Her Montana Man. Cheryl St.John

only a month ago. Reaching the shade of an ancient sycamore, she sat on the grass, tucking her skirts around her, to await dismissal.

      Four years ago she’d persuaded the town council to replace the wood frame schoolhouse with brick by telling them of the hazard from flying sparks cast by the woodstove. They’d insisted on painting the building white, and she’d had no problem with that as long as the children were safe. She’d supervised construction herself, as well as donated half the bricks, plus a fireplace and chimney.

      A team and wagon driven by a young farmhand in a straw hat rolled to a stop near the sound little structure. The same fellow came to town each day to collect sons and daughters from outlying farms. School remained in session until fall when the children were needed to work in the fields.

      The door opened. Miss Fletcher used a hook and eye from the door to the rail on the banister to hold it open. A line of children streamed from the building into the sunlight, some running, others chatting with friends.

      Tyler’s pale blond hair stood out from the others’, and Eliza Jane’s heart swelled with tenderness as it had every time she’d seen him since the moment he was born.

      He walked between two other boys, their heads bent over something Timmy Hatcher held in his cupped palm. Timmy spoke and Tyler and the other boy nodded and laughed.

      Eliza stood and walked to the hard dirt path that led from the school toward town. Girls with braids passed with shy greetings.

      Tyler looked up and spotted her waiting. He said a hasty goodbye to his friends and continued forward. He used to run to her, eager for a hug, but he would turn eight his next birthday, and he saved his hugs for bedtime now. She extended a hand, but he pretended he didn’t see it and walked beside her, two books under his arm.

      “Did Miss Fletcher give two assignments for this evening?” she asked.

      “Yep. The arithmetic is hard, too.”

      “Fortunate for you, you’re such a smart boy,” she replied.

      He nodded in all seriousness. “Mikey Kopeke has a harder time. And his dad don’t let him do his homework cause he has chores.”

      “A lot of the children have chores,” she said. “Their parents need them to help with the animals and the crops more than they need them to memorize times tables.”

      “Papa says when you know your times tables and letters you don’t have to work so hard all your life.”

      Eliza Jane felt a little sick, the way she always did at the sight or mention of Royce Dunlap. “Papa’s right about getting a good education,” she told him. Tyler loved Eliza Jane’s brother-in-law with the fierce loyalty a boy felt for his father, even though Royce was forever preoccupied with new business ventures and office matters. More often than not her heart ached for Tyler. No child should go through what he had with an ill mother and an emotionally distant father. Especially not this child.

      “Mama’s having a pretty good day today,” she told him, trying to sound assuring. Days like this were so much easier on him.

      “But she won’t get better,” he said, without looking at her.

      Her chest ached at the truth as well as the fact that someone so young and vulnerable had to face it. It was unfair that he had to learn about life this way. “No, Tyler. She won’t get better.”

      He glanced up at her then, his blue eyes sad and trusting. If she could change the world for this boy, she would. She hated feeling helpless. She hated feeling responsible.

      But most of all, Eliza hated feeling guilty.

      Chapter Three

      It was a warm sunlit afternoon, and they walked the rest of the way home in silence, pausing at the wrought iron gate to admire Sutherland’s finest cherry-red brick, the clean lines of the white window caps and functional green shutters. Eliza loved the irregular Italianate architecture. There were two stories and an attic in the main section and two stories in the jutting side section where the sitting and dining rooms were down and an immense sunroom up. In front, the main part featured a jutting two-story section with windows on three sides on each floor and a balcony atop.

      A Queen Anne porch had been added for her mother several years after the original construction. The home and its rooms held memories of her parents and many good times when her sister was young and not feeble. They were memories Eliza treasured, even though her heart broke with each recall. They entered the house, and she sent Tyler upstairs for time alone with Jenny Lee.

      Nora Cahill, their neighbor, greeted Tyler on her way down the stairs to the foyer. She turned to watch him climb to the top and disappear along the hallway to Jenny Lee’s room. Nora turned a saddened gaze on Eliza. “I don’t even know what to say to the child anymore.”

      Eliza’s parents had lived in this house from the time Eliza had been a toddler, and Nora and her husband had lived next door all those years. As children she and Jenny Lee had played with Nora’s daughter, Vernelle, who had eventually married and moved East. When Eliza’s mother’s heart had weakened and she had lingered for weeks, Nora had been a blessing. Years later Nora had comforted the adult sisters when their father had died.

      “None of us thought Jenny Lee would hold on this long. Your mother used to dread her dying. Maybe it’s best she’s not here for the end.”

      Eliza loved Nora like an aunt, but that comment silenced her. She would much rather have her mother alive today, no matter what.

      “Thank you for these afternoons,” she said with heartfelt gratitude. If Jenny Lee hadn’t insisted a year ago that Eliza take an hour to herself each day, there would probably be weeks at a stretch that she never left the house or her sister’s side. She needed the nourishing time to draw on inner strength, to think and to plan.

      And she had a plan.

      “You know I’m happy to come over any time,” Nora told her. “I left a couple loaves of bread rising. You can bake them later.”

      Eliza leaned to give her a quick hug and then saw her to the door. Closing it, she turned to gaze up the stairway. It had grown more and more difficult to keep a cheerful attitude and guard her expression. Her sister looked nothing like the fun-loving, lovely young girl Eliza wanted to remember, but she steadfastly held her sorrow at bay. Jenny and Tyler needed her now more than ever.

      After a difficult moment, she drew a fortifying breath, gathered her skirts and purposefully trod one stair at a time. The worn banister was familiar and comforting to her touch. She knew the number of steps and which ones creaked. The house was her solace, her haven. She could find her way around in the pitch dark without effort. The thought of leaving had always been too much to bear…until now. Any comfort she’d once drawn here had been spoiled by her brother-in-law’s presence.

      The door to Jenny Lee’s room was always open unless Royce went in to visit her alone, which happened rarely anymore. A year ago, he’d moved to another room down the hall. Eliza had offered to bring a cot for him if he was afraid of disturbing his wife’s rest; she had even suggested two smaller beds instead of the one that had been her parents’, but he declined.

      She thought he could have been more attentive and helpful. His moving from the room caused Eliza more work. Now she needed to check on her sister throughout the night. But she’d learned that defying Royce’s decisions and demands only caused more trouble, and she had to keep things calm for Jenny Lee’s sake.

      Tyler was sitting on the side of the bed, his expression animated as he finished telling Jenny Lee something about Timmy Hatcher. Jenny’s adoring smile was already thin. As much as she loved to hear about Tyler’s day and cling to those last vestiges of normal life, she could only mask the pain and fatigue for brief spells. When she saw Eliza Jane, regret and relief warred in her sunken eyes.

      Immediately interpreting unspoken clues, Tyler kissed Jenny Lee’s cheek before easing himself to stand beside the bed. “I’ll come back to see you after supper, Mama.”