Read Online Healing Montana Sky by Debra Holland - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Debra Holland
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thumb and forefinger.
Mr. Cobb came into the room, followed by a stout woman in a blue dress.
The woman gave Antonia a sharp glance from her close-set brown eyes. She pursed her lips. “I’m Mrs. Cobb. Mr. Cobb has filled me in on the situation.”
Surely it will be easier dealing with a woman. “I’ll need a new dress.”
“You certainly do.” The woman frowned, her face settling into a disapproving expression. “Can’t have you traipsing around looking like a heathen. And from the sight of you, you’ll need everything from the inside out.”
Antonia’s hackles rose. She held onto her temper by imagining Mrs. Cobb captured by the Indian braves and forced to live in their camp. The thought of the disagreeable woman wearing the garb of a squaw almost made her grin. She might just hunt down some of Jean-Claude’s Blackfoot friends and see if they’d oblige.
“You’re in luck.” Mrs. Cobb eyed Antonia up and down. “I think we have something that would fit you. On sale even, because the color doesn’t suit most women. Nor does the size. I was out visiting when Mr. Cobb made the order.” She shook her head in disapproval. “Can’t trust a man to do anything right when it comes to women’s fashions.”
Mr. Cobb made a garbled sound of protest.
His wife ignored him, bustling around the store, gathering articles of apparel, picking up some, muttering and putting them down before finding another. She held up a pair of knickers trimmed with crocheted lace.
The knickers were far finer than any Antonia had worn before as a young woman. Later, she’d followed the Indian custom of going without. Her cheeks heated, and she had to resist running over and snatching the drawers away from the shopkeeper and hiding them behind her back.
An uncomfortable look crossed Mr. Muth’s face. He dropped the nail back into the barrel and pointed to the other side of the store. “I’ll go look at the tools.” He hurried over to the wall where several hammers hung and lifted one off.
Mrs. Cobb waved to an inner door. “Follow me, Mrs. Valleau. I allow ladies to change in our private quarters.” The shopkeeper, her arms full, disappeared through a door.
Antonia cast a helpless look at Mr. Muth, who’d been watching her, instead of looking at the hammer he held.
Manlike, he made a face and shrugged, before turning to set the tool on a rack.
Antonia followed Mrs. Cobb into a short hallway and through another door. She stepped into the room and stopped short in surprise at the elaborately decorated parlor.
Even the few times she’d been in the quarters of the officers’ wives, she hadn’t seen so many pieces of fancy furniture. Each seemed to be buried under other objects. Chairs and a settee overflowed with cushions, and every surface—whether tables, bookcases, or shelves on the walls—brandished vases, figurines, boxes, and other decorative objects. The scent of dried rose petals in a glass bowl wafted to her. The constricted space made her feel big and clumsy.
“Come along, Mrs. Valleau,” Mrs. Cobb said in a sharp tone of voice. “I need to get back to the store. It’s a busy day for us, and I don’t want Mr. Cobb to handle everything alone. That man can upset my careful record-keeping in a matter of minutes.”
Antonia edged around a table that held several framed photographs and a carved box.
Mrs. Cobb led her to a bedroom housing an elaborately carved four-poster bed and pointed to a flower-painted screen in the corner. “Go behind there. Put on the drawers and chemise, then I’ll help you with a corset.” She glanced at Antonia’s waist with a pinched expression of disapproval.
Antonia found herself hustled behind the screen, and her fingers shook as she unfastened the Indian garb and slipped out of it. Good thing Mrs. Cobb doesn’t know I’m not wearing anything underneath my tunic. Pulling on the drawers and chemise, she realized how fine and light the material felt against her skin
Mr. Cobb came into the room, followed by a stout woman in a blue dress.
The woman gave Antonia a sharp glance from her close-set brown eyes. She pursed her lips. “I’m Mrs. Cobb. Mr. Cobb has filled me in on the situation.”
Surely it will be easier dealing with a woman. “I’ll need a new dress.”
“You certainly do.” The woman frowned, her face settling into a disapproving expression. “Can’t have you traipsing around looking like a heathen. And from the sight of you, you’ll need everything from the inside out.”
Antonia’s hackles rose. She held onto her temper by imagining Mrs. Cobb captured by the Indian braves and forced to live in their camp. The thought of the disagreeable woman wearing the garb of a squaw almost made her grin. She might just hunt down some of Jean-Claude’s Blackfoot friends and see if they’d oblige.
“You’re in luck.” Mrs. Cobb eyed Antonia up and down. “I think we have something that would fit you. On sale even, because the color doesn’t suit most women. Nor does the size. I was out visiting when Mr. Cobb made the order.” She shook her head in disapproval. “Can’t trust a man to do anything right when it comes to women’s fashions.”
Mr. Cobb made a garbled sound of protest.
His wife ignored him, bustling around the store, gathering articles of apparel, picking up some, muttering and putting them down before finding another. She held up a pair of knickers trimmed with crocheted lace.
The knickers were far finer than any Antonia had worn before as a young woman. Later, she’d followed the Indian custom of going without. Her cheeks heated, and she had to resist running over and snatching the drawers away from the shopkeeper and hiding them behind her back.
An uncomfortable look crossed Mr. Muth’s face. He dropped the nail back into the barrel and pointed to the other side of the store. “I’ll go look at the tools.” He hurried over to the wall where several hammers hung and lifted one off.
Mrs. Cobb waved to an inner door. “Follow me, Mrs. Valleau. I allow ladies to change in our private quarters.” The shopkeeper, her arms full, disappeared through a door.
Antonia cast a helpless look at Mr. Muth, who’d been watching her, instead of looking at the hammer he held.
Manlike, he made a face and shrugged, before turning to set the tool on a rack.
Antonia followed Mrs. Cobb into a short hallway and through another door. She stepped into the room and stopped short in surprise at the elaborately decorated parlor.
Even the few times she’d been in the quarters of the officers’ wives, she hadn’t seen so many pieces of fancy furniture. Each seemed to be buried under other objects. Chairs and a settee overflowed with cushions, and every surface—whether tables, bookcases, or shelves on the walls—brandished vases, figurines, boxes, and other decorative objects. The scent of dried rose petals in a glass bowl wafted to her. The constricted space made her feel big and clumsy.
“Come along, Mrs. Valleau,” Mrs. Cobb said in a sharp tone of voice. “I need to get back to the store. It’s a busy day for us, and I don’t want Mr. Cobb to handle everything alone. That man can upset my careful record-keeping in a matter of minutes.”
Antonia edged around a table that held several framed photographs and a carved box.
Mrs. Cobb led her to a bedroom housing an elaborately carved four-poster bed and pointed to a flower-painted screen in the corner. “Go behind there. Put on the drawers and chemise, then I’ll help you with a corset.” She glanced at Antonia’s waist with a pinched expression of disapproval.
Antonia found herself hustled behind the screen, and her fingers shook as she unfastened the Indian garb and slipped out of it. Good thing Mrs. Cobb doesn’t know I’m not wearing anything underneath my tunic. Pulling on the drawers and chemise, she realized how fine and light the material felt against her skin
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