Read Online Healing Montana Sky by Debra Holland - Free Book Online
Authors: Debra Holland
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Maker, Carpenter, and Cabinetmaker”was painted in crooked letters above the dusty window.
In the past when Erik had seen the sign, he’d wondered why the man had chosen to put Coffin Maker first. Now he knew the answer. Probably O’Reilly’s most lucrative business, he thought bitterly. Erik parked the wagon, climbed down, and went inside.
Phineas O’Reilly stood behind a wooden counter talking to Banker Livingston. Phineas was a burly man with a scruffy beard, and rusty red hair pulled back in a bushy tail. He wore a carpenter’s smock over a dirty shirt and pants, quite the contrast from the handsome immaculate banker standing in front of him, wearing a fancy suit.
The carpenter gave Erik a quick nod but didn’t break his attention from the banker.
Erik moved over to the front corner to inspect a side table with curved legs. He ran his hand over the smooth finish of the surface. Daisy would love this. Once again, pain stabbed him. She’s gone , he told himself. You need to accept the fact. He moved over to examine a painted cabinet, flowers decorating the top and sides. The man does good work.
“I need wine racks,” Livingston said. “I’m expecting a shipment from France, and the racks I have won’t be big enough to hold them all.” The banker waved his arms and described what he wanted.
Erik felt a flash of envy, wishing he, too, was ordering fancy wine racks, rather than a cheap coffin to bury his wife in. He’d never been inside the Livingston mansion, but judging from the outside, the house was a far cry from his humble abode. He made himself turn away from the comparisons by thinking about the room he needed to add on for the Valleau family.
Something else to eat away at my savings. For a moment, a crushing sense of burden weighed down on him. He stared out the window, not seeing the sunlit day but only empty darkness.
The two men finished up their business, and Erik listened to the conversation again.
“Mighty perty squaw came through town this morning,” O’Reilly said with a wide smile, which showed missing teeth.
The carpenter offered the tidbits of gossip to the banker like he was handling him gold on a platter. Erik didn’t know why O’Reilly didn’t mind his own business. The man was worse than a woman with his loose tongue. At least Livingston didn’t have that avid expression on his patrician face that overcame gossipers at the very hint of something new to ferret out about their neighbors’ bad luck.
Daisy’s death would provide the carpenter with fresh news. But short of stuffing a permanent sock in O’Reilly’s mouth, there wasn’t any way to prevent talk. By sundown, everyone in town would know of his wife’s passing.
“I was just leaving the Cobbs’ and saw the squaw,” O’Reilly continued. “Two mules, one carrying good-looking pelts. Two little ones. No man in sight. Shore was a tempting piece. Stopped by the church, she did.”
Livingston looked like he’d sucked sour milk. “Surely, you don’t find an Indian woman attractive?”
Erik clenched his fists, wanting to punch the banker. Not a good thing to do to the man who holds my note.
O’Reilly laughed and slapped his leg. Sawdust flew into the air. “Shore do. Any woman’s attractive when you don’t have one of your own.”
Erik couldn’t stop the wave of anger that propelled him forward. “I’ve met the lady .”
The men turned to him, surprise on both their faces.
He strove to relax his hands, keep his tone even. “Mrs. Cameron introduced Mrs. Valleau to me a few hours ago. Seems like a fine lady. Well mannered. Soft spoken. White .” He clipped the last word.
Livingston’s lord-of-the-manor gaze swept over Erik like he was a peasant.
For the first time today, Erik was aware of his uncouth appearance—the blood- and sweat-stained shirt and work pants, the heavy boots. Livingston must think I have no idea about real ladies and good manners. But he stood tall, a couple of inches
In the past when Erik had seen the sign, he’d wondered why the man had chosen to put Coffin Maker first. Now he knew the answer. Probably O’Reilly’s most lucrative business, he thought bitterly. Erik parked the wagon, climbed down, and went inside.
Phineas O’Reilly stood behind a wooden counter talking to Banker Livingston. Phineas was a burly man with a scruffy beard, and rusty red hair pulled back in a bushy tail. He wore a carpenter’s smock over a dirty shirt and pants, quite the contrast from the handsome immaculate banker standing in front of him, wearing a fancy suit.
The carpenter gave Erik a quick nod but didn’t break his attention from the banker.
Erik moved over to the front corner to inspect a side table with curved legs. He ran his hand over the smooth finish of the surface. Daisy would love this. Once again, pain stabbed him. She’s gone , he told himself. You need to accept the fact. He moved over to examine a painted cabinet, flowers decorating the top and sides. The man does good work.
“I need wine racks,” Livingston said. “I’m expecting a shipment from France, and the racks I have won’t be big enough to hold them all.” The banker waved his arms and described what he wanted.
Erik felt a flash of envy, wishing he, too, was ordering fancy wine racks, rather than a cheap coffin to bury his wife in. He’d never been inside the Livingston mansion, but judging from the outside, the house was a far cry from his humble abode. He made himself turn away from the comparisons by thinking about the room he needed to add on for the Valleau family.
Something else to eat away at my savings. For a moment, a crushing sense of burden weighed down on him. He stared out the window, not seeing the sunlit day but only empty darkness.
The two men finished up their business, and Erik listened to the conversation again.
“Mighty perty squaw came through town this morning,” O’Reilly said with a wide smile, which showed missing teeth.
The carpenter offered the tidbits of gossip to the banker like he was handling him gold on a platter. Erik didn’t know why O’Reilly didn’t mind his own business. The man was worse than a woman with his loose tongue. At least Livingston didn’t have that avid expression on his patrician face that overcame gossipers at the very hint of something new to ferret out about their neighbors’ bad luck.
Daisy’s death would provide the carpenter with fresh news. But short of stuffing a permanent sock in O’Reilly’s mouth, there wasn’t any way to prevent talk. By sundown, everyone in town would know of his wife’s passing.
“I was just leaving the Cobbs’ and saw the squaw,” O’Reilly continued. “Two mules, one carrying good-looking pelts. Two little ones. No man in sight. Shore was a tempting piece. Stopped by the church, she did.”
Livingston looked like he’d sucked sour milk. “Surely, you don’t find an Indian woman attractive?”
Erik clenched his fists, wanting to punch the banker. Not a good thing to do to the man who holds my note.
O’Reilly laughed and slapped his leg. Sawdust flew into the air. “Shore do. Any woman’s attractive when you don’t have one of your own.”
Erik couldn’t stop the wave of anger that propelled him forward. “I’ve met the lady .”
The men turned to him, surprise on both their faces.
He strove to relax his hands, keep his tone even. “Mrs. Cameron introduced Mrs. Valleau to me a few hours ago. Seems like a fine lady. Well mannered. Soft spoken. White .” He clipped the last word.
Livingston’s lord-of-the-manor gaze swept over Erik like he was a peasant.
For the first time today, Erik was aware of his uncouth appearance—the blood- and sweat-stained shirt and work pants, the heavy boots. Livingston must think I have no idea about real ladies and good manners. But he stood tall, a couple of inches
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