Her Montana Man (13 page)

father’s—and shaped him into the man he was today. Glad to have told her, he opened his eyes and

found her expression sympathetic in the darkness.

“It was a long time ago,” he said, as though that made the telling easier, but time hadn’t healed all the

wounds; that was apparent since he couldn’t come here without feeling sick. “I stayed with a family till

my father got word and came home. She’d been buried by then. After that…well, that’s what started him

drinkin’. That and all he’d seen on the battlefields.”

“I never knew,” she said.

“I stuck around a couple years, but I lit out when I was thirteen.”

“You told me about your years after that. But eventually you came back.”

“Couldn’t let ’im die alone. He loved her. Never had a moment’s peace after she died. Blamed himself.”

“As did you.”

He looked down at her. “No. I blamed him, too. I was just a kid. As helpless as she was. Shoulda been

someone takin’ care of us.”

“Everyone needs someone to take care of them,” she agreed.

They still stood on the brick path. Jonas gestured toward the house. “Doc told me t’come by and have

my arm looked at. Hope he doesn’t mind the hour.”

He took her elbow as they walked forward and stepped onto the small wooden platform that served as

a porch. Jonas rapped on the door.

Etta opened it. “Come in, the two of you. Jonas, are you all right?”

He swept off his hat. “Yes’m.”

Etta kept Eliza company in the small comfortable sitting room while Jonas disappeared through a door

with the doctor. A short while later, Jonas returned with his arm freshly bandaged and in a clean sling.

“He needs to rest,” Dr. McKee told her. “The wound’s a little red and he still has a fever.”

They crossed to Ada’s house by walking through the dark yards instead of going back to the street and

around, and this way came up behind the place.

Each time Jonas shared something about himself, she felt a little closer to him, more at ease in his

company. Being around him every day, and interacting with the others at the hotel, was bringing her back

to a place where she didn’t feel as isolated as she had for so long.

Eventually, Eliza had Tyler’s hand snugly in hers and they started back. From three blocks away, the

piano could be heard, but out here darkness enveloped them.

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“Kinda scary at night, ain’t it?” Tyler asked.

“I like it,” Jonas replied. “Slept on the ground under the sky plenty of nights when I was a soldier. When

it’s clear, you can see all the stars and even find the Big Dipper.”

“We read about The Big Dipper in school. It looks like a big ladle. Where is it?”

Jonas took his hat off so he could lean his head back and survey the sky. “The easiest to find. There,” he

said, kneeling beside Tyler and pointing. “Points to other stars if you know how to look. By locatin’ it,

you can always find your direction.”

Eliza was more fascinated by watching the two of them than by the heavens.

“I heard tell that in Africa, they see the Big Dipper as a drinkin’ gourd,” Jonas told the boy. “Runaway

slaves from the south used to follow the drinkin’ gourd to the north and their freedom.”

“Did you learn that at school? Miss Fletcher never told us that part.”

“Learned it from a free slave,” he answered.

“You know free slaves?”

“Yup. Know some Indians, too. Cherokee scout told me the handle part is three cubs followin’ their

mama.” Jonas stood and Tyler stayed close at his side.

“The Iroquois say,” he continued, “that one spring a long time ago a great bear wandered far and wide

throughout the sky. He hunted and fished until he was full and happy. But then one day three young

braves ran after him to kill him so they’d have his fur for a warm blanket and food for their families. The

bear ran and ran from them all summer long. The braves outsmarted him and caught up. They pierced

him with their arrows and he died. The bear’s blood poured out all over the sky and even made the

leaves turn red and orange. Then the trees dropped their leaves in mourning.”

“I saw leaves turn red and orange,” Tyler said.

“The story doesn’t end there,” Jonas assured him.

“The great bear was reborn in the spring, and the braves set out after him again. Now they do this every

year. So if you look into the sky you can see the braves trailin’ behind the great bear.”

For several minutes Tyler seemed absorbed with finding the bear and hunters. At last they moved on.

“Where did you go in the army?” Tyler asked as they reached Main Street. “Did you have a black

horse?”

“I went lots of places, and I rode a brown horse. He’s livin’ out his years in a pasture on Willie

Grimshaw’s farm.”

“Lilibelle’s family?” Eliza asked.

“Her pa,” Jonas answered.

“Do you visit him?” Tyler asked.

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“Yup.”

“What’s his name?”

“Jeremiah.”

“After the Bible? Can I see him?”

“You can see him.”

“Oh, boy! When can we go?”

“Tyler, mind your manners,” Eliza admonished. “It’s not polite to invite yourself.”

“That’s okay, Tyler,” Jonas said. “Sometimes a man needs to speak up for what he wants. How about

we ride out when my arm is out of this sling?”

“Yes! Can I, Aunt Liza?”

They reached the hotel, where Jonas opened the door and ushered them into the lobby. Tyler shot up

the stairs ahead of them, and the adults followed more slowly. On the second floor, Jonas told her

good-night.

“Take your medicine and get a good night’s sleep,” she said. “And…” She made a motion as if she was

turning a key.

“Don’t worry,” he replied, heading for his quarters.

Between thoughts of Eliza and the old memories that had risen to the surface, his head was spinning.

Add to that the fever and, although he hated the drugging effects of the pain medicine, Jonas had to admit

he needed it that night.

He slept hard and woke sweating several times. Each time he wiped his skin with cool water. The last

time it was still dark, but he couldn’t go back to sleep.

He lit the lamps and went downstairs for fresh water and a slice of pie. Using one arm, it took two trips,

but eventually he ate the dessert and drank thirstily.

He’d slept that afternoon, so he knew that was why he was having trouble now. As he paced his sitting

room, the trunk that had been placed against the wall caught his attention. Ward and Pool had carried it

up the day before. It had been among his father’s belongings, and he’d moved it from place to place,

finally leaving it in the storeroom until they’d needed that space for an office.

The latch held a padlock that had never worked, but there was nothing of value inside. Opening the lid,

Jonas knelt to view the contents.

There was a blue-and-white ceramic humidor filled with odds and ends of tie tacks, coins and two

pocket watches. Lifting a folded coat, he found two packets of letters tied with string. Untying them, he

discovered dozens of letters from his parents to each other.

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Jonas opened one and read it quickly. His father spoke of the weather, briefly of skirmishes and the

locations, and penned words of his love for his wife and how much he missed her. A quick glance

showed all of the missives similar. Jonas didn’t want to read those particular words. He wasn’t prepared

to change his thinking of the man as he’d believed him to be all these years, so he retied the bundles and

buried them between a few books.

A stack of ledgers caught his attention, and he pulled one out with his good hand and used the fingers of

his opposite to open it. Rather than accounts or numbers on the pages of the leather-bound book, he

discovered line after line of the same neat penmanship he’d seen in his father’s letters.

Each page was dated, indicating a year Jonas had been away. One entry began with notes on the

Kopeke family’s bout with a fever and sickness, but after recording his visit to the house, Jonas’s father

had detailed an amusing incident outside the saloon.

Flipping a few pages, Jenny Lee Sutherland’s name caught his eye. Jonas carried the journal to his chair,

settled comfortably and began to read.

She’s just a slip of a girl. Pale and delicate, but with a zest for life and a powerful love for her family. It

saddens me each time I’m called to the house and it pains me not to have a better prognosis for her

parents. They’ve taken her to the best doctors in the East and heard the same from each of them. The girl

has a defective heart.

His father’s comments were more than clinical remarks; they were an outlet for the events he witnessed

and the feelings he had experienced.

Jonas flipped through the pages, locating numerous visits to the Sutherland home as well as the other

families of Silver Bend. The reports were as much about the people of the town as they were about their

illnesses. Going back to the beginning, he read into the night, learning which families lost babies, which

men had been on the town council and occasionally what the sermon had been about on a particular

Sunday. The Silver Bend of years ago came alive on the pages of his father’s journal.

Jonas woke to sunlight streaking through the split where the drapes came together. His father’s journal

lay on the floor where it had fallen. He winced as he stood, not only from the pain in his shoulder, but

from the stiffness in his legs and hips. After stretching, he limped to the window that looked over the

street and pulled back the curtain.

Midmorning, the street bustled with horses and wagons. The chalkboard on the walk in front of the

bakery read, Cinnamon Buns Warm From the Oven. His stomach growled.

A pitcher of water sat outside his door. He carried it to the bowl in his bedroom, spilling some as he

poured.

As he went about his duties that day and the next, he kept thinking of his father’s detailed accounts of

the community. He put the journals in chronological order and continued reading the accounts, which

stemmed from about two years after Jonas had left. Jonas pictured his father alone at night, sitting in the

house where his wife had been murdered, a glass of whiskey at his elbow as he recorded the passing of

days and events.

Jonas didn’t want to, but he was forced to see his father in a new light. Through the doctor’s unfamiliar

and revealing viewpoint, his compassion and loneliness were clearly defined.

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One afternoon Jonas sat in the office, his thoughts drifting to events about which he’d been reading.

Whenever Eliza Jane spoke of his father, it seemed as though she’d known him better than Jonas did,

and she probably had. But she’d only known him
afterward,
only seen one side of him.

Eliza Jane held out a stack of receipts and asked a question.

He hadn’t been paying attention, so he had to ask her to repeat.

She’d been doing a proficient job of keeping the records for the hotel and saloon, and he’d had to ask

for her help in writing out the employment vouchers, as well. She caught on to everything immediately.

She must have been a big help to her father. It was pretty clear that her father hadn’t appreciated her.

Why was it people didn’t see what was right in front of them?

“Hold on to those,” he told her.

She nodded, but kept her attention on his face.

She was seated at the desk and he at a small table they’d pushed against the back so that they faced

each other. “I want to ask you about something not related to the job.”

He put down the paper he’d been holding and gave her his attention.

“It will be Tyler’s birthday in a few days. Normally, I would ask several of his friends to the house and

have a little celebration.” She rubbed at a smudge of ink on her index finger. “Since we’re staying here, I

was wondering if I could ask his friends to come after school and if we might hold our party in the dining

room.”

“Of course. That’s not a busy time of day.”

“That’s why I thought it would be better than a Saturday. I’ll pay for the ingredients and make the cake.”

“No need. Lily has barrels of flour and sugar and we’ve got a couple dozen hens out back.”

“But I want to bake it myself.”

“Whatever pleases you, Eliza Jane.”

She gave him a rare hesitant smile, and the sight went right to his gut, conjuring up that unsettling feeling.

Being around her every day made it impossible to ignore that out-of-control sensation he couldn’t

dislodge. He didn’t like being out of control…but he admired every last thing about Eliza Jane, from the

sound of her voice and the sometimes funny things she said to the way she pressed her palms against her

skirt when she was nervous. He liked how she looked at him, just slightly uncertain and yet provocatively

challenging.

“What about Royce?”

“What about him?” she asked, her tone somewhat wary.

“Will he attend during the day?”

“He won’t remember,” she replied.

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“Won’t remember his son’s birthday?”

“I mean…” She glanced at the papers in front of her.