Healing Montana Sky (35 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

T
hree Indian men sat at the table along with Henri. Two of them sprang up when Erik leaped inside.

He aimed the rifle at them, wondering if he could pull the trigger, killing them in front of his family.
If I have to!

The braves were dressed in fur-trimmed buckskin with beaded designs on the front and sleeves. They had braided feathers into their hair and looked to be about eighteen. One long-faced Indian held Jacques on his lap. He paused in the act of feeding the boy a piece of toast.

“Pa!” Jacques yelled, bouncing on the man’s knee. The boy grinned and stuffed the toast into his mouth, smearing his face with purple jam.

Schatzy let out a happy bark and ran to him, her tail wagging.

Even Camilla, lying on the bearskin, waved her hand at him.

The air smelled of pork grease, and his hungry stomach clutched.

Still holding the handle of the frying pan, Antonia whirled from the stove. Her eyes widened. “Erik, you’re back!” She shook her head at him. “Put down that rifle,” she said sharply. “Everything’s all right.” Her tone softened. “I know them.”

Henri translated what she’d said to the Indians.

His arms suddenly weak, Erik lowered the rifle. Relief made his knees tremble.

The three braves didn’t move, but their shoulders relaxed.

Questions flooded his mind. But the first one that tumbled from his mouth was directed at Henri. “Where did you learn to speak Blackfoot like that?”

Antonia moved the frying pan to the cooler surface of the stove. She wore an apron over her Indian garb. “We often spent weeks with the Blackfoot, and Henri learned to speak the language as well as any of the children. Two years have passed since we were there, and I thought he’d forgotten. But he’s speakin’ much better than me.”

“I’ve been practicing with Hunter, Pa,” Henri chimed in, his gold eyes alight. “He says I speak real good.”

Erik’s muddled brain took a few minutes to realize Henri referred to the Thompson boy. He tilted his head toward the braves. “But what are they doing here?” he asked his wife.

Antonia shot the Indians a guilty look. “They came by for a. . .uh. . .
visit
.”

Erik figured he knew the kind of visit she was talking about.

“I’m feedin’ ’em up, and then I thought we could talk about what’s goin’ on. Figure out what to do.”

Ride for the sheriff is what we should do.
But Erik didn’t say so. He didn’t know how much English the men understood.
Things are calm now, and I don’t want to change that.

The two men standing followed the conversation with their heads, until Antonia spoke Blackfoot words, and they sat again, looking uneasy.

His wife stepped away from the stove and walked toward him with a welcoming smile, her hands outstretched.

The lack of worry in her eyes or tension in her voice told him more than her reassuring words.

She placed her hand on his arm and rose on tiptoe to press a kiss to his lips. “I’m glad you’re home. I’ve been right worried.”

“Horse problems.” He’d give her more details later.

“All that matters is you be home safe.” Antonia lifted her chin toward the gun rack. “Put up the rifle.” She patted his arm. “You must be starvin’. I know you didn’t take enough food for all those days you were gone.”

“You’re not the only hunter in this family, wife.” Relief had him injecting some levity into his tone but he held onto the weapon.

Antonia playfully wrinkled her nose at him before waving toward the table. “Let me introduce Samoset, Chogan, Ahanu.” She gestured to each one. “Ahanu’s the one whose leg was wounded a few weeks ago when that farmer shot him. He’s healed, though.”

The young men all gave him solemn nods.

Erik dipped his chin in acknowledgment.

Antonia pulled her eyebrows together in a frown of disapproval that she directed at the Indians. “These three were just boys when I saw them last. But now they’re men enough to cause trouble.”

Henri translated for her.

Samoset, the one holding Jacques, gave her a sheepish look, but the other two only stared coldly at Erik.

“Do they understand the problems they’re causing?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I’ve been feedin’ ’em. We’ve been exchangin’ stories of the last two years. The government promised supplies to the tribe, Erik. But they never sent any,” she said, pain in her tone. “So many deaths. . .” Her voice trailed off.

He suppressed an instinctive feeling of compassion. “I have to see to the horses,” Erik said, torn between taking care of his team and protecting his family. He hefted the rifle. “You’re sure about this?”

“They won’t hurt us.”

Erik took the Winchester with him as a precaution and walked out the door, thinking furiously. He stopped to pull on his boots before hurrying down the road to where he’d left the wagon. All through driving into the yard, unhitching the horses, and seeing to their needs, he sifted through possible ideas, mulling over various solutions to the three problems eating breakfast in his house. He didn’t like any of the possibilities.

Turning the braves over to the sheriff, if he could even manage to do such a thing, would cause Antonia and Henri distress. But, although hard on him, upsetting his family wouldn’t prevent Erik from doing what he felt was right. But turning in the Indians didn’t feel right, either. Just letting them go would also be wrong, even if Antonia scolded the braves enough to put the fear of God—or at least the sheriff—into the men, in hopes they’d stop their thieving ways.

The Blackfoot are still starving, and I can’t turn a blind eye to their needs.

Erik stopped to admire the Indians’ horses, and a glimmer of an idea came to him. Once he walked inside the house, he hesitated on the threshold, realizing something had changed.

Tension hung in the air.

He cocked an eyebrow at Antonia in askance.

She was back at the stove, frying eggs and ham. “I told them how people are gittin’ riled up, and the sheriff fears folks could get angry enough to attack the reservation, killin’ innocent people. Now these three realize they’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest and might bring disaster down on their tribe. They’re scared down to their moccasins. Not that they’ll show it. But they don’t know what to do to make everything right.”

“Give me a bit of time to think on it.”

Jacques toddled over to him, reaching up his arms. “Pa.”

Going with a gut feeling that he could trust his wife’s judgment, Erik hung the Winchester on the rack above Antonia’s two rifles. He crouched to hug the boy. “You’ve grown since I’ve been away.”

Jacques patted Erik’s face. Seemingly reassured, he pulled away and toddled to the bearskin, picking up a spoon near Camilla and plopping down on his behind.

Erik rose and walked over to pick up his daughter from the bearskin. He kissed Camilla’s forehead, feeling the intensity of his love for her and knowing the Indian men must have the same feelings for their babies—and how such abiding love could drive a man to do anything to save his family.

Needing to feel his daughter safe in his arms, Erik carried Camilla with him to the table. He seated himself next to Henri and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Glad to see you’re taking such good care of things here, son. I’m proud of you.”

To his surprise, the affectionate tone and gesture seemed to make the braves relax. Erik realized they must have wondered how he was treating Jean-Claude’s family. Seeing their concern made him feel better disposed toward them. Not only were they
not
going to hurt his family, they’d been concerned that
he
was the hurtful one. That realization was enough to make him smile toward them.

Antonia set a plate of scrambled eggs and ham in front of him, followed by another piled with several pieces of toast spread with jam and butter.

Even with keeping Camilla entertained, Erik managed to ravenously devour his eggs and toast. One-handedly, he forked the food into his mouth.

Once Erik finished, he relaxed, rubbing Camilla’s back. He looked across the table at the braves, speaking directly to them. “How stand you with horses? Do you have enough to trade for cattle and other livestock?” He glanced at Henri, nodding for the boy to translate.

After he did, the Indians looked at one another, talking among themselves and seeming to come to an agreement, for they fell silent and faced Erik. Samoset, who seemed to be the ringleader, nodded.

Erik outlined his plan for the Indians to trade their extra horses for cattle and other livestock, seeds, and plants. In addition, some of the white men working in shifts could travel to the reservation and teach them the best ways to farm.

He’d need the agreement and cooperation of the sheriff and town leaders, but Erik knew in his gut that enough of them would get behind this arrangement, even if haters like the Cobbs objected. The support and involvement of the leadership would be enough to make an informal treaty work.

The discussion and bargaining between the five of them, which sometimes turned heated, lasted all day. By the end of the discussion, the braves had agreed to ride to the reservation and speak with the tribe’s chief and elders, returning to the farm in a week’s time with the chief to negotiate with John Carter, Sheriff Granger, and other town leaders.

Erik remembered that Jonah Barrett had close ties with the Blackfoot through his first wife.
He should be involved as well.

Since all three braves had extra mounts, they agreed those horses were to be sold, and the money divided among all those whose livestock they’d stolen.

Erik had a strong feeling that offering reparations would be enough to allay the townsfolk’s need for justice. He planned to draw up a treaty stating what the five of them had worked out today, which could be amended at the joint meeting.

Afterward, he and Antonia stood together with Henri and Schatzy on the porch, watching the Indians ride away. The three took supplies with them—Antonia’s dried fruits and vegetables, as well as portions of cheese and jerky she’d made.

The boy and the dog wandered back into the house.

Erik slipped his arm around Antonia’s waist and pulled her against his side. “Well, wife, are you satisfied?”

She leaned her head on his shoulder. “If Jean-Claude were here—” her voice thickened “—he’d thank you for taking care of his friends. Their—” she hesitated, obviously searching for a word “—
plight
was a burden on his heart. Mine, too.” She sighed. “We be. . .will have much hard work ahead of us to make this right. But I feel here—” Antonia raised her head, turned toward him, and placed her hand on her chest “—things will be better.”

Erik dropped a kiss on her lips. “No one in this town is afraid of hard work. Most all are God-fearing. I’m pretty sure they’ll help the Blackfoot.” He tilted his head toward the house. “Come,” he said in a suggestive tone. “Let’s put the children to bed so we can have some time to ourselves.”

After the children were asleep, Erik and Antonia sat on the steps of the porch together, holding hands as they watched the fat moon rise into the swath of stars in the night sky. The breeze drifted the smell of grass their way and mingled with the scent of the flowers Antonia had planted.

Erik stirred and looked at her, seeing only the shadows of her face. But he knew her familiar features, her beautiful eyes, and that was enough. “Tomorrow, I’ll ride to town and meet with Reverend Norton and Ant Gordon. They can take over from there—sending word to the others. I’ll also pay Banker Livingston a visit and make the payment on the barn. I’ll assure him I won’t be late again.” He tensed for her reaction.

“I gave Jean-Claude’s money to Mr. Livingston, and he didn’t charge me
arrears
.”

Shame balled in his stomach. “I’m so sorry. I should have told you, should have taken care of it before going for wood.”

“At first, I was angry. But then, with what happened today, the loan didn’t seem to matter anymore. You’re home safe, and you solved the problem with the Blackfoot,” she said with pride.

“We both did, and Henri, too.”

“From now on, only honesty between us,” Antonia whispered.

“I promise.” Erik lifted their joined hands. “The day we married, I never expected us to end up here, like this.” He pressed a kiss to her hand. “The best I hoped for was a businesslike relationship.”

“We certainly have that.” Laughter lilted in her voice. “When we wed, I was just grateful for a home for my boys and a daughter to love. Never expected more.”

“I couldn’t imagine ever loving a woman again as I did Daisy. But I was wrong.” He stared in the direction of the graveyard. “A part of you will always love Jean-Claude, and a part of my heart still belongs to Daisy.” He turned to her. “But all the rest is yours, my dearest Antonia. I realized as much today when I feared for your safety.”

She smiled, tilting her face to his. “I knew I loved you when I fretted so over you being delayed.”

“Perhaps. . .” Erik made a back-and-forth gesture between the two of them. “Our love is all the richer for having known Daisy and Jean-Claude. . .married them. . .brought their children into the world.”