Healing Montana Sky (9 page)

Erik shot Mr. Carter an ironic glance. “The reverend had the idea in the first place. Neither Mrs. Valleau nor I could stomach it, though.”

Mr. Carter glanced toward his wife. “I can understand not wanting to jump into another marriage after the loss of one so beloved. In fact, Muth, I can’t imagine ever marrying again.”

“Then you know our sentiments exactly. But Reverend Norton was right. We must.”

“But, when I think of my children as babies, vulnerable—my youngest daughter isn’t strong and still gives us anxious times—I’d do anything to save them.
Anything.
”

Somehow, having the prominent man echo Erik’s dilemma made him feel more resigned to his choice.

Mr. Carter fell silent for a moment, staring at the wall of folded clothing. “I have a feeling. . .in time this hasty marriage won’t be bad at all. Mrs. Valleau seems a good woman. I think you’ll be able to make a comfortable life together.”

Erik’s doubts must have shown on his face.

“I’m not saying you won’t have a sorrowful time to get through first.”

First?
Erik didn’t think he’d ever get through this wretched, sorrowful time.

CHAPTER SEVEN

E
rik hesitated outside the church door, wondering if he could, indeed, go forward with the wedding ceremony.
I must.
Stiffening his spine, he pushed open the door and walked into the small vestibule, where he took off his coat and hung the garment on a peg next to some others.

His brief consultation with Reverend Norton had resulted in a flurry of wedding preparations on the part of Mrs. Cameron and Mrs. Norton, and he’d had a chance to wash up and change.

He straightened the new navy-blue shirt he wore, and then ran his hands over his hair, which he’d slicked back with water, using a borrowed comb. In his haste to get Camilla to town, he hadn’t thought to don his hat. With no other reasons to delay, Erik gathered his courage and moved into the church.

The Nortons and Camerons waited near the front.

Reverend Norton stood near his wife, who sat on the piano bench. The Camerons were in the first pew with Henri. Dr. Cameron held the Valleau baby in one arm, while keeping a supportive hand on the young boy’s shoulder.

Henri looked at Erik with a blank expression in his golden eyes, then he glanced away.

A vase of pink Lenten roses stood on the altar. A well-used Bible and a prayer book lay in front of the flowers.

Mrs. Cameron cradled Camilla in one arm. In her other hand, she held a bouquet of more Lenten roses.

Just the sight of his daughter gave Erik some strength to see this farce of a wedding through.
No, not a farce
. He strove to find a better way of describing the marriage he was about to enter.

It’s like a hiring-out for work,
Erik tried to tell himself.
No, better still, going into business together. That’s it! We’ll both bring needed skills to the job of raising a family and working a farm. Mrs. Valleau will be my partner.
Erik suspected he could be a good business partner to her, even if he couldn’t be a loving husband.

Putting his forthcoming marriage in that context eased Erik’s mind somewhat. Even though he’d only known Mrs. Valleau for less than a day, he hoped she’d have a similar practical approach to their union.

Erik walked over to Mrs. Cameron. She’d changed into a nicer dress—green, which made her eyes brighter. She angled the baby toward him so he could see her.

For the first time, he could admire his daughter without feeling a clutch of fear in his belly. Mrs. Cameron had dressed Camilla in some sort of white garment, and she looked like a little angel.
She’s so tiny. So delicate. So precious
.

He bent down and kissed Camilla’s forehead.
I’m doing this for you, my love.

Reverend Norton glanced out the window. “They’re coming.”

Mrs. Cameron held up the bouquet. “Let me give Mrs. Valleau the flowers.” Carefully, so as not to jostle the baby, she glided down the aisle.

In Dr. Cameron’s arms, Jacques stirred and opened his eyes.

He gave Erik a sleepy smile.

Reverend Norton walked over to the front of the altar and waved for Erik to join him. “Come stand here.”

Feeling his heart pinch, Erik followed Reverend Norton’s orders, taking a position in front of the minister.
I’m really going to do this.
His stomach churned, and for a brief moment, he wondered if he would lose his last meal.

The minister gazed at him, compassion softening his austere face. “I will say prayers for your family daily,” he murmured so only Erik could hear.

The comforting words settled his stomach a bit. “Thank you, Reverend. We’ll surely need them.”

From the back of the church came the sound of people entering.

Reverend Norton picked up his prayer book from the altar and angled to face him. The man who’d married Erik and Daisy now prepared to say the words of the marriage service over Erik and another woman.
A stranger.

Mrs. Norton began to play
Blest Be the Tie That Binds
.

But, when Erik turned and saw his bride walking toward him on the arm of John Carter, and witnessed the sadness in her eyes and the pallor that lay under her tanned skin, compassion rose in him.

Antonia passed through a beam of sunlight that made the golden dress blaze.

For a moment, Erik’s heart stuttered.

She moved like a queen, shoulders erect, chin lifted, floating toward him with that grace he admired. Then she stepped beyond the light and became the woman, vulnerable and frightened.

Erik held out his hand and took hers.

Her fingers trembled.

He gave them a reassuring squeeze and drew her to stand beside him before the minister.

Clutching a bouquet given to her by Mrs. Cameron, Antonia moved up the aisle in a daze, barely hearing the sound of music. She leaned on John Carter’s arm more than she normally would have, given he was a stranger, and she wasn’t the leaning type. But her knees trembled, and she felt grateful the gold dress hid her weakness from the small crowd of people waiting at the front of the church.
Somehow, I be gittin’ through this.

Mr. Muth and Reverend Norton stood at the front of the aisle before the altar. Her groom had washed up and donned the new shirt, which made his eyes look sky blue. He was big and handsome, with wide shoulders, although she preferred slender, green-eyed, brown-haired Frenchmen to ruddy, blond Germans.

He didn’t watch her approach with the look of a bridegroom, his eyes full of pride and eagerness. Instead, his expression looked sad, his eyes shadowed. She supposed her face looked the same.

Be two people ever more unwilling to wed than we?
The few couples whose ceremony she’d witnessed had taken the steps to marriage with joy, and, if not joy, at least practical anticipation. Not with pain and a sense of betraying a beloved spouse.

She couldn’t help contrasting her first wedding—how she’d almost flown to Jean-Claude’s side, so eager was she to join herself to him that she seemed to have wings on her feet. How he’d laughed, not out loud in front of the priest and their friends, but with his eyes. She’d been so happy that day. . . .

In the front pew, Dr. Cameron held Jacques, who bounced when he saw his mother. Henri stood next to the doctor. Her older son wore a confused expression on his too-thin face.

For his sake, Antonia tried to compose herself enough to send him a reassuring smile, which she wished was real.

Across the aisle, Mrs. Cameron and Mrs. Carter stood together. Mrs. Cameron held the sleeping baby in her arms. Both women smiled at Antonia, as if trying to give her strength and encouragement.

Mr. Carter escorted her to the front of the church.

Mr. Muth gave her a slight turn of his lips and held out his hand to her.

Mr. Carter uncurled her arm from his and stepped back.

With trepidation, Antonia reached out to Mr. Muth. His hand felt large and callused, his fingers thicker than Jean-Claude’s. His hand tightened around hers, and she wondered if he needed support as much as she. The thought made her more sympathetic to him.

Reverend Norton gave her an understanding smile.

Tears welled up in her eyes. Through an effort of will, she didn’t let them fall.

“Dearly beloved,” the minister said, his voice gentle.

Antonia stared blindly at him, letting the words of the service wash over her, repeating the vows she was prompted to say.

In minutes, Reverend Norton joined her in Holy Matrimony to a man she’d known for a few hours. . .changed her from Antonia Valleau to Antonia Muth.
But nothing be changed inside me
. In her heart, she remained Antonia Valleau. She knew she would
always
be Antonia Valleau.

After the marriage ceremony, the minister baptized the children. Camilla never woke up, looking like a sleeping angel.

Jacques squealed with laughter when the water touched his head, making everyone, even Erik, chuckle.

Henri’s solemn expression never changed.

Then, with Mr. Muth holding his baby, and Antonia carrying Jacques on her hip and holding Henri’s hand, they walked back down the aisle—a makeshift family.

On the hard seat of the jouncing wagon, Antonia bounced beside her new husband, holding Camilla, wrapped in a blanket, who’d fallen asleep again after nursing. Her wedding bouquet, stems wrapped in a damp towel, was wedged between her side and the end of the seat.

They rode in silence, obvious discomfort radiating from both. She supposed the man’s thoughts were as dark and heavy as hers.

Early on, the uniqueness of the transportation had worn off, and she shifted on the wooden bench, careful not to wake the sleeping baby in her arms, and wished she’d thought to pad the board with one of the sleeping furs before they’d set out. She pulled her new brown shawl closer around her shoulders.

Antonia checked on her boys, who rode in the back of the wagon, next to the pine coffin. They seemed fine with this new form of travel. Jacques grasped the side of the wagon, bending his knees and straightening them in a bouncing motion, while Henri held him in place. Her baby son would be tired soon and need to sleep. The two mules were tied to the back of the wagon.

Next to Henri was a round woven basket with a flat top—a wedding gift from the Camerons. Inside were enough jars of jam and pickles to last them quite a while, as well as two fresh-baked loaves of bread wrapped in a towel, dropped off by Mrs. Mueller, who’d already heard the gossip. The baker had wished them well with a thick German accent. The Carters had provided a wedding cake bought from the bakery, as well as a glass stand and cover.

Antonia was touched by the generosity of the townsfolk, who only hours before had been strangers. She just wished she had gotten to know them under better circumstances.

Behind the Muths’ wagon, the Nortons drove in a shabby surrey, and the Carters trailed the group in a big black vehicle that reminded Antonia of a stagecoach. Both couples intended to help her settle in. . .and to bury Daisy.

The farther they moved from the mountains, the flatter the land became. She looked up at the beautiful blue sky, loving the broad arc of color. In the mountains, she usually only saw parts of the sky through the dense trees. But now, the vastness of the grassland was inspiring—and perhaps overwhelming. “Look, Mr. Muth,” she said, pointing with her chin to the hawk floating overhead.

“What?” He gazed upward but didn’t focus on the bird.

“The hawk. See how he be just floating there. I wish I could fly like that.”

“Just hope it stays away from Daisy’s chick—” he stuttered out the end of the word “—ens.” There was a brief silence before Mr. Muth stiffened his shoulders. He gave her a quick glance. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

For a moment, she experienced a sharp poignant longing for Jean-Claude, who would have loved to soar with the hawk and usually understood her flights of fancy. But the pain in Mr. Muth’s eyes made her try to reach out. “It be like that for me, too. Like he be not gone, really. I keep thinking of things I be tellin’ Jean-Claude. Or I start to be sayin’ something to the boys about their father and have to. . .” She made a chopping motion. “I don’t mind if you be speakin’ of Daisy. How can we not be sharin’ ’bout the two people we loved so much?”

He nodded, and his stiff shoulders relaxed. “Maybe you should start by calling me Erik.”

“Erik,” she repeated. “I be Antonia.”

“Pretty name. How did you come by it?”

“My father. . .he be a poor soldier. He be givin’ me a rich, educated-sounding name.” Antonia omitted telling him she didn’t have the education to match the name.

“Well, he succeeded.”

Silence drew out between them, long and uncomfortable.

Erik flicked the reins. “I don’t know what to think. . .what to do. I’ve never been through this before.”

“Me, neither. I be only five days ahead of you, eh? So I be not much help.”

He gave her a bitter smile. “I haven’t yet buried my wife, and now I have a new wife.”

“I done buried my husband six days past, and now I have a new husband,” she echoed, trying to match his words. Antonia remained silent for a moment, thinking. “Do you think be easier—” she mused out loud “—to come to a new marriage. . .a hasty one with a stranger. . .and
both
be filled with pain over the loss of a beloved mate. . .than when just one person be sufferin’?”