Beneath Montana's Sky: A Montana Sky Novella (The Montana Sky Series Book 0)

by Debra Holland

  He reached the shoulder-height boulder and climbed up. Scrambling to the top of the rock used to be an effort. Now his legs had grown long enough to hang over the sides. He settled in a comfortable spot, leaned back, and looked at the sky.

  With a doggie sigh, Bandit settled down at the base to keep guard.

  Nick had spent a lot of time on this rock lately, whenever chores allowed. He even came here when he couldn’t sleep.

  Tonight, he stared at the cold swath of blackness, the pinpricks of starlight. He liked to imagine the stars were windows to heaven and that Ma and Pa and Marcy stood on the other side and watched him. Each time he came to his rock, he chose different stars for them. Sometimes the three lights were grouped together, sometimes he picked isolated spots. On this night, he picked a bright one for his mother since she’d been on his mind. Pa had a star that reminded him of a sentinel, standing watchful near a clump. And Marcy was near Ma—a faint light that befitted her age.

  Normally the ritual comforted him. But tonight, his thoughts drifted to John’s new wife. Changes were in store, and Nick had learned to his deep regret that change meant he might end up hurtin’ somehow.

  * * *

  Elizabeth came over early to help Pamela dress on her wedding day. After the maid, Jean, had styled Pamela’s hair, they’d dismissed her so they could spend these last minutes alone. Elizabeth helped Pamela into her underskirt and carefully lifted the dress over her head.

  “I’m glad we chose cream-colored silk,” Elizabeth said, working the row of tiny buttons up the back. “I think the color is more becoming on you than white.” She reached the final button at the top. “There.” She turned Pamela to face the oval mirror standing in the corner and fluffed out the skirt.

  Pamela looked at herself and caught her breath, amazed at the image she made.

  The dress of silk faille was worn over an A-line crinoline and a pleated and ruffled silk underskirt. A wide flounce of handmade Brussels lace edged the bodice, the ends of the three-quarter sleeves, and the bottom of the basque. The sweeping train, which Pamela had insisted the dressmaker make removable, was lined with heavy ecru satin. Silk roses clustered above the train gave the illusion of a bustle.

  Pearl drops hung from her earlobes, and her veil, draped back over her head for now, was anchored by a crown of faux pearls and crystals.

  “Oh, Beth. This gown is beautiful!”

  “You are beautiful, Pam. John’s eyes will light up when he sees you.”

  Pamela glanced at her friend, resplendent in blue-green silk, and shook her head. Beautiful Elizabeth cast her into the shade. But as she studied herself in the mirror, Pamela realized today she didn’t care. John has chosen me to be his wife! She, who’d been on her last hopes, was getting married to a man she adored.

  She tried to inhale, but Elizabeth had tightly laced Pamela’s corset, making her waist more slender than usual. She shifted sideways to admire her flat stomach. But the improvement in her figure came at a stiff price. She could barely breathe and hoped she wouldn’t faint dead away during the ceremony.

  Elizabeth took a small cloth-wrapped parcel from her reticule and placed it in Pamela’s hand. “Something borrowed.” Lifting a hand, she touched Pamela’s earrings. “You already are wearing your mother’s pearls. This is something both new and blue.”

  “There was so much to think about this week, I didn’t even consider what I’d need for good luck.”

  “Well,” Elizabeth drawled. “I did have slightly less to do than you did.” She unfolded the cloth to expose a blue glass ring chatelaine in the shape of a heart with a raised gold and enamel pattern.

  “Oh, Beth, thank you! It’s beautiful.” Pamela lifted the chatelaine, designed to be discreetly carried, unscrewed the top, and sniffed. Orange blossom. “This smells heavenly.” She dabbed the scent on her wrists and neck, then carefully closed the container and slid the ring over the middle finger of her right hand. The tiny bottle fit perfectly in her palm.

  Pamela fingered the lace and embroidered handkerchief that had surrounded the chatelaine. “I recognize this.” She touched the monogram in the corner. “Your mother’s.”

  Sudden tears gleamed in Elizabeth’s eyes, and she bit her lip.

  Pamela missed her own mother with a sharp stab of longing. She took her friend’s hand. “We mustn’t cry. It wouldn’t do to have both of us walk up the aisle with red eyes.” Her mother had died when she was ten, so she’d had more years than Elizabeth to become used to her maternal absence. But not today.

  “Our mothers would have been so happy, Pam. They would have been here clucking away at you, making sure everything is perfect.”

  Pamela sent Elizabeth a loving look. “Well, I have you for that.”

  The sentence hung in the air. Neither commented that Pamela was leaving tomorrow for Montana Territory with her new husband.

  Elizabeth glanced at the small clock on the dressing table. “We’re finished fifteen minutes early. Let me help you sit. We don’t want you to wrinkle.” She pulled the train backward so Pamela could perch on the edge of her four-poster bed.

  “You’re still too pale, though.” Elizabeth leaned over and pinched Pamela’s cheeks. “That’s better. We must remember to do that again before you walk up the aisle.”

  The two friends stared at each other as if forming a memory.

  Elizabeth was the first to break the silence. “I can’t believe this is it. You’re actually getting married!”

  “The reality is just now hitting me. I’ve been so busy all week, I can’t believe I’m sitting here with nothing to do. Too bad I can’t breathe.”

  Elizabeth chuckled.

  An echoing laugh tried to bubble up inside Pamela but became trapped by the tightness of her corset. Wincing, she held up her hand in protest. “Don’t get me started, Beth. I’ll probably collapse from lack of air.”

  Her eyes dancing, Elizabeth shook her head. “You should have been wearing your corset strings tied tighter all along. Then you’d be used to the feeling by now.”

  “It didn’t matter before.”

  “Well, soon it won’t again. I doubt you’ll want a tight corset on a ranch.”

  “That will be a relief.” She paused, sighed. “My mind keeps going in circles. I keep thinking I’ve forgotten something.”

  “Silly,” Elizabeth scoffed in a loving voice. “Just write me if you need anything, and I’ll send it out to you.”

  With a sigh, Pamela tilted her head to the side until her temple rested on the bedpost. She was careful not to disturb her hair, which had more than twice the amount of pins she usually wore to keep her coiffure in place so no strands slipped loose. She needed these few minutes to relax and compose herself.

  The week before the wedding had passed in a flurry of activity as Pamela prepared for the ceremony and the reception, and did some necessary shopping—not only for her trousseau, but also for household items she thought she’d need. Her preparations kept her too busy and tired to dwell on the fact that she was about to leave all she knew and loved. She knew the feelings would hit her but suspected she’d have plenty of time in the future to miss what and whom she’d left behind.

  In addition, Pamela had waves of callers wanting to gossip about her future husband and her upcoming wedding. Seemed half her female acquaintances were awed by her intention to move to Montana Territory, and the rest thrived on relaying every bit of bad news—often involving bloody skirmishes with Indians—they’d heard, read, or imagined about life in the West. Although Pamela had little time with her fiancé, who was busy with his own concerns, she was grateful he called upon her each day. His visits helped reassure her.

  John enjoyed hearing her repeat the tales she’d heard, sometimes slapping his leg and roaring with laughter, which did more to assuage her fears than any words could. Sometimes he’d catch her up in a spontaneous hug that warmed her to her toes. Once he’d made a comment about what a gift it was to laugh.

  He also explai
ned the reality behind the gossip, as when Mrs. Albrecht had said their two-story ranch house would be buried in snow to the roof—as if Boston winters couldn’t be bitterly cold. John assured her that after a series of storms, snow up to the first floor windows was more the usual limit. His ranch hands knew to clear the snow between the house, outbuildings, and the barn at the earliest opportunity.

  In a whirlwind of shopping, she’d purchased enough supplies to stock a pantry and cellar for the next five years. She and Elizabeth had selected china in a rose pattern and shipped the eighteen place settings and matching serving pieces, as well as silverware, to Sweetwater Springs. John had never even seen the service, telling her to choose what she liked. Then he’d gone out and bought a china cabinet for her to display them and shipped it too.

  Pamela had augmented the contents of her hope chest, buying down featherbeds and pillows, linens, towels, and brown velvet curtains, along with lace panels that she could cut to fit the windows.

  Her fiancé had offered to pay for her purchases, but Pamela’s father had put his foot down, declaring their business setbacks didn’t mean they were in such dire straights that he couldn’t properly outfit his daughter, buy what she needed to start her new life, give her a beautiful wedding, and send her off with a little money, even if the sum wasn’t the dowry that he’d previously planned for her.

  In between shopping and socializing, Pamela had spent time with the housekeeper and cook, writing down the advice of both ladies, and taking lessons so she could make meals for her husband and Nick. When she was small, she’d been indulged by the cook who had encouraged her love of baking, teaching her how to make cookies and cakes. This week’s attempts at baking bread had been a disaster with the loaves turning out dry and lumpy. Hopefully she’d learned enough from her mistakes to not repeat them. But she still had her doubts.

  Elizabeth glanced at the clock and then touched Pamela’s gloved hand. “It’s time, dearest.” She pressed her lips together to hold back emotion and walked toward the door. “I’ll go tell your father you’re coming down.”

  Pamela waited until the sound of Elizabeth’s footsteps had died away before she stood. With a sad lump in her throat, she glanced around her girlhood room. The space was denuded of her familiar possessions, which were already packed for the journey, except for what she’d need for today and tomorrow. Some of her old dresses and her battered gardening hat still hung in the wardrobe for her maid to take or put into the poor box.

  When next Pamela entered her bedroom, she’d be a wife and would never again sleep in the narrow four-poster bed. Tonight, she and John were staying in the guest room. Tomorrow, they would set out for the train station.

  Just the thought of sharing a bed with John made her heart flutter. Suddenly anxious to be married, Pamela picked up her skirts and hurried out the door.

  At the top of the staircase, she paused and looked down into the entryway to see her family and Elizabeth waiting for her. Her father and three brothers stared up at her with an expression of shock and pride on their faces, and her two small nieces, standing with their mother, bounced in excitement.

  Pamela took each stair slowly, realizing what must appear to be a stately descent was really just her attempt to discreetly catch her breath with each step.

  At the bottom of the stairs, her father held out his hand.

  Pamela slipped her gloved fingers into his.

  “You look beautiful, my daughter.” Sudden tears gleamed in his eyes. “I wish your mother could be here.” He leaned close and kissed her cheek.

  Pamela inhaled the familiar scent of bay leaf soap and clung to him for a moment. “She is, Papa. She wouldn’t let me get married without her presence.”

  “Our baby girl, all grown up.” He set her back, sending a teasing glance to her older brothers. “We’d begun to think all we’d have were boys.”

  Unspoken for a moment, the memory of little Mary shimmered between them. She’s here, too. I can almost see her holding hands with Mama.

  Her oldest brother Ronald, tall and blond, looked like their mother with his narrow face and blue eyes. “Well, with my two little daughters, the female score is now equal. Although that might change in a year or two when you start popping out babies.”

  Frowning, his wife poked an elbow into his ribs.

  Ronald raised his eyebrows, mouthing innocently, what? He leaned forward to kiss Pamela’s cheek. “You do look rather dazzling for a little sister.”

  Babies. The very word dazed her. Just a short time ago, Pamela had thought she was fated to be a maiden aunt.

  She accepted kisses from her sister-in-law and two other brothers and allowed them to escort her to the carriage. Because her gown and long train took up so much space, she and her father rode alone to the church. Still struck by the knowledge that by this time next year she might be a mother, Pamela sat quietly with her hand resting in her father’s.

  The coach pulled up to Christ the Shepherd Cathedral. Her father helped her out, while her family and Elizabeth spilled out of the other carriages. Sylvia Jordan, her other bridesmaid, must have been on the watch for them because she came hurrying out of the church and took charge of the train so it wouldn’t touch the stone steps. She wore a matching dress to Elizabeth’s figure-hugging blue-green.

  The group climbed the steps to the cathedral, moving from the bright spring sunshine into the cool dimness of the church. Organ music played Handel’s “Water Music,” a selection Pamela had chosen.

  Sylvia and Elizabeth led her to the ladies’ retiring room. Outside the door, her father kissed her cheek again and said he’d wait in the vestibule. Inside, the music was muffled but still audible. Their bouquets, made of hot house white roses and orange blossoms, rested on a nearby table, perfuming the air.

  Sylvia picked up the bigger bouquet, satin ribbons wound around the stems, and handed the flowers to Pamela. “Such a special day, dear Pamela.” She gave a pretend pout. “You’re going away, you wretch. I can’t believe you won’t be here for my wedding.” Her light tone covered up genuine sadness.

  Pamela blinked back tears. “Don’t get me started,” she ordered. “Bad enough that Elizabeth already tried.” She smiled at her friends, clinging to the last moments of intimacy with the three of them together, but also eager to be wed and start her new life.

  The music changed to a piece by Brahms. The time for the ceremony drew near.

  Elizabeth tucked the flowers tighter into Sylvia’s dark blond chignon.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  Being closest, Elizabeth opened it.

  Her father waited on the other side. “Are you ready?”

  Pamela walked from the room. Once outside the inner doors, Elizabeth and Sylvia spread out her train, fussing to make sure the lace edges remained flat. The music flowed into a piece by Bach.

  Halfway through the piece, Elizabeth leaned over and pinched Pamela’s cheeks. “Beautiful, dear Pam.”

  With quick smiles, her bridesmaids pushed through the doors and left her to walk up the aisle.

  She and her father stepped inside the sanctuary and halted by the first pew. The organ and trumpet swelled to “The Prince of Denmark’s March.”

  Goosebumps cascaded over Pamela’s skin, and champagne bubbles danced in her stomach.

  Everyone rose with a hushed rustling. Their gazes played over her gown, her hair, her face, and reflected back admiration—an uncommon occurrence that she relished with deep appreciation.

  And then Pamela saw her future husband, tall and handsome in a black suit. Before now, she’d thought she’d be nervous with everyone watching her, but Pamela only had eyes for her groom, and he for her. The rest of the room blurred into unimportance.

  With a stately glide, she and her father moved up the aisle. Seeing the intensity in John’s eyes, his happy smile, made her steps falter as her heart filled with hope.

  Dear Lord, please may this marriage turn into a love match!

  * * *

/>   Before this last month, John had never considered his wedding beyond assuming he’d have one someday. Somehow, the years—too filled with ranch duties—had slipped by without him marrying. A good thing, for then he would have settled on someone other than Pamela Burke-Smythe, and he couldn’t imagine any other lady but her at his side for life.

  But if he had thought about his wedding, John would have assumed he’d marry in the church in Sweetwater Springs, with Reverend Norton conducting the ceremony and his friends lining the pews.

  The reality could not be more different.

  He waited for his bride in front of an ornately carved altar in a cathedral that was six times bigger and three times higher than the church at home. The box pews were filled with people he didn’t know at all, with only a handful who were mere acquaintances sitting on the groom’s side of the aisle.

  Organ music changed from “Andante from Symphony I” by Johannes Brahms—not that he would have known the piece without Pamela and Reverend Wallis going over the order of the service with him—to ‘Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring,’ which Mrs. Norton always played on the piano at the Christmas Eve service. The piece sounded far more impressive coming from the huge pipe organ.

  Even with Ronald and James Burke-Smythe at his side in what should have been Andrew’s role as best man, and Great-Aunt Hester sitting in the first row with her daughters, granddaughters, and their spouses, John felt alone. No individual was present in this cavernous room that he’d known more than three weeks.

  As a trumpet joined the organ in Jeremiah Clark’s triumphant march, John was glad Pamela had chosen the piece over the more traditional “Bridal Chorus” from Lohengrin. Even though he had familiarity with the music because Mrs. Norton had played the piece by Wagner at every wedding he’d attended.

  The music sent goosebumps down John’s arms, bringing him into stark awareness of the sanctity of this ceremony, the weight of the commitment he was about to make, the new life journey he and Pamela were about to embark on…together. Goosebumps shivered over his skin, and his legs trembled. He didn’t chide himself for the unmanly reactions, just took some deep breaths to steady himself.