Mystic Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series Book 6) (9 page)

A pause followed. “I suppose Reverend Joshua will soon be paying a visit.”

“I ’spect he’s right on my heels.”

“Tell Mrs. Graves to add tea, sandwiches, and cookies for Reverend Joshua to the tray for Mrs. Baxter. I’ll send him up when he arrives.”

Maggie wondered why Caleb’s voice sounded resigned.
Does he not like Reverend Joshua?
She couldn’t imagine how he could dislike the personable minister, who she’d known from Morgan’s Crossing.
Perhaps Reverend Joshua has chided Caleb in some way, thus earning his disapproval.

Maggie had only met the elder Reverend Norton once, for the minister was too busy to leave Sweetwater Springs for Morgan’s Crossing more than once or twice a year. With his son’s return from a stint in Africa as a missionary, Reverend Joshua had begun a circuit to Morgan’s Crossing as well as Buffalo Hollow and Honey Grove, two tiny prairie towns a few days ride away.

She still remembered Oswald’s anger toward the younger minister, who’d asked to speak to him before he’d performed their wedding ceremony. After his discussion with Reverend Joshua, Oswald had erupted from the meeting hall, his face red with anger. He’d complained about the minister sticking his nose into their business.
Another warning I should have paid attention to.

In her meeting with him, Reverend Joshua had discussed not just the joys of marriage but also the difficulties. He’d questioned the speed of their courtship and stressed the need to wait to acquire more knowledge and surety of the disposition of her future partner. She’d had the impression the young minister might have spoken from personal experience, not just from that of those he ministered to or his recent encounter with Oswald.
If only I had listened to him.

She glanced at the cradle.
No. Charlotte is worth all the pain Oswald caused me.

Caleb entered the bedroom, leaving the door wide open. “Earlier, I sent Jed to alert Reverend Norton to your presence here. I thought, after everything that’s happened, you might be in need of, ah. . .
spiritual
counsel.”

“Very thoughtful of you, Caleb. I think we might
both
be in need of spiritual comfort.”

He grimaced.

“Do you not like Reverend Joshua?”

Caleb’s smile was rueful. “I wouldn’t say I dislike the man, rather. . . .” He shrugged. “The story is not completely mine to tell, so I will say no more.”

Curiosity made her want to question him further, but Maggie held her tongue. She could only think the better of him for not spreading gossip. Oswald had always enjoyed relating news of others’ misfortunes in the most mean-spirited way possible. She’d often wanted to press her hands over her ears to shut out the sound of his voice. But she hadn’t dared, for that would have angered him, with dire results.

I’ve spent our whole marriage tiptoeing around Oswald lest I set him off.

Once again, Maggie glanced at the cradle.
I have to be strong for both of us.

The days of holding my tongue out of fear are over!

CHAPTER SEVEN

H
aving satisfied his ravenous appetite, Caleb retired to his study to await the clergyman, wanting to intercept the minister before he spoke with Maggie. He wasn’t looking forward to telling the man what had happened, but he felt Reverend Joshua needed the information so he could best counsel her.

Caleb had taken several months to stop inwardly bristling around Joshua Norton, although he always treated the younger minister with polite reserve, which the man returned in kind. He apparently hadn’t forgotten Caleb and Edith’s repudiation of Delia Bellaire when they’d discovered his houseguest had Negro blood but was passing herself off as a white woman.

Delia’s father, Andre, had suffered a heart attack on the train, landing the two of them in Sweetwater Springs. Caleb had invited them to stay while Andre recovered. Egged on by Edith, Caleb had initiated a mild courtship of beautiful Delia. While his heart hadn’t been engaged, he’d admired the young woman and believed her wealth and education would make her a suitable match.

Instead, she and Reverend Joshua had fallen in love, which turned out to be a good thing. Caleb did not want a bride with Negro blood; whereas, the minister didn’t seem at all put out by the idea of Delia’s murky racial heritage.
He understood the quality of the woman beneath her skin,
his conscience pointed out.

Since the quarrel with the Bellaires, Caleb had seen the minister around Sweetwater Springs and listened to his sermons when he preached instead of his father, but the two men had only exchanged polite greetings. Otherwise, they steered clear of each other.

Their mutual avoidance was made easier by Reverend Joshua taking on the role of circuit preacher and being gone part of every month. While their new house was being built in Sweetwater Springs, the Bellaires departed on the train for the city of Crenshaw. Even when Caleb’s hotel opened at Christmas, the Bellaires hadn’t returned, probably not wanting to be his guests even if they were paying for the privilege. The minister made frequent visits to his betrothed.

Andre Bellaire had started building a new brick house—a mansion that rivaled Caleb’s in size—for himself, his daughter, and his soon-to-be son-in-law on a back street near the Reiners’. With the completion of Anthony Gordon’s office building, and later Caleb’s hotel, there were plenty of skilled workers to throw at the new house, and the dwelling had gone up at almost magical speed, helped along by a milder winter than usual. Now that the house was livable, Joshua and Delia’s wedding was scheduled to take place in a week, with the reception being held at the hotel.

A knock sounded at the front door.
Probably the subject of my thoughts.
He moved from his office to the front door to answer.

Sure enough, Reverend Joshua waited on the porch. The minister was dressed in a well-cut suit, something he could afford due to the fortune he’d inherited from his late wife’s family.

Conscious of his dirty, rumpled attire, Caleb waved an arm to usher the man in.

Although Caleb could tell Reverend Joshua noted his disheveled appearance, he appreciated the minister had too much tact to comment, merely uttering a quiet greeting. Once inside, the minister removed his bowler and placed it on the hat rack.

Since his arrival from Africa, Reverend Joshua had put some weight on a frame that had been too thin, making his face less austere than his father’s. The lines around his eyes and mouth had smoothed out. The vivid blue eyes he’d inherited from his father showed more life than previously, and he had an air of energy, which before he’d lacked. Returning home and falling in love had obviously worked wonders.

Caleb couldn’t begrudge the minister his recovery.

They exchanged solemn greetings.

“Jed said you wanted to see me? That you have a lady visitor? If she’s from Morgan’s Crossing, then perhaps I’m acquainted with her.”

Caleb let out a long breath of relief, knowing Maggie would have an easier time speaking with the minister if he weren’t a stranger. “It’s a rather long story. Come into my study, and I’ll give you the. . .
details
before you go upstairs. Magdalena Baxter is her name, and she’s currently in the blue guest room.” No need to direct the man; he’d visited on many occasions when the Bellaires stayed here.

They entered Caleb’s domain, a pleasant room with a big desk near windows bordered with stain-glass, plenty of bookshelves, and leather wing chairs bracketing a small round table in front of a fireplace.

Instead of sitting behind the desk, he led the minister to the chairs and gestured for him to take a seat. “Can I pour you a drink?” He was sure of the answer but made the polite gesture anyway. He’d never known the Nortons to imbibe.

“No, thank you.”

“Very well. There’s tea for you in Mrs. Baxter’s room.” Caleb took the other chair. At a loss for where to begin, he steepled his fingers and stared at the pattern of red, blue, and green light falling on the floor from the angle of the sun through one of the stained-glass windows. “I’ve had a most tumultuous few days, and before you see Mrs. Baxter, I feel the need to explain what has occurred.”

A shadow of concern swept Reverend Norton’s face. “I know Mrs. Baxter. Is she. . .well?”

“Doctor Cameron says she is, but let me tell you more. You might be aware Michael Morgan does business with my bank, and that I make an annual business trip to Morgan’s Crossing. While on the journey, I was not paying close attention to my driving and allowed my speed to increase.” With a forefinger, he made an
S
motion. “That hilly section after you cross the second stream.”

Reverend Joshua nodded, his gaze intent.

“From the opposite direction, Oswald Baxter was driving that ungainly caravan of theirs, whipping his team to a dangerous pace.”

Reverend Joshua sucked in a swift breath.

“Yes.” Caleb’s stomach tightened at the nightmarish memory. “They drove off the hill and crashed into a tree. Oswald Baxter was killed, and Maggie, uh, Mrs. Baxter was thrown clear, and she went into labor a few hours later.”

“Jed said there was a baby. Amazing she and the child survived.”

His heartbeat sped up. “I don’t have to tell you of my fear that they would not make it—alone in the wilderness, not another woman for miles—with only me, who hasn’t the slightest bit of knowledge of babies, much less how to deliver them.”

“You must have been terrified.”

Caleb let out a long slow breath and leaned his head back against the chair, unable to put his experience into words.

The two sat in silence for long moments.

Finally, Reverend Joshua shifted. “I sometimes receive what I call God-prompts—strong, ah, intuitive or
Divine
messages—nudges, actually—encouraging me to say something that seems most unusual or unlikely or even. . .
vulnerable.
Most of the time my response to these God-prompts is reluctance—sometimes the
utmost
reluctance, for to speak up would seem to open myself to ridicule.”

Caleb lifted his head and stared at the man in puzzlement.
Whatever does that have to do with what I just told him?

Reverend Joshua rested his gaze on him. “Over time, I’ve learned to heed the God-prompt. Doing so seems to accomplish the purpose.”

“Stop talking in riddles,” Caleb growled.

Reverend Joshua held up a placating hand. “Sometimes I’m the most obtuse when I am uncomfortable to reveal something about myself or discuss topics. . .
private
topics that men do not normally talk about—such as childbirth and other
intimacies
in their marriages. But I’m receiving that prompt now to speak of a time that was very painful, a story I’m reluctant to share. But perhaps you will find my experiences helpful.”

Although still annoyed, Caleb settled back to listen. Hopefully the man would soon stop going in circles and get to the point.

“When we arrived in Africa, Esther, my wife, was already with child and not having an easy time of it. In spite of her zeal to bring the Gospel to the heathen, she was not adapting well to the reality of life in a Ugandan village. She wanted to preach to the natives but not live among them—holding the people at a distance and not developing friendships with the women. This philosophical difference caused a great rift between us that never healed.”

Caleb found himself interested in spite of his impatience and began to see a glimmer of where the man might be going.

“When her time came, Esther refused to have a native midwife attend her. So there was only me.” His voice rasped.

Caleb grunted in agreement.

“Of course, I knew nothing about birthing a child, and neither did my wife. Her labor was a hellish nightmare. Long, painful. She screamed and cried and railed at me.”

Caleb could vividly imagine such a horror.

“I believe Esther might have died, and Micah with her, if several of the women, including the midwife, hadn’t forced themselves into the house and pushed me out of the door. I don’t know what those women did, but somehow eventually the baby arrived, and both he and my wife lived.” He took a breath. “So you see, I know how frightening it is to deliver a baby when it seems the mother’s life and that of the child are in your hands.”

Caleb jerked to his feet, strode over to the silver tray holding bottles of water and spirits, and poured himself a glass of brandy. He took a sip, feeling the fiery liquid burn away the tightness in his throat. “At least Maggie knew what to do.” In the emotion of the moment, her given name had slipped out, but he didn’t correct himself. “Thankfully some of the other women in Morgan’s Crossing had given her information, and she had her mother’s tales. But if she hadn’t known. . . .” He shook his head and took another sip. “She was a trouper.”

Reverend Joshua’s gaze tracked him.

Feeling a bit more relaxed, Caleb returned to the chair. As he sat, his stiff muscles protested, reminding him of Maggie’s far more serious aches and pains. “From the accident, Mrs. Baxter has a sprained ankle and is sore and bruised all over, especially on the side where she landed. Then of course, there is the toll childbirth takes on a woman’s body, which I’m sure must be great, although she does not complain.”

“Mrs. Baxter’s spirits seem well? That is, she is attentive to the baby?”

Caleb looked askance. “Of course.”

“There isn’t an
of course
about it. I’ve ministered to some women who fell prey to low spirits after a birth. Not bonded with the child as they should. Neglected the baby. But I’m glad to hear that isn’t the case here. Sounds like Mrs. Baxter sailed through with flying colors.”

“Really, Reverend Joshua,” Caleb snapped, resentful. “I doubt any woman would say she
sailed
through childbirth.”

Reverend Joshua gave an understanding shake of his head. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have spoken with levity about labor, which is really a harrowing. . .and sometimes
fatal
experience.”

Silence settled. They sat in apparent male accord—grateful that men did not have to carry and birth babies.

Caleb cleared his throat. “You missed the best part, though, by not being there in the instant your son was born.”

The minister sent him a puzzled look.

“When Charlotte came out into my hands, I’ve never felt anything like it. Her eyes met mine in a moment of connection. If ever I was in need of proof humans have souls. . . .” He shook his head, remembering and struggling to put his emotions into words. “She was only a minute old, but I saw the ageless soul within her. I wanted to fall to my knees in awe or weep or yell in triumph.”

Apparent wistfulness showed in Reverend Joshua’s eyes. “Micah and I had such a moment as you describe, when first I held him. But I don’t think my wife felt that same sudden bond.”

The very fact of having such a personal discussion felt beneficial in some way. Caleb ventured to comment. “Your marriage sounds as if it was. . .”
Horrible, isolated, sad. . . .
He couldn’t even find the right word to describe what he meant.

Reverend Joshua’s lips turned up in a sad smile. “The
idea
of marriage with Esther had seemed so promising. The gradual disillusionment was. . .
painful.
” He gave Caleb a thoughtful look. “I don’t want to frighten you away from marriage. I believe circumstances played a great part in the difficulties Esther and I experienced in the years before her death. We probably would have muddled along just fine if we’d remained in America.”

“I will venture to say. . .a marriage with Delia Bellaire will be much different than you experienced before.”

Reverend Joshua’s smile widened. “I believe Delia and I will find true happiness.”

Caleb gave the minister a considering glance. “I believe you will.”

“It seems we are no longer at odds, you and I. I’m glad.” Reverend Joshua’s expression grew serious. “I appreciate you and Mrs. Grayson keeping Delia’s secret.”

Caleb held up his hands. “Not my business. You, as her husband-to-be, know the truth. That is a choice a man must make for himself. . .and his offspring.”

“You said the baby’s name is Charlotte?” Reverend Joshua asked in an obvious attempt to ease the discussion away from what could become a disagreement.

“Charlotte Victoria.”

“Lovely. If her mother is up to it, we can christen the baby on Sunday.”

Caleb ran a hand over his neck and squeezed, feeling the knots under his fingers. “I don’t even know what day it is.” Sudden weariness weighed him down. He twisted his head, trying to loosen the tension in his neck, before lowering his hand.

“Monday.”

“The doctor said she needs bed rest for at least five days. After that, she can have limited movement but still must rest. But I imagine she’ll be able to attend church. We can see how she feels on Saturday. I should take you to her.” He placed his hands on the arms of the chair to push to his feet.

“Stay, Caleb.” Reverend Joshua’s soft tone held a note of command.

Startled by the minister’s usage of his given name, Caleb subsided back into the chair.