Healing Montana Sky (7 page)

“All right,” Cobb muttered in a grudging tone.

“I’ll just wait right here for you to finish your transaction.”

“No need to keep you waiting, Mr. Carter. Let me get you what you need.”

“The lady was before me,” the gentleman said firmly. “See to her needs first.”

“Thank you kindly.” Antonia conveyed through her expression how grateful she was for his intercession.

Cobb named a price that sounded similar to what she knew Jean-Claude had received in the past. She glanced at Mr. Carter, and he gave her a nod that approved the amount. Too distressed to bargain further, she nodded in agreement.

Mr. Carter smiled in obvious approval. “Keep the fox and ermine for me until I come to town without my wife,” he told the shopkeeper. “Have to keep this a surprise.”

Mr. Cobb jerked a nod. He scooped up the armful of furs. “Let me put these in the storeroom.”

Seeing him hurry across the shop, Antonia realized she was watching the last of Jean-Claude’s work disappear, and she almost cried out to stop the merchant.
Don’t be ridiculous
, she scolded.
Jean-Claude would have sold them, too. And you still have the bear fur, and the sleeping furs, and. . .the boys.
She inhaled a steadying breath.

Through my sons, I’ll always have Jean-Claude with me. I can get through this. . .for them.

CHAPTER SIX

A
s Erik drove the wagon down Second Street toward the cabinetmaker’s shop, he cast an eye upward at the sky, judging the position of the sun. He couldn’t believe after everything that had happened the time was only midday.
I never thought I’d be buying a coffin for my wife.
He remembered how Daisy had looked, lying on the bed in death, and could not even feel grief; his guilt was so strong it bound him like chains.
I just left her there. . . .

When Erik neared the shop, he realized he didn’t have money with him and almost reined in the horses.
I need that coffin today!
Just the thought of his wife’s body lying in the house another day. . .he couldn’t allow that.

I’ll have to give O’Reilly my pledge to pay.

Shame stuck in his craw at having to use credit again. Made him feel beholden—although he knew that wasn’t the case. He had money squirreled away. Of course, most of their savings had been aimed to pay back the banker for the loan of money Erik had used to build the barn and purchase the three new milk cows.

Maybe Daisy was right. I was reckless, buying on credit.
They’d fought about the decision, and, determined, he’d gone his own way. Afterward, she didn’t speak to him for three days. Remembering made the heavy chains around his heart clank.

Erik flicked the reins, and the horses ambled on. He drew up before a wooden building with a false front. “Phineas O’ Reilly, Coffin Maker, Carpenter, and Cabinetmaker”
was painted in crooked letters above the dusty window.

In the past when Erik had seen the sign, he’d wondered why the man had chosen to put Coffin Maker first. Now he knew the answer.
Probably O’Reilly’s most lucrative business,
he thought bitterly. Erik parked the wagon, climbed down, and went inside.

Phineas O’Reilly stood behind a wooden counter talking to Banker Livingston. Phineas was a burly man with a scruffy beard, and rusty red hair pulled back in a bushy tail. He wore a carpenter’s smock over a dirty shirt and pants, quite the contrast from the handsome immaculate banker standing in front of him, wearing a fancy suit.

The carpenter gave Erik a quick nod but didn’t break his attention from the banker.

Erik moved over to the front corner to inspect a side table with curved legs. He ran his hand over the smooth finish of the surface.
Daisy would love this.
Once again, pain stabbed him.
She’s gone
, he told himself.
You need to accept the fact.
He moved over to examine a painted cabinet, flowers decorating the top and sides.
The man does good work.

“I need wine racks,” Livingston said. “I’m expecting a shipment from France, and the racks I have won’t be big enough to hold them all.” The banker waved his arms and described what he wanted.

Erik felt a flash of envy, wishing he, too, was ordering fancy wine racks, rather than a cheap coffin to bury his wife in. He’d never been inside the Livingston mansion, but judging from the outside, the house was a far cry from his humble abode. He made himself turn away from the comparisons by thinking about the room he needed to add on for the Valleau family.

Something else to eat away at my savings.
For a moment, a crushing sense of burden weighed down on him. He stared out the window, not seeing the sunlit day but only empty darkness.

The two men finished up their business, and Erik listened to the conversation again.

“Mighty perty squaw came through town this morning,” O’Reilly said with a wide smile, which showed missing teeth.

The carpenter offered the tidbits of gossip to the banker like he was handling him gold on a platter. Erik didn’t know why O’Reilly didn’t mind his own business. The man was worse than a woman with his loose tongue. At least Livingston didn’t have that avid expression on his patrician face that overcame gossipers at the very hint of something new to ferret out about their neighbors’ bad luck.

Daisy’s death would provide the carpenter with fresh news. But short of stuffing a permanent sock in O’Reilly’s mouth, there wasn’t any way to prevent talk. By sundown, everyone in town would know of his wife’s passing.

“I was just leaving the Cobbs’ and saw the squaw,” O’Reilly continued. “Two mules, one carrying good-looking pelts. Two little ones. No man in sight. Shore was a tempting piece. Stopped by the church, she did.”

Livingston looked like he’d sucked sour milk. “Surely, you don’t find an Indian woman attractive?”

Erik clenched his fists, wanting to punch the banker.
Not a good thing to do to the man who holds my note.

O’Reilly laughed and slapped his leg. Sawdust flew into the air. “Shore do. Any woman’s attractive when you don’t have one of your own.”

Erik couldn’t stop the wave of anger that propelled him forward. “I’ve met the
lady
.”

The men turned to him, surprise on both their faces.

He strove to relax his hands, keep his tone even. “Mrs. Cameron introduced Mrs. Valleau to me a few hours ago. Seems like a fine lady. Well mannered. Soft spoken.
White
.” He clipped the last word.

Livingston’s lord-of-the-manor gaze swept over Erik like he was a peasant.

For the first time today, Erik was aware of his uncouth appearance—the blood- and sweat-stained shirt and work pants, the heavy boots.
Livingston must think I have no idea about real ladies and good manners.
But he stood tall, a couple of inches taller even, than the elegant banker. Looking him eye-to-eye, Erik refused to let the man shame him.

Seemingly unaware of the undercurrents, O’Reilly made a disappointed sound. “Guess she’s got a husband around someplace.”

Erik almost revealed more information about Mrs. Valleau. But a protective instinct clapped a figurative hand over his mouth. Learning the woman was a widow, no matter how recent, could make her fair game for the unwed O’Reilly, which could cost Erik his wet nurse.

The banker excused himself without, thank goodness, reminding Erik that the payment on the loan was due next month.

As soon as the man left, Erik paused, reluctant to mention his wife’s passing. Buying Daisy’s coffin would make her death a fact. But an uncomfortable silence lingered between him and O’Reilly, forcing Erik to launch into an explanation of why he was here. “My wife died in childbirth today.”

O’Reilly put on a professional solemn face. “Sorry I am to be hearing your bad news, Muth. You’ll be needin’ a coffin then? Did the child live?”

“Yes, and yes. A daughter.”

O’Reilly tugged on his beard. “I’m glad the baby survived.”

“She’s not out of danger yet. Came early.” In spite of his reluctance to talk, his anxiousness about his daughter tumbled out.

“Sorry to hear that.” The carpenter crossed himself. “Say a prayer for her, I will.”

Erik found himself softening toward the man. “Obliged.”

O’Reilly cleared his throat and got back to business. “I don’t recall your wife all that well. Height, width?”

Erik’s hands spanned the air to indicate Daisy’s slight stature.
She’s tiny enough to lay her head right on my heart.
Just the thought that he’d never hold her again made his chest ache and his arms feel empty.

A gleam lit O’Reilly’s blue eyes. “I have one like that. Mahogany, polished inside and out. Silk for her to lie on. A right fittin’ resting place.”

Guilt almost made Erik say yes. Daisy deserved a beautiful casket to cradle her as she lay in the dark grave. But he knew that if he gave in, the cost would wipe out the money they had saved toward paying back the loan. She liked beautiful things, his Daisy did. But she also had a practical streak. If he spent the money they’d saved on her casket, she’d probably come back from heaven and haunt him.
Well,
he amended, knowing Daisy wasn’t the haunting type. . .
she’d give me a piece of her mind.

Strange to think he’d welcome one of his wife’s dreaded scolds.
If she came back to me, and I made her angry, I’d just grab her up in my arms and squeeze the ire out of her. She’d screech away, and I’d hug her all the more.

With his thumb, O’Reilly gestured behind him. “Come on back and take a look at what I have. Once we’re done, I think I’ll mosey off to Main Street. See if I can get an eyeful of that woman again. Maybe there’s no husband after all. You said she was at Doc’s?”

“Lady,” Erik corrected through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to pick up the man by the front of his shirt and slam him against the wall. “Mrs. Valleau is a lady.”

A feeling of urgency made him hasten to conclude the wretched business. The new widow had suckled his newborn daughter. Saved Camilla’s life.
She deserves my protection.

Antonia saw Erik Muth come through the door of the shop and relaxed her shoulders in relief. Although the man had been a complete stranger only a few hours ago, now his familiar presence reassured her.

He glanced at her and Mr. Carter, his eyebrows pulling together in a frown. “Have you finished your transaction, Mrs. Valleau?”

“Almost. Mr. Carter lent a kind hand to help me.”

His eyebrows relaxed.

Mr. Carter gave them a curious glance, obviously wondering how they knew each other. Antonia didn’t want to offer an explanation in front of Mr. Cobb.

Erik walked over to a barrel of nails, reached in and picked one up, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

Mr. Cobb came into the room, followed by a stout woman in a blue dress.

The woman gave Antonia a sharp glance from her close-set brown eyes. She pursed her lips. “I’m Mrs. Cobb. Mr. Cobb has filled me in on the situation.”

Surely it will be easier dealing with a woman.
“I’ll need a new dress.”

“You certainly do.” The woman frowned, her face settling into a disapproving expression. “Can’t have you traipsing around looking like a heathen. And from the sight of you, you’ll need everything from the inside out.”

Antonia’s hackles rose. She held onto her temper by imagining Mrs. Cobb captured by the Indian braves and forced to live in their camp. The thought of the disagreeable woman wearing the garb of a squaw almost made her grin. She might just hunt down some of Jean-Claude’s Blackfoot friends and see if they’d oblige.

“You’re in luck.” Mrs. Cobb eyed Antonia up and down. “I think we have something that would fit you. On sale even, because the color doesn’t suit most women. Nor does the size. I was out visiting when Mr. Cobb made the order.” She shook her head in disapproval. “Can’t trust a man to do anything right when it comes to women’s fashions.”

Mr. Cobb made a garbled sound of protest.

His wife ignored him, bustling around the store, gathering articles of apparel, picking up some, muttering and putting them down before finding another. She held up a pair of knickers trimmed with crocheted lace.

The knickers were far finer than any Antonia had worn before as a young woman. Later, she’d followed the Indian custom of going without. Her cheeks heated, and she had to resist running over and snatching the drawers away from the shopkeeper and hiding them behind her back.

An uncomfortable look crossed Mr. Muth’s face. He dropped the nail back into the barrel and pointed to the other side of the store. “I’ll go look at the tools.” He hurried over to the wall where several hammers hung and lifted one off.

Mrs. Cobb waved to an inner door. “Follow me, Mrs. Valleau. I allow ladies to change in our private quarters.” The shopkeeper, her arms full, disappeared through a door.

Antonia cast a helpless look at Mr. Muth, who’d been watching her, instead of looking at the hammer he held.

Manlike, he made a face and shrugged, before turning to set the tool on a rack.

Antonia followed Mrs. Cobb into a short hallway and through another door. She stepped into the room and stopped short in surprise at the elaborately decorated parlor.

Even the few times she’d been in the quarters of the officers’ wives, she hadn’t seen so many pieces of fancy furniture. Each seemed to be buried under other objects. Chairs and a settee overflowed with cushions, and every surface—whether tables, bookcases, or shelves on the walls—brandished vases, figurines, boxes, and other decorative objects. The scent of dried rose petals in a glass bowl wafted to her. The constricted space made her feel big and clumsy.

“Come along, Mrs. Valleau,” Mrs. Cobb said in a sharp tone of voice. “I need to get back to the store. It’s a busy day for us, and I don’t want Mr. Cobb to handle everything alone. That man can upset my careful record-keeping in a matter of minutes.”

Antonia edged around a table that held several framed photographs and a carved box.

Mrs. Cobb led her to a bedroom housing an elaborately carved four-poster bed and pointed to a flower-painted screen in the corner. “Go behind there. Put on the drawers and chemise, then I’ll help you with a corset.” She glanced at Antonia’s waist with a pinched expression of disapproval.

Antonia found herself hustled behind the screen, and her fingers shook as she unfastened the Indian garb and slipped out of it.
Good thing Mrs. Cobb doesn’t know I’m not wearing anything underneath my tunic.
Pulling on the drawers and chemise, she realized how fine and light the material felt against her skin compared to the leather she’d worn for so long.