Page 37 of Beyond Montana's Sky
She glanced at Samantha, with whom she’d had a rocky start. Their relationship hadn’t really mended until the advent of Maggie and Charlotte. In addition, Constance, as a dressmaker, Edith considered socially beneath her.
I missed my opportunity to become better friends with these women, and I have no one but myself to blame.
As if reading her mind, Maggie touched Edith’s hand and smiled, her eyes full of understanding.
Maggie, at least, Edith accepted into her heart from almost the beginning of their relationship. She leaned forward. “If I meet your brother and sister-in-law—” she said to Elizabeth “—I’ll be sure to write and tell you all about our encounter.”
“Please do.” Elizabeth flashed a smile that showed a dimple. “Hopefully, motherhood has mellowed Eugenia.”
Why have I never noticed Elizabeth’s dimple?
Probably because she’s never smiled so warmly at me before.
Humbled, Edith looked within. She had friends here. Women who cared what happened to her. Sad, really, how the realization came too late. The bonds with these women had taken years to form, and now she was about to leave them behind. On the heels of gratitude for being shown the goodness of these ladies here in Sweetwater Springs came a vow. No more judging and holding herself above women less fortunate than herself.
I’ll hold these friends close. Show them I care. Starting now.
This sudden decision made Edith look seriously at each woman. “I’ll write to you all, and you must promise to write me back. I want to hear all about the doings of Sweetwater Springs.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Edith stood on the platform of the train station with Caleb, Maggie, and Ben, waiting for the arrival of their Boston relatives, only one of which she looked forward to hosting—congenial Uncle Atticus. Atticus wasn’t really her uncle, being a cousin of her father. But he and Black Jack Livingston—just John in those long-ago days—were cronies from a young age.
Unlike how the ancient Roman name sounded, Atticus was neither noble nor intellectual. Like her father, he’d barely scraped by in school, more because of a lack of scholarly ability, compared to Black Jack’s focus on mischief-making and real-life business and later gambling. But her uncle usually sported a wild smile and exuded bonhomie, unlike the cold civility of the rest of the family. She shuddered to think how much they’d remade her into their own image.
Aunt Agatha Hurst, also a cousin of her father’s, with her protruding eyes and mouth often pinched in disapproval, was a different kettle of fish. After the death of their parents, when Edith was seventeen and Caleb was nineteen, they’d gone to live with her—the most miserable time of her life. Aunt Agatha disapprovingly controlled every aspect of Edith’s existence—determined to erase every sign of her unconventional upbringing and turn her into a proper Boston debutante.
Even the grief-stricken times after Nathanial’s death weren’t as bad as life in her aunt’s home, because Edith still had her independence and her son—her dear, dear Ben. He was the reason she’d survived the tough years of mourning.
Caleb hadn’t suffered from Aunt Agatha’s restrictions in the same way Edith had. Young men enjoyed far more freedom than young women—at least the girls of upper-class society. Mostly, her brother was away at school and, when home, he’d managed to charm the old biddy.
Along with Aunt Agatha came her daughter Hermione, just six months older than Edith and the bane of her girlhood. Jealous, belittling, and sneaky, she never let Edith forget any of her shortcomings, including her “lack of breeding” and “manners of a wild Indian.”
In retrospect, Edith could see how having a same age, prettier cousin steal what Hermione considered the attention from others—especially suitors, which she believed belonged to her by right—must have grated on her nerves.
Hermione’s older brother, Oscar, was near in age to Caleb, and the two looked enough alike to be brothers. They’d gotten along all right, but her older cousin barely acknowledged Edith.
Too be fair, he didn’t pay much attention to his sister, either.
Oscar’s wife died a few years ago and his children were younger than Ben. Edith wondered how he could leave them to make this trip. With a shake of her head, she chided herself for her provincial thinking. Upper-class parents delegated their offspring’s upbringing to nannies, and then governesses and tutors unless the children were sent away to school.
Certainly since coming to Sweetwater Springs, she’d spent more time with Ben than ever before. The boy even joined the adults for meals, remaining properly silent, of course. Although since Christmas, and even more after Maggie and Charlotte’s arrival, both she and Caleb treated Ben almost like an adult, giving him more responsibility as he proved worthy.
She slid a sideways look at her son, tall and handsome.I can’t regret the years we’ve spent here.
Glancing over her shoulder toward the west, Edith looked to see if a rainbow still arched over the mountains. No, building gray thunderclouds obscured the sight. Faint rumblings heralded the approach of another Montana storm—rain this time, rather than the snow of a week ago, the temperature having risen somewhat since then.
We will be trapped in the house with the relatives.She didn’t look forward to the next few days.
But they’ve made the effort to come here. Maybe their visit will be pleasant.
As the train pulled in with a gust of smoke and whoosh of steam, Edith stiffened her shoulders and raised her chin. A sudden nervous feeling made her want to clench her gloved hands into fists. But she kept them loose by her sides.
She’d dressed carefully today in a maroon walking dress of the latest style, hidden under an elegant wool coat with the collar, cuffs, and hem lined in mink. The dress had a beautifully draped bias skirt. The velvet, keyhole patterns on the bodice, sleeves, and hem looked vaguely Grecian. She’d replaced the ruined feather of her black velvet topper with a flower in the same color as her dress.
With the smell of smoke and a screech of brakes, the train ground to a stop, and their group moved toward the right to be closer to the private car located near the end. The car would be left on a siding for a week until the family was ready to return.
As the porters began to unload the luggage, the door to the car opened. Out stepped Atticus, who carefully ushered Aunt Agatha and then Hermione down to the platform. Oscar followed. Both women wore coats and carried reticules, although the men tucked their coats under their arms.
