Healing Montana Sky (8 page)

“Are you finished, Mrs. Valleau?”

“Yes.”

Mrs. Cobb pulled aside the screen. “Raise your arms.” She whisked the corset around Antonia’s waist.

The garment was one she’d never worn before, and her initial curiosity lasted until Mrs. Cobb pulled the strings so tight Antonia couldn’t breathe. Then the woman gave a yank that made Antonia’s eyes bulge out.

“There.” Mrs. Cobb’s voice oozed satisfaction. “You do have a nice waist, after all, and no need of padding for your hips.”

Antonia had no breath to protest as the woman hurried her into a petticoat, followed by a shirtwaist and skirt made of golden calico with little rose buds. She wished she could examine the material, far prettier than anything she’d ever worn.

Mrs. Cobb pinched the cloth at Antonia’s waist and pursed her lips. “Too loose. This will have to be taken in.”

Antonia drew breath to argue, only to find her ribs constricted by the corset, so just a tiny gulp of air made it into her lungs. “I’m dizzy. I need to sit down.” She took a few steps and tried to collapse on a wooden chair in the corner, but with her body imprisoned, she found that all she could do was lower herself to the edge of the seat.

Mrs. Cobb didn’t seem to notice Antonia’s distress. The woman walked back and forth, her gaze narrowed on the dress’s shape.

“We don’t have a tailor or dressmaker in town. More’s the pity. All the women do their own sewing and mending. So you’ll have to take in the dress yourself.”

I’m not about to take in this dress.
Antonia rose, careful to not fall over. If she collapsed wearing the contraption, she’d never be able to get off the floor. Without a word, she glided toward the screen.

“Mrs. Valleau. What are you doing?” Mrs. Cobb tried to wave her back. “I didn’t bring another dress for you to try on. I have a green one, though, that might suit you. Wait right here, and I’ll bring it in.”

Antonia stepped behind the screen and pulled it closed. Moving as best she could with her waist locked up, she shed the dress, and then fumbled at the strings of the corset. Once they’d loosened, she took a deep inhale, grateful to breathe, and worked off the offending garment, letting it drop to the rug.

Then she put the dress back on. This time, the waist was still loose, but not so much. She’d lost weight in the last few days. Hopefully, when her stomach wasn’t so knotted, and she could eat again, she’d regain her figure. The dress would fit just perfect then. She smoothed down the creases and stepped out from behind the screen.

An oval mirror stood in the corner of the room, and Antonia moved toward it. She’d seen her face in a smaller one before when she lived at the fort with her father. Since then, pools of clear water had sufficed, providing a blurry reflection. So the woman staring back was almost a stranger.

The gold in the dress made her eyes stand out and burnished her complexion. The sight moved Antonia in some strange way she had experienced only once as a child, when an officer’s wife had given her a hand-me-down dress. Usually, she’d run around in cut-down boy’s clothing.

As a girl, Antonia had dreamed of wearing a gown like this. Regardless of the compliments her husband had lavished on her, she’d never considered herself pretty, for her features were too strong.

With a surge of feminine pleasure, Antonia thought of the stunned look on Jean-Claude’s face when he caught sight of her in the dress. As soon as the boys slept, he’d release her from the gown, and they’d make energetic love. Another reason not to wear that corset.

Realization hit her as hard as a blow to the stomach, and she almost collapsed. Jean-Claude would never see her in the gold dress. Her lip quivered, and she bit down to avoid screaming. Her future stretched out, devoid of husbandly warmth and caresses.

How can I possibly bear it?

Only the thought that the shopkeeper would return in a moment kept Antonia upright. But she turned away from the mirror, unable to bear the sight of herself.

Erik had only the slightest acquaintance with John Carter, the foremost rancher in the area, and his wife. They’d exchanged greetings at the ice cream social—had that really been only a few days ago? But the man had a stellar reputation for fairness and integrity, and his wife was known to be equally as kind.

Carter strolled through the store, looking calm and confident. The man was well groomed in a dark-blue suit. Instead of using one of the baskets stacked near the door, he picked out items and carried them: a trowel, a jar of peaches, a can of mineral spirits.

Erik glanced down at his bloodstained shirt.
Ruined, suitable only for the barn.
Best buy a new one, although he begrudged spending more money. But with all that was going on, it wasn’t fitting to wear the shirt in town. He wandered over to shelving that went from floor to ceiling, filled with clothing. He fingered a tan one, then picked up the shirt and held it against him. Looked too small. He tried for another in the same color. Also too small.

Engrossed in searching for a shirt, Erik didn’t pay any attention to someone entering the store, nor the secretive female voices gossiping at the counter. But when he saw John Carter stiffen and turn, Erik caught a mention of Mrs. Valleau’s name. The critical tone of the voices left no doubt what they were implying.

Rage, deep and dark, exploded. He’d born too much this day to have the woman who’d saved his daughter treated thus. Erik tossed the shirt to the floor, turned on his heel, and stormed over to the front.

Mrs. Cobb leaned over the counter, her head near another woman’s—the Widow Murphy.

Erik had stayed at the widow’s boarding house for a few days when he first came out here.
Nasty old witch.

Before he could say the cutting words that wanted to boil out of his mouth, Antonia entered the shop from the other room. She stood in the doorway, clad in a yellow dress that made her golden eyes striking, transforming the plain widow he’d seen earlier into a stately and attractive woman. Yet the vulnerable look on her face made him aware of how difficult this all must be for her, used as she was to living in the wilderness.

He took a decisive step forward. “Mrs. Valleau.”

“Mrs. Valleau!” Mrs. Cobb cut in, a scandalized expression on her face. “You’re not wearing a corset.” She cleared her throat. “Ladies
must
wear them.”

Mrs. Murphy wagged her head, making the wattle of skin under her throat shake. “Saw her ride in, I did. Dressed like a squaw. Wouldn’t expect her to know how to dress decent.”

Antonia paled and half turned, headed toward the other room.

Erik took a few steps to stop her from fleeing. “Do not speak to my wife-to-be in that manner,” he ordered.

Antonia gasped and whirled around.

Play along
, Erik told her with his eyes.

“What are you saying, Mr. Muth?” Mrs. Cobb said sharply. “You have a wife. Bigamy is illegal in this state, you know.”

“I’m well aware of that fact, Mrs. Cobb.” Erik did his best to sound pompous and authoritative. “Actually, I am premature in my announcement by a few minutes. My wife, Daisy, has died in childbirth, although my daughter lives. Our baby would have joined her mother if Mrs. Valleau hadn’t stepped in to nurse her.”

Mrs. Cobb stepped back in apparent shock. “I’m sorry to hear of your wife’s passing,” she said as if by rote. “Yet, she is released from this vale of tears.”

Anger flushed his body.
No, I will not strangle the woman.
Erik took a deep breath, striving to keep his tone even. “Mrs. Valleau’s husband passed away recently, leaving her with two little boys. She and I have agreed our mutual need will supersede our grief for our spouses and the conventions of mourning. After we conclude our business here, Reverend Norton will join us in Holy Matrimony.” He hoped Mrs. Valleau would turn his lie into the truth.

He glanced at Mrs. Valleau, who stared at him with wide eyes. Was there a hint of humor in their depths? The thought she might find this discussion with Mrs. Cobb as absurd as he did lifted his spirits just a bit. He liked that he might have alleviated her pain for a few short minutes. A shared sense of humor eased many of the stresses of life, and the two of them would certainly need that advantage if they chose to marry in grief instead of love.

Mr. Carter stood on the outskirts of the circle of people. From the rigid stance of his body, Erik could see the rancher was disturbed and would step in if need be. Yet he had a sense the man was allowing Erik to handle the situation.

“Well,” Mrs. Cobb huffed. “If Mrs. Valleau is recently widowed, she can’t go around wearing gold. She needs black.”

Widow Murphy sniffed. “And you getting married on the same day your wife has died? Scandalous.”

“Do you have a black dress that will fit Mrs. Valleau?” Erik asked the shopkeeper, trying to keep his tone even.

Mrs. Cobb glanced over toward the dress section. “No.”

“Then gold will have to do, which is fine with me. Black would be too painful for us both.”

Even Mrs. Cobb had enough sensitivity to keep her mouth shut.

The door opened, and Pamela Carter whirled in. She saw her husband first, and a happy smile lit up her plain, plump face. She held up a parcel wrapped in string. “Success! Mrs. Mueller had just taken out a batch. I had to wait for the pretzels to cool a bit.” Seeming to become aware of the tension in the air, she lowered her arm, her expression becoming wary.

John Carter took a long step toward his wife and held out his hand. “You’re just in time, my dear. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Mrs. Carter put her gloved hand in her husband’s, and he drew her forward.

Erik realized the Carters were heading toward Mrs. Valleau, and he stepped out of their path, hoping Mrs. Carter wouldn’t be offended by Antonia’s lack of a corset like Mrs. Cobb and Mrs. Murphy were.

As the couple passed, Mrs. Carter gave Erik a friendly smile and a nod of acknowledgment.

John Carter bowed slightly to Mrs. Valleau. “How fine you look in that dress. The color suits you.”

Mrs. Carter cast her husband a curious glance, but her friendly smile stayed in place, and she didn’t seem put out by his admiration of another woman.

I should have been the one to compliment Mrs. Valleau.
Seems Erik could do nothing right this day.

Mr. Carter gestured to Mrs. Valleau, introduced the two women, and quickly explained the circumstances.

Mrs. Carter’s expression softened. “Oh, you poor dear. I can’t even imagine what you must be going through.” She leaned forward to embrace the new widow.

As Mrs. Carter hugged her, Mrs. Valleau stood wide-eyed and stiff, as if not knowing how to respond.

Mrs. Carter didn’t seem to mind. She glanced at Erik then placed a sympathetic hand on his arm. “What you
both
must be going through. How can we help?”

Erik snuck a glance at Mrs. Cobb and Mrs. Murphy. Both had identical grimaces on their faces, as though they’d just drunk sour milk.

John Carter gazed at his wife with approval. He leaned forward to say something and hesitated, his ears reddening. “Please reassure Mrs. Valleau that she can refrain from wearing a corset and still be a lady.”

Not by expression or posture did Mrs. Carter betray any astonishment at the improper conversation. She scrutinized the yellow dress. “You’re so slender, Mrs. Valleau, that you don’t even need a corset.” She touched her waist. “Not like us, eh, Mrs. Cobb, Mrs. Murphy?”

Mrs. Cobb’s face reddened, and Mrs. Murphy ruffled up like a chicken. But neither said anything, apparently not wanting to offend the foremost lady of Sweetwater Springs.

Mrs. Carter raised her chin. “The essence of a lady comes from within,” she said in a gentle but firm tone. “A lady can wear rags, but as long as she holds her head up and carries herself proudly, people will see her, not her clothing.”

Mrs. Murphy made an outraged choking sound.

Mrs. Carter sent a pointed look toward the two gossips. “A lady always seeks to educate herself and is kind to others.”

Color came back into Antonia’s cheeks, and she straightened her shoulders.

Erik wanted to cheer. Relief relaxed his anger. He didn’t dare turn to look at the two biddies, who, by Mrs. Carter’s descriptions, definitely were not ladies.

Mr. Carter swung around and pinned Erik with his gaze. “Duly noted there’s to be a wedding soon, Muth. May Mrs. Carter and I invite ourselves to attend?”

Why the man’s offer would make tears spring to his eyes, Erik didn’t know—perhaps because such a busy, important rancher extended kindness to a prairie farmer—basically a stranger. Manfully, though, he choked them back. “I—” he glanced at Mrs. Valleau “—
we’d
be obliged.”

Mrs. Valleau tried to smile, but the sadness on her face wasn’t chased away by the turning up of her lips.

John Carter shot Erik’s shirt a pointed look. With a wave of his hand, he urged Erik toward the shelves. “I imagine you’ll want to get back to shopping. Mrs. Carter will help Mrs. Valleau with whatever else women need at times like this. Then—” he lowered his voice “—you can get cleaned up and warn Reverend Norton he’ll be performing a ceremony, since I have the impression he doesn’t know.”