Glorious Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series) by Debra Holland Page B

physical pressure on his body and made his ears buzz. Finally, he reached his family.
    Micah stood in front of his parents clutching the valise, a forlorn expression on his face.
    His father held one hand on Micah’s shoulder.
    Joshua’s heart clenched at his first good look at his parents. They’d aged in the last nine years. His father’s salt-and-pepper hair had turned all silver, his finely chiseled face had acquired more lines, but his features were still those of a scholar—not the type of scholar such as Abner Maynard, but a student of the Bible and shepherd of his fellow souls on earth. He wore an old rusty-black frock coat that Joshua remembered as being new—or at least, second-hand new.
    His mother, too, had grayed but still wore her hair pulled back in a tight bun. Her smile was as wide as ever, crinkling wrinkles on her face, and her blue eyes shone with joy. Her coat was too big for her small frame and was an unbecoming shade of brown.
    Since he hadn’t had a chance to savor the first greetings, Joshua swooped in for another hug for each parent, uncaring of the spectators. His Ugandan parishioners had taught him the importance of affectionate gestures. They were not afraid to embrace one another or to lift up their arms or clap their hands or even dance with joy during the church service. Quite a shock for his conservative sensibilities, but he’d come to value the outgoing expression of their feelings. Esther never had reconciled herself to their exuberance, and they’d argued when she tried to insist on making the congregation conform to a more staid form of worship.
    Thinking of his wife and the troubles in his marriage made him sad. While he didn’t regret his missionary work, in seeing how his parents had aged, Joshua wished he hadn’t left for so many years. He and Micah had missed too much time with them.
    Two men, both carrying toddlers, moved closer. One also had a youngster about Micah’s age at his side. The dark-haired, olive-complexioned boy had his father’s green eyes. “You won’t remember me,” the man said, taking off his hat and exposing his shoulder-length blond hair . “Jonah Barrett. Me and Seth Flanigan, here—” he lifted his shoulder in the direction of the dark-haired man “—have our wagons parked just yonder. We can see that your trunks get to the parsonage.”
    Mary Norton placed her hand on the man’s arm. “Dear Mr. Barrett, so kind of you to offer.”
    “Jonah Barrett?” Joshua stared, speechless, remembering the young man who’d been about five years older than him. Jonah’s drunken father had pulled him out of school after the death of his mother, and, from then on, he’d only glimpsed the other boy going into or out of the saloon.
    “Yes, indeed,” Jonah said, extending his hand to shake. “I wanted to thank you for that time I showed up in the middle of the church service looking like a rag-picker. Hadn’t attended for years since my ma died. You. . .young shaver that you were. . .got up from your pew, calmly walked down the aisle, took my hand, and escorted me up front to sit with you.”
    Joshua had forgotten that incident, but as Jonah mentioned it, the memory came. Mostly he recalled his instinctive wish to give some comfort to a young man whom he could tell was hurting and out of place.
    “Scalawag that I was to them, the whole congregation was burning holes in my back,” Jonah added.
    “Mine, too,” Joshua grinned.
    “I never returned to church.” Jonah gestured to a woman holding the hand of two boys who looked to be about four and six. “Until Lina, that is. This is my wife, Mrs. Barrett.”
    The pride in Jonah’s voice and the look of love he gave his plump Italian-looking wife made a lump rise in Joshua’s throat. Who would have thought Jonah’s unhappy situation would turn out so well?
    Jonah jiggled the small girl in his arms. “But I never forgot your kindness. I had very little kindness. . . . What there was