Mystic Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series Book 6) (15 page)

Her heart fluttered, and she couldn’t think to list some choices.

“Jane Austen? The Brontës? Louisa May Alcott? Lucy Maud Montgomery? Let me think of some more of Edith’s favorites.” He tapped his chin, obviously thinking.

An abundance of riches.
“No need. Those will do nicely.”

“Which ones?”

“All of them.”

Caleb laughed. “I’ll be right back.” He turned and left the room.

She heard his footsteps recede and waited with anticipation for his return.

Only a couple of minutes passed before she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He must only have stopped to grab one book instead of hunt for several. Maggie tried not to feel disappointed. She had to laugh at herself.
I’m already spoiled, and I’ve only been here less than two days.

Caleb’s armload of books surprised her. “Surely you didn’t have time to select all of those.”

“No.” He eyed her with a cheerful grin. “But Edith has her own shelf of volumes, and I just stole the whole bunch.”

Maggie bit her lip, imagining how Edith Grayson would react when she saw her books were missing.

“I’ll leave her a note. My sister won’t mind. She seems to have taken a liking to you.”

He sounded far more optimistic than Maggie felt. She didn’t want to feel beholden to the woman, but then Caleb piled the books on the bed, and she coveted them far too much to object. Her fingers itched to explore each volume and select which one to read first. “You’ve brought me a treasure trove,” she said softly. “While Charlotte sleeps, I’m going be in the lap of luxury, living in this beautiful house, wearing my new dressing gown, and reading books. What pleasures you’ve given me!”

He stood in silence for a few seconds, looking down at her. “I’m glad, Maggie. After all you’ve been through, you deserve these small pleasures.”

“These are not
small
to me.” Her cheeks heated, and she had to look away.

Downstairs, they heard the sound of a knock.

Caleb cocked his head as if listening.

The faint sound of a female voice drifted up.

“My sister must have a caller,” he said. “Or perhaps someone has come to make your acquaintance. Are you up to seeing her?”

Maggie cast a longing look at her books. But she’d also like to meet the woman who’d come to call.
The sooner I can make new friends and find work to support us, the better.
“I’d like to meet her.”

“No need to show us up, Mrs. Graves,” said the woman, her voice echoing up the stairs and along the hall. “We know the way.”

“Mrs. Norton,” Caleb told her.

“You go on up,” said a second woman. “I want to ask Mrs. Graves for a recipe that was a particular favorite of my father’s.”

Caleb stiffened.

Before Maggie could question his odd reaction, she saw an older woman poke her head into the room.

“Ah, Mr. Livingston. We’ve come to see how Mrs. Baxter is doing.”

“Better than before, Mrs. Norton.” Caleb waved a hand to usher her into the bedroom. “Mrs. Baxter, may I present Mrs. Norton?”

“Hello,” Maggie murmured.

Mrs. Norton was short with gray hair tightly pulled back into a bun. She had blue eyes and a sweet wrinkled face. Without acknowledging the introduction, she moved to the bed and stopped next to the cradle, peered in, made a noise of approval, and then gazed into Maggie’s face. “My dear Mrs. Baxter, you have been through the most dreadful ordeal.” She extended her hand. “Thank the good Lord you and your daughter are well. You’re from Morgan’s Crossing, I hear.”

“Yes,” Maggie leaned forward and took Mary Norton’s hand. “I’m delighted to meet you. Mrs. Morgan spoke so highly of you.”

Mrs. Norton squeezed Maggie’s hand before releasing her. “You must tell me how dear Mrs. Morgan is doing, for I see her so seldom. I hope we’ll have time to chat when she comes to my son’s wedding.”

A beautiful woman perhaps a few years younger than Maggie entered the room. She was dressed in an expertly cut shirtwaist with balloon sleeves and a skirt of spring green with a fern-leaf pattern running through it. A green satin sash showed her small waist. A flat-brimmed black straw hat with puffs of green ribbon rested on a coif of dark hair with auburn highlights. The spring color made her hazel eyes appear green. She smiled warmly at Maggie before catching sight of Caleb, and her smile fell away.

Caleb shifted, as if uncomfortable.

Maggie glanced at him. His body seemed tense. An expression of regret crossed his face before he turned impassive, which was unlike him.

Mrs. Norton gestured to the younger woman. “But first, Mrs. Baxter, let me introduce you to the young lady who will be my daughter-in-law in ten days, Miss Delia Bellaire.” She clasped her hands together in almost childish delight. “You can tell I’m thrilled, can’t you?” She fluttered a hand. “Come here, dearest Delia, and meet Mrs. Baxter and greet Mr. Livingston.”

Delia slanted a glance at Caleb. Although her lips turned up, her expression appeared strained.

“Delia,” he said reaching for her hand and bowing over it. “You are looking well. No, more than well.”

He called her Delia.
At Caleb’s familiar use of the woman’s name, jealousy stabbed Maggie.

Is he in love with her?
The thought made her stomach tighten, and an odd proprietary feeling seized her.
He’s mine!

As quickly as she staked her claim, Maggie backtracked.
He’s not mine to feel that way about. Yes, we’ve shared a special experience, but that doesn’t really mean anything except we have a friendship.

Miss Bellaire blushed. Like Maggie’s, her skin was olive, but in a warmer shade.

Maggie was sure her complexion must appear sallow next to the beautiful woman’s. She became conscious of the cut on her forehead, the bruises on her face. Miss Bellaire’s elegance made her feel like a Gypsy waif—a thick-waisted one.
My waist will eventually return to normal,
she tried to reassure herself.

Miss Bellaire’s smile became more natural-looking. “I’m happy to be home and looking forward to the wedding.” She spoke with a soft Southern drawl.

Caleb patted the young woman’s hand. “I’m glad you feel Sweetwater Springs is home.”

Maggie cocked her head, seeming to hear double meaning in his simple statement.
Am I imagining things?

He released Miss Bellaire’s hand.

Maggie read reluctance in the movement, as if Caleb had wanted to continue touching Delia Bellaire. She wondered if he had romantic feelings for a woman who was engaged to another man.

“I believe you’ll make Reverend Joshua quite happy,” he said in a sincere tone.

At the sound of the minister’s name, Delia smiled so brightly her whole face glowed. She obviously deeply loved Reverend Joshua.

Oh, poor Caleb.
Maggie couldn’t understand Miss Bellaire’s choice.
Reverend Joshua is a wonderful man, but Caleb is. . .is. . . .
She couldn’t even find the words to describe him.
He’s Caleb.

He gave them all a charming smile. “Well, ladies, I think I’ll leave you to chat.” He nodded good-bye and left the room.

The three of them waited in silence until the sound of his footsteps receded.

Mrs. Norton sent a smile after Caleb. “Such a handsome man,” she said with a sigh. “Although, I should remember that inner character is what is important, not outward appearance.”

Delia frowned and looked away, confirming Maggie’s suspicions.
Something has, indeed, happened between those two.
Curiosity consumed her as well as something else. Her chest felt tight as if she was hurt.
Caleb’s romantic affairs are none of my business,
she told herself sternly.

“Let me look at your baby again.” Mrs. Norton bent over the cradle. “Oh, she’s awake.”

“She is?” Maggie leaned to look. Sure enough Charlotte was looking at the ceiling, as if examining something.

“Do allow me to pick her up, Mrs. Baxter. I have held every baby in this town since Reverend Norton and I arrived here when we were newly married.”

“Of course,” Maggie agreed, although she wasn’t quite sure how she felt allowing someone she’d just met to hold her precious daughter—
someone else who isn’t Caleb
, she amended. Although, she recalled, Edith had held Charlotte. But as she watched the competence in Mrs. Norton’s movements, and Charlotte didn’t start crying, she became more relaxed.

Mrs. Norton let out a happy sigh. “They are so dear at this age. We missed seeing our grandson Micah as a baby, for he was born in Africa. But I hope he will soon be joined by a brother or sister. Reverend Norton and I are praying for a quiverful of healthy grandchildren.” She sent her soon-to-be-daughter a teasing glance. “As is your father.”

A becoming flush of pink crept into Delia’s cheeks, making her look even more attractive. “So Papa has said on several occasions.”

Mrs. Norton rocked Charlotte. “Maggie, you’ve arrived at an exciting time in Sweetwater Springs, with my son’s wedding to Delia approaching. Practically everyone in Sweetwater Springs will attend, which will give you a chance to meet people. Such a
grand
occasion. Why, I become flustered just thinking of it.”

Maggie shifted. “I’ve been hearing about your wedding. A few families from Morgan’s Crossing are planning to attend. There’s been a flurry of dress-making going on.”

Delia’s smile to Maggie was warm. “I want you to be there, too, Mrs. Baxter. Surely your ankle will be better by then.”

“Why, I. . . .” Maggie’s first thought was that she didn’t have anything to wear, but then she remembered Caleb had bought her new clothes. “I’d love to come, Miss Bellaire.” She remembered listening to the other women discuss the wedding and her wistful wish that she could attend, too. Now, she felt almost like Cinderella receiving an invitation for the ball.

“Call me Delia, please. I’m soon to change to Mrs. Norton and don’t want to confuse people with two Mrs. Nortons. I intend to make it easier on everyone to distinguish between us. Otherwise, I’ll end up being addressed as Mrs. Reverend Joshua.”

They all laughed.

Maggie would just as soon not be called Mrs. Baxter. She’d love to leave Oswald’s name behind as much as possible. “I’m Magdalena, but everyone calls me Maggie.”

Mrs. Norton glanced down at Charlotte and smiled. “And you can bring this dear baby with you to the wedding.”

“What if she cries?”

“We’re used to crying babies.”

“You must have a big church to fit everyone.”

Mrs. Norton laughed. “Quite the contrary. We will have the pews packed as well as standing room in the back and on the sides. We have to do that on the Christmas Eve and Easter services, although in the winter, many don’t risk a long drive. Thank goodness a wedding ceremony doesn’t take much time at all, and we can use the hotel for the reception.”

Delia shot Mrs. Norton an impish smile. “I believe the time has come to build a new church. One that could hold everyone.”

“Oh, my, such a lovely idea.” Mrs. Norton’s forehead crinkled. “But we don’t really need one. Such an expensive undertaking.”

Delia patted Mrs. Norton’s arm. “Something to think about for the future.”

“A reception at the hotel. . . .” Maggie clasped her hands together and let out a romantic sigh. “Sounds like a lovely party.”

Mrs. Norton nodded. “So good of Mr. Bellaire to take care of all the arrangements.”

“You mean he insisted,” Delia said with a fond smile. She glanced at Maggie. “Papa is over the moon. I’m his only child. Most of my life we’ve been separated, me living in New Orleans with my mother and him in New York. So he delights in spoiling me. Reverend Joshua and I tried to rein him in, but we ended up allowing him his head.”

“Can you believe Mr. Bellaire is having hothouse flowers brought in?” Mrs. Norton’s tone marveled. “And orange blossoms for Delia’s bouquet. And the hotel is catering all the food. We are not to cook a
thing
.”

Maggie wondered why Caleb hadn’t mentioned such a big event for his hotel. “Mr. Livingston must be doing a lot of work for your reception.”

“Oh, not at all. Peter Rockwell manages the hotel. Everything is in his quite capable hands.”

Maggie wondered if organizing Delia’s wedding reception was too painful for Caleb.
Is he suffering in silence?
Her heart ached for him.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A
s the week went on, Maggie’s bruises faded, and her ankle mended enough that she could hobble to the bathroom on her own. She still had nightmares every night. Each time, Caleb would hear her cry out and climb on top of the covers, taking her in his arms, chasing away the demon named Oswald, and making her feel safe. In the morning, she’d awaken alone and missing him.

The secret of their nights followed her around during the light of day, even though neither referred to that time together. Yet it showed in the ease between them, the way the touch of his hand on her arm or back—conventional to any onlookers—conveyed a silent intimacy.

Often Maggie had to chastise herself for allowing her dependency on Caleb to grow, instead of weaning herself from him—especially if he had feelings for Delia Bellaire. Even though she warned herself that this time with him wouldn’t last—that if she came to care for Caleb too much, she’d suffer when she left the Livingston residence to forge a life on her own with Charlotte, Maggie couldn’t seem to make herself stop.

Every day, members of the Norton family called on her. Sometimes the elder Reverend Norton came with his wife or alone. Other times Mrs. Norton and Delia Bellaire came together, or Reverend Joshua dropped by alone or with either one.

Mrs. Cameron visited with her small son Craig, who was starting to crawl. The two of them had indulged in lovely discussions about their babies. In many ways, Mrs. Cameron reminded Maggie of Mrs. Tisdale, both women having a great deal of common sense and a practical knowledge of medical matters, especially concerning babies.

In the evenings after Ben’s homework was done, everyone gathered in her bedroom. Ben started teaching Maggie how to play chess, while Edith and Caleb vied for holding Charlotte. Caleb usually won the argument, pointing out that his sister had time with the baby during the day while he was at the bank.

On Saturday morning after breakfast, Edith entered Maggie’s bedroom carrying a linen-wrapped bundle tied with white satin ribbon. “I have something for Charlotte to wear tomorrow.”

Tomorrow?
Maggie wasn’t sure what Edith meant.

“The christening.”

Maggie hadn’t given Charlotte’s christening any thought, having fallen out of the habit of weekly church attendance. In Morgan’s Crossing, the christening wouldn’t have taken place until one of Reverend Joshua’s monthly visits and might have been lumped in with any other event, such as a marriage or a funeral.

She shifted the baby to one arm so she could take the bundle. One-handedly, she untied the ribbon and opened the linen covering to see a lacy baptismal gown and bonnet in soft ivory. The bodice had embroidery and delicate tucks, and lace edged the sleeves, hem, and collar. The bonnet matched. “Oh, these are beautiful.”

“My mother made them when Caleb was a baby. I wore them and so did Ben.”

Maggie’s eyes filled with tears. She tried to sniff them away and when that didn’t work, she swiped the back of her hand across her eyes.

“Are those good tears or bad tears?”

“Good. You are all so kind.”

“We do our duty.” Edith’s voice sounded stiff.

Maggie suspected the woman was holding back emotion, not really meaning to act distant. She patted the gown. “This isn’t duty, Edith. Duty was Caleb buying baby clothes for Charlotte that would have been just fine for her to wear tomorrow. Letting my daughter borrow the Livingston christening gown is generosity, indeed.”

Edith smiled. “This actually isn’t the
Livingston
christening gown. That one remains in Boston. The garment is many generations old and is a family heirloom. I don’t know how many babies have worn it. There’s so much lace adorning the material, the baby weighs twice as much. And one of my aunties watches the gown like a hawk to make sure nothing is spilled on it, and the baby is changed as soon as he or she is wet. And of course, the infant wears extra layers of diapers.”

Maggie laughed. “The mother of the baby must spend all her time fretting about protecting the gown, rather than enjoying the service.”

“Yes.” Edith patted the gown. “And for that reason, as well as sentimentality, I used this one for Ben.” Her lips turned down. “Nathaniel’s parents attended, but they didn’t insist on my baby using
their
gown—the one he and his brother wore.” An echo of old pain lingered in her tone.

“I’m sorry they hurt you.”

“Strange, really. I hadn’t thought of that memory in years.” Edith gave a slight shake of her head. “Enough of the past. The future is what’s important. Let’s concentrate on Charlotte.”

“I hadn’t really considered the christening.” Maggie swallowed. “Would you be willing to be a godmother to Charlotte?”

Edith’s eyes lit up. “I’d love to. I’ve come to care for her. I suppose you’d want Caleb to be her godfather.”

“There’s no one else more suitable.”
No man loves my baby more than he does.
A wave of emotion swept over her. Maggie didn’t stop to figure out what she felt or why she was experiencing it. She touched the lace on the hem of the christening gown and returned to the original subject.

“The obligation of wearing the
Livingston
christening gown sounds enormous. I think I’d refuse to allow Charlotte to wear the gown, even if we were in Boston and someone in your family condescended to offer it.”

A look of discomfort crossed Edith’s face, quickly suppressed.

But Maggie could tell the thought.
The highfalutin Livingstons would never have offered the sacred gown for Gypsy Maggie’s baby to wear, even if they didn’t know I was one.
“Does Caleb know about this?”

“I mentioned it at breakfast, and he was quite approving. Now, for tomorrow. . .there’s more than just a service.” Edith rushed the words out as if anxious to change the subject.

“What do you mean?”

“My brother has decreed that we’ll invite any of our friends who attend church to come to dinner after the service. Since the list is quite large, Mrs. Graves has been cooking up a storm. And we’ve placed a large order with the baker, as well as at the sweet shop.”

Maggie could only stare at Edith, mouth agape. She forced her jaw closed. “A party?”

“I don’t know that we’d classify it as a
party
. That’s a larger and more arduous affair. No, this is a small gathering—perhaps thirty people. At least you’ll be spared the Cobbs. At this time of the year, they keep the store open for several hours after church, not just for one as they usually do. They know many families who haven’t risked the drive during the winter are coming into town for the first time in months, and they will need to stock up.”

“Whom are you inviting?”

“The Nortons, of course. Dr. and Mrs. Cameron. And Delia Bellaire, whom you already know, although you haven’t met her father, Andre. Are you acquainted with the Walkers? I believe Darcy Walker is friends with Prudence Morgan. Mrs. Walker comes from quite a wealthy, distinguished family in the East. Neither she nor her husband is much for socializing, so we don’t entertain them very often. But if they are in town, we will invite them.”

“I’ve met the Walkers. They attended the party the Morgans threw for the christening of their youngest daughter.”

“Ah, you probably know all of the former mail-order brides and their husbands, then.”

“We’ve met.” Maggie wouldn’t count interacting with the Walkers, Flanigans, and Barretts among a group of about a hundred people for the two days the families stayed for the party as
knowing
. “I’m best acquainted with Mrs. Brungar.”

“I don’t believe I’ve met her.”

“Bertha Brungar, the former Miss Bucholtz, is shy, but so kind.” Maggie thought with regret of her friendship with Bertha, whose biscuits were legendary in Morgan’s Crossing. When Oswald was at his most difficult—something hard to hide in the close confines of a tiny town—the woman would bring over a basket of her biscuits. Eating them seemed to soothe the savage beast within Oswald, and Maggie had always been so grateful. “She manages the boardinghouse in Morgan’s Crossing, and I doubt you could pry her or her husband from their home to come to Sweetwater Springs.”

“Probably just as well. There are only so many the dining room can comfortably hold. I also expect to see the Carters, Sanders, Thompsons.” Edith ticked off the families on her fingers. “All ranchers. The Gordons—he runs the newspaper, and she’s the teacher. Sheriff K.C. Granger. Mr. Rockwell, the manager of the hotel. Who else? Oh, yes. Caleb has taken quite a liking to the Muths—dairy farmers on the prairie. They were quite instrumental in ending the recent thieving by the Indians.”

The recitation of names made Maggie’s head spin. “You call that a
small
gathering?”

Edith laughed. “Well, I must say our intimate dinners have grown in the last few years as more people have moved to Sweetwater Springs. And of course, as either Caleb or I form new friendships. . . .”

The idea of such a gathering for Charlotte’s christening overwhelmed Maggie, especially she and the baby being the center of attention. She wondered if it was too late to put a halt to the planning, and then remembered that Edith had already placed an order with the baker. “I can help Mrs. Graves with the cooking. Sit at the table and chop things, for instance.”

“I’ll mention it to her. I’m sure Mrs. Graves would appreciate the help, although she’ll never let you know it. The woman wears a perpetual frown.”

Charlotte stirred and made a small sound.

Maggie glanced over to check on her. “Oh, I’m not yet used to thinking about my baby and what to do with her when I’m working.”

Edith lowered a hand to touch the cradle. “I’ll have Jed bring this to the kitchen, so Charlotte can be with you.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.”

Edith tapped her chin. “I think I’m missing a few people.”

Oh, dear Lord.
“What does everyone do with their children? Do Ben’s friends come, as well?”

“The children will eat in the kitchen.” Edith looked around as if searching for something. “I should have brought my list. Ben will want the family of his best friend to attend, and I need to write them down. Normally, we wouldn’t socialize with the Salters. The parents work at the hotel. Mrs. Salter is the laundry woman, and Mr. Salter contributes game for the kitchens. But Caleb is fond of them as well.” She shook her head in apparent disbelief. “Not that they aren’t nice people. Perfectly fine, salt of the Earth, and all.

Not for the first time, Maggie wondered what Caleb had told Edith about her. Surely if the woman knew of her low-class origins—her
Gypsy
origins—she would not be holding a party to celebrate Charlotte’s christening
. What will happen when she finds out?

Sunday morning, Maggie, wearing her black dress, waited at the kitchen door, under strict orders from Caleb
not to
stir an inch
until he brought the surrey as close to the side of the house as possible. They’d gotten ready early because she moved so slowly, careful of her injured foot, and he wanted her and the baby situated well before church started.

After some slight alterations, the new black dress fit her perfectly. Maggie reveled in the froth of chiffon around her neck and spilling over the front of the bodice and also in a straight line down the skirt. The puffed balloon sleeves gathered above her elbow, ending with ribbon cuffs at her wrists. When she moved her head, the ends of the huge bow on the side of her black hat fluttered near her cheek.

From seeing herself in the bathroom mirror, Maggie knew the dark color became her, and she’d never felt so elegant in her life. She couldn’t bear to don her coat until the last minute, so she’d placed the garment on the table.

In her arms, Charlotte lay swathed in a blanket to keep her warm from the chilly spring breeze. She’d just nursed and had dry diapers, and Maggie hoped her daughter would be good throughout the service. Edith had lent her a black velvet reticule in which to carry extra diapers and another pair of soakers in case the baby had an accident. Maggie glanced at her daughter, who looked adorable with the bonnet framing her sweet face.

“Mrs. Baxter.” Ben bounded across the kitchen to join her. “Uncle Caleb said for me to help you to the surrey. Mother will go with you. I’ll walk with Mrs. Graves and Jed to church.”

Edith followed her son. She looked striking in a midnight-blue outfit. The skirt and balloon sleeves were attached to a high-necked, cream-colored lace bodice. She carried a capelike half coat, the sleeves cut wide to fit her dress and trimmed with mink. She wore tasteful sapphires in her ears and a matching necklace. She cast an anxious glance out the window and pressed her lips together. “Oh, dear. I see clouds on the horizon. I think we’ve just lost half our guest list.”

Thank goodness.
Maggie kept her expression calm, not wanting Edith to see her relief. The woman had worked so hard to organize something special for Charlotte’s christening.