Mystic Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series Book 6) (16 page)

Ben winked at Maggie. “More for us to eat!”

Edith shrugged. “Well, there is that. We’ll have more than enough food for everyone. I won’t have to rein anyone in.” She tapped Ben’s shoulder. “Like the son who has an appetite like a grizzly.”

Ben grinned. “Grrrr.”

“This time,” said his mother with a fond smile and shake of her head, “you boys will be able to eat your weight in food—
after
the adults have helped themselves, of course. And we can send leftovers home with the Salters.” She glanced at Maggie. “You can’t believe how pitifully thin that family was before Mariah and Abel started working at the hotel. But with four growing boys. . . .”

Edith took a step back to survey Maggie. Her gaze rested on the earrings, and her expression pinched in disapproval.

Maggie wondered if Edith would criticize her for wearing them, for she knew ladies did not flaunt hoops, especially
brass
hoops.
Too bad. A Gypsy never parts with her gold, unless she intends to spend it.

The surrey pulled up to the door.

“Here, Magdalena.” Edith held out her arms. “Let me take Charlotte.”

Maggie handed the baby to Edith and put on her black coat. The shoulders were wide to accommodate her sleeves, and a big button fastened the cuffs tight around her wrists.

Edith gave a decisive nod of approval. “That coat fits you well. I’m surprised the mercantile had a fashionable one in the right size at this time of year.”

“This is Montana, where we need coats
all
year around. We’ve been known to have snow in the summers.”

“That’s true.”

Leaning on Ben for support, Maggie hobbled to the surrey. Although she tried to walk normally, biting her lip against the pain, she couldn’t manage to disguise her limp. She paused at the step, knowing she’d have to put her full weight on her bad foot, and took a breath, preparing to boost herself up.

“Hold on!” Caleb called from the surrey. He jumped down and came around the side. “I saw you trying to hide how much you’re hurting.” Without waiting for a response, he swung her up onto the seat.

As much as Maggie hated being helpless and in pain, she couldn’t help the thrill that went through her whenever he picked her up. She thanked him with a smile.

Once she was settled, Caleb took Charlotte from Edith and handed the baby to Maggie.

Neither woman commented on his overbearing ways.
As much as I hate to admit it, sometimes he’s right.

Edith gathered her skirts. With the assistance of her brother, she climbed in to sit next to Maggie.

Ben saluted. “See you at church, Mother, Mrs. Baxter.”

Caleb walked to the other side and climbed in. He spread a blanket over their laps and then took the reins and released the brake. With a flick of his wrists, he set the team trotting.

The air was cold on her face, but Maggie was cozy between Caleb and Edith. If she’d been with Oswald, she would have been wearing her old coat, worn thin in places. Or if she still didn’t fit in it, she’d be wrapped in a blanket and too ashamed to go to church.

They were still early enough that they passed only a few families walking to church on the sides of the street, leaving the middle open for vehicles and riders. As they drove by, most glanced up and waved at the occupants of the surrey.

Caleb nodded in response.

Edith lifted her gloved hand in a regal movement that was barely recognizable as a wave.

They drove by a three-story building with a polished rose-quartz façade. Just before they passed, a boy and a woman stepped out the front double doors, followed by the tallest man Maggie had ever seen.

“Oh, there are the Gordons,” Edith exclaimed. “See that dark-haired man who’s as tall as a tree?” Her wave to the family was more effusive than her previous, stingy ones. “Remember I told you? Anthony Gordon—he prefers to be called Ant—is the owner of the building and the newspaper business on the ground floor. Mrs. Gordon is the schoolteacher, and the boy is their nephew David.”

Mrs. Gordon was a petite, pretty woman. The disparity in the couple’s heights was almost comical.

The man noticed Maggie and gave her a crooked smile.
Of course, as the newspaper editor, he’d be interested in a new face in town, especially if he’s heard about me already.

“David is the son of Mr. Gordon’s sister, murdered by her husband, who then kidnapped the boy and brought him west. Terribly abused he was.”

Maggie gasped, thinking of Oswald. Her arms tightened around her baby.
That could have been me.

“That’s enough, Edith,” Caleb commanded, taking the reins in one hand and briefly laying the other on Maggie’s arm in silent reassurance.

“But David’s fine now,” his sister protested.

Caleb shot a concerned look at Maggie.

She gave him a nod, silently telling him she was all right, but really thinking of her lucky escape.
Why do some men cause pain to those they should most love and cherish?
Maggie supposed that was a question she’d never be able to answer.

Caleb glanced at her. “I’ll halt at the church steps. You wait until I come around to help you down. I don’t want you trying it on your own,” he said in a firm tone.

“Now who’s bossy,” Maggie muttered, even if she agreed with him.

Edith choked back a laugh. “Telling him so won’t change my brother one bit, Magdalena.”

“Hope springs eternal,” Maggie quoted from Alexander Pope.

Caleb laughed. He slowed the team to a walk and headed the horses toward the front steps of the church. The white clapboard building had a steeple with a cross and black doors and window trim.

He had to rein in the horses and wait while a family with several children strolled by. Then he nudged the horses forward until they reached the steps. He braked, tied off the reins, and jumped down, hurrying around to give a hand to Edith.

Once on the ground, his sister thanked him with a small smile and nod. She stepped out of the way.

Maggie slid to the end of the seat and handed Charlotte to him.

Caleb passed the baby to Edith. Apparently conscious of so many eyes on them, he didn’t try to swing Maggie off the seat. Instead, he placed his hand under her armpits and lifted her, gently setting her down. “I wish I could carry you up the steps and into the church to spare you pain,” he murmured, holding out an arm.

With one hand, Maggie grabbed up her skirts just high enough to preserve dignity. She slipped the other around his arm and started up the three steps, Edith following with Charlotte.

He let her climb at her own pace, leaning heavily on his arm. At the top, she paused to catch her breath.

Reverend Joshua came out of the church, saw them, and walked over. “Good morning, Mrs. Baxter, Mrs. Grayson.”

“Good morning, Reverend Joshua,” they chorused, sounding like schoolgirls.

The minister gestured toward the surrey. “Mr. Livingston, I’ll help Mrs. Baxter to a pew, so you can move your vehicle.”

Maggie glanced up at Caleb. Although he seemed reluctant to relinquish her, Caleb must have recognized the wisdom in the minister’s suggestion, for he nodded. Maggie let go of his arm. With a backward glance to make sure Edith was nearby with the baby, she took Reverend Joshua’s proffered arm. Once inside, she saw the church was only sparsely full. Those already present turned to look at her with curious expressions.

The interior was plain, with clear glass windows on each side. A white cloth-covered altar held a simple cross and a wooden bowl, which she supposed would be used for Charlotte’s christening, as well as a small vase of the same purple crocuses that Caleb had brought her. Maggie wondered if those flowers came from the Livingston yard. A piano was in the left front corner, and a cylindrical stove for heat warmed the right corner, sending the smell of burning coals into the air.

Self-conscious, Maggie slowly hobbled down the aisle, trying to hold up her head and pretend she was walking normally. Leaning on Reverend Joshua’s arm—although his was no less strong than Caleb’s—didn’t feel as comfortable, and she couldn’t help wishing for a different escort.

Reverend Joshua gestured toward the front. “Since Charlotte is to be christened today, I’ll seat you in the pew near my mother.”

When they reached the last row, the pews open to the front of the church, Mrs. Norton rose from the left side where she’d been sitting with a Bible on her lap. She laid the Bible on the seat and held out her hand, greeting Maggie with a gentle smile that crinkled the wrinkles on her face. “Dear Mrs. Baxter. So good to see you on your feet today. An answer to our prayers.”

The thought the woman had prayed for her gave Maggie a warm feeling of belonging. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness.” She released Reverend Joshua’s arm and took hold of the back of the pew to steady herself.

Reverend Joshua stepped back to allow Edith to move closer.

Mrs. Norton’s blue eyes lit up. “And here is dear baby Charlotte.”

Edith unwrapped the top of the blanket to expose the baby to view. The christening gown cascaded over Charlotte’s feet.

Mrs. Norton tilted her head. “Why, doesn’t she look adorable? I don’t believe I’ve seen that christening gown before.”

Edith smoothed the material. “Ben was the last one to wear this.”

Mrs. Norton cast a shrewd glance from Maggie to Edith. “Perhaps I’ll see the gown again.”

Maggie’s cheeks grew hot.
Surely, she can’t mean I’ll have another baby?
She couldn’t imagine ever marrying again.
What if I thought my husband was a good man, but he turned out not to be?
She gave Edith an assessing glance.
Mrs. Norton must mean she hopes Edith will have a baby. She’s still young enough.

Delia bustled up. Like Edith, she looked the picture of sophisticated elegance, in emerald green instead of blue. Pale gold swags of leaves and flowers patterned the material, with the wide collar and the tight part of her sleeves in plain emerald green without the designs. At the hem, a row of small fringes under a band of grosgrain gold ribbon swished when she moved.

A dapper gentleman who could only be her father, for they shared the same hazel-colored eyes, accompanied her. He walked with a black, silver-headed cane.

Delia gave a cool nod to Edith and a sweet “good morning” to Mrs. Norton before turning to Maggie and leaning forward to press cheeks together. “So delighted to see you on your feet.”

Maggie inhaled the scent of Delia’s perfume along with the intimate friendliness of her greeting.

Delia straightened and placed a hand on her father’s arm. “Papa, this is Mrs. Baxter, whom I’ve told you about, and her darling baby, Charlotte.”

Maggie covertly studied the pair. Delia, with her delicate features, looked like a feminine version of her father. Her skin was more olive than Mr. Bellaire’s, and her dark hair had only a hint of auburn, unlike his, which was a rich red-brown streaked with white.

The lines around Mr. Bellaire’s eyes and mouth deepened when he smiled. His concerned gaze rested on her bruised face. “I hope you are recovered from your ordeal, Mrs. Baxter.” His Southern drawl wasn’t nearly as obvious as his daughter’s. “Such a horrendous experience for you.”

“I’m getting better, sir. Thank you for asking. And I appreciate Delia’s kindness in calling upon a stranger so often this week. I have been most grateful for her company.”

He glanced at his daughter with a doting expression. “She will make an ideal minister’s wife.”

Color crept into Delia’s cheeks. “Papa, how can you speak so? No one is
ideal
.”

Reverend Joshua leaned in. “I agree with your father, dearest.”

Delia’s blush deepened. “I’ve
enjoyed
calling upon Maggie,” she protested. “I didn’t visit from a sense of duty.” She looked around as if trying to change the subject. “Where is Micah?”

Reverend Joshua glanced behind him to the church entrance. “I left him outside with Scotty Salter. Here he comes now.”

A boy of about ten moved up the aisle, obviously restraining himself to a sedate walk. He stopped at Mr. Bellaire’s side and grabbed the man’s arm, his expression alight with mischief. His eyes were the same vivid blue of his father and grandfather, although his features looked more rounded.
“Grand-père.”
He tugged on the older man’s sleeve.

Mr. Bellaire bent down so Micah could whisper in his ear. He straightened and grinned. “Certainly.”

“I’ll tell ’em.” Micah whirled and started to run before apparently remembering he was in church and slowed to a walk, weaving in and out of the people coming up the aisle.

Mr. Bellaire gazed after him, a smile on his face. Then he looked down at Maggie. “Nothing like a grandson to keep an old man young. I’m glad my son-in-law-to-be has provided me with one already old enough to play with. That boy is an endless source of amusement. He wants to bring his friend over to play chess with me tomorrow.”

“He called you
grand-père
?” Maggie asked, curious.

“Since Micah already has two sets of grandparents, I thought it best we call upon the language of my native New Orleans for a title.”

Maggie didn’t know anything about New Orleans except for the city’s designation on the map of the United States, which her schoolteacher had made her pupils memorize. “But New Orleans is in Louisiana.”

“Yes, but the city once belonged to the French, and their influence lingers, especially in our language. We—the
Creole
—speak French and English.”

“I must go to the piano,” Mrs. Norton said with a sigh. “I don’t think the Sanders have made it into town today. I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with my poor performance, Mrs. Baxter, instead of Mrs. Sanders’s divine music.”

“Any music is a treat, Mrs. Norton,” Maggie assured her. “I’m sure I will enjoy your playing very much, indeed.”

The minister’s wife thanked her and headed toward the piano. She took a seat and began to play a hymn Maggie didn’t recognize.

She sat down, making sure to leave space for Mrs. Norton, and reached up for Charlotte.