Legacy of Honor

by Renae Brumbaugh Green

  She spun to face him. “He called me a spawn!”

  “I’m sorry.” And he truly did look sorry, with a weary sadness creasing the corners of his eyes.

  “What in the world did I ever do to him?” Emma tried to sidestep Riley, but he moved in front of her.

  “It’s not you—”

  “I just want to go home. Please step aside.”

  “Give us another chance. I put Allison in her place about how you were hired. I told her I’d heard the entire exchange. I think after hearing the story, my father’s respect for you raised a couple of notches. He’s got a lot on his mind right now.”

  Emma forced back the burning sensation in her eyes. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. “I’m sorry. But you haven’t told me anything that justifies what I heard in there.”

  “I know. Please don’t go.”

  “Mr. Stratton—“ Her voice cracked. “My mind is made up.”

  Defeat slumped Riley’s shoulders, but he moved out of the way. Under different circumstances, she might have felt sorry for him. He couldn’t help who his family was. But right now, she just wanted to get as far away from this God-forsaken place as she could.

  Chapter 3

  Emma tapped her foot in a steady rhythm, letting the comforting whir of the machine dull her thoughts. She may be powerless to fix anything about her life, but she could certainly stitch a professional hem. Good thing Mrs. Wesson hadn’t hired anyone to take her place by the time she made it back to town Monday afternoon.

  Two days had passed since that horrible scene at the Strattons. She’d gone over the events in her mind a hundred times, and for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what in the world would cause John Stratton to hate her so much. His attitude went far beyond the typical animosity between farmers and ranchers.

  Allison, she could figure out. She may have been a few years ahead of Emma in school, but she was easy to read. The woman valued coins more than character. Prestige more than personality. She cared more about what others thought of her than about who she really was.

  But John Stratton? Other than nodding occasionally when they had to pass each other at church or in the general store, she’d never spoken to the man. She’d considered sharing the story with Pa, but decided against it. He had enough on his mind right now. If he knew how she was treated, he’d feel like he had to go over there and defend her honor. And he was in no shape to defend anyone right now. What he needed was peace and quiet and a lot of rest.

  The shop door opened, casting a sliver of sunlight on the worn wooden floor. “I’ll be right with you,” she called without looking up. She finished her seam, gently cut the thread and tied it off, then draped the dress over the back of her chair before raising her head to the customer.

  John Stratton. And behind him was Riley, grinning like a circus monkey with a bag full of peanuts.

  Her breath caught, and she dropped her scissors. She resisted the urge to pick them up. Resisted the even stronger urge to flee to the back room. She had plenty she wanted to say to the man, but she was a lady. Like her handiwork with the needle, she knew when to keep her thoughts stitched tight. So instead, she lifted her chin and looked John Stratton directly in the eyes. “How may I help you?”

  “Good afternoon, Miss Monroe. I was wondering if I might persuade you to come back and work for us.”

  Emma worked hard to maintain her composure, but all her nervous energy had to go somewhere. It went to her left foot, which started shaking so hard it caused a thump-thump-thump on the wood floor. The sound hammered like the third woodpecker trying to peck his way into the ark.

  She cleared her throat, then licked her lips, which were suddenly very dry. “Why would you want me to do that?”

  The man gave her a half smile. Did he think he looked charming? More like a snake. She was surprised he didn’t speak with a hiss. “Because I haven’t had a decent meal in two days, and before that, it had been weeks. Because there’s a foul odor coming from the kitchen, and Allison is helpless when it comes to those things. Because my grandson, Davis, is cutting a tooth and screaming at all hours of the night, and none of us have gotten any sleep. Because no one else in three counties is willing to work for my daughter-in-law. Because my oldest son has come home with a child he can’t take care of. Because your mother knew how to keep our family’s business private, and didn’t wag her tongue all over town. I assume you’ll show similar discretion. And because I pay well, and I know you could use the money.”

  Emma took a moment to process all that. Donnigan had a child? Where was its mother? Poor woman, getting tied up with the Strattons. Poor child, who had no say in the matter. She raised her brows at the man. “And how, exactly, do you expect me to help with your lack of sleep?”

  “I’ll pay you three dollars a day if you’ll move into the guest bedroom. You can cook and clean and take care of Davis, and keep Donnigan’s little half-breed when she’s around.”

  Her stomach turned at the term half-breed, especially considering Mr. Stratton spoke of his own grandchild. She hadn’t thought she could like the man less.

  Given the sensitivity of Indian relations, she could see the Strattons’ quandary, their fear of alienation and shame. For a family who prided themselves on being the richest, the most cultured, the most sophisticated, this would certainly cause anxiety. Many in town had lost loved ones in skirmishes with the natives. Half-breed was a mild term, compared to some she’d heard.

  But people were just people, despite their heritage. Maybe she could do some good for those children. If she couldn’t be a teacher, maybe she could earn her living as a nanny. Her foot thumped even louder, though she tried her hardest to make it stop. Three dollars a day. That was a lot of money.

  But some things weren’t worth the money, no matter how much you needed it. “I’m a little confused, Mr. Stratton.” She lifted her chin in a way she hoped showed confidence. “Let’s not pretend you didn’t say some deplorable things about me the other day. I heard you. And you know I heard you.”

  The man removed his hat and ran calloused fingers through his graying hair. He looked annoyed that she didn’t succumb to his charm. But he seemed to consider his words heavily before he spoke. “Truth is, your father and I don’t have the best history. He took something that was rightfully mine. Don’t know if I’ll ever forgive him. But you’re not your Pa, and I ought not hold that against you, I reckon.”

  The more the man spoke, the faster her anger boiled. “My father is one of the most decent, God-fearing men I’ve ever met, sir, which quite frankly is more than I can say for you. How dare you come in here making accusations against him? Please explain yourself.”

  Stratton’s countenance remained unmoved except for a flash behind his eyes, like a tiger held back by a mosquito net. Fear stung her gut, but she held his gaze. Had she said too much?

  Riley stood like a startled deer, unable to move or speak.

  Stratton’s ears were the color of a lobster. “I’ve said my piece. Good day, Miss Monroe.” His voice was low and thin, forced. He placed his hat on his head and strode—no, stomped—to the door.

  “Dad...” Riley spoke with urgency, but if the man heard, he didn’t acknowledge it. He just shut the door behind him in an almost-slam that conveyed his irritation, but wouldn’t draw too much attention from passersby.

  Riley approached the counter and leaned on it, looking like a deflated rugby ball. His gaze seemed to plead with her as he spoke. “Look, here’s what I know. It was years ago. You and I weren’t even born yet. My father settled our land more than a decade before your father showed up. Dad staked our property, fair and square. But after he settled, he realized there were several natural springs at the bottom, just outside our borders...good, fertile land, with plenty of water so our cattle would never go hungry or thirsty. Even more land beyond that. But since he’d already laid his claim, he had to go through all kinds of headaches to extend that claim. Paperwork back and forth to Washington. Eve
n after hiring a lawyer, it took years to get everything straightened out. In the meantime, he’d already been using that land. He made improvements and irrigated it, even put up a fence. When he finally had all the papers ready, he had to go to Austin to sign it in person, before the state notary. When he got there, they told him the land had been claimed.”

  During this soliloquy, the door eased open a crack, and Emma had the sneaking suspicion someone was outside listening to their conversation.

  Riley continued. “He thought it must be a mistake. But sure enough, your father had claimed it based on a map. He hadn’t even arrived in Texas yet, and he’d already filed paperwork to claim that piece of property. When Dad got back from Austin, your father had just arrived in a covered wagon. Dad said your Pa had a campfire going and was eating beans out of a can. He’d already put up string lines where your house is now.”

  The door opened all the way, and John Stratton charged forward. His eyes held a blaze fueled by decades of animosity. “Riley, we’re leaving. Now. If you don’t come, you’ll be walking home.”

  Riley stood up straight and faced his father. “She has a right to know.”

  John Stratton pierced him with a near-murderous gaze. How could a father look at his own son with such malice? But then he turned to her and continued where Riley left off.

  “I thought surely, after realizing the land was ours, he’d leave. But he didn’t. I offered him well above market value for the property, but he said no. He wanted to farm that land, and he’d chosen it for the springs and the fertile soil. Never mind there was other fertile soil to be had...he refused to budge.” The words were more spat than spoken, his eyes bulged, and the veins on his neck popped out. “So all these years, he’s been sitting on my property, and I’m landlocked. I can’t connect to the acres on the other side, all because he refused to listen to reason.” He let out a string of expletives under his breath.

  For a long time, the only sound in the room was the tick-ticking of the small mantel clock Mrs. Wesson kept on the counter.

  Finally, Emma’s pounding heart slowed to a near normal pace, and she felt safe to speak again. “That land is legally ours. And from what you say, my father had no ill intent toward you. He didn’t even know of your existence when he claimed our property.”

  The skin around Mr. Stratton’s lips went as white as a pail of fresh milk. “Be that as it may, your father will never be one of my favorite people.”

  “I’m not sure I can work for you then, Mr. Stratton. Good day.” John Stratton may command fear in this town, but Emma refused to cower to a bully. Hopefully, she wouldn’t regret the decision later.

  The man glared, then nodded and turned to go, but Riley spoke up. “What Dad meant to say is, he’s real sorry for the unkind, unnecessary things he said about you, and he promises not to say anything like that again.”

  Mr. Stratton spun to face his son, and for a moment it looked like they’d have a brawl, right there between the gingham and notions.

  “Don’t go putting words in my mouth, boy.” Then the old rancher let out a low growl and shook his head. “We do need someone.” He looked at Emma. “We need someone who knows to keep her mouth shut. Whether it’s a family discussion or a lucrative business deal, anyone who works in our home is sure to hear some private conversations from time to time. Your mother knew how to be discreet. I’m inclined to believe you’ll be the same way. That said, I’m sure we can find somebody else to do it for three dollars a day.”

  The last thing in the world Emma wanted to do was go back to work for that awful man and his horrid daughter-in-law. But they did need the money. Pa needed medicine. At that rate, maybe she could set back some for teacher college. She breathed deep through her nose and tried not to show fear. “I’m afraid it’s out of the question for me to move into your home. My own father is ill, and my younger brother needs tending.”

  Both men looked at her, eyebrows lifted, as if in shock that she’d even continue the conversation.

  “I’ll need to lay some ground rules.”

  “Look here. You’re not in any position to—” Stratton’s neck turned an awful shade of red, like he’d burst a vessel.

  “Dad!” Riley whispered.

  The older man glared at his son, then back at her, and she feared the tiger would claw through the net at any moment. “What kinds of rules?” Mr. Stratton’s expression made gooseflesh rise on her arms, but she refused to look away.

  “First, the kitchen is my domain. When I’m in the house, the kitchen is off limits, except by my invitation.” She flashed a pointed look at Riley as she spoke.

  He had the audacity to grin. At least he looked at his feet while he did it.

  “Second, I’ll need a budget. Since I’ll be doing the cooking, I’ll need to do the shopping as well.”

  “That sounds reasonable.” The inferno in Stratton’s eyes smoldered to a flicker.

  “I’ll leave when the evening meal is prepared. You’ll have to serve yourselves. I’ll need to get home to see to my own family’s dinner.”

  Mr. Stratton hesitated, then nodded.

  “I won’t work Sundays.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “There will be no more cursing. Whether I’m present or not. There are children in your home, and if I’m to assume partial responsibility for their care, I’ll not have their ears tainted with such language.”

  “I can’t promise that, Miss Monroe.” John Stratton managed to look offended and amused at the same time. Riley cleared his throat and Stratton cut his eyes to his son, then back to Emma. “But I’ll try my best.”

  “Speaking of the children, I know nothing of Donnigan’s child. How old is he? What kind of care will he require, and how often?”

  “She’s around seven years old. I’ll have Donnigan bring her by to meet you, should you choose to return.”

  “Fair enough. And I’ll require $2.25 a day.”

  Mr. Stratton looked out the window, then back at her. “You drive a hard bargain, Miss Monroe. If I agree to your terms, does that mean we’ll see you in the morning?”

  “No. If you agree to my terms, it means I’ll go home and discuss it with my father. You’ll have my answer in a couple of days.”

  During this exchange, Riley’s gaze had followed them as if watching a duel, waiting to see who would fire first. But the only dead thing, at this point, was the conversation.

  After a long draw, Mr. Stratton spoke. “Two days. Then I’ll open the position up to other applicants. Thank you for your time, Miss Monroe.” He turned and left the store.

  Riley made no move to follow his father. Just eyed Emma as if she’d grown feathers.

  “Did you need something else?” She gave him a stare sharper than the needle in her hands.

  “Not much.” He chuckled. “Except with the way you argue, I’d have asked for $2.50.”

  She raised her brows at him. “With you barred from the kitchen, I’d be inclined to work for free.”

  Their eyes locked, and only moved when the bells over the door jangled and Mrs. Wesson returned from her lunch break.

  “Hello, dear. Oh, hello, Mr. Stratton. Did I miss anything?”

  Emma held Riley’s gaze a moment longer before greeting her employer. “Nothing to speak of.” If only Riley would stop looking at her like she was some kind of circus freak. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Stratton, I have work to do.” She sat down at her machine and spread the dress in front of her once again. Mrs. Wesson straightened a few things and headed for her office in the back of the store.

  When they were alone again, Riley spoke, his voice low. “Few have addressed my father that way and gotten away with it. That was...brilliant.”

  She ignored him. Tried, unsuccessfully, to thread the needle. Fiddled with the controls. Why wouldn’t he just leave? Oh, for goodness’ sake. Holding back had never been her strong suit. She sent him a glare. “I think it’s best you leave.”

  He bowed like a servant. “You
r wish is my command. Good day, Miss Monroe.”

  As she focused on her sewing again, his footsteps moved toward the exit. The door opened, then shut. It wasn’t until she heard his steps on the boardwalk outside, fading into the distance, that she allowed herself to look at the door.

  She was alone at last, and she no longer had to keep a tight rein on her emotions. She cradled her face in her hands and sobbed.

  Riley moved papers back and forth on his desk for the tenth time, at least. He couldn’t concentrate on anything except Emma Monroe and her decision. It had taken him the better part of two days to talk Dad into asking her to come back. With all the secret Stratton skeletons lurking in every corner of the house, it was imperative they have someone like Mrs. Monroe, who wasn’t a gossip. That’s the only reason Dad finally relented.

  After all that, if she turned down the job, he didn’t know what he’d do. He was determined to take care of the Monroe family one way or other. It sure would be easier if Emma worked here.

  Upstairs, Davis screamed. That tooth was taking entirely too long to come in. Dad and Colt could escape all day, but with Riley’s office right in the house, he couldn’t get anything done. Why in the world did he think he’d be good at bookkeeping? Just because he had a talent with numbers didn’t mean that was all he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

  His gaze caught on the shotgun mounted over his office door. Dad gave him that gun for his twelfth birthday. Taught him how to hunt with it. He’d killed his first deer with that gun, and he, Dad, and Colt skinned and processed it. Good times. He missed the outdoors. He was of a good mind to pull on his boots and dungarees and go for a ride. The more he thought about it, the more he knew exactly where he’d go.

  An hour later, he reined in Medina, his black and white paint horse, and tied her to a tree in a shady copse of oaks to one side of the Monroe home. On the porch, he knocked, then removed his hat while he waited.

  “Come in.” The invitation was followed by a fit of coughing.