Mystic Montana Sky Part 5

"I will lift up mine eyes to the hills, from whence cometh my help.'" Caleb quoted the psalm, realizing with a mystical sense of grat.i.tude that the Lord had, indeed, answered his frantic prayers for the safety of mother and child. "Thank you," he said to the heavens. He usually confined his praying to church services, but now he could understand why the ancient prophets and Jesus had traveled into the wilderness to commune with G.o.d. There is something about the vast celestial beauty that seems to reflect the presence of the Divine.

He glanced down at Charlotte. "If David had lived in Montana instead of Israel, he would have written, I will lift up mine eyes to the skies."

The baby moved her head to the side, and her mouth fastened on his wrist, as if searching for a nipple. "You must be getting hungry, little one."

Although reluctant to leave the peacefulness of this spot, the last thing Caleb wanted was for a hungry baby to start squalling and wake up Maggie, who'd probably be frantic when she couldn't see her child nor move to find them. She'd probably never again trust him with the baby. "We'd best be getting you back to your mama," he told Charlotte. "We have quite a day ahead of us. You're about to experience your first drive."

Caleb climbed out of the surrey and walked back the way he'd come, glad to see Maggie still sleeping.

She lay curled on her side, one hand tucked under her chin.

He hated to wake her, but with Charlotte starting to squirm, he didn't have much choice. The baby needed her mama. Best give Maggie a gentle nudge instead of being startled awake by Charlotte crying.

Caleb crouched next to her, the baby in his arms. He called her name softly to pull Maggie out of her exhausted slumber.

She blinked open sleepy eyes that took several seconds to focus. "Oh! I was having a nightmare." She tried to sit up and stopped, wincing.

He held a hand to stop her. "Just lay back. I'll give you Charlotte so you can nurse her. While you do so, I'll see to the horses and make breakfast." He grimaced. "We finished the last of the bread and cheese last night. I'll see whatever cans are in my emergency supplies."

"I have cornmeal. You can boil it for mush. Just stir it well to avoid the lumps. There's some mola.s.ses left for a sweetener."

His frown deepened.

Maggie chuckled. "Not used to cornmeal mush for breakfast, eh?" She took her daughter from him. "Good morning, sweetness." She rained gentle kisses over the baby's face, before moving to hitch up her nightgown.

Caleb turned and headed toward the horses. First he stopped to check on the injured gelding, Maggie had called Pete. When he ran his palm down the animal's leg, he could still feel some heat and swelling, but not nearly as bad as yesterday. That liniment must be very effective. He wondered if it would work for people. If so, Maggie could use the ointment on herself.

An image of rubbing the liniment on her body flashed in his mind, making him uncomfortable with his s.e.xual thoughts. After last night, he'd been as intimate with her as a man could be with a woman without having physical relations. Do I still have that role with Maggie-doctor/midwife? Do I continue to help her in ways that are improper but necessary for her comfort?

As he went about the business of taking care of the horses, watering them and dispensing the last of the grain, and then fixed breakfast, Caleb pondered the puzzle of his relationship with Maggie Baxter. While he doubted even the severest critics would impugn her reputation for being alone with him-not given all that had happened-he wondered if he now was responsible for her and Charlotte in the eyes of society. His heart stuttered at the thought, and he wasn't sure if the reaction was from fear or excitement.

He'd wanted a wife. Had the accident been G.o.d's way of giving me one-and a daughter, as well? Goose b.u.mps shivered down his arms. Maggie certainly didn't fit the characteristics he'd wanted in a wife. For heaven's sake, a woman who appeared to have a Gypsy heritage? How can I even consider marrying her?

But Caleb knew he liked Maggie and admired her courage. They now shared a bond. Is that enough for a marriage, especially considering our differences? Would I come to regret marrying her?

With a wooden spoon, he stirred the cornmeal mush in the pot, as if shaking the thoughts out of his head. Now's not the time to figure out my obligations to Maggie Baxter.

Wishing he had more appetizing food than cornmeal mush and jerky, he brought a bowl over to Maggie where she sat with her back to the tree, a pillow cushioning her spine, holding the sleeping baby. He crouched at her level and held out the bowl. "Trade you food for a small girl child."

She eyed the bowl. "I think you'll have to raise the stakes."

"I'll give you a voucher, valid tomorrow. I'll even throw in dessert."

"Apple pie?" Maggie's eyes lit up. She playfully licked her lips, going along with their joking.

That flick of her tongue made Caleb notice how kissable her wide mouth was. Don't even think such thoughts. A new widow, a new mother. . . . He set the bowl on the ground and took Charlotte from her. "Eat," he ordered, perhaps more sternly than necessary. "You need to keep up your strength."

She wrinkled her nose. "As you command." She picked up the bowl.

"I do." Caleb settled into a cross-legged sitting position with the baby on his lap. He extended a finger to Charlotte, who grabbed it. "I wish I had more to offer you. My housekeeper only packed enough food for the journey to Morgan's Crossing."

Maggie gave him a rueful smile. "Oswald quarreled with Michael Morgan, who fired him and ordered us to leave town. Oswald refused to allow me to shop for supplies before we left, even though Mr. Morgan had given him his final wages. "Well," she said, shrugging, "at least he didn't have time to drink them away at the saloon."

Caleb frowned. The more he heard about Oswald Baxter, the less he regretted the man's death. "That reminds me. I emptied your husband's pockets before I buried him. I have his handkerchief, watch, and money."

Her eyes shot wide in a look of horror. "I didn't even think of that. By the time I remembered, it would have been too late."

"Stop, Maggie," Caleb chided. "That didn't happen. There's no need to be so hard on yourself, especially given all you've been through." He jiggled the baby a bit, making a funny face at her. "Right, Charlotte?" he said in a fatuous tone. "You agree with me? Your mother should rest easy."

Her expression eased. "I guess you're right. I do have an active imagination."

He gestured for her to continue eating. "As much as I wish we could reach Sweet.w.a.ter Springs today, neither you nor your gelding can travel that distance. But I don't want us camping in the open, either. There's a small way station about an hour from here, longer, of course, at the snail's pace we'll need to travel. But we'll be safe indoors and can sleep in peace. The extra day will give you and your horse more time to heal."

Maggie glanced at the caravan, her expression showing an obvious sense of reluctance. "My grandparents built that vardo when they came to America. We had more family back then. My great-uncle also built one-a more traditional vardo, a light blue color. The two families traveled together for many years." She paused, seeming lost in memories of the past.

"Where did your family come from?"

Maggie opened her mouth to tell him, then stopped.

He glanced at the vardo. "Do you think to surprise me? It's obvious there's Gypsy blood in you somewhere. I'd heard of Gypsies living in America in the East and in the South, but not in Montana."

"My mother fell in love with a gajo-an outsider, which is rare and forbidden. Mama quarreled with her family and ended up running away and marrying my father. Her parents were tinkers and traveled around a circuit of towns. My father died when I was seven, and Mama and I returned to her family. My great-uncle had never forgiven her for marrying a gajo, but Mama was an only child, so my grandparents took her back. There was a great quarrel over that decision, and the families split, each choosing separate directions. My great-uncle's family headed toward Texas, and we lost touch."

"What about your father's parents? I'm surprised they allowed you to go with your mother's family at all."

"Papa, too, was an only child. After he died, Opa and Oma insisted we live with them, so I could continue going to school-another thing that displeased my great-uncle. Gypsies are not keen on education," she said with a wry smile. "Mama and I didn't want to live with them, but she knew they could have forced the situation and taken me away. No one would have faulted my grandparents for keeping me away from the dirty Gypsies." Maggie's voice turned bitter.

He could see her point.

"But in the end, everyone compromised. Mama and I lived with Opa and Oma, who fussed over me. As much as I loved them and enjoyed school, when summer came, I'd wait anxiously for my other grandparents to arrive, which they usually did within a day or two. Then we'd be off traveling. I loved the freedom and seeing new places. The summers always sped by too fast."

"Sounds like an adventurous childhood. Not unlike my own between Boston and the West."

"I wouldn't trade it. Yet. . . ."

"What?"

"I don't fit in," she confessed. "I'm neither fish nor fowl. Not completely Gypsy, yet not the same as my father's family."

Maggie's Gypsy blood should bother him. If fact, if he'd met her under other circ.u.mstances, he'd have given her short shrift. But the emotion behind her words resonated with him. Caleb knew what it was like to be neither fish nor fowl-too much of an uncouth Westerner to fit in with the Boston bluebloods and too aristocratic for Sweet.w.a.ter Springs.

"I don't want to leave the vardo behind, Caleb."

The wistfulness in her tone made him resolve to find a way to save her home. I'll send Phineas O'Reilly back for her caravan. He's a good carpenter and can maybe fix it up enough to travel. But I don't want to give her false hope. "I'm sorry, Maggie. There's no way we can salvage it today."

She looked down and nodded, and then took a bite, her gaze on her food.

He let her be, knowing she needed to come to terms with her situation.

Maggie finished eating and set the bowl and spoon on the ground. "If you could help me. . . ." She waved toward the clump of bushes and rocks they'd used as a privy.

"Let me tuck Charlotte in my bedroll." He rose and moved to his sleeping spot, making a nest for her. He lightly brushed the baby's cheek with his finger. "We'll be right back, little one. You behave yourself, hear?"

Caleb returned to Maggie. He stooped to lift her in his arms. After so much practice, he'd become an expert Maggie-carrier, and he liked the way she smiled and how comfortably she slipped an arm around his neck.

In the daylight, without the bulk of her pregnant belly, she seemed much smaller. Perhaps I hadn't noticed her height because Maggie has the spirit of an Amazon.

Maggie did not speak a single word of complaint about how painful it was for her to ride on the seat of Caleb's surrey. She tried to distract her mind from the pain by telling herself it could have been worse. After all, she was wrapped in a blanket-having refused Caleb's coat-with a second one over her legs. The leather seat cushion was far more comfortable than the wooden seat of the vardo. The driver wasn't Oswald. Caleb had managed to stuff the surrey with as many of her belongings as the vehicle could hold, and miracle of miracles, her baby was safe in her arms.

If only one of those arms and shoulders, and, indeed, her whole right side didn't ache and throb from landing on the hard ground yesterday. Add to that the birth soreness from her back and abdomen to her thighs and the headache from where she'd hit her forehead. . . . She glanced down at her baby. Yes, I have too much to be thankful for to complain to the kind man who'd saved us.

She took a deep breath, inhaling the loamy smell of the forest. Thank goodness Caleb was there to help me through it. Maggie cast a glance at him, admiring his profile. Even with a few days' growth of a beard and his clothing in far more of a disheveled state than when she'd first met him, the banker was definitely a fine-looking man.

Caleb didn't notice her stare. His attention was focused on driving. He held his team to a slow walk to accommodate Pete's injury.

Maggie looked behind her to check on her horses, even though she had to shift her body because her neck was too stiff. The rest of her muscles protested the movement.

Tied to the back of the surrey, Pete shuffled along next to Patty. Only the slightest favoring of his foreleg told of his injury. You can do it, boy, she silently urged the gelding. Tomorrow we'll arrive in Sweet.w.a.ter Springs, and Caleb has promised you fine treatment, including apple slices and carrots.

Feeling guilty, she turned to face the front. When was the last time I was able to offer such a treat to my horses? She hadn't been the only one to suffer from her decision to marry Oswald. How could I have been so foolish-so taken in?

Not for the first time, her thoughts lingered on their courtship. She searched for clues to Oswald's true personality. In hindsight, she could see them. He'd hidden his real self behind an almost animal magnetism. What had seemed like a wish to take care of her had really been a need to possess her, to control her every thought and move. I held out my wrists for his shackles.

She glanced down at Charlotte, sweetly sleeping in her arms. The horror of what her daughter's life would have been with such a father-if her baby would even have survived her birth-made her feel sick.

Never again. Maggie knew she could not afford to make such a grave mistake in choosing a husband, because she wouldn't be the only one to suffer from a poor choice. Watching harm come to her child, perhaps the other children she would bear, as well as her animals, would torture her.

Maggie shifted Charlotte deeper into the crook of her arm, so she could free a hand and touch one hooped earring. If she sold the gold, she could pay to have the vardo fixed. That would take care of a home for them. But she'd need to feed and clothe them, as well as provide food and shelter for the horses, so she had to find work as soon as possible.

Maybe I can take in laundry. Without Oswald's knowledge, she'd earned a little money by secretly helping Mrs. Rivera, who did the laundry for Morgan's Crossing. Sometimes the woman had more washing than she could handle, especially during the rush times when Father Fredrick, the Catholic priest, or Reverend Joshua Norton came to town to hold a Sunday service, or the times the Morgans threw a party. Their last shindig had been to celebrate the birth of their latest daughter, Darcy Angelina.

She sighed, thinking about baby Darcy's pretty clothing, some edged with lace. Although the clothes were handed down from her older sister, Mary May, they were in almost pristine condition compared with the faded garments Maggie had made for Charlotte, even if every st.i.tch was set with love. She'd laundered those tiny pretty dresses and dreamed of her own baby wearing them.

Charlotte and baby Darcy would have grown up to be friends. With another sigh, Maggie thought of the friends she'd made in Morgan's Crossing and how much she'd miss them.

Frowning, Caleb glanced at her. A wrinkle furrowed between his brows. "Are you in pain? Do you need me to stop?"

She gave him a rea.s.suring smile. "Just thinking."

He obviously didn't believe her, for his eyes narrowed, making his handsome features look intimidating. Despite her pain and melancholy thoughts, his attempts to pry more information made her chuckle. "Does that work with other people?"

His expression changed to puzzlement. "What?"

"That narrow-eyed, studying-you-until-you-confess-all-and-do-what-I-say look."

Caleb laughed. He seemed about to answer, then shook his head and laughed again. "Apparently not with you, Magdalena Petra."

Maggie shifted in her seat and lifted her chin. With a smile of mock condescension, she agreed. "Not with me."

Their teasing exchange lifted her spirits, and Maggie realized that if she chose to make a home in Sweet.w.a.ter Springs, she could make new friends. She'd already developed a deep bond with this man, and maybe her next friend would be the sister he'd spoken of. Or perhaps I can return to live in Morgan's Crossing. The thought captivated her. How wonderful to have choices!

From under her eyelashes, again she glanced at Caleb's handsome profile. Yet living in Sweet.w.a.ter Springs also possesses definite appeal.

CHAPTER FIVE.

They plodded toward Sweet.w.a.ter Springs at a snail's pace, the top of the surrey blocking the strong morning sunlight from shining into their faces. Caleb had never driven so slowly in his life. If it weren't for Maggie, whether they were riding in companionable silence or engaging in teasing conversation, he would have gone out of his mind with boredom. Between the bank, the hotel, and the civic concerns and activities he was involved in, he seldom was without mental and physical occupation.

Luckily, he found Maggie's presence both soothing and stimulating, although he wasn't sure how she'd managed to make him feel both. Maybe because in the two days he'd known her, she hadn't once complained, although she certainly had reason to. Even during her labor, her talk of charley horses and stabbing knives held no hint of a whine or self-pity. If his sister had been through a tenth of what Maggie had endured, she would have peppered him with her august opinion and a litany of complaints. He'd long since learned to close his ears to her, while nodding as if listening-something that tended to infuriate Edith when she caught on to his inattention.

Speaking of Edith, should I warn Maggie about my sister? How she can be difficult?

Maybe ease into the topic.

He glanced at her. "Have I mentioned my widowed sister Edith Grayson lives with me?"

"That must be nice," Maggie said, her tone wistful.

"It has its moments." A true statement, for there was affection between Caleb and his sister, even if he often had to delve for the feeling. "We grew up in Boston and in some areas of the West. My father was a. . .wanderer."

"A Gypsy like me," she said, her eyes teasing.

"Something akin to that. Black Jack was a gambler with cards and business investments that inevitably paid off, adding to the family coffers-although that often upset the townsfolk, making another move imperative." Even as he said the words, Caleb marveled that he'd just shared something so private.

Maggie listened with wide eyes, her mouth slightly parted.

"Edith married Nathaniel Grayson and settled in Boston-a life that suited her. She was happy in her marriage, in her role in society, with her son, Ben. But her husband's family wasn't pleased with his choice of wife and made trouble. They were most particular in regard to their two sons and had already picked out wives for them."

"Go on. . . ."

He slanted her a look of wry amus.e.m.e.nt. "Very well."

"My father's family is quite distinguished, but he was the black sheep, running away to the West when he was barely more than a boy and marrying the daughter of a schoolmaster. So even with my father's greater wealth, Edith wasn't good enough for the Graysons. Our blue blood was tainted." He said the words lightly, but old pain still stung.

Sometimes, when he was most frustrated with Edith, he tried to remember the circ.u.mstances that had changed her from the carefree girl of his youth to the difficult woman she was today. The change had begun in those times they'd lived in Boston, when they'd struggled with the strictures that ruled society, learning they could fit in, but only if they narrowed their behavior to accommodate the standards of polite society-something they'd both learned to do, until that way of life became second nature.

"After Nathaniel's death, the Graysons didn't soften toward Edith and Ben. In fact, they blamed her for the illness that led to his demise, implying if he hadn't married her, he wouldn't have gotten sick. Boston became too painful for my sister, and she and Ben moved out here to live with me. Unfortunately, Sweet.w.a.ter Springs doesn't suit her. Nor does the town offer the type of men who'd persuade her to remarry. We don't speak of Nathaniel much. I sometimes suspect she mourns him still."

Maggie's expression softened with obvious compa.s.sion. "How horrible for her!" She shook her head and glanced down at Charlotte. "I can't imagine treating my child that way. My grandchild, either." She took a breath. "Although I do envy your sister having a happy marriage. I wish I could grieve Oswald's death instead of feel only relief."

Caleb glanced at Maggie, struck by the wisdom in her statement. He doubted Edith ever considered grat.i.tude when she thought about the death of her husband. The words of Alfred Lord Tennyson came to him. 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.