Mystic Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series Book 6) (27 page)

Startled from his dark thoughts, Caleb was about to give her a sharp reprimand but saw she was as white as a sheet, and the hand holding the letter was shaking. “Sister!” He leaped to his feet and hurried to steady her. “Come.” He walked her over to the wing chair and sat her down. “What’s wrong? Are you ill?”

She clutched his sleeve, opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“Edith, you must tell me what’s wrong,” Caleb used a tone of command that hid his growing apprehension.

She burst into tears and blindly thrust the letter at him.

He flipped the envelope over to see the missive was from her late husband Nathaniel’s parents. His gut tight, Caleb began to read.

Dear Edith,

It is with deep sadness that we regret to inform you that our son George was killed in a riding accident. As you know, he leaves behind a wife and three daughters. With Julia’s latest pregnancy, we had hopes she’d finally deliver a son, but the stress of George’s death was too much. She miscarried the baby, which turned out to be a boy.

Our granddaughters will receive generous dowries. As our only grandson, Benjamin now stands as the heir to the family business.

Mildred and I know we were not as accepting of you as we should have been. We were stubborn and tried to force Nathaniel down a path of our choosing, and so we lost him long before he passed away. We were wrong and paid the worst possible price for our decisions. Thus, we must ask your forgiveness for our treatment of you.

Over the years, we have suffered from not seeing Nathaniel’s son and watching him grow up. But we were too stiff-necked to bend. Unfortunately, we did not heal the breach we had caused and were punished for our own pride.

We appreciate that your letters have kept us informed of Benjamin’s progress. Thank you for writing, even though you received no response. Benjamin sounds like a fine young man. I’m sure his father would have been proud. You and his uncle have surely done a good job in raising him.

The passing of George has humbled us. We are brokenhearted by the loss of our two beloved sons. Thus we come, hat in hand, to beg for you and Benjamin to return to live in Boston. Both of you will be most welcome.

Sincerely,

Henry Grayson

Caleb finished the letter and stared at the words a moment longer. The letters were written in a quivery hand and some tiny blots told of the emotion of the writer.

“Humble, indeed.” He dropped the letter and the envelope on the table beside the chair. Setting aside his own sadness, he turned to crouch in front of his sister, taking her hand and patting it. “You’ve had a severe shock, dearest. If I pour you a little brandy, will you take some?”

Still weeping, shoulders shaking, she clung to his hand. Finally, she nodded and released him.

Shaken by the sight of his formidable sister reduced to such a state, Caleb set out two brandy snifters, for he, too, was in need of liquid fortification. He walked back and handed one to her. “Drink this, and then we will discuss the situation.”

Edith sipped the brandy and gradually color returned to her face, but her expression still looked haunted. She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve, patted her face, and blew her nose. “Such a shock. Both the letter and George’s death.”

“I remember he and Nathaniel were close.”

She nodded. “George was supportive of our relationship, but he wouldn’t go against his parents and stand by his brother. He didn’t have Nathaniel’s spine.”

“Ben has that spine,” Caleb said gently, crouching to take Edith’s hand. “The changes in him have been astonishing and so gratifying to watch.”

She released his hand to dab at her eyes with the handkerchief. “I’m afraid for my son. I know how difficult it was for you and I to go back and forth from the West to the East—how we didn’t fit in.”

He took a seat in the other chair. “The adjustment won’t be easy. But there are differences in Ben’s case. Think of it, Edith. We spent the majority of our formative years in the West, only returning to Boston for long visits. Just about the time we started to fit in, we were whisked away again. When we were there, Mama had no idea of proper Boston life. She was miserable, and Black Jack didn’t care what anyone thought. We were ill-prepared for society.”

“That’s right,” she murmured, twisting her handkerchief.

“On the other hand, Ben grew up in Boston. I imagine you and he could easily slip back into the same social circles you had before—and Ben would remember his school friends.”

“Oh, Caleb,” Edith wailed. “What am I to do?” She sniffed back tears. “The Graysons caused Nathaniel such pain and strain. Such heartache we endured. Yet, my dear husband
always
stood steadfast by my side.
Now
they are sorry when it’s years too late.”

“What do you want to do?”

She shrugged and turned her head. “I don’t know.”

“Let’s set out the possibilities, shall we?”

Edith nodded.

“You’ve never been happy living here.”

She twisted her handkerchief some more. “I don’t know that I’d have felt happy anywhere after Nathaniel’s death. But at least here Ben and I had you.”

Caleb swallowed down the emotion that lodged in his throat. “We had each other.”
Difficult though that’s been at times.
“As I see it, you can stay here, or you can return to Boston. You can also
visit
Boston to see if it suits you and Ben. And I would urge you to do that for Ben’s sake, both to bring Nathaniel’s family some comfort and for your son to become familiar with the company he will someday inherit. If Boston does not appeal, then you two can return. This doesn’t have to be a decision that is set in stone.”

“Yes, yes, you’re right.” She straightened her slumped posture.

“There is another possibility, not one I’d suggest. But if we are to consider all your options. . . .”

She raised her brows in askance.

“If you think you could find happiness someplace else, move to a different city, anywhere in America, or abroad for that matter.”

“I don’t look to find
happiness
, Caleb. If Ben is happy, then I’ll be well pleased.”

“Perhaps you should consider your own happiness,” he said with deliberate sharpness. “I do respect your grief for Nathaniel’s death. However, I think you’ve cut yourself off from the possibility of finding love again.”

She flinched as if he’d slapped her. “I could
never
love another man like I did him.”

“Of course not, Edith. Marriage with someone else would be different than what you had with Nathaniel. But that doesn’t mean the relationship wouldn’t be just as rich. As long as you close your mind to the possibility, a new love won’t happen for you.” He waited for a few minutes, watching her face to see if she absorbed his words. “Think of the happy second marriages we know of, where one or both spouses suffered previous bereavement. Just off the top of my head, I can think of the Thompsons, Barretts, Muths, Dunns. With a little thought, you’d come up with more.”

She bit her lip.

“Frankly, your chance of finding the type of man who’d interest you is minuscule in Sweetwater Springs. In all the time you’ve been here, only Wyatt Thompson mildly attracted you. In a few years, Ben will be off to school, and you’ll be alone. If you marry again, you might even have another child. You’re not too old.”

“Are you just saying this because you’d like your home to yourself. . .because you want to take a wife. . .a
certain
wife?” she asked in a grudging tone.

“Is that what my advice feels like?” he asked gently.

She sighed. “Actually not. I feel how sincere you are.”

“There will always be a home here for you and Ben, regardless of whether I marry.”
Although that doesn’t look like it will happen,
he thought in despair.

“I thank you for that, brother.”

Then he remembered Maggie’s Gypsy background and held up a hand. “Perhaps I should qualify what I’d just said. You might not approve of my choice of wife, but I would expect you to treat her with politeness and consideration.”

“I’m used to managing my home, Caleb. If I choose to stay in Sweetwater Springs or return here after you marry, it would be best if I had my own house built.”

“Well, the construction crew is almost done with the Norton house, and they’ll soon be available to work on another. Would you like to have plans drawn up?”

Edith tapped her chin in thought. Her mouth broadened into a smile. “I think I will. Even if we live elsewhere, we can still return for the summers—to avoid the Boston heat and humidity.”

Caleb forced a smile, hiding his sadness and the thought he might be rattling around alone in his big house for a long time. “I think, sister dear, we have a plan.”

That night after a shocking talk with his mother, and after reading his grandfather’s letter, Ben glumly sought out his uncle, who’d retreated to his study. The contents of the letter had shaken him, and he didn’t know what to feel. He needed his uncle’s counsel.

His stomach ached. Ben hadn’t been able to eat much supper. Not that Mother and Uncle Caleb noticed. They, too, had been quiet and had pushed their food around on their plates, probably for the same reason.

One thing’s for sure—if I’m to leave Sweetwater Springs, I have things I want to do first.
Ben knew he needed his uncle’s permission for some of them, because his mother would automatically say no.

After he knocked on the door and was told to come in, Ben entered the darkened room, lit only by the fire and a single oil lamp burning on the desk. His uncle hadn’t even turned on the gas lights, but he sat by the fire, staring into the flames, obviously brooding. A snifter of brandy sat on the table next to him. He looked up and waved Ben to a chair. “I can tell by your expression your mother told you the news. What do you think about your grandfather’s proposition?”

Ben shrugged, staring into the fire in the same way his uncle just had, trying to find words to express his feelings.

The silence lasted for several moments as Uncle Caleb allowed him time to gather his thoughts.

Finally, Ben looked up. “Can you feel good and bad about something at the same time?”

“Yes. You can also
think
one way and
feel
another at the same time. Very disconcerting when that happens.”

Encouraged, Ben started with what was foremost on his mind. “I don’t want to leave my friends. Leave you. Leave my horse.”

“I’ll miss you, too.”

Ben gave his uncle a direct look, and his throat tightened. He swallowed. “Matthew and I have planned some fishing trips, and Hunter is going to teach me to track game. Mark Carter invited me and Matthew to spend a few days at their ranch this summer being a cowboy.”

“All those activities sound appropriate.” Caleb settled back in his chair. “As I see it, there’s no hurry for you and your mother to leave right away. Might as well finish the school term and spend part of the summer here. She and I also talked about the two of you returning every summer, although maybe to a home of your own and not this house.”

Ben felt as if a weight had lifted from his chest, and he let out a long breath of relief.

“Boston will have many compensations, Ben. In fact, you might want to talk to Peter Rockwell about working at his family’s hotel like you’ve been doing here. If you’re interested, I’m sure he’ll write a letter on your behalf. Then again, there’s the Grayson retail business, which you should learn.”

Ben thought about those ideas, and excitement quickened. “I’ll talk to Mr. Rockwell tomorrow.” He remembered his original purpose for seeking out his uncle. “I want to go along on the next expedition to the Indian reservation. Matthew is going. Hunter Thompson and Mark Carter, too.”

Uncle Caleb steepled his fingers. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I don’t know how safe that trip will be for someone your age without the guidance and protection of a parent.”

“The sheriff will be there, and Hunter’s gone
twice
without his father.”

“Hunter Thompson’s situation is different, as well you know. Hunter is a Blackfoot adopted into a white family. He can understand the Indians and speak their language. That young man played a vital role in the success of those two missions.” He tilted his head. “What do you boys think you can accomplish?”

“I don’t know,” Ben said honestly, still hoping for permission. “Hunter thinks we’re building peaceable relations with the tribe.”

“Sounds like the sheriff’s words, although not a bad sentiment and a worthwhile goal.”

Ben shrugged. “Hunter told us some stories. How hungry and skinny the children are.”

“We have some hungry and skinny children in Sweetwater Springs. Certainly with wealth in your future, you must consider the needs of those less fortunate.”

“No one here is dying from lack of food,” Ben protested. “If things get that bad, they have other people to help them. The Indians don’t.”

The brown-eyed gaze settled on him, seemingly speculative. “Are Wyatt Thompson and John Carter going along with their boys? What about school?”