not be,” she said in a teasing tone.
John’s lips turned up. “Yes, definitely better.” He laid a hand on the shoulder of the man next to him, who wasn’t much older than Erik. “May I introduce my godson, Nick Sanders, and his lovely wife, Elizabeth, who happens to be Pamela’s best friend.”
Antonia was taller than both women, closer to Nick Sanders’s height, and not without her own appeal.
Elizabeth sent them a glance of compassion. “Pamela and John shared with us your tragic circumstances. I’m sorry Nick and I weren’t in town at the time to support you through your ordeal.”
Her genuine graciousness surprised him—not what he would have suspected from a former East Coast socialite. “We were well supported.” He nodded at John. “A debt I can never repay.”
“Nonsense,” John said. “As I told you before, in this town, we help each other out.”
Pamela laughed. “Why, the first day after I arrived here from Boston, newly married to John, the entire town turned out to welcome me.”
Makin
g a comical face, John leaned over as if to confide in Antonia. “And all of them came straight away to clean out and freshen up the hovel my house had become. Thank goodness they did, else Pamela might have turned around and high-tailed back to Boston.”
The men laughed.
“Never.” Pamela wrapped her hand around her husband’s arm. “Luckily, they all brought food, else I’d have been sunk, for John’s larder contained only beans and beef.”
Elizabeth bent closer to Antonia. The breeze wafted a hint of her perfume. “How is the baby doing?”
“Everyone’s wanting to be seeing. . .to see our Camilla. Perhaps I should just hold her up in front of me like a sign,” Antonia joked.
“She’s beautiful. Very like Daisy. Oh!” Elizabeth glanced at Antonia in obvious consternation. “You don’t mind me saying that do you?”
“Why not?” Antonia asked with her characteristic straightforwardness. “Be. . .it’s the truth.”
Erik’s chest swelled with pride. His wife was trying so hard to speak well.
“Seems like only yesterday Carol was that small,” Elizabeth said with a wistful tone. “They grow so fast.” She kissed her daughter’s head. “I waited so long to have her, and I’m trying to enjoy every minute.”
Humor glinted in Nick’s blue-green eyes. “Perhaps not every minute.”
They all joined in his laughter—a mutual sharing on the more challenging aspects of parenthood.
To Erik, the two baby girls looked similar—blue eyes, wispy blonde hair, and unformed faces—although Camilla was far tinier. “They could be sisters. Perhaps when they’re older, they’ll become the best of friends.”
“Or bitter rivals, each the queen of a circle of admirers,” Nick joked.
“We’ll be fighting off the boys with a shotgun,” Erik quipped. Not that he could imagine his little mite as a woman grown.
“No doubt about that,” Nick agreed. “The thought of Carol as a young lady, looking as beautiful as her mama, is enough to keep me up at nights.”
Erik could share in that vision. Least I won’t have to warn off fortune hunters like Nick will. “Thank goodness, we have plenty of time before then.”
Elizabeth handed her daughter to Nick. “Your turn for baby duty.” She turned to Antonia. “I need to start the processional.” With a smile of farewell, she hurried off.
Antonia stared after her with a puzzled look.
“Elizabeth plays the piano,” Erik explained. “Music for the service.”
The bell in the tower on the white clapboard church began to ring, the rich tones summoning the congregation to worship. As if being herded, everyone moved toward the door.
Only Sheriff Granger remained still. Even on a Sunday, the officer of the law was dressed like a man in a gray three-piece suit.
The idea of a woman wearing men’s clothing had shocked Erik when he’d first heard the story. But after two months of exposure to Antonia, he thought differently. Now he approved of the sheriff’s apparel. She couldn’t effectively do her job wearing a dress.
Sheriff Granger watched them with cool gray eyes, nodding as they passed.
Erik dipped his head in return.
The sheriff returned to surveying the crowd.
He wondered why she looked so alert. He couldn’t recall her being so stern before. Then again, he and Daisy had only attended a couple of church services between Christmas, when the sheriff was hired, and Daisy’s death. Maybe he’d missed the sheriff’s serious attitude.
Reverend and Mrs. Norton stood opposite each other at the foot of the church stairs welcoming their flock.
Mrs. Norton patted Erik’s arm. “I’m so glad to see you, dear Mr. Muth. You and your family have been in my thoughts and prayers.”
“Your prayers have helped.”
“Good.” She patted him again before stooping to say hello to Jacques and Henri.
Reverend Norton greeted Antonia by taking her hand between both of his own and saying something in a voice too low to hear.
Antonia smiled and nodded.
The minister touched Camilla’s head, as if blessing her, before turning to the next person in line.
Erik swung Jacques into his arms, mounted the stairs after his wife and oldest son, and entered the church. Once inside, he removed his hat and guided Antonia to a pew near the back, in case one of them had to make a quick escape with a fussy baby. They took a seat amid other families with babies, and the single cowboys, who tended to group themselves by the ranch they worked at, packing the pews fuller than a pod stuffed with peas.
They claimed their spot. At the same moment, Elizabeth, sitting at the piano in the front corner of the room, began to play a piece that must be her favorite, for she often opened the service with the same music. As always, the first notes of the piano worked their magic on the congregation, for they settled down.
Erik had to set his hat on the floor underneath him, for there was no other spot for it, and Jacques took up his whole lap.
Antonia stared at Elizabeth, an enraptured expression on her face.
Erik suspected she’d never heard anything like the complicated music. Well, most people in small Western towns probably hadn’t. Bach, Mrs. Norton had once told Erik when he’d asked.
During the service, Erik did his best to guide Antonia with gentle nudges, stand and pray; sit and listen to the reading; stand and sing; sit and listen to the sermon, so she’d be no more than a little behind the rest of them.
Jacques enjoyed the singing, pounding Erik’s thigh with the palm of his hand, almost in rhythm to the hymns, adding an occasional, “baa, baa, baa!” Luckily, the other voices drowned him out.
Erik noticed Antonia wasn’t singing, and he wondered if she didn’t know the hymns or had forgotten them. Maybe I can ask to borrow a hymnal, and she can learn some at home.
Jacques fell asleep during the first few minutes of the sermon, much to Erik’s relief.
Aside from some gurgles, Camilla was content to look around or hold Antonia’s fingers.
After the conclusion of the service, the family filed out. Henri found a friend and darted away.
The members of the congregation must have gotten used to seeing Erik and Antonia together, for they received more greetings than before church, with the women nearest them wanting to coo over Camilla.
Unlike Sundays in the past, when Erik had drifted off to speak with the men, and Daisy had surrounded herself with her female friends, today he stuck to Antonia’s side. Erik and Antonia hadn’t taken many steps away from the building before the doctor’s redheaded wife, Alice, snagged Antonia. She, too, held a baby in her arms.
Normally, he would have stayed to politely view the new arrival, but with a jerk of his head, John Carter, in serious discussion with fellow ranchers Wyatt Thompson and Nick Sanders, summoned Erik to join them.
Although he didn’t want to leave Antonia, Erik couldn’t turn down the invitation to speak with the three leading ranchers in the area. He shifted the sleeping Jacques to a more comfortable position for carrying and walked over to them.
John made an inclusive gesture, making space for Erik in the circle. “Sorry to pull you away from your bride, but we wanted to speak to you without our wives present. No need to worry them.”
Wyatt Thompson, who owned the second largest ranch in Sweetwater Springs, exchanged a sardonic glance with Nick. “Our wives won’t be pleased when they find we’ve been keeping things from them. We probably need to be more worried about the ladies going on a warpath than the Indians.”
“Indians?” Erik said sharply, remembering the conversation from the day he’d married Antonia. With the press of other concerns, the loss of some livestock around the area had slipped his mind. Truth be told, some of his memories of that day still remained hazy.
John swung off his Stetson, scrubbed his high forehead, and frowned. “The thefts that started a few months ago have continued. As long as no one spotted any Indians again, there wasn’t anyone to fo
cus the blame on. We wanted to know if there’ve been any problems at your place.”
“Not with disappearing livestock,” Erik said wryly.
The grimaces that crossed the men’s faces acknowledged the fact that Erik had suffered far greater losses.
Sheriff Granger, along with Ant Gordon and Caleb Livingston, the banker, joined them, nodding greetings.
Erik was a big man, used to towering over most others. Wyatt Thompson was about his size, and John and the banker were almost as tall. But Ant Gordon topped Erik by at least four inches. His size and dark angular features gave him the appearance of a villain in a penny dreadful novel. But in spite of his looks, he’d managed to snare the affections of the petite town schoolteacher. The man had been a foreign news correspondent before settling in Sweetwater Springs, and on several occasions, he and Erik had spoken of history and world events.
The sheriff was tall for a woman—topping Nick Sanders’s height—with a solid build covered by the men’s three-piece suit she wore. With her husky voice and brown hair tucked up under her hat, she could easily pass for a man.
Erik figured she hadn’t dealt with more than drunken cowboys since accepting the job. But before that, she’d captured a murderer on the outskirts of Sweetwater Springs. Story was, she’d trailed him for weeks all the way from Wyoming.
“Sheriff Granger, what are your thoughts on the matter?” Erik asked, making sure to sound curious rather than critical. He didn’t want to get her back up. Wouldn’t do to offend the law.
“When something’s reported, I go investigate.”
“You, ah. . .go alone?” he asked.
“I deputized the blacksmith. When Red Charlie can spare the time, he comes with me. He still has connections with the reservation.”
A smart choice for a deputy.
“Some losses I can put down to natural causes. But the others. . .” She shrugged. “They cover their tracks well.”
The hard glint in her eyes told Erik she meant business. “They?”
Ant Gordon shifted to get their attention. “Hank Anderson, a small farmer out on the prairie past my house, rode to tell me that he shot and injured a rustler on his place. Seemed pretty sure he was an Indian.” The newspaperman had a low, gravelly voice in keeping with his dark appearance. “In the morning, Hank followed the trail of blood—three sets of moccasin prints, one with a limp, and three sets of hoof prints—until he hit a stream, and the sign disappeared.”
Healing Montana Sky Page 25
