Montana Love Letter. Charlotte Carter

      He laughed a bitter sound. What irony that he’d be attracted to a woman with a degree in anthropology when he’d barely made it through high school with straight D’s.

      Vern, his mechanic and tow-truck driver, ambled into the garage. His hands stuffed in the pockets of his overalls, he glanced at Janelle’s car, which was still parked where he’d left it yesterday.

      “Hey, boss. That lady and her little girl find someplace to stay last night? Didn’t figure there’d be any rooms left in town, what with the festival ’n’ all.”

      “They stayed in Grandma’s cottage out back.”

      “You don’t say.” His pale blue eyes twinkling, he lifted his grimy baseball cap, scratched his head and resettled his cap. “Didn’t know you was in the hotel business.”

      Adam shoved away from his desk and stood. “I couldn’t very well tell them to sleep in the car.”

      “No, sir. That’s a fact, all right. You gotta take good care of your customers. Particularly them that are real good-lookin’ ladies.” Vern’s amused grin grated on Adam.

      Scowling, Adam gestured to the Buick sitting on the lift. “Why don’t you get back to work on Hardison’s transmission? I promised he could pick it up by noon today.”

      “Sure thing, boss. If you want to keep that pretty little lady a secret, no problem. My lips are sealed. Yes, sirree.” He made a zipping motion across his grinning mouth.

      A muscle twitched in Adam’s jaw. “Get busy, old man, or I’ll tell Mama Machak at the diner that you’ve been bad-mouthing her chicken and dumplings all around town.”

      Laughing, Vern threw up his hands in surrender. “Don’t do that, son. Without her weekly special of chicken and dumplings, and them pies she makes, I’d starve to death.”

      With a shake of his head and a grin stuck on his face, he sauntered over to the Buick.

      Adam wished he could wipe that grin off, but that would be dumb. Vern was too perceptive by far, recognizing Adam enjoyed Janelle’s company more than a little.

      An anthropology major? Some chance he’d have with her.

      * * *

      At the Arthur Cummings Municipal Park near the public docks, Adam went off to find his fellow musicians while Janelle and the girls strolled through the milling crowd. They browsed booths exhibiting handmade crafts—blown glass, ceramics, quilts and jewelry. A display of exquisite handmade dolls tempted Janelle, but they were more for show than for play so she passed them by. Raeanne wasn’t old enough yet to appreciate the fine craftsmanship.

      Meanwhile, Adam’s band wasn’t on stage yet. Instead, a bluegrass band played in the gazebo, their audience seated on folding chairs in the shade of a canopy or scattered around the open grassy area on blankets. Each family group boasted a colorful picnic basket. Toddlers and young children swayed to the rhythm of the music.

      The lake provided a backdrop for the event. Near the far shore, sailboats cut through the blue water, leaving a narrow wake behind them. Closer at hand, water-

      skiers whizzed by pulled by high-powered motorboats that carefully remained outside the roped-off swimming area.

      Smoke from a barbecue floated on the breeze blowing in from the lake.

      “Do you girls want to eat your lunch now?” Janelle asked. “Or do you want to wait until Hailey’s dad is done playing?”

      “Let’s eat now,” Hailey said. “Dad’s friend Charlie always has them playing a long set. We’d get too hungry waiting for him to finish.”

      When Raeanne caught the scent of hot dogs, she tugged Janelle in the direction of the hot-dog stand sponsored by Bear Lake Community Church. A half-dozen teenagers were staffing the operation, supervised by an older woman wearing a colorful butcher apron.

      Janelle ordered three hot dogs, three lemonades and bags of chips, then carried them all to a shady spot under a big oak tree where they sat down not far from the

      gazebo.

      “Be careful, now. Don’t spill on your clean blouse,” she admonished Raeanne. She’d only packed enough clothes for a couple of weeks. Once she was settled somewhere, a friend would ship her the rest of their personal belongings. Until then, clothing choices were limited and access to a washer and dryer increasingly urgent.

      Sitting with her legs bent beside her, Janelle took a bite of her hot dog. The bluegrass musicians, who looked to be all in their eighties or older, ended their performance to appreciative applause. As they packed up their instruments, she spotted Adam and his friends taking their place on the stand.

      “Has your dad always played guitar?” Janelle asked.

      “I guess so. He and his buddies play for church services sometimes.”

      “That’s nice.” Janelle had drifted away from attending church during her marriage. Raymond hadn’t been interested in religion. Now that she was on her own, finding a church was high on her to-do list. Maybe she’d join the choir, too, if she could find a sitter for Raeanne during evening practices.

      But that would wait until much later, when Raeanne had regained her self-confidence and happy spirit.

      The five men in Adam’s group wore Western-cut shirts and jeans and had matching red bandannas tied around their necks. Stetsons completed their outfits.

      Adam’s black hat tipped rakishly on the back of his head, giving him the look of a swaggering, country bad boy. She smiled at the image, so in contrast to his actual personality.

      One of the other men cracked a few corny jokes then introduced the group: Sons of Bear Lake. The locals seemed to recognize them and sent up a cheer.

      The banjo player started off with some fancy plucking, and then the violin dueled with the banjo, the two of them bowing and plucking so fast both instruments were nearly set on fire. After a long run of manic scales, they finished to the hoots, hollers and whoops of the crowd. Both men were sweating profusely.

      “My goodness.” Janelle laughed and put her arm around Raeanne. “I’ve never heard anything like that before.”

      “That’s Charlie Brooks on the banjo and Tiny Tim playing violin,” Hailey said.

      “They’re great. Both of them.”

      Slowing the pace, the group played “Come, Come, Come to Me,” a hymn familiar to Janelle. She sang along with the chorus and so did Hailey. Raeanne smiled and rocked to the beat but didn’t utter a sound.

      A lump the size of a boulder closed Janelle’s throat, and the burn of tears stung her eyes. She’d willingly give every dime she owned if someone could erase the memory that had stolen her beautiful baby girl’s voice, locking her in her silent world.

      * * *

      The Sons of Bear Lake performed for nearly an hour. When they’d packed up their instruments, Adam joined Janelle and the girls.

      “So what did you think?” He sat on the grass and placed his guitar case next to him.

      “You were all great,” Janelle said. “We sang along with the songs we knew.”

      “Raeanne didn’t,” Hailey said. “She can’t sing.”

      Adam feigned shock. “You can’t sing?”

      Solemn-faced, Rae shook her head.

      “Well, now, that’s a real shame.” He opened his case and lifted his guitar, strumming a few chords. “Say, I bet I know a song you could help me sing.”

      Looking unconvinced, Rae eyed his guitar.

      Janelle held her breath. She didn’t want Raeanne to feel pressured into talking. The therapist had told her to let speech return naturally.

      “Okay, here we