Singing Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series Book 7)

by Debra Holland

  With the memory of their kiss still strong, Sophia didn’t want him to respect her personage. She wanted more kisses, and she intended to get them.

  I have all summer. I can be patient.

  For now.

  * * *

  Sophia will be the death of me. But Kael didn’t care. To spend more time with Sophia Maxwell, he’d risk the guillotine and die happy. She dazzled him just as much as she always had. Now he’d seen her vulnerability and the suffering, very human woman behind the Songbird, and he wanted to do what he could to alleviate some of her pain—no matter her effect on him, no matter the consequences.

  If I fall deeper in love with her, and she carries my heart away when she leaves, so be it.

  Even with the pain sure to come, Kael would rather live the rest of his days with more memories to hold close than a glance and a few words exchanged in the hotel lobby. He couldn’t ask for more, even if in his heart of hearts he longed for a relationship with Sophia.

  As Kael held her soft hand, which seemed so small in his big, rough paw, he felt happier than ever before. Here I’d thought the night of the kiss was the pinnacle of delight. He chuckled at the lover-like sentiments of the thought, so different from his usual practical way of looking at the world.

  Who’d have thought reading courtly tales would put such nonsense into my head. Who do I think I am, King Arthur? The mental criticism brought Kael back to earth. He squinted at the sun and gently tugged on Sophia’s arm, pulling her into a standing position before reluctantly relinquishing her hand. “Time to head home, my lady. I want you to reach the ranch before dusk falls.”

  She took back the pad of paper and wrote a word, then held it up for him to read.

  Tomorrow?

  With regret, Kael shook his head, pointing at the railroad ties. “I’m planning to run these into town, if Tyler or one of the hands can ride along, and he could spare the horses and wagon to accompany me.”

  Can I go with you? I need to see Dr. Cameron.

  A spurt of fear tightened his gut. “Are you all right?” He looked her over, assessing for any signs of ill health. Although on the thin side, she looked fine to him, as beautiful as ever. But Mrs. Pendell’s cooking, Lily’s cossetting, and a little Montana sunshine should soon set her to rights.

  Sophia nodded and wrote: I just want to consult him about my voice.

  Kael read her words with relief, and his stomach relaxed. “Fine with me, although a wagon’s not the most comfortable way to travel, especially when you must be used to a well-sprung carriage with soft cushioned seats.”

  She shrugged, propped the edge of the pad of paper against her hip, and wrote. The wagon might not have cushioned seats, but I’ll be with two of the finest men I know.

  He read her words, first touched and humbled, and then doubt sprang to mind. I’m only a poor lumberjack. How could she possibly mean what she wrote?

  Sophia is just being playful, flirtatious, Kael concluded, a tendency of hers that he’d already noticed, although he couldn’t help wishing her sentiments were true.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The following day found Sophia once again garbed in widow’s weeds and sitting on the seat of the wagon between Kael and Tyler, who was driving. Kael occupied far more room than Lily, which necessitated her sitting with her leg pressed against his, leaving only an inch or so between her and her brother-in-law. She didn’t mind the closeness.

  The summer day had turned cold. The sky filled with puffy clouds that drifted over the sun, then glided on. A chill wind blew. Even with wearing a coat and having a quilt draped over her legs, she was glad of the warmth provided by the male bodies, as well as how Kael blocked a great deal of the wind blowing across them.

  When they reached the outskirts of town, Sophia reached up and drew the veil over her face. The few people emerging from scattered log or clapboard houses and businesses or walking on the street gave Sophia a curious look and nodded greetings.

  She admired a gray Victorian and Caleb Livingston’s brick mansion. At Dr. Cameron’s place, red roses climbed over the white picket fence that surrounded the house.

  Tyler pulled up. “After we unload the railroad ties, I’ll meet you at the livery,” he said to Kael. “Sophia, if you finish with the doctor before us, meet us there.” He pointed to a building of weathered gray clapboard. “The doctor’s office is around the back of the house.”

  Kael jumped from the seat. He reached up to circle her waist with his hands and lifted her down, only a few inches away from his body. Her skirt brushed his legs.

  A thrill went through her. Sophia had never before had a waist small enough for a man to span with his hands. Well, that’s something to brag about—at least while I’m still this thin.

  They stood close, his hands lingering longer than polite. She liked the feeling and didn’t hasten to move to a proper distance. My plan for a summer flirtation is working.

  Kael took his time stepping back. His smile charmed.

  Her cheeks warm under the veil, she turned away, moved down the brick path and around the back to double white doors with Doctor’s Office painted in black letters across the top.

  Sophia knocked on the right-hand door, unsure about keeping the veil over her face. But if Dr. Cameron had patients waiting, she didn’t want them to see her.

  The doctor answered the door himself.

  She’d met him on several occasions now, remembering both him and his wife for their red hair, kindness, and charming Scottish accents. Today, he was less formally attired than the previous occasions she’d seen him, this time wearing a shabby frock coat.

  Sophia lifted her veil.

  He peered at her with a puzzled expression. “Miss Maxwell?”

  She nodded.

  “Are ye here to see me, then?”

  Smiling, she nodded.

  “Come in, come in.” He ushered her into a wide hallway. A bench and several chairs ran down one side. “Hang your coat there.” He gestured to a row of pegs.

  Sophia was glad to see no one was waiting. She handed him the note she’d written explaining her illness, Dr. Hamb’s prognosis, and her request for another opinion. I’M NOT SUPPOSED TO SPEAK, she’d printed across the top in large letters so the doctor could read the sentence at a glance. She took off her coat and hung up the garment.

  Dr. Cameron looked at the paper. “I see.” He waved for her to precede him inside.

  The examining room smelled of herbs. An instrument table stood between two high, narrow beds with clean sheets draped over them,

  “Ye have perfect timing. My son is napping, so my wife will be free to join us during your examination.” He motioned toward the nearest bed. “Seems from your note, you need me to primarily examine your throat, so I will na ask you to disrobe. Nevertheless, let me fetch Mrs. Cameron.” Reading her letter, he walked out, but not without having to look up and correct his course before bumping into the doorframe.

  Sophia obliged him by sitting on the bed—an awkward process that involved placing her backside against the edge, bracing her hands, and giving a little hop up, while also pushing on the surface with her hands. Once situated, her legs dangled because her feet didn’t touch the ground.

  She ignored the discomfort by looking around the room, noting a small tiled stove almost hidden in the corner that emitted warmth, the shelves along one wall holding bottles of medicine and clusters of herbs, and the doctor’s desk in the corner.

  The doctor returned with his wife Alice.

  Mrs. Cameron wore an apron over a simple gray housedress and her auburn hair looked to be escaping the pins. She hurried over, both hands extended. “My dear Miss Maxwell. I’m so sorry to see you under these circumstances. We have closely followed accounts of your health, and you’ve been in our prayers every night since your collapse.” She released Sophia’s hands. “I’ll sit near the door, so I can hear Craig if he wakes up.”

  “The way that laddie bellows—” Dr. Cameron’s brogue thickened “�
��there’ll na be a doot he’s awake. In fact, the whole town might be alerted.”

  Sophia smiled, pleased at the friendly banter between the couple.

  Mrs. Cameron took a seat and picked up knitting needles holding a partial tiny sweater and a ball of blue yarn from a basket next to the chair. She began to knit.

  Dr. Cameron eyed Sophia’s dress. “I would tell you I’m glad to see you in black and na your usual shades of purple, but I’m concerned you’re in mourning, and thus I would offend.”

  Sophia pulled the pad of paper and the pencil that she’d sharpened earlier from her reticule. Even though I’ve lost a dear friend recently, I’m not wearing mourning for him, she wrote. I just needed an excuse to go veiled. She removed her bonnet and gave her hair a short tug.

  “I see.” Dr. Cameron reached for her hand and placed his fingers over her pulse. After a moment, he made a noise of approval and released her. “The reason I said I’m glad to see you wearing black is because my younger brother—a doctor recently graduated from medical school— wrote me that purples, especially the mauve that is so popular these days, might actually be poisonous.”

  My favorite color! Sophia sucked in a sharp breath. Poisoning me?

  He frowned. “Some green hues, as well. A factor, I believe, in the way the dye is processed. Angus promised to send me the report, but I have na received it yet. So I’m afraid I cannot give you more specifics.”

  Sophia stared at the doctor in shock. She certainly wore a great deal of purple because of her eyes and had decorated her house in the hue. She also wore a lot of blue, as well as other colors, especially if she’d acquired a new piece of jewelry. Then she would purchase a gown to match. She did tend to wear purple dresses in Sweetwater Springs because packing accessories for one color was easier. Otherwise, she’d need to bring even more trunks.

  Sophia thought back to the weeks before her illness and realized she’d primarily worn purples. The color was her favorite and brought her comfort during such a trying period. She bit her lip and wrote down her question, her heart beating fast, her hands shaking. Could wearing those gowns have caused my illness?

  Dr. Cameron read her question and frowned. “Without knowing more about these dyes, or the course of your illness, I canna say for sure.” He sighed. “But I can say, lass, that such apparel dinna help and surely contributed to a weakness in your system.”

  Instead of frightening her further, the doctor’s answer calmed Sophia and gave her hope. If I stop wearing those colors, surely my health will improve faster!

  A frightening thought hit, and Sophia gasped, her stomach tightening into a knot. Lily and Emma also love wearing purple! And the baby!

  With a hand that trembled as she wrote, making her letters look as if a child formed them, she conveyed that information to the doctor, feeling nauseated at the thought of the new gown she’d brought her sister and the baby clothes for Adeline. Thank goodness neither has worn them. The thought that she could have harmed her sister and her precious niece almost made her faint.

  “Well, now.” He patted her hand. “Do na fash yourself, lass. Your sister’s fine, and from what I saw of Miss Emma Maxwell when she was here for Mrs. Dunn’s confinement, your younger sister has a sturdy constitution. You all can avoid the color for now until I have more information. It may be that purple is fine. Just not mauve. But I’m not sure. I’ll write again to Angus, so I don’t go off spouting false information.”

  “I believe we have time to investigate.” Mrs. Cameron mused. “Few women in this town wear purple. The fabric is usually more expensive. Mrs. Sanders and Mrs. Thompson, as well as the Reiner ladies, prefer blues.” She ticked off the more well-to-do women. “So does Mrs. Flanigan. Mrs. Carter doesn’t seem to have a preference for any colors, but I don’t recall her in purple. And Mrs. Walker likes both blues and grays. Mrs. Baxter appears best in vibrant colors. Delia Norton wears mostly green, so that could be a problem.” She touched her auburn curls. “For me purple of any hue is definitely out.” Her voice turned wistful. “But I am partial to green.”

  As Mrs. Cameron counted down her list of ladies, only a few known to Sophia, the doctor took his long, narrow stethoscope and set the trumpet end to Sophia’s chest. He bent over to put his ear to the other end and listened.

  Mrs. Cameron let out a sigh. “I’ve seen Mrs. Grayson in purple and also Mrs. Morgan of Morgan’s Crossing. When we know more, we’ll have to send the news to Dr. Rawlins to distribute to that town.”

  The physician looked into Sophia’s mouth, using a flat piece of wood to hold down her tongue. Dr. Hamb had done the same with her every time he’d visited.

  As Dr. Cameron took her through the familiar examination process, Sophia thought through her wardrobe, mentally discarding many a favorite dress. What will I do with them? I can’t in good conscience give them away. I can’t burn them, which would probably release poisonous fumes into the air, causing the very problems I sought to avoid. And as Fanny has proven, I can’t throw them away. With a sigh, she set aside the problem for another time. For now, the clothing was safely contained inside trunks and her wardrobe at home.

  The doctor interrupted her thoughts. “I see no swelling, no signs of infection. Your lungs sound clear, your heartbeat and pulse strong.”

  Sophia let out a sigh of relief and smiled.

  “Continue taking the horehound syrup your physician recommended. A tablespoon twice a day should be fine. In addition, I’ll send a bottle of elderberry syrup along with you. Again, a tablespoon a day.”

  Sophia thought of Mrs. Pendell’s elderberry wine and smiled.

  “You know, Miss Maxwell, there’s a lot of futility in medicine. A lot of helplessness and heartache.”

  Sophia nodded, thinking how hard it must be for him to prevent illness or watch his patients die.

  “Yet, other situations warm the cockles of my heart and make me grateful to be a physician. Every time I see your niece—” he gestured between his wife and himself “—our dear little goddaughter, I can’t help but smile, because I know if your sister hadn’t sought me out for a second opinion, Adeline wouldn’t have been born. You know how that baby’s arrival into this world has brought your family so much happiness.”

  Indeed, she has. Sophia nodded several times, thinking of how much she loved her niece and enjoyed seeing Lily as a mother.

  He grinned, showing crooked teeth. “This is another such moment. I do believe it’ll be safe for you to talk. We will experiment.” He held up a hand. “Providing we proceed with caution. But first…” Dr. Cameron glanced at his wife, sitting in the corner knitting. “My dear, if you’d be so kind as to make Miss Maxwell a cup of tea. Please stir in plenty of honey.”

  “Certainly.” Mrs. Cameron rose and left her knitting on the chair.

  The doctor glanced back at Sophia. “I want you to coat your throat before attempting to speak. Then you’ll see if you can make a sound.” He held up a cautionary finger. “Only one now. Say ah. Sip the tea. Try again to speak one sound. Sip. We’ll make about five attempts and then stop to evaluate your progress.” He peered down at her from under his brows. “But you must be completely honest with me about how your throat feels.”

  Sophia nodded, hope and fear bubbling inside her.

  Ages seemed to pass before Mrs. Cameron appeared with a cup and saucer in her hand. She took careful steps so as not to slosh any liquid over the side and handed the libation to Sophia.

  Sophia raised the cup to her lips and sipped. The tea was sweet and thick with honey, just as she preferred when her throat was tired or sore. She lowered the cup to the saucer.

  “Now, lass, a sound from you. One syllable, please.” He clasped his hands behind his back and adopted a waiting position.

  Her body was too tense, which would inhibit her voice. Sophia took a deep breath as if she were doing vocal exercises. “Ah.” The vowel sounded rough, but it was audible. She exhaled in relief and took a sip of tea.

  “Excellent.”
Dr. Cameron gestured for her to continue. “Now try a one syllable word, please.”

  Sophia said the first thing that came to mind. “Dog.” At least that’s what she meant to say. The word came out so hoarse and garbled, she might just as well have said duhg.

  But evidently the sound didn’t dismay Dr. Cameron, who, with a pleased expression, released his hands and gestured for her to drink. “Now, Miss Maxwell, nod if you felt any strain or pain during your attempt to speak.”

  She sipped and then shook her head, grateful to answer in the positive.

  “Good, good. Now again, if you please.”

  This time her dog came a little closer to the correct sound. “Dawg.”

  Dr. Cameron nodded.

  Without being told, Sophia took another drink, and then tried again. “Dog.” The word came out clearly, if a little husky. The band of fear that had wrapped tightly around her chest since she’d awakened from the fever snapped, the feeling of relief so immediate and strong she wondered if the severing had been audible.

  Tears welled and spilled down her cheeks. A sob followed, and she placed the back of her hand to her mouth to stop any more.

  Dr. Cameron gently took Sophia’s hand from her mouth, lowered it to her lap, and patted it. “None of that holding in your emotions, now, lassie. God made tears for a reason. And I’ve observed a good cry is often healthier then keeping a stiff upper lip.” He exchanged a loving smile with his wife, whose own eyes shone with tears.

  “Thank you,” Sophia murmured to them both, grateful beyond belief to say the words, even as the tears continued more strongly, as if set free by Dr. Cameron’s encouragement. Thank you, thank you, dear Lord, for giving me back my voice!

  “Will I sing again?” she whispered, not daring to speak in stronger tones.

  He rubbed his chin and nodded. “I believe so, although I don’t know if you will obtain your previous high standard. For that we will have to wait and see. However, you must continue to rest your voice. For the next three days, speak softly and only a sentence or two at a time. If you feel strain, stop talking for twenty-four hours. Consume plenty of honey. I happen to know Green Valley Ranch has more than enough, for the Dunns brought us several jars. I believe the Cobbs have a shipment of lemons at the mercantile, so I suggest you purchase some. As you probably know, honey and lemon are quite soothing for the throat. Best move on those right away. When they get lemons—” he snapped his fingers “—they sell within hours.”