Healing Montana Sky (6 page)

Mrs. Valleau glanced at her boys, and then at Camilla. A resolute expression crossed her face, and she picked up the fork, scooped up some eggs, and took a bite.

“Try the jam,
Maman
,” her boy said, picking up a strip of bacon and biting into it. His eyes widened. “
Tr
è
s bon!
”

His enthusiasm required no translation.

Mrs. Cameron laughed.

Even Mrs. Valleau had a slight smile. “Henri be not used to pork, either, although he be likin’ it. Bear, venison, duck, goose. . .but not pig.”

“Well, I guess he’ll have to get used to pork and chicken,” Erik said, thinking about the livestock on his farm.

At the reference to their upcoming changes, Mrs. Valleau’s small smile vanished, and she looked down at her plate.

Erik felt like a bumbling idiot. Yes, he’d just lost his wife, but he still had his farm. She’d not only lost her husband but her home, too. And her way of life. He wondered how she’d be able to adjust. His shoulders ached with tension.
Another burden.

Mrs. Cameron bustled over. “Let me hold the wee lassie while you eat.” She reached for the baby.

“What about your food?”

“I’ll be fine. I had a head start on the bacon.”

Carefully, Erik handed Camilla over to the woman.

The baby didn’t stir.

Mrs. Cameron sat on the other side of him.

“I’ll say grace,” Reverend Norton said. He waited for them to bow their heads.

Before Erik closed his eyes, he noticed that Mrs. Valleau was half a beat behind everyone else, and he wondered if she usually prayed before meals.

The boy, Henri, didn’t bend his head, instead stared at everyone with wide gold eyes.

I wonder if they’re Catholic?
Not that it mattered. Between the farmwork and the weather, he often didn’t make it to church on Sundays. Although sometimes, Daisy had put her foot down and forced the issue of their lack of attendance.

Even as he thought the words, Erik realized he and Daisy would never have Sundays together again. Guilt swept over him. Daisy had enjoyed going to town, worshiping in church, and spending time with other women. Why, then, had he not seen to it she had more chances to do so?

How long will it take before I believe she’s gone?

Antonia wished she could do justice to the eggs and bacon, bread and jam like Henri was. The bacon, especially, smelled so good. But the food all tasted like wood to her.
Might as well chew bark.

Yet, she realized the truth of Mrs. Cameron’s statement about needing to keep up her strength. She not only had her boys depending on her but Camilla, too. She glanced over at Mr. Muth, who had stopped eating and seemed lost in unhappy thoughts. Perhaps the meat tasted like wood to him as well.

Mrs. Cameron cast a pointed look toward Mr. Muth’s plate.

Obediently, he picked up his fork and began to eat.

She was glad to see that Henri, who’d only picked at his food since Jean-Claude’s death, ate another helping.

Mrs. Norton started a conversation with Mrs. Cameron about some of the people in town. Their husbands joined in.

Too lost in her own thoughts, Antonia allowed their words to flow over her.

Dr. Cameron set down his glass. “Cleeves had a pig disappear, and an Indian was seen in the area.”

Oh, no.
Her gut clenching, Antonia sat up.

“After service on Sunday, Harrison Dunn told me a few of their cattle disappeared, and from the trail, he suspected rustlers. He reported the loss to Sheriff Granger.”

Mr. Muth frowned. “Last week, the O’Donnells mentioned they’d lost four hens, with no sight of blood or feathers to indicate what had taken them. Quite upset, Mrs. O’Donnell was. The family relies heavily on their chickens. I hadn’t realized more incidents had occurred.”

Mrs. Norton placed a hand on her chest. “Do you think it’s the work of Indians?” she asked in a timid voice.

A forbidding expression drew the minister’s face into severe lines. “Let’s hope that isn’t the case. The last thing we need is folk becoming enflamed against the Indians.”

“If they be, ’tis because they be starvin’!” Antonia said, her tone sharp. “The white men done killed off the buffalo, their main food. I be not sayin’ that thievin’ be right, or even that the Blackfoot be doin’ such. But I do know their babes and elders be dyin’. Others be weak, vulnerable.”

“I’ve seen some sad cases of grippe and malnutrition,” the doctor commented.

“Sometimes the Indians come to our door,” the reverend said. “And we never turn them away with empty hands. I don’t know what more we can do.” He glanced at his wife and his severe expression eased. “First of all, we must not let these rumors get out of hand. Sheriff Granger needs to know, of course. But she’s a levelheaded woman, and I trust her not to act out of hand.”

She?
Antonia wasn’t sure she’d heard right.

Reverend Norton must have seen her puzzlement, for he smiled and nodded. “Yes, our sheriff is, indeed, a woman. Quite competent.” He glanced around the table. “We may have no problem and these incidents all have natural explanations. Or they may be thefts and thus connected, in which case they may or may not be caused by the Indians.”

Doctor Cameron glanced at the minister. “Between the two of us, we probably cover more ground around here and talk to more people than anyone else. We’ll have to start asking questions. . .in an indirect way, of course. No sense putting any ideas in people’s heads.”

Reverend Norton rubbed his chin. “I’ll talk to John Carter about the Blackfoot. Perhaps if we both write the Office of Indian Affairs, asking for more supplies to be distributed, that action could solve one or both problems.”

“Be a start.” Feeling somewhat heartened that, by coming to Sweetwater Springs, she might be helping the Blackfoot, Antonia took another bite of her eggs.

As everyone else returned to eating, silence fell.

After they’d tucked in a goodly amount, Reverend Norton cleared his throat. “What have you two decided to do?” He glanced from Antonia to Mr. Muth.

Mr. Muth flicked a look at her before turning to the minister. “Mrs. Valleau has agreed to come live at the farm with her boys and take care of the baby.”

“Good. Of course, before you leave today, I’d like to baptize Camilla.”

Mr. Muth set down his fork, an expression of concern on his face.

Reverend Norton held up a hand. “Not because I think she won’t make it. I’m sure with Mrs. Valleau’s tender care, Camilla will be in good hands. But I would suggest baptism for any infant who’s in my vicinity when I know her folks live too far to attend church regularly.”

“Of course.” Mr. Muth’s expression relaxed.

The minister indicated his approval with a stately nod. He looked at Antonia’s boys, then at her. “I assume you’re Catholic.”

She nodded.

“I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to avail yourself of a priest to baptize the boys. If not, I’ll be glad to do it. Or, you can wait. A traveling priest visits Sweetwater Springs about once a month. Father Fredrick was just here, though. So it will be several weeks before the ceremony can take place.”

Antonia had a panicked moment of wishing Jean-Claude was here to help her make the decision. They’d been married by a priest but had never lived near a church. And, if they had, she doubted they would have gone. Neither of them had been religious, although Jean-Claude had said a few times that he was more partial to the Indian beliefs than the Catholic ones.

Be it matterin’?
She bit her lip, thinking rapidly. Reverend Norton had been kind. He’d counseled her, which had brought her some comfort. She could tell he was a good man and thought she’d like going to his church and hearing what he had to say. Furthermore, she doubted Jean-Claude would have cared, so she didn’t have to worry about going against his wishes.

Antonia nodded. “I be likin’ that plenty, Reverend Norton. Thank you.”

His smile was warm, although his eyes still held concern. “No need to thank me, my dear Mrs. Valleau. I’m just doing my job. Now, the next question. . .a delicate, but necessary, question, I’m afraid. Do I perform a marriage ceremony for the two of you at the same time as the baptisms?”

CHAPTER FIVE

A
t the minister’s words, Erik jerked up in his chair, anger flaring through him. He choked on the food in his mouth and had to cough, chew, and swallow before he could talk. Which was probably a good thing because the struggle kept him from cursing at the minister.

Mrs. Valleau came to his rescue. “I done buried my husband not five days past,” she said, her voice thick with pain. “Mr. Muth, his wife, she be dyin’ this day. We cain’t marry. It be not right.”

Seeing she was in agreement with him took the edge off Erik’s emotions. But his agitation didn’t die down.

The minister raised a hand as if to calm them both. “I understand the sentiment, Mrs. Valleau. If I were in your situation. . .where I’d lost my dear helpmate. . . .” He gave a loving glance to his wife. “I don’t know how I would be able to go on. I certainly could not remarry, especially on the day of her death.”

Erik settled back in his seat.

“But you two will be living together. . .isolated. . .in a small home. Temptation will exist. Perhaps not for a while, but it will come.”

Mrs. Norton carefully folded her napkin and set it next to her plate. “And, unfortunately, people will condemn and gossip.”

Reverend Norton glanced at the baby, sleeping in Mrs. Cameron’s arms, then looked at Henri before his gaze returned to Mrs. Valleau. “Such judgments may affect your reputation and that of your children.”

Erik flexed his fingers.
I’ll beat the tar out of anyone who dares say a word against my daughter!

Mrs. Valleau waved her hands in a stopping gesture. “No. I be not marryin’ again,” she said, her voice shaking in distress. “Too cruel as to be a judgin’ us.”

Mrs. Cameron and Mrs. Norton exchanged concerned glances.

Reverend Norton sighed. “I certainly hope that is true, my dear Mrs. Valleau. However, if you change your mind. . . .”

Erik set down his fork. “We will not change our minds.” He put conviction into his voice.

The minister’s suggestion banished the remains of Erik’s appetite, and his meal sat uneasy in his stomach. He noticed Mrs. Valleau had stopped eating, too.

Her baby pounded his fist on the table. “Baa!”

Mrs. Valleau rose and picked him up. “Come,
mon enfant
. We be needin’ to make you cleanlike.”

“Use the towel by the sink,” Mrs. Cameron said. She eased her way to her feet, the bulk of her pregnancy making her ungainly. Careful not to jar the baby, she handed Camilla to Erik and began clearing the dishes from the table.

Camilla stared up at him as if fascinated by his features.

As Erik looked at her little flowerlike face, he thanked God for her survival, yet worry persisted, and he wondered when he’d relax and trust that she was healthy. When she was eighteen? Fifty? He couldn’t imagine this little mite a woman grown.

The doctor excused himself and left the room, only to return a few minutes later with a cradle, which he set next to Erik’s chair.

The doctor’s wife rested her hand on the mound of her stomach. “This is an extra one we have. We need it sometimes if a babe is ill,” she said quietly.

Ah
. He cast an anxious glance over his daughter’s face. Her skin had lost the waxen tinge she’d had earlier, but that barely reassured him.

Mrs. Cameron turned back the blanket in the cradle. “You just set her in there, and I’ll watch over her for you.”

Mrs. Valleau’s baby fussed a bit. She jiggled him on her hip. “Let me be a nursin’ him. He might be fallin’ asleep again. He be up most of the night.”

Erik realized he’d have to transport the woman and her children to the farm. “Do you have possessions somewhere?”

“On the mules. I done left ’em tied up by the church. Didn’t even water ’em, poor things. But we did be stoppin’ at a stream just before town.”

Erik nodded. “We’ll take care of them before we set out for my farm.”

“I be havin’ furs that my husband done trapped and cured. I’d like to be tradin’ ’em at the store. I be needin’ things, and I don’t want to go to your house empty handed.”

Erik was going to retort that he didn’t need anything, but the level of her chin made him stay silent. She had her pride, and far be it from him to step on it.

While he was in town, Erik knew he needed to pick up some things, too. Nails. A new hammer. He had compiled a list over the last weeks for the next trip to town, which of course he’d left at the house. At this moment, he had a hard time gathering his thoughts about what was written on the paper. Maybe if he looked around the store he’d remember.

Mrs. Norton touched his elbow. “When you’re ready to go home, Reverend Norton and I will go with you. I’ll help Mrs. Valleau prepare your wife’s body. I imagine you’ll want to bury her on your land, rather than the cemetery in town. Reverend Norton will be able to perform the service for you.”

The images caused by her words made him nauseated. “I need to go buy a coffin.” Even as he made the statement, his mind screamed
nooooo
. The word echoed around his brain.

After nursing her son and leaving the boys with Mrs. Cameron, Antonia led the mule, laden with pelts, toward the mercantile, while Erik drove his wagon to the cabinetmaker. As she walked, she replayed Jean-Claude’s stories of how he’d bargained with the shopkeepers. She might not know her letters, but her husband had taught her numbers and how to figure prices and money. She was determined to do as well as he had.

The spring sunshine shone warm on her face, and Antonia was able to muster up some gratitude that they didn’t have to deal with rain, or even snow.
I don’t need miserable weather to match my miserable circumstances.

Keeping her gaze on the redbrick building across the street and close to the train station, Antonia tried to take determined steps to counteract her growing nervousness, which made the little amount of food she’d eaten weigh in her stomach as heavy as iron.

Based on Jean-Claude’s past fur sales, Antonia had calculated the amount she thought this batch would bring and had figured out what goods they needed to start a new life. Now she could cross off many of the items on her mental list. At least by going to live on a farm, she wouldn’t have to stock up as if they were starting from scratch.

Although she wanted to study the building—bigger than any she’d ever seen—that was under construction between the store and the train station, Antonia kept her gaze straight ahead. She didn’t want to see any leers from the workers. Maybe later, when she was properly dressed, she could look.

Antonia tied up the mule in front of the redbrick building with black letters printed across the big window in the front. She reached up to take the top layers off the mule—the mink, beaver, ermine, otter, and a beautiful silver fox. She left the heavier elk, deer, and bear furs, including the uncured one from the monster who’d killed Jean-Claude, on the mule to unload on her second trip.

Usually, her husband would travel to Sweetwater Springs in the spring or early summer to trade the furs taken from the previous autumn and winter. But last spring he hadn’t wanted to leave her alone with a tiny baby. Now that Jacques was older, Jean-Claude had planned for them to take a trip to town in a few weeks. How painfully ironic that she was now the one doing the trading.

Her arms full, Antonia had to fumble with the door handle. By the time she entered the store, she was flushed and hot. The sight of so much merchandise—the colors, the smells—overwhelmed her senses. She paused to get her bearings, glancing over at a crock of what smelled like pickles.
When did I last eat a pickle?

A tall man straightened from behind the counter. A narrow fringe of hair circled his bald head, and he had a squashed red nose. The shopkeeper eyed her clothing, and a sour expression crossed his face.

Perhaps he’s eaten too many of his own pickles
, Antonia thought, disliking the shopkeeper on sight. Once again she wanted to flee but felt trapped because there was nowhere to go. Her family needed this trade.

Antonia walked forward, as stately as she could, given the bundle in her arms. She set the pile on the counter and spread them out, so they lay in a neat display. “I be Mrs. Valleau. I be tradin’ these. I be havin’ more on the mule outside.”

The man eyed her Indian tunic, and then ran a hand over the silver fox. His sour expression didn’t change. “Well, get the rest then, woman.”

Antonia bristled but held back a retort. She couldn’t risk losing this sale. She turned and stalked out, leaving the door open so she didn’t have to struggle with it again. Behind her, the man yelled about letting in the flies, but she pretended she hadn’t heard him.

Antonia hefted the rest of the furs down, all but the uncured pelt of the grizzly that had killed Jean-Claude. She left that rolled on the mule, and then staggered back inside, dropping the bundle on the counter.

Mr. Cobb pointedly ignored her, instead striding around the counter, down the aisle and to the door, where he shut it with a snap before stalking back. He barely glanced at the pile on the counter. “I’ll give you five dollars for the whole shebang, and that’s it.”

What?

Behind her, Antonia heard the door open, but she didn’t turn, focusing her attention on the shopkeeper.
“Non!”
Fear and anger made the word come out as sharp as a knife. “These here be worth far more than five dollars.”

“Not to me they aren’t. Take the money and get out.”

Antonia’s thoughts raced. She couldn’t accept that low offer. Yet, she also couldn’t walk out of here without clothing for her and the boys, and with no money. Helplessness combined with anger, and tears welled up in her eyes.
Oh no, you don’t be doin’ that,
she scolded herself.
You be not weepin’ for Jean-Claude, and you cain’t let this miscreant be a makin’ you cry.
With all her strength, she held on to her emotions.

The sound of firm footsteps came closer, but Antonia ignored them, wanting to get control over herself before she exposed any weakness to strangers.

Mr. Cobb’s expression changed from contemptuous to obsequious. “Mr. Carter, welcome.”

He sounds like he’d like to be wipin’ this Mr. Carter’s boots.

“Good day, Mr. Cobb,” said a pleasant male voice.

Antonia turned to see a man in a blue suit and hat, far fancier than any she’d seen in years.

“No Mrs. Carter today?” Mr. Cobb asked.

“She stopped by the Mueller’s place to pick up some of those big pretzels for the children.” The man walked up the aisle. He smiled at Antonia and touched a finger to his hat.

She nodded, too upset to return his smile.

The man had a narrow face, thinning sandy hair, and kind blue eyes. His gaze lingered on her face. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m John Carter, and I have a ranch out that-away.” He waved his arm opposite from the direction she’d traveled to reach the town.

“I be Mrs. Valleau.”

“Valleau sounds French.” The comment sounded curious, not condemning.

“Yes, sir. My husband be. . .
was—
”
Her voice wobbled, and Antonia took a breath to strengthen it.
“
French-Canadian.” She touched the edge of a fur. “A trapper.”

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Valleau. My wife, Pamela, will be along shortly, and I’m sure she’ll be happy to meet you.”

Although she detected nothing in Mr. Carter’s expression to indicate his awareness of her strange dress, Antonia was sure Mrs. Carter wouldn’t be so tolerant.

“What have we here?” Mr. Carter leaned over to examine the furs spread on the counter. “Your husband was a fine hunter, and he did an excellent job of tanning these.”

A lump rose in Antonia’s throat.

Mr. Carter ran a hand over the grizzly fur. “This one has more silver than the one I have at home.” He rifled through the stack until he came to the pelt of a silver fox. “Ah. Mrs. Carter would like this to trim the white rabbit cape she has.” He fingered the ermine. “This would make a beautiful muff. I believe these will make Mrs. Carter the perfect birthday gift.” He looked from Antonia to Mr. Cobb and back. “Have you two finished negotiations?”

“We’ve barely begun,” Antonia said in a bitter tone. “Five dollars ain’t enough fer the whole lot.”

The man narrowed his eyes at Mr. Cobb. “Surely that amount was a mistake?” The pointed stare he gave the shopkeeper made it clear his question was a statement. “The fox fur and ermine alone are worth more than that. Each.”

Mr. Cobb shifted, and his glance darted away from Mr. Carter. “I’m full up. No call for furs.”

“We’re in Montana, man. There will be a call soon enough. Why else have that storeroom tacked onto the back of your shop if not to have a place for extra goods?” He let his words hang in the air.

When Cobb didn’t answer, Mr. Carter turned to Antonia with a smile. “Course, I could always take the whole bundle. I’ll make you a generous offer.”

Mr. Cobb settled his hand on the top of the pile. “No! No cause to do that!”

Mr. Carter winked at Antonia before turning back to the shopkeeper. “Pay her fair, Cobb,” he warned. “Then I’ll buy the silver fox and the ermine from you. Otherwise, I’ll finagle the whole lot right out from under you. And that deal will be exactly what you deserve.” He didn’t say,
for trying to cheat the woman
, but his silence spoke the words.