Healing Montana Sky (33 page)

“I didn’t b—lie.”

His jaw tightened. “Not in words, Antonia, but in deeds. A lie of omission.”

She could guess at what a lie of omission meant.

He pinched the bridge of his nose before lowering his hand. “Would you judge me so harshly that you’d be afraid of my reaction?”

Antonia felt guilty, realizing she’d hurt him. Fact was, Erik seemed more upset with her for withholding the information than he did about her lack of education.

She spoke slowly so every word would come out right. “No. I didn’t judge you at all. I judged myself. And I was afraid. I didn’t want any—” Antonia groped for the word “—
setbacks
with our relationship.”

His lips twisted in a wry grimace. “Well, we certainly have a setback now.”

Silence hung between them, uncomfortable and filled with pain—for the first time, pain
between
them, not from their shared grief.

“Antonia, I can teach you to read,” Erik said gently.

The words that would have brightened her heart if she’d heard them a few hours ago now only made her feel ashamed. Heart racing, she lowered her gaze to the ground.

“All you had to do was ask.”

Something new winged through her. Someone cared enough to teach her. This man.
My own husband.
Antonia scuffed a few pieces of straw with her foot before forcing herself to meet his eyes. “I would like that, Erik.”

“We’ll start tomorrow night. We may not get much done until wintertime when we’ll have plenty of time indoors.”

“I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.” The words seemed paltry, but she didn’t know what else to add.

“There’s no need for a chicken dinner tonight.”

She nodded her understanding and picked up the rifle, preparing to leave.

“In the future, will you tell me when something is bothering you? Before the boiling over stage?”

Antonia paused. “I’m usually not much bothered.”

“So I thought. But now I have to wonder. Anything else bothering you?”

Without hesitation, she shook her head.

Erik stared into her eyes for a few minutes, pinning her again—as if trying to ascertain if she was telling the truth.

Her stomach twisted, knowing she’d made him doubt her. Antonia broke eye contact first, turning to leave the barn, aware of the breach that had formed between them.

I must find a way to repair what I’ve done.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

T
he argument, brief as it was, made Erik draw back from Antonia, even though their behavior toward each other remained civil, and they still pulled together like a team. But their growing physical intimacy stuttered to a standstill.

In Montana, the growing season was never long enough to accomplish all a busy farmer needed to do. During the two weeks after their argument, as Erik went about his chores, he pondered why such a relatively mild disagreement had made such an impact on him.

Since he didn’t have a ready answer, he tried to put the incident from his mind, only to have it pop up at the oddest times and tug at his thoughts. But with the summer flying by, and the two of them laboring from dawn to nightfall, he never had the time or energy to mend the rift.

Instead, Antonia and Erik focused on the crops, the livestock, and taking care of the children. She planted medicinal flowers around the porch that she’d uprooted on her hunting expeditions. Soon white Angelica and sweet clover, as well as yellow columbines and evening primrose, grew beside the steps.

They’d started experimenting with making cheese, and, one by one, big cheese wheels ripened on wooden shelves in the pantry, crowding out the other supplies. When he could, Erik dug into the side of the hill next to the house to make a cheese cave.

The puppy and the children grew at a surprising rate. Jacques went from toddling a few steps to running, seemingly overnight. His vocabulary expanded to words beyond those ending in an
ah
sound, although he still uttered them with determination.

In the evenings, Henri studied so he could continue learning while school was out for the summer, and Antonia worked under Erik’s guidance, proving all along she’d been learning with her son since he’d started school.

Her sharp intellect didn’t surprise Erik, nor did her hard work, but her thirst for knowledge did. He wondered what her life could have been if she’d had a real education as a child. Would she have chosen a profession, as a teacher maybe? Or perhaps she would have gone into the other careers that had begun opening to women in the last few decades—a doctor like Elizabeth Blackwell or a journalist like Nellie Bly.
Our children will have those choices,
he promised himself,
to the best of my ability to provide them.

Henrietta taught Antonia to can food, and his wife reciprocated by teaching her neighbor how to dry berries and other fruits and vegetables. The two of them took their children to gather the wild berries, chokecherries, and plums, often leading a mule to help haul babies, baskets, food, blankets, and a rifle. As the garden ripened, an increasing number of jars of fruit and vegetables lined the shelves in the pantry.

One day in the beginning of August, Erik surveyed the remaining
holz hausen
—the haystack-shaped woodpile—and knew he’d better take a trip to the forest if he wanted firewood to season before the autumn nights grew cold. Every year, twice during the summer, he and Rory O’Donnell drove together, spending several days chopping or sawing trees and splitting the logs, returning with a wagon laden with as much wood as the horses could pull, which he then made into several
holz hausen
. He’d already postponed the journey for too long.

This year, Erik had mixed feelings about being away from the farm. On one hand, he looked forward to the expedition, longing for quiet time in the forest, just he and Rory working in silence except for grunts and terse words spoken when necessary. But, as much as Erik knew he needed time away from the family, he didn’t want to leave them, especially Antonia, without having another discussion to see if he could bridge the divide between them.

That night after the children slept, Erik took a seat at the table across from Antonia, instead of next to her as he usually did when teaching her. He placed his elbows on the table, fisting his hands together and lowering his chin on top of them. A freshly brewed cup of chamomile tea sat at his elbow, sending a fragrant herbal scent into the air.

For a moment, he stared at his wife. The lamplight burnished her hair and gilded her lambent eyes, playing over the curve of her cheek, fuller now than when she’d first arrived here. He memorized the picture of Antonia, planning to take the image with him when he left.
Too bad there’s not a photographer in Sweetwater Springs.

He regretted having no picture of Daisy, although her parents had a family photograph.
As soon as there’s an opportunity, I’ll have one made of our family.
“I want to talk to you instead of studying tonight.”

Antonia gave him a wary look and sipped her tea.

“You might have noticed that the
holz hausen
is getting lower?”

She raised her eyebrows. “
Holz hausen
?”

“German for wood hut—our woodpile. Our last one is dwindling.”

“I hadn’t given it much thought. You’re always so good about keeping the wood box full. I’ve never had to fetch any from the woodpile.”

The compliment pleased him. “You might have noticed we don’t have many trees around here, certainly none we can spare for firewood.”

She chuckled. “And you don’t use buffalo or cow chips.”

He grimaced. “Thank goodness for that. Rory and I take two annual trips to the mountains to cut wood. I need to go in the next few days—day after tomorrow, probably, if he can make it. Then another in a few weeks. Building a
holz hausen
seasons the wood in about three months, instead of six or longer. Barring too many early snowstorms, we have about that much wood left before we’re out. But this is Montana, and early snowstorms can happen. Best to be prepared.”

“True.”

“We’ll be gone three days, getting back late. I’ll take all the milk and butter with us and drop off everything at the mercantile, telling the Cobbs not to expect more while we’re gone.”

I’ll stop by the bank on the way home and make my payment on the loan.
The thought of having to do so soured his mood. That payment would take the rest of the savings in his bank account, and he’d be scraping the bottom of the barrel, at that. No funds would be left for the winter if a late-season drought or early storms caused his harvest to fail.
Might have to sell some heifers.
He forced the dire thoughts away.

“If not for the children and the livestock, I could go with you.”

She can still surprise me
. Erik grinned. “Bet you could chop quite a bit of wood, wife. We’d need to take two wagons if you were along.”

Antonia returned his smile. “You’ll be sore. You’ll be needin’ the liniment bottle,” she said in a flirtatious tone.

She hadn’t spoken like that since their argument, and he felt relieved that she’d inadvertently opened the door for the rest of what he wanted to talk about. “I’ll be needing the liniment
and
even better, your hands on my sore muscles when I return.” He paused. “Been a while, I know. I’ve missed our closeness. I just had a lot of thinking to do.”

“Thinkin’
and
a feelin’.” She looked up and held his gaze.

He nodded agreement. “Truth is, even with getting along well. . .our growing closeness and care for each other, we’re still grieving. Maybe the wounds have scabbed over, but we still have them.”

Antonia winced. “We’re more sensitive, like bumpin’ your arm on something when you already have a bruise.”

She understands.
“Yes. And we still don’t know each other well. We were thrown into a marriage and have had to learn about each other. I think we’ve jogged along in harness well enough, but I guess we needed to have an argument to learn about each other—how we fight and how to make up—as well as the intimacy that comes afterward and helps mend the rift.” He shook his head. “Listen to me speaking in all these analogies.”

She looked at him in askance, reached for her teacup, and took a sip.

“An analogy demonstrates two similar things.” He gestured back and forth between them. “Our relationship, working together, is like a team of horses pulling a wagon.”

She laughed. “Then our marriage be the harness.”

He smiled in praise. “That day, you caught me off guard when you became upset about killing the chickens—especially since I wasn’t expecting it. You’d agreed to make fried chicken in the morning and seemed so comfortable while we were in town. And to be honest. . .ever since Daisy’s death, I’ve been feeling guilt aplenty about everything I didn’t do to make her happy. Or maybe all I did
to make her unhappy. Having a second unhappy wife—I mean, I realize you are grieving and thus are already unhappy. But a wife
unhappy with me
seemed too much.”

“I’m not an unhappy wife,” Antonia said the words carefully, as she did when trying to speak properly.

He cocked his head, not sure what she meant.

“There’s a difference between being sad about Jean-Claude and being happy with you. I be—am both.” She scrunched her forehead. “But not so much since. . .”

“I needed to pull back from you for a time, do some thinking, lick my wounds, so to speak.”

“Another analogy.” Antonia’s lips turned up in a rueful smile. “I’ve done a lot of thinking, too. I felt bad. Missed our growing closeness. Wondered if we’d ever have it again.” She touched her chest. “Yet, in here, I believed we would.”

He reached across the table for her hand. “I’m ready for closeness and intimacy again. Perhaps when I return.” Erik realized he was making assumptions. “That is, if you are?”

She paused and touched her lips with her fingers, obviously thinking.

What if she says no?
Erik’s heart started to knock against his chest.

Antonia smiled. “I’d like that.”

Erik and Rory were two days late returning from the mountains, and worry shadowed Antonia’s footsteps. After the third night passed without him driving up, she’d fretted while doing her chores, as well as the added ones of milking and seeing to the livestock. Every time she stepped outside or passed a window, Antonia paused to glance up the road.

The babies grew fractious, and Henri retreated to his previous silence. Even quiet, the boy was a big help to her, taking on as much as he could shoulder. She couldn’t wait to share with Erik her pride in her son, for she knew he’d be pleased, too.

The puppy had grown too big for Henri to carry around. Schatzy proved to be a loving companion, entertaining the children as nothing else could do.

Then another day crawled past and a fifth. Antonia tried not to think of all the reasons Erik and Rory could be late. But the memories of finding Jean-Claude’s body wrapped in the grizzly’s great arms kept leaping into her mind, making fear churn in her stomach.
There are two of them
, she constantly reminded herself.
He isn’t alone.
After thinking the words so often, she no longer had to pause to say them properly.

Sometimes as Antonia worked, she sent up a prayer, something she’d never really done in the past, taking comfort from the simple communication with God.

On the seventh day, the babies were sleeping, Henri off exploring the grassy plains with his dog, and Antonia was in the kitchen drying dishes. Normally, she’d be enjoying this time of peace, but concern for her husband gnawed at her innards.

At the sound of hoofbeats and wheels, her heart leaped with joy.
Erik’s home!
Relief made her knees weak. She dropped the dishtowel, untied the apron protecting Daisy’s altered dress, and hurried across the room. Flinging open the door, she halted, shocked to see a buggy instead of a wagon, and a tall man in a suit stepping down.

Disappointment seized her, and Antonia had to work hard to mask her feelings.
Why is he here?
Then all the fears she’d grappled with for days burst out. Thoughts of the worst flooded her mind, and she gasped, racing across the porch to meet him. “Tell me he’s alive,” she flung at him. “Please, may my husband be alive!”

The man stopped short and took off his hat. “Mrs. Muth,” he nodded. “I’m afraid—”

“Nooo!” Antonia wailed. “Dear Lord, not another husband dead!”
Not Erik!
Her legs couldn’t hold her, and she sank to the step. Sobs built in her chest, and she struggled to contain them, her body shaking.

“Uh.” The man cleared his throat, took two steps, and crouched, grabbing her arms. “No. No, Mrs. Muth. You are under a misapprehension. I’m not here to give you bad news about your husband.”

At first, the man’s words didn’t penetrate the pain whirling through her.

“Mrs. Muth!” He shook her arms.

In a daze, Antonia looked up at him.

He’d paled and his brown eyes held genuine concern, even though he’d spoken so sharply. “I’m Caleb Livingston, the banker. I tell you in truth; I’m not here to bring you bad news.” Mr. Livingston checked himself. “At least, not that kind of bad news.”

“Then Erik’s not dead?”

“No, my dear lady.” His tone sounded compassionate. “Or at least I have no knowledge of the state of his health. Come.” He slipped a hand under her elbow. “Let me help you to a chair and bring you some water.”