Page 40 of Beyond Montana's Sky
Agatha let out an audible breath. “What anextraordinarilybeautiful child.”
Edith wasn’t sure if her aunt was complimenting Charlotte, or ifextraordinarilymeantforeignorexotic.
Maggie beamed with pride. She didn’t appear to notice the narrow-eyed stares of the cousins. Or how Uncle Atticus tilted on the balls of his feet, his eyes wide.
Aunt Agatha held out her hands. “Come to me, Charlotte,” she coaxed.
Once again, everyone seemed to hold their breaths. But Charlotte obliged by leaning forward.
Aunt Agatha took the baby, who proceeded to pat her cheek. Her aunt’s normally severe expression softened.
This time, Edith was the one who had to freeze her face to keep from gaping.
Maggie edged closer to Caleb, sliding a hand around his arm.
He gave her a quick loving smile before looking back at the miracle taking place before their eyes.
“Oh, I do miss babies.” As Charlotte reached for the cameo broach pinned to Agatha’s bodice, her aunt pressed a kiss to her forehead, before lightly bouncing the baby to make her smile. “The happiest times of my life were when my children and grandchildren were small. They’re so sweet and cuddly at this age.”
Edith blinked and then blinked again, as if needing to check her vision.Surely this can’t be Aunt Agatha? A stranger from the moon has come down and taken over her heart and mind and body.
“Until they smell or are teething or are screaming down the house,” Oscar said in a tone not altogether teasing. “But I must admit, Mama, you had far more patience with mine as babies than ever their mother did.” He pulled out a watch from his vest pocket and checked the time.
Edith almost wished she could have seen Agatha as a young mother and new grandmother.Almost.
As if summoned, Mrs. Graves entered, proper in her black garb, her habitual glower in place. “Supper is served,” she announced.
“I’ll take her upstairs,” Ben offered, moving to Agatha and reaching for Charlotte. “Come on, little lamb. Bedtime.”
Reluctantly, Agatha released the baby into Ben’s care.
“Ba,” Charlotte responded.
“Ba, back.” Ben wiggled his nose into her cheek. He lifted her high, laughing as she squealed, and then brought her down to snuggle against his chest.
“Ba, Ba.” As he carried her from the room, Charlotte pounded on each side of his head with her palms.
“Well, that’s a sight I hadn’t expected to see,” Hermione said in a wry tone. “Especially in aboy. I thought boys ignored babies. Men, usually, too. Oscar barely acknowledged his own, at least not that I saw.”
Caleb gazed fondly at the door where the two disappeared through before swinging his gaze back to Oscar. “Then they don’t know what they’re missing.”
Maggie caught Edith’s eye. Her smile and little nod said without words,Once again,Charlotte works her baby magic.
Pride and love and upcoming loss made tears prick Edith’s eyes.I’ll miss seeing Charlotte grow. Seeing my brother being a father.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The day of Caleb Livingston’s wedding dawned with spectacular autumn weather—molten sunshine, a sky of sharp blue, and warmish temperatures, with a crisp breeze reminding them that winter was just around the corner.
While awaiting a bevy of Anderson ladies, Cai stood on the front porch, dressed in the suit he’d worn for his sister’s funeral. This morning, donning the garment had painful connotations. But the thought of seeing Edith Grayson carried him through the act of dressing up.
A line of eight wagons already hitched to teams waited in front of the barn, an older generation Anderson male in each driver’s seat and unmarried men and boys sitting on the straw in the back.
The horses gleamed in the autumn sunshine, their manes and tails braided earlier by some of the girls and tied with colored bows. No speck of dirt rested on the seats or in the wagon boxes, for the ladies threatened to withhold from baking sweets for a month if anyone dared to arrive at this highfalutin’ wedding with smudges on their clothing or smelling of horse.
Cai knew from some of the men’s complaints that even though today wasn’t a Sunday, everyone bathed the evening before. Apparently, wives and mothers had been heavy-handed with the scrub brushes, not sparing the skin of their loved ones. Each male wore his Sunday best and was freshly shaved or had their beards trimmed. Under their hats, their hair was newly cut.
The ladies knew this was a high-society wedding—or at least as high society as Sweetwater Springs could get—with dancing lasting into the evening. They all squawked at the late notice of the event, and then visited the mercantile, followed by a flurry of sewing and sprucing up, intended to put on a good showing.
