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

by Debra Holland

  So much work to be done. She took a deep breath and mounted the stairs.

  The front door had once been painted black and that had faded, too.

  John opened the door for her and waited.

  She stepped inside, blinking in the dimmer light. The entry looked spacious enough—a hallway with a staircase on the right. A hat rack draped with coats, scarves, and hats stood to her left.

  As she walked down the hallway, sand crunched under her feet. She winced, thinking about the additional damage to the already scuffed floors.

  John showed her the parlor, with moth-eaten curtains and stiff furniture that looked unused. A layer of dust covered every surface, and a musty odor hung in the air. She hastily backed out.

  In the kitchen, an old-fashioned stove was in need of blacking. A rusty splatterware coffeepot perched on one of the burners, a big cast-iron pot on another. Curious, she peered inside and saw beans soaking in water.

  “Probably what Edgar’s making for supper.”

  Surely, that’s not all he’s serving?

  She continued her assessment of the kitchen. A brick oven was set into a wall. A filthy scrap of rug lay in front of an outer doorway. The floor was covered with stains, and the big table in the middle of the room had scorch marks and gouges. This house definitely lacks a woman’s touch.

  A long metal sink ran underneath a window that looked on a fenced vegetable garden. At least, there’s a water pump inside. Pamela hadn’t thought to ask John if the house had a bathroom. With a sinking heart, she realized the answer was probably no.

  Open shelves held a collection of various-sized bags and tins. Thankfully, they looked well-supplied, if only with staples. “Where’s the cellar?”

  He pointed to a narrow door she hadn’t noticed because it was painted a dingy white like the rest of the woodwork.

  Pamela decided she’d brave an inspection of the cellar, which was probably full of spiders and cobwebs, at another time. Striving to keep a smile on her face, she glanced at her husband.

  “I’m sorry about the state of the house, Pamela.” John shook his head and rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I didn’t realize how bad things had grown. I’m afraid, the upstairs isn’t much better.” He ran his forefinger along a gouge on the table. “After living in beautiful surroundings these past weeks, I see everything with fresh eyes, and I’m downright ashamed.”

  Pamela took quick steps to his side. “Oh, no, John.” She seized his hand with both of hers. “I will admit that the first sight of things daunted me.” She let out a shuddering breath and decided to be honest. “On second and third sight, too.” She squared her shoulders. “Definitely a lot of work is needed around here to put things to rights.”

  A relieved expression crossed his face.

  Poor man. He must have been dreading my reaction.

  “Good thing I brought so much with me. There’s plenty of cleaning supplies. But…” She couldn’t hold his gaze, almost afraid to make her admission. What will he think of me?

  “What?” His brow wrinkled into a deep frown. “Tell me, dear.”

  “In Boston, we had a housekeeper and maids. I’ve never actually scrubbed anything in my life and wouldn’t know where to start.”

  He chuckled. “I expected that. I saw how you live, servants and all. And Great-Aunt Hester had a frank talk with me. The fact that you can bake a cake is actually an unexpected surprise.”

  She let out a breath in relief. “Can I count on you and the men to help?”

  “Of course. Whatever you need.” He chuckled. “Although they might threaten to quit on the spot. And, I have to warn you. I’ve been away for so long, I don’t know what needs doing on the ranch. While you were sitting in the coach in town, Digger told me Samson, you remember that’s my gelding, has thrush. I want to go check to see if that hoof was cleaned and properly packed. There’s probably a lot more that needs doing with the livestock.”

  Pamela gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m sure we’ll manage,” she lied, not sure at all.

  * * *

  Impatient to finish the embarrassing tour of his run-down house and get out to the barn, John showed Pamela the dining and music rooms. Both unused spaces looked as bad as the parlor. His mother had taken such pride in her home, which at one time had been the finest in Sweetwater Springs. If she were still alive, she’d be ashamed of him. Heck, he was ashamed of himself.

  With a hand at her elbow, he took Pamela upstairs and decided to first show her the big bedroom—the one they’d be using. He hadn’t been inside the room for so long, he couldn’t even remember what it looked like, much less what its condition would be. Feeling dread at what he’d find, John opened the door.

  Dirty lace curtains framed murky windows. A big four-poster bed was centered in the space. The white featherbed was yellowed and dust covered the furniture—washstand, dressers, wardrobe—as well as dulled the colors of the braided rag rugs on the floor. Even the once copper-colored tile of the fireplace surround looked dull brown.

  In silence, Pamela surveyed the room. She walked over and rubbed a circle on the window with the flat of her hand. Then she looked at the palm of her dirty glove with a grimace of disgust and let out a sigh. Leaning close, she glanced outside. “Good thing the days are getting longer. We have a few hours of light left.”

  He agreed, itching to escape the neglected house, to get out to the barn and check on Samson. Then he wanted to ride out and inspect the cattle.

  With a decisive nod, his wife turned back to him. “Here’s what we’ll do. First, bundle up the bedding and curtains and take them outside. Once you find me a broom and some rags, you can go to see your horse. I’ll dust and sweep in here—even I can handle those tasks.”

  “Sounds like a sensible plan,” John agreed, glad she was releasing him to go to the barn. He eyed her warily. “You don’t plan to tackle the whole house today, do you?”

  “Heavens, no. Just the bedroom so we can sleep without breathing dust all night. Please, have one of the men look for a crate labeled bedding and open it for me.”

  “Edgar will handle supper. Don’t you worry about that.”

  She glanced around and brushed her hands together. “After this room is clean and my trunks are brought up, I want to take a bath.”

  “The tub’s in the kitchen. I’ll bring it up for you. Might as well start heating the water now so you’ll have plenty.”

  A long sigh escaped, and she gave him a sheepish smile. “A bath will be heavenly.”

  “Later, I’ll go jump in the hot spring.”

  “Bring all the men and Nick with you,” she ordered in a wry tone. “I don’t know when they last bathed, but judging from the dirt under their fingernails and their smell…” She wrinkled her nose.

  John chuckled. “For some of them, the last washing might have been months ago. We swim in the river on the hot summer days.”

  Giving a dramatic shudder, she let out a hissing breath of disgust.

  “They are grown men, Pamela. I can’t order them to bathe.”

  She fisted her hands on her hips. “But I can!”

  A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You surely can, my wife. And that will be a sight to see.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Pamela stepped back and surveyed the bedroom. She’d gotten rid of the worst of the dust on the furniture and floor and had made up the four-poster with the sheets, pillows, and featherbed she’d brought with her. The windows were still dirty, but she’d opened them to let in the fresh air.

  Somewhere in the notes that she’d written in a housekeeping journal, now buried in one of her trunks, was the recipe for the concoction she’d need to clean the windows. She’d search for it tomorrow. Now all Pamela wanted was a bath. With longing, she eyed the tin hip tub set in front of the fireplace. John had brought it up earlier and started a fire for her.

  The clanging of a bell startled her before she remembered John telling her the sound was the summons to supper. Clea
ning the room had taken her longer than she’d expected.

  She crossed to the washstand and poured some water from the ewer into the basin. Earlier, Pamela had unpacked the soft towels and French-milled soap she’d brought with her. She picked up the bar and held it to her nose, inhaling the fragrance of orange blossoms. The soap was a wedding gift from her brother Ronald and his wife—enough to last for the next five years.

  But even the sweet scent wasn’t enough to cover the reek of smoke and dust permeating her hair and clothing. She cast another glance at the washtub, sighed, and left the room.

  Pamela followed the sound of male voices to the kitchen and saw the cowboys had gathered around the table. It was set with blue tin splatterware, and there was no cloth protecting the bare wood. She’d brought several heavy linen and lace tablecloths for the dining room, but this room needed something simple. She mentally started a list of things she’d need Elizabeth to send her.

  Edgar stood at the stove, stirring a pot. He gave her an embarrassed look. “Ah, since I was gone to town for so long I didn’t have a chance to cook. We’re just having a plain supper. Eggs and beans. There’s bread I made yesterday and store bought butter and jam.”

  Didn’t all butter and jam come from a store? Even as she thought the question, Pamela realized how ridiculous it was.

  Edgar smiled, showing yellowing horse teeth. “But now that you’re here, we can have fresh butter. The berries will be ripe soon, and you can start canning.”

  Pamela shot John a panicked glance. She didn’t know how to make butter or can berries. And she knew for a fact that the instructions weren’t written down in her notebook. It obviously hadn’t occurred to her cook and housekeeper that she wouldn’t be buying butter and jam.

  “No need to get ahead of yourself, my dear.” John’s smile reassured her. “We can keep the Cobbs in business for a while longer.”

  She wrinkled her brow. “The Cobbs?”

  “Shopkeepers,” Frank said, with a gap-tooth grin. “Mr. Carter, here, keeps on their good side by spending money in their place.”

  “Not the most hospitable people, but they keep the mercantile well-stocked.” John walked over to the foot of the table. “You’ll have your hands full enough with setting this house to rights. The rest will come in time.” He pulled out a chair for her.

  Although she was relieved by the reprieve, Pamela couldn’t shake the overwhelmed feeling weighing her down. So much work! So much to learn!

  Pamela allowed John to seat her.

  With a shy smile for her, Nick took a seat at John’s right.

  She bowed her head while her husband said grace and helped pass around the bowls of food so everyone could help themselves—another custom she wasn’t used to.

  The cowboys dug in with an appetite, eating as if they hadn’t seen food for years.

  She turned her eyes away from the men with the worst manners and wondered if there was a way to politely teach them better ones. Hunger prompted her to eat, even though she found the plain fare rather bland. The dark bread was heavy, but probably more substantial for hard working men than the lighter white bread she was accustomed to.

  When the cowboys had polished off every bit of food, Pamela cleared her throat. “Gentlemen…I’m sure you know my presence here will bring about some changes.” She glanced around the table with a warm smile. “Hopefully, you’ll find many of them for the better.”

  They gave her smiles and nods in return. “I’m new to the West, new to housekeeping, and I’ll have to ask you all to bear with me until I get my feet under me. I’m a…” She thought of the word she’d heard John use several times. “Greenhorn.”

  Her husband smiled and raised his coffee cup to her.

  “Now one of the changes I’d like to implement is cleanliness. I’m told there’s a hot spring here that’s perfect for soaking. I’d like you all to bathe tonight, including washing your hair. I’ve brought along soap that I think you will like—smells like bay leaves. It’s what my father and brothers use.”

  The men stared at her.

  Nick wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  Beans grinned and nodded, but the rest didn’t look at all convinced. A few glanced at their boss for his reaction.

  John held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’ve used that bay soap while I was in Boston, too. After the long journey, I intend to avail myself with a bath. I’d like you all to make my wife happy by joining me.”

  Old Frank shook his head. “No disrespect, Miz Carter, but my ma always said bathing lets the ill-humors in. I’ve lived me a long life by listening to her advice.”

  Pamela had never heard of such a thing and had no idea what to say. She glanced at John for inspiration.

  Her husband just shrugged, a small turn of his mouth indicating he was enjoying this discussion.

  But Pamela knew she had his support, and his belief in her strengthened her resolve.

  A few of the men gave Frank uneasy looks, then slid their gazes to her and back again.

  Nick pushed his plate away. “I’ll take a bath with you, John.” He shot a sharp glance at Frank. “My ma took great store in us being clean. I’ve let her down, I’m ashamed to say.”

  An uneasy silence followed his words. By evoking his deceased mother, Nick had just backed everyone of them into a corner.

  Frank scowled.

  Before the older man could say anything that would cement his opposing position, Pamela jumped into the conversation, sweetening the deal so to speak. “I’ve brought chocolate from Boston as a special treat—European chocolate, the best!” She waited for that to sink in before continuing. “After everyone’s bathed, we’re going to have a little dessert party to celebrate our homecoming. And, John and I have brought presents for all of you.”

  Her husband winked at her. “Guess we’re celebrating Christmas in May.”

  His remark made everyone sit up, eager expressions on their faces.

  Pamela put a hint of steel into her tone. “I will see everyone back here in about two hours for chocolate and presents…bathed and wearing their best clothes.”

  * * *

  Hatless and with their hair still damp, the men converged on the kitchen, smelling like bay leaves and the cedar from the wooden chest in the bunkhouse where their best clothes were stored.

  Nick’s good shirt was too tight in the shoulders, and his wrists hung out. The pant hems hitched up a couple of inches, too, making some of the hands joke about needing to put rocks on his head to stop him from growing. He didn’t mind the teasing, though. Felt like old times. Good times, making him hopeful that better times might come again, hard as that was to believe.

  The men had whiled away their bath by joking about their presents, making outlandish bets on what they each might receive. All the while, John had remained silent, listening but with a light in his eyes—the same contented gleam his godfather had displayed since arriving home with his new wife.

  Despite Frank’s objection, all the men found themselves in the pool where the hot spring flowed out and cooled enough to bathe. The old man was the single holdout, sitting fully-clothed on a nearby rock.

  But Frank only lasted until John broke his silence. He began to describe the European chocolate—the food of angels, he called it—waiting for them upon their return to the house. The heavenly beings must have trumped Frank’s ma, for lickety-split the man shucked off his clothes and gingerly slid into the steaming pool.

  They’d all took turns washing their bodies and hair with the soap, and sat and soaked. The water felt so good on tired muscles, more than one of the men asked why they didn’t do this more often.

  With the new missus around, Nick had no doubt they’d frequently find themselves in this hot spring. Mrs. Carter would probably be like his ma, insisting on baths every Saturday night, but also after having completed a smelly chore like delivering a foal. Swishing his hands through the water, Nick decided he wouldn’t mind too much.

  Anxious to ha
ve chocolate—a rare treat—and see what presents the Carters had brought from Boston, Nick pulled ahead of the pack coming from the bunkhouse and trotted up the back steps to the kitchen, anticipation lending a spring to his steps.

  He burst through the door and stopped short at the sight of Miz Carter clad in a shiny reddish gown, with the same color jewelry glinting at her neck and ears. John, wearing a new suit, stood next to her. The couple appeared so elegant that Nick had to blink a few times to be sure who they were.

  He let out a slow breath and tried to pull down his sleeves, to no avail.

  “Come in, Nick.” Her smile was warm, and her eyes sparkled like her jewels.

  The other men clattered into the kitchen and had a similar brought-up-short reaction to the sight of the Carters’ finery.

  Mrs. Carter beamed at the group. “Gentlemen, how handsome you all look.”

  Nick had once heard his ma say that John’s cowboys were a homely lot, and he didn’t think some soap and water would make much of a change to that fact.

  But the men puffed out their chests as if they believed her and ducked their heads in acknowledgment.

  Biting back a smile, Nick stored away their peacocking reactions, certain he could find a chance in the future to tease them.

  She waved toward the table. “Sit, gentlemen.”

  Two oil lamps burned on both sides of a platter of gold and silver foil-covered circles. Packages wrapped in tissue paper lay on each plate. Nick glanced from the table to John and cocked an eyebrow.

  John grinned, holding his hands palms up. “I know what’s in the packages because I bought them, but I don’t know anything else about this party. Mrs. Carter was a busy bee before she left Boston.”

  Eyes wide and expressions curious, the ranch hands all took their accustomed seats, giving Miz Carter expectant looks.

  Across the table, husband and wife shared a long glance before she looked at the men. “Go ahead.” She waved her hand. “Open them.”