Healing Montana Sky (15 page)

She looked down and jiggled the baby.

Erik imagined what Daisy would feel if she were the one to survive and take on a marriage of convenience. His modest wife would probably hide away in the bedroom each time she fed Camilla, rather than expose herself to a strange man—new husband or not.

Now that he thought of it, he figured Daisy probably would have nursed in private with him as well, although he hoped she soon would have become comfortable to do so in his presence. “I can leave the room,” he offered, but hoping to stay.

Antonia rubbed a gentle hand over Camilla’s fuzzy head. “No.” Her voice was soft. “I be uncomfortable. But that be. . .
must be
changing.” She untied the strings, and the flap dropped, exposing a full breast, the brown nipple enlarged for nursing.

Erik had a sudden image of cupping her fullness. Her breast would fill his hand. His groin tightened, and he imagined her naked in his bed, as he explored her body, so different from his petite wife. He and Daisy hadn’t been intimate for months, not since she’d had morning sickness.

I’ve gone without too long,
Erik told himself, trying to stifle his sudden desire, feeling guilty about lusting after another woman with his wife newly dead. Although, perhaps, his reaction boded well for future intimacy.

What if Antonia doesn’t feel the same about me?
The specter of never again having marital relations made his physical reaction die away.

Erik forced himself to give his attention to the next topic he wanted to discuss, but the fear about his future intimacy with Antonia, or lack thereof, burrowed into the back of his mind. “Speaking of Henri. . .he needs to go to school.”

She gave a sharp indrawn breath and met his gaze.

“You don’t want that?”

Antonia made a negating gesture. “
Non
. I mean no. I do. It be my dream for him. But it be so far to town.”

“Yes. But many children walk from even farther away. I certainly did.”

“Gittin’ an education’s important, an’ all. It be just. . .” She glanced down at the baby.

“Too many changes all at once,” he guessed.

“Yes. He never be parted from me for more than a few hours when Jean-Claude took him along to check the trap lines.”

“Well, it’s going to be another change for him, that’s for sure. Has he had any teaching at home?”

She shook her head.

“We can wait a couple of days before Henri starts. First give him time to adjust to living here.” He wrinkled his brow, thinking. “The way I’ve lost the days I’d better make sure we don’t start him on a Sunday.”

“I don’t have no notion what day it be. We never kept track.” She shrugged. “Didn’t matter.”

Erik stood, walked to the shelf, and took down the almanac. He had to think before he could remember the date. He flipped open the pages until he found Tuesday. Then he brought the book over to Antonia, setting it on the table in front of her. He tapped the date. “There you have it.”

Her expression blanked. She looked where he pointed, but didn’t say anything. Finally, she looked up at him but couldn’t hold his gaze. “That be fine.”

She’s lying.
Erik didn’t challenge her. He nodded, as if accepting her words at face value, but all the while, knowing that neither of them believed anything about their lives would be fine.

CHAPTER TWELVE

H
enri wandered after his brother, who crawled across the yard, stopping to examine every rock and weed. Sometimes, he had to stoop to keep Jacques from putting a clump of dirt in his mouth, but mostly, he took small steps after the baby.

He snuck an upward glance at the sky, and then looked back at the ground. The vast expanse made him dizzy, pressing down on his head and making his middle cramp. Although the bread and jam had tasted good when he’d eaten it, now the food didn’t sit too well in his stomach, feeling more like one of the rocks he’d just pried out of his brother’s little hand.

Henri looked toward the barn and wondered if Kenny and Rocky missed him. He always visited them first thing in the morning, helping
Père
feed and water the mules, groom their coats, and muck out the stalls. Surely they felt as lost in that big ole barn as he did here by the house.
Or maybe they like it better?

Back on the mountain, their shed had been small and dark. But
Père
said it was sturdy and kept out the bears and mountain cats.
Be there bears on the prairie?
He gave a fearful glance around, but he didn’t see any sign of wildlife but a red-tailed hawk floating in the sky.

The bird swooped to the ground and then flew up with a mouse in its claws.

He glanced toward the barn again, the pull to go to the mules so strong he took a few steps in that direction before he stopped, remembering
Maman
had told him not to go there unless Mr. Muth was with him.

Jacques crawled toward the house. He stopped at the stairs to the porch, using the first step to lever himself to a standing position. “Ba, ba.” He smacked the wood, obviously pleased with himself. He swiveled until he saw Henri. “Baa.”

“Baa,” Henri mimicked.

The drone of
Maman
and Mr. Muth speaking came through the open screen door. He didn’t pay them any mind until he heard the man say his name.

“Henri needs to go to school.”

School?
Maman
had told him about school. He strained his ears to hear the rest of the conversation.
Maman
’s
voice was softer, her words harder to make out, but the concern in her tone came through clear enough.

I don’t wanna go to school.
His stomach ached, and Henri wondered if he was going to be sick.
If only I could run away—back home, back to
Père
.
Not that he wanted to leave
Maman
and Jacques. . .

With a sigh, he sat on the step next to his brother, remembering how they’d played on the stoop the morning
Père
died. How both of them had laughed and laughed.

Now everything had changed, and he didn’t like it one bit. Although Mr. Muth seemed nice enough, Henri didn’t want another
père.
He wanted his own
père
back.
I want to go home!
He thought again
,
feeling helpless.

Jacques scooted over and patted Henri’s knee. “Baa?”

Henri tried to smile. “Baa.” But his heart wasn’t in the game.

Jacques’s face fell, as if he’d sensed his brother’s feelings.

Not wanting the baby to let out a wail that would disturb the adults, Henri grabbed Jacques’s hand. “Come on. Let’s walk.”

His suggestion worked.

Jacques gave him an open-mouthed grin—the one that usually made Henri laugh back.
Grenouille,
Père
teased when Jacques smiled like that.
Maman
would scold, although her mouth turned up, so she wasn’t really angry, and tell
Père
not to call the baby a frog.

Père
will come for us. He won’t leave us here without him.

Carrying Camilla, Antonia followed Erik from the house, squinting at the brightness of the sun. She’d grown too used to the tree-shaded mountain and wondered if she’d ever adjust to the openness of the prairie.

Henri held Jacques’s hands, allowing the boy to walk in front of him.

Her oldest son still looked sad—haunted eyes, mouth pulled down, and shoulders slumped. But Antonia was relieved to see Jacques had a smile. He always loved playing with his big brother.

Henri saw them and slowly steered the baby their way.

Jacques smiled at her, obviously proud of his accomplishment. “Maa.” He pulled away from Henri, sank to his knees, and crawled over to her.

Antonia handed Camilla to Erik and picked up her son.

Jacques patted her cheeks with his dirty hands. “Maa,” he repeated.

She kissed his cheek, shifted him to one arm, and held out her hand for Henri. “Mr. Muth is showing us his farm.”

“
Our
farm,” Erik corrected.

Although Antonia sent him a polite smile for his inclusion of them, she doubted this place would ever feel like
our
farm. “Henri, Mr. Muth and I spoke some on our new family. We always be rememberin’
Père
.” Her throat tightened, and she had to pause before she could continue with the words she hated saying. “We be always lovin’
Père
. He be a good father to you, and we be never forgetin’ him.” Her lips trembled, and she pressed them tight.

With a sideways glance at her, Erik seemed to note her distress, for he came to her rescue. “Yesterday, when your mother married me, we became husband and wife. She will now be a mother to my baby, Camilla. . .her
maman
.”

Antonia reached out to touch the baby’s foot. “And Mr. Muth be a new father for you boys.” She took a breath and rushed out the words. “You be callin’ him Pa.”

Henri backed away, shaking his head.

“I be sorry,
mon petit garçon
. But this be the way ’tis.” She tried to keep the sorrow from her voice.

“Baa,” Jacques added, seemingly unconcerned by the strained emotions flowing around him.

Carefully holding Camilla to his shoulder, Erik squatted so he was eye-level to Henri. “I know this is hard, boy. Hard for all of us. I can’t be your
Père.
But I promise to be the best pa to you and Jacques that I can be.”

Henri twisted away from Erik, pressing close to Antonia’s side. “No,
Maman
.
Père
be comin’ for us and take us home.”

Henri’s words twisted like a knife in her stomach.
If only that be true!
Antonia had a brief flash of longing before firmly suppressing the feeling.
No sense wishin’ for something that be never happenin’.

Erik rose to his feet.

She glanced at her new husband, afraid of what she might see.
Be he angry?

Erik rubbed Camilla’s back, his gaze on Henri, compassion in his blue eyes.

Relieved, she turned back to her son. “
Père
be
dead
, Henri.” She made her tone gentle but firm. “The grizzly bear done killed him. He not be coming for us, no matter how much we be wishin’ on such a thing.”

The boy scuffed the dirt with his foot and then shot her a quick glance as if to verify her words.

“Our life is here, now, with Mr. Muth, your new pa.” Releasing his hand, she gave him a one-armed hug. “In time, this will not seem so bad,
oui
?”

“Oui,
Maman
.
”
Henri didn’t sound convinced.

Erik waved to a whitewashed house, not much smaller than the log home she’d left behind. “That’s our henhouse. Henri, let me take you to meet the chickens. I think you’re big enough to help your mother take care of them.”

I be takin’ care of them?
Antonia didn’t know anything about chickens. Once again, she realized how ignorant she was of the basic knowledge other white women took for granted. At least, Erik didn’t seem to notice her reaction.

“Daisy was mighty proud of her chickens. Good layers all, although Penny’s falling off. I briefly fed and watered them last night. But Daisy usually lavished a lot of attention on them.” A guilty expression crossed his face, and he took a ragged breath.

Antonia didn’t know what
lavished
meant, but she could guess. She glanced over at the henhouse. She’d never been around the
les poulets
. At the various forts she’d lived at, the camp cooks jealously guarded the flocks, and no one was allowed near. She hoped these ones were friendly.

“Come,” Erik said. “Watch what I do; then tomorrow you can take over their care.” He glanced down at the baby in his arms. “Ah. . .”

“Let me take her.” She set Jacques on the ground near a pile of rocks she knew would interest him. Then she reached for Camilla and gathered the baby to her. After holding Jacques, the infant seemed so tiny, so frail. Antonia cuddled her close and pressed a kiss to the baby’s forehead.

She followed Erik to the henhouse. Up close, she marveled at the windows with glass panes.
Why, my cabin be not even havin’ glass! And here I be proud of the screen tacked over the windows to keep out the flies.
She’d carefully taken down the screens, rolled them up, and brought them with her.

Erik unlatched the door and stepped back to allow the chickens to surge outside. “We need to lock them up at night to protect them from predators. We have fifteen in all. Daisy liked to keep an eye on them. She’d sit on the porch and do handwork. We used to have a dog to protect the flock, but he died a few months ago. We were going to wait until after the baby came to get a new one.”

The white, black, and brown chickens rushed out of the doorway, clucking and spreading their wings. They chattered in obvious excitement, seeming happy to stretch their legs. Some stopped to peck for bugs, but the rest must have been hoping for feed, for they scurried toward Erik.

“Sorry, birds.” He stepped back. “No food for you yet.” Erik glanced down at Henri. “Can you go get the feed for me?” He pointed toward the barn. “Just inside the door on a shelf.” He made a turning motion to the right with his hand so Henri would know where to look. “There’s a metal pan and a gunnysack with some feed. The bag’s almost empty, so I think it’s light enough for you to carry. Do you think you can do that?”

Henri glanced up at Antonia, seeking her approval.

Antonia nudged him with her arm. “Show Mr. Muth. . .uh,
Pa
,
what a helpful boy you be.” She tilted her chin. “Go on now.”

Henri moved from her side in obvious reluctance. Then, as if eager to get the errand over with, he broke into a run, vanishing through the doorway.

Antonia watched him, her stomach churning, hoping he wouldn’t need her assistance. Henri had always taken pride in helping her and Jean-Claude, and she hoped aiding his new father would support the development of their relationship.

Henri emerged from the barn, carrying the pan with the sack on top.

“Well done,
mon fils
.”

“I knew you could do it.” Erik gave Henri a smile and nod, taking the pan from him. He upended the sack then held out the pan to Antonia so she could see the contents. “Some cracked corn and grain. ’Bout that much each time.”

Antonia noted the level of the feed.

He picked up a handful and scattered the grain.

Chickens attacked the feast.

“Daisy named them all.” Erik tossed another handful. “She could tell them apart. I only know about half. Let’s see if I can remember which is which.” He pointed at one. “Penny stands out with her copper-colored feathers. The little lady’s coming to the end of her laying life and should end up in the frying pan soon. And Sadie is. . .was—” he continued with only the slightest stutter of words “—Daisy’s favorite. Treated that chicken like a pet, she did.” His voice caught.

Antonia rushed to speak, hoping to distract him. “Iffen you don’t know what they be called, Henri can give ’em names. He be plumb good at that.”

Erik swallowed and nodded. “The rooster is Bert. The ole boy likes to keep an eye on things. As does this one, eh, Miss Mae.” He stooped to run a hand over the neck and back of a white-feathered chicken.

Miss Mae wiggled and fluttered her wings in apparent enjoyment.

Erik kept rattling off names and pointing to the various birds. Then, he finished feeding them, upending the pan to shake out the remaining kernels.

Antonia gently swayed with Camilla and concentrated on following his directions and watching what he did. Feeding the chickens seemed easy enough. So did filling up the water pan from the well.

Erik took down a long-handled wire basket that hung from a big hook under the eaves. “This is how Daisy carried the eggs, although sometimes she just used her apron.” His gaze slid away from Antonia’s Indian garb.

Her cheeks heated.
Does he disapprove?
But since he didn’t say anything more, she pretended nothing was wrong. “We be gatherin’ them.” She glanced at Henri. “Eh, son? You be careful?”

Henri nodded.

Before Antonia followed Erik into the chicken coop, she glanced at Jacques, sitting in a broad patch of dirt.

He’d become engrossed in a stone that he’d picked up and was carefully studying.