Healing Montana Sky (23 page)

Antonia wasn’t looking at him but at the sickle in her hands. She looked a strange sight, wearing Daisy’s pink sunbonnet and men’s clothes. Amused, he relaxed—until she bent over to grab a handful of grass, her hand about ten inches from the ground, and swung the sickle to cut the stems.

The sight of her bottom outlined against her pants made Erik realize he needed to face away from her if he wanted to get any work done today. Not for the first time since Daisy’s death, desire stirred. While the familiar rush made him uncomfortable because he wasn’t directing those thoughts toward Daisy, he had an odd sense of gratefulness to feel alive in that way again.

He bent to his task and soon put his uncomfortable reaction to his new wife out of his head.

At first, Antonia relished the work. She breathed in the smell of cut grass, heard the swish-swish sounds of Erik’s scythe, enjoyed the exercise, and took satisfaction in seeing the swath of mowed grass she left in her wake.

After an area was cleared, Erik sharpened their blades. Then they moved to a fresh spot and started again. After an hour or so, Antonia’s muscles began to ache. After several hours, her back hurt, and she took longer to bend and grab a handful of grass.

In spite of the mildly warm morning, she soon heated up, and sweat soaked the chemise she wore under Erik’s shirt. The dust from the hay built up in her mouth and nose, causing her to sneeze. Underneath the sunbonnet, her sweaty head itched, but if she ignored the feeling, it went away, only to return a few minutes later. She gritted her teeth and kept going.

After a while, Erik walked toward her, carrying two long hay rakes. He handed one to her. “Time to make windrows.”

Nodding, she accepted one.

“Rake the hay together into long rows to dry.” He demonstrated. “Keep them high and airy,” he ordered. “The more air they get, the better.”

The raking was a welcome change from cutting, giving her tired back and shoulder muscles a break. But, all too soon, they finished, leaving five neat long rows, and returned to cutting.

Several times, Antonia would halt and go check on the children, who seemed just fine without her hovering over them. While she was there, she poured herself a drink, and she’d take the glass jar of water to Erik, who’d give her a grateful smile. Once, when Camilla became fretful, she stopped to nurse the baby. Then she returned to her cutting or raking.

As the day went on, Antonia became hot, tired, and itchy. Finally, when the sun had moved overhead, and her stomach sent out rumbles of hunger, she saw her husband pause, take off his hat, wipe an arm over his forehead, and replace his hat.

Erik caught her glance and walked over. “Let’s eat.” He laid down his scythe.

Grateful, she set the sickle next to his scythe, then stripped off her work gloves and dropped them on top of the tools. Side-by-side, they walked toward the wagon. She pushed the sunbonnet off her head, letting it dangle down her back.

Erik opened the back of the wagon and motioned for Henri to get out.

Henri scrambled down.

Knowing he needed to move after such a long time sitting, Antonia pointed to the row of cut grass. “Run to that hill. By the time you be back, the food be out.”

With a grin, Henri took off, holding his arms out as if he were flying.

Antonia set Jacques on the ground and let him crawl after Henri. She untied her sunbonnet strings and dropped the head-cover inside the wagon, then scooped up Camilla and sniffed. Making a face, she held the baby away from her and smiled. “Stinky poo. You be needin’ a change.”

By the time Erik was done with filling the horses’ water bucket, Antonia had Camilla changed and the boys washed up and ready for lunch. She spread the blanket in the shade of the wagon and took out the basket of food and the crock of water.

With a groan, Erik dropped to the blanket. He pulled off his hat and wiped an arm over his sweaty forehead.

Glad he wasn’t as unfeeling of the physical discomfort as he’d seemed, Antonia sank to her knees. She pulled out a clean cloth from the stack she’d brought, dipped it into the water, wiped her face and hands, and then handed it to him. “I’m plum clean starvin’, and I bet you be, too.” She opened up the basket holding food that could keep outside of the cellar—jerky, pemmican, pickles, some raw carrots, cold boiled potatoes, and bread and jam for dessert.

Erik wolfed down the food, and Antonia wasn’t far behind, only slowing enough to make sure the boys ate. But since she’d given them snacks earlier, they weren’t too hungry.

Once the sharp pangs of her hunger stopped gnawing into her gullet, Antonia slowed her consumption, enjoying the break, feeling her muscles relax, although they ached plenty.

When he finished his victuals, Erik picked up Camilla, who’d been staring at them with curious blue eyes.

The baby gave him a gummy smile.

Erik kissed his daughter’s forehead. “You’re so clever, learning to smile at your pa.” He lay down and tucked the baby next to him. “Let’s rest a few minutes longer. We’ve done good work so far.”

Both Henri and Jacques had sleepy eyes, so Antonia motioned to Henri to lie down next to her and pulled Jacques by her side. The thick grass underneath the blanket cushioned her sore muscles. She let out a sigh and relaxed.

Jacques rummaged for her breast, yanking on her shirt.

She pulled up the material, curled on her side, and let him nurse for a minute until he fell asleep.

A small snore from Erik made her realize he napped with the children. Gently, she moved Jacques to the side to sleep by himself, then she buttoned her shirt and turned. She was going to elbow Erik awake, but relaxing felt so good.
Just a few more minutes,
she told herself.

Propping up on one elbow, she watched her husband, liking how sleep softened his face into boyishness. If he’d been Jean-Claude, she’d have pressed a kiss to his lips before snuggling close for a few more minutes of rest. But he was Erik, and she rolled onto her back, intending to give him just a little more time before waking him up. Instead, she drifted into slumber, too.

A tickle on her nose pulled her out of the comfortable dream-place. She made a noise of protest and brushed at it, not wanting to awake fully.

A laugh sounded near her ear.

She slowly opened heavy eyelids to find herself face-to-face with Erik, only a few inches between them.

His eyes smiling, he brushed her forehead with a blade of grass.

Dreamily, she watched him watch her. She liked the shape of his nose, broad and straight.
A strong nose for the strong face of a strong man.
Then awareness jerked her completely awake, and she gasped.

Erik’s eyes lost their smile, and he pulled back.

Antonia sat up. “Goodness.” She checked to see that the children still slept, and then reached for her sunbonnet. “I not be intendin’ to fall asleep.” She set it on her head and tied the strings.

“Me, neither.” Amusement gleamed in his eyes. “But the sun is still overhead, and I don’t think we’ve slept long. We’ll be all the better for a short rest.”

Careful to not wake his daughter, Erik crawled off the blanket and rose to his feet.

Antonia followed, and he reached down to help her up.

Her muscles had stiffened, and, grateful for the support, Antonia allowed him to pull her to her feet. She tottered a tad before her legs unkinked. With a wince, she stretched her upper body, limbering up her back.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Erik do likewise.

He picked up the rake from where it stood propped against the wagon. “You keep cutting. I’ll rake the hay into windrows.”

She reached for the sickle. Just curling her fingers around the wooden handle hurt. She didn’t have blisters, her palms were too callused for that, yet her skin burned as if heat built up underneath the calluses.
I can do this
, Antonia told herself, and bent to her task.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

O
nce Jacques woke up and Camilla still slept,
Maman
let the boys out of the wagon, but only when she and Pa were raking. Once he was out of her sight, Henri slipped off his moccasins, wanting to feel the texture of the springy grass beneath his bare feet. He found a stick and swished it around, pretending to be cutting hay. Then he took off, running big circles around Jacques. “Catch me. Catch me, Jacques!”

His brother crawled to him, laughing.

Before Jacques could get close, Henri raced off, making the baby switch directions.

After a while, Jacques became impatient with never reaching his brother. He scooted toward a nearby boulder. When he reached it, he stretched his hands along the top and pulled himself up. Then he looked for Henri. “Haari!” He grinned. Letting go, he toddled a few steps, then ran out of steam, and toppled to the ground, crawling for a bit. He found a feather and picked it up, backing into a sitting position and studying his find.

Getting an idea, Henri gathered flowers and found two pheasant feathers that he brought to the boy, scattering them on the grass in front of him.

Jacques chortled. “Ba! Haari!”

Knowing Jacques would stay busy for a while, Henri ran straight through a patch of wildflowers, delighting in their bright colors. He stretched out his arms and twirled until he was dizzy and collapsed on the ground, inhaling the sweet smell of the flowers, while the crisp blue sky spun high above his head.

When the sky stilled, Henri scrambled to his feet and headed back to where his brother sat.

Since he could tell Jacques was still engrossed with his flowers and feathers, Henri trotted over to examine a spot where only a few strands of prairie grass grew in a rocky patch. Seeing a small flicker of movement near the ground in the center of the area, he quickly stilled.

He crouched and became a hunter. Bent over, sneaking upon his prey, he padded closer. Pebbles dug into his feet, and Henri wished he hadn’t taken off his moccasins. He squinted to examine the ground. Several minutes passed before he saw a horny toad blending in with the gray-brown dirt.

The horny toad didn’t move. Only the mouth opened and closed.

Henri watched, remembering
Père
catching them for him to play with. Once he’d taken one home for several days until
Maman
grew tired of helping him find beetles and grasshoppers to feed it. She made him let the horny toad go.

He narrowed his eyes at the critter.
I can catch one by myself. Jacques will want to play with it. Maybe I’ll be taking it home with me. Won’t be too hard to find bugs for its meals.

Henri moved closer to the horny toad, noting the small spikes near the back of the head, the single row of light-colored scales along the sides. Even though the creature was motionless now, the horny toad could move right quick when it took off.

He inhaled a deep breath, like
Père
had taught him, almost hearing his father’s voice in his ear
. “Concentre-toi, mon fils.”

I be lookin’ sharp, Père
. With a frog hop, Henri pounced, both hands closing around the horny toad. The critter was a small one, and his fingers caged it. The creature remained still, its body soft, despite the spiky-looking hide.

A feeling of triumph filled him.
“Je l’ai fait, Père!”
he said, as if his father stood watching. Then more quietly, he repeated the words in English. “I did it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could almost see
Père
laughing with pride at Henri’s feat. With sudden hope, he glanced in that direction. But no one was there. His catch of the horny toad lost all meaning, and his elation drained away.

Slowly, Henri sank to his knees. Sadness blew into him like the wind. His chest hurt. Opening his hands, he released the horny toad and watched it skitter under a pile of rocks.

I wish. . . .
But he already knew wishing with his whole heart wasn’t enough to bring back
Père
.

Henri rose and turned to check on his brother and find his moccasins.

Jacques sat in the same place, waving two feathers.

Beyond him,
Maman
and Pa raked hay.
Maman
stopped and shaded her eyes, looking for them. She smiled and waved, gesturing for him to return with Jacques.

One more time, he glanced back to where the horny toad had disappeared, hoping to see. . . .

A gust of wind fluttered the grass.

With heavy steps, Henri turned and moved toward his family.

When Camilla wails reached him, Erik’s conscience bit, and he called a halt for the day. He looked around the broad area they’d cut—the windrows rolled into small stacks to protect them from the dew that would come overnight—and had the satisfaction that they’d accomplished twice as much today than if he’d been on his own. He glanced over at Antonia.

She pushed back her sunbonnet and ran an arm across her forehead.

“You go take care of Camilla and the boys, and I’ll hitch up the horses.”

With a tired smile, she nodded.

Once he’d harnessed the team, he took the empty keg and bucket back to the wagon, smiling to see Henri writing on his slate.

Antonia stood in the shade. The baby suckled at her breast, and Jacques clung to her leg. Fatigue shadowed her eyes, and guilt stabbed him.

She worked beside me without complaint all day.
He hadn’t given a thought to her well-being, assuming that when she’d had enough, she’d start complaining. That’s what Daisy would have done. He thought back through the day and realized he’d been the one to stop them for lunch. The oddest feeling of pride in her and disgust at himself tangled in his chest.

“Sit and rest,” he ordered, pointing at the blanket. “I’ll pack up.”

She sank to her knees, clutching the baby.

He picked up a jar, filled it with water, and handed it to her. Then he scraped the bottom of the crock to get the last of the water with the dipper and took a draught.

After he’d drunk his fill, Erik quickly put the tools in the wagon. He lifted the boys into the back and then reached down a hand to help Antonia to her feet.

His wife leaned on him more than he figured she would have normally done, and his guilt deepened. He kept a steadying arm around her while escorting her to the wagon. Then he took Camilla while Antonia climbed up.

His daughter squirmed in his arms and let out a squawk, anxious to return to her feeding, which she did as soon as he lifted her to Antonia.

Once in the wagon, Erik would have liked to urge the team to a faster pace so they could return home sooner, but he couldn’t be sure Jacques was secure.

Dusk was settling as they approached the house. Although the guilt continued to stab him, Erik had the livestock to attend to. The needs of his wife and family would have to come second.

As he unhitched the horses, groomed and fed them, then milked the cows, Erik pondered the realization that something had changed today with his relationship with Antonia. That
something
felt both good and bad. While his hands went about their familiar tasks, he puzzled out what was different.

He realized, for the first time today, Antonia had felt like his
wife
, his partner, and that was progress. Yet, if he became close with her, what did that mean for his memories of Daisy?

Erik had struggled with these feelings since the storm but with the press of planting, taking care of the livestock, making repairs around the place, and driving into town every day, he’d been able to push them aside. He had no doubt he’d loved Daisy, loved her still, would always love her. So, how could he also feel satisfaction and an odd sense of intimacy and partnership with Antonia?

Deciding such thoughts and emotions were too much for his tired male brain to figure out, Erik resolved to put them from his mind. He finished the milking and brought the pails into the springhouse, filled a pitcher with chilled milk, and carried it to the house.

Antonia had set out supper, and the boys had clean faces and hands. She looked like she’d washed up, too, although she hadn’t changed clothes, and tiredness made her face look drawn.

He smiled at her and set the pitcher on the counter.

She took it and poured four glasses.

Erik went back on the porch to wash up. When he came inside, he saw the table was set, and everyone was waiting for him.

Camilla slept in the cradle near Antonia’s feet.

He claimed a seat and gave thanks. Then they set to, as if they’d never eaten before. The meal was cold from the springhouse and pantry: pheasant, hard-boiled eggs, bottled green beans, potatoes, applesauce, and bread and butter. Even Henri, who never ate as much as Erik thought a boy should, piled into his food.

The milk went down as quickly as the food, until, at the end of the meal, the boys nodded over the scraps left on their plate.

Antonia gathered up the children and took them into the bedroom, tucking them into the bed. She placed the cradle next to them. Later, when it was time for Erik to go to bed, they’d transfer the boys to the pile of furs in the main room.

His wife returned, lighting an oil lamp before she sat again at the table. She placed it between them.

Erik used his last bite of bread to slop up the little bit of applesauce left on his plate, and then leaned back, too exhausted to move. He looked at Antonia.

The lamplight burnished the gold of her eyes. The shadows hid the tired lines of her face.

Once again, he felt that sense of connection that had gnawed at him earlier. “Thank you.”

She gave him a puzzled look.

“For helping today.”

With a shake of her head, she made a dismissing gesture.

He captured her hand in his, curled his fingers around hers, and lowered their joined hands to the surface of the table. “You were a big help to me today. Henri, too, what with him keeping an eye on the babies. I’m grateful. You worked as hard as a man.” He broke eye contact to look down. “I’m ashamed to say, I treated you like a man, too. Didn’t stop enough to rest. Assumed you’d tell me when you needed to stop. But you kept up with me the whole way through.”

Her hand moved, and he thought she was going to pull away. But Antonia surprised him by turning up her palm and clasping his. “I didn’t need to stop, or I would have.”

“I can see how tired you are. How sore and stiff.”

She gave him a wry smile. “Course I be tired and sore and stiff. You be, too.”

He started to protest.

She held up her other hand to stop him. “I’m proud of what we done today, Erik. Please don’t be snatchin’ that away by criticizin’ yourself.”

He shook his head, feeling the pressure behind his eyes that seemed to hit him so often since Daisy’s death. He waited awhile until he could speak without betraying any emotion. He was about to order her to bed. . .to tell her that he’d go haying alone tomorrow, to give her a day to rest. But he paused, realizing that wisdom dictated he ask Antonia’s opinion. “I can do it alone tomorrow.”

She gave their clasped hands a little thump on the table. “You’ll do no such thing, Erik Muth. We’ll all go together.”

Smiling, he brought their joined hands to his mouth and placed a kiss on her wrist. “So be it.”