“It seems you’ve recovered.”
“Appearances can be misleading.”
Emma bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “If you’re expecting an apology, you’ll be waiting a long time, Mr. Stratton.”
“Oh, I’d never expect that from you, though I’ll surely carry the wound with me to my grave.”
She cut her eyes at him, then looked back at the road. Why did he have to be so handsome? And so likeable? “Only until then? Not into eternity?”
“Probably into heaven as well, where I’ll lay it, weeping, at the good Lord’s feet.”
“Well I’m glad to hear you have hope of laying it down at some point.”
Riley parked the surrey in front of the general store, climbed down, and helped her out. “I’ll meet you back here in a half hour?”
Emma looked at the menu again, along with the list she’d made earlier. “Better make it 45 minutes.”
He tipped his hat, and she felt him watching as she walked to the door, which she shut behind her. If only she could shut out the feelings she wished she didn’t have for him. Because now that she’d seen the Stratton family up close, there was no way she’d want to marry into that group.
“Miss Monroe. I’ve missed seeing you. Are you enjoying your new position at the Stratton Ranch?” Virginia Smith, proprietress of the general store along with her husband Glyn, came around the counter and offered Emma a warm hug.
Better not to comment on her feelings about her new job. “I didn’t realize how much I’d miss seeing everyone in town each day. But I’m here now, and I need a favor.” She pulled out the menu. “I’ve been asked to prepare these dishes for a special dinner Thursday evening, and I’m not familiar with them. Can you help me?”
Virginia took the paper and read the words under her breath. “Veal Collops? Vermicelli Soup? German Trifle? Crullers? Sounds pretty fancy, if you ask me. Glyn prefers good ol’ steak and potatoes, so I’m afraid I can’t help you. Unless…” She studied the page. “Did Allison Stratton give you this?”
“Yes.”
Virginia hurried behind the counter. “She gets several of those hoity-toity women’s journals. They come in the mail every month. I’ll bet this page is from one of them. Surely they would have included the recipes. I wonder why she didn’t give you those, as well.”
“Yes, I wonder…” Emma refrained from further comment.
Virginia rifled through a stack of mail. “Sometimes they send an extra copy, hoping we’ll carry them in the store. Seems like I saw one just the other day. Here it is! Let’s see if this is the one.”
They flipped through the pages, and sure enough, the style and typeset matched up. But was it the correct issue?
There, toward the end of the circular, was the very page Emma held in her hand. And the next several pages contained recipes for each dish. Thank you, God! Emma realized, even as the short prayer of thanksgiving swept through her thoughts, that she hadn’t spoken to God much lately. At least, not until Donnigan nearly scared her witless that morning. How could she, after He took her mother from her? From all of them? Still, she recognized the hand of Providence in this morning’s events. And thank You for rescuing me from Donnigan. That would have to do for now.
Before long, she and Virginia had accumulated quite a pile on the counter, and she still had to make a stop at the butcher for veal. Good thing she had Riley to help her carry the boxes. Imagine, the Strattons lived on a cattle ranch, with all the fine cuts of steak they could ever want, and Allison chose to serve veal for dinner! Well, if it was veal she wanted, then veal she’d get.
“May I leave these boxes until I finish my other errands?”
“Of course. They’ll be right here.”
On the sidewalk in front of the General Store, Emma heard her name. She turned to find Clara Bridges. Her dear friend had been at Baylor Female College for the past several months.
“Oh, Emma.” The sympathy in Clara’s face brought that burning feeling behind Emma’s eyes. Why was it that when people were awful to her, she stiffened, but when people showed compassion and kindness, it was nearly her undoing? She’d almost rather folks be rude here in public. At least then she wouldn’t have to worry about crying and making a spectacle of herself.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t be here for…” Clara drew Emma into a tight hug, but didn’t finish the sentence. “I’m just so sorry.”
“Thank you. It’s been...difficult. When did you arrive home?” Hopefully a change in subject would save her from becoming a blubbering embarrassment to them both.
“Last Saturday. I was planning to come visit you this week. Do you have any time to get together?”
“Clara. We’re late.” The mayor’s voice didn’t sound harsh, but it did sound urgent.
“Coming.” Clara turned back to Emma. “I’m so sorry. Papa is running for re-election, and he’s filled my schedule with public appearances for the next two weeks. I’ll find you soon and we’ll make plans.” She embraced Emma once more before hurrying toward her father.
Emma nodded and watched her friend bustle into the midday crowd, her tailored violet dress and fashionable plumed hat causing her to stand out in the otherwise drab brown and white scene.
They were to have shared a room next year. What will my future look like now?
The next morning, Riley paced in front of the carriage house. What was taking Emma so long? He was half tempted to meet her on the road, but he didn’t want to appear too excited. She seemed to see him as two parts clown, anyway. Why was that? And why did it matter?
It mattered because for the first time in a long time, he cared what somebody thought. He respected Emma. He wanted her to respect him. Where was she?
He was just about to go against his good sense and saddle Medina when the sound of her buggy drifted from the road. He sat on a stool and examined an old piece of rope as if it was the most interesting thing he’d seen in years.
“Good mornin’, Miss Monroe.” Joe’s voice called from the front drive. Riley had nearly forgotten about Joe meeting her here every morning.
“Good morning to you, Joe. Isn’t it a beautiful day?”
Her voice sounded lighter than he’d heard it since their school days. A jealous pang rose in his gut, but he pushed it back down. It was just Joe. Surely she didn’t see him as...did she? She was way too good for Joe.
Why did it matter to him, anyway?
It mattered because he was trying his best to take care of her, was all. Joe was a wanderer. He was decent enough, but Emma could do better. If Mrs. Monroe were here, she’d steer her daughter away from a lowly ranch foreman who, at nearly 30, still slept in a bunkhouse with a dozen other men. Emma deserved better.
He should intervene. As her friend.
Her friend. If he kept telling himself that, maybe he’d start to believe it.
He didn’t like the turn of his thoughts. What was it about Miss Emma Monroe that made him feel like a kid outside a candy store without a nickel?
He heard the horse and buggy draw to a stop outside the carriage house, and from his vantage point he watched Joe’s tall shadowed silhouette assist her slim form to the ground.
“A beautiful day it is, Miss Monroe.”
“Here, Joe. I brought you some cookies. I like to try new recipes. There’s plenty there for you and all the hands.”
“Why, thank you. I know the boys will appreciate it. These will be gone by evening.”
“Bring the basket back, and I’ll refill it.”
“I’ll surely do it, ma’am.”
Then, gentle footsteps retreated in the direction of the house, while Joe climbed aboard and drove Sugar through the wide carriage house doors. He spotted Riley first thing, and cast him a cat-ate-the-canary grin.
“Waiting for me?” Joe asked.
Riley stood up and gathered the rope in both hands. “As a matter of fact, I needed some rope. I found some, so...I guess I’ll see you later.”
“Have a nice day, Mr. Stratton.”
Joe chuckled behind him while Riley walked to the kitchen entrance. He didn’t see anything funny at all. At the back door, he stashed the rope beside the porch and knocked.
Emma answered. She looked as pretty as the spring flowers, just starting to sprinkle the roadsides. “Good morning, Mr. Stratton.”
Her voice didn’t sound nearly as song-like as it had with Joe. Well, maybe his news would help.
“Good morning, Miss Monroe. I wanted to speak with you about the project we discussed yesterday.”
Just as he’d hoped, her face broke into a sunshine smile and she held open the door for him. “Come in. Did you talk to your father?”
“I did.”
“I haven’t started the coffee yet. I need to light the stove, if you’ll give me just a moment.”
“Here, let me help with that.” Riley made quick work of adding wood and starting the fire.
“Thank you, Mr. Stratton. That wasn’t necessary, but I do appreciate it.” After measuring the coffee and setting the pot to boil, she sat down at the kitchen table and gestured for him to sit across from her. “I have some cookies I was planning to serve at lunch. Would you like some now?”
He felt a little better knowing she hadn’t given all the cookies to Joe. “I’d love some, thank you.”
She placed a large tin in front of him and opened the lid to reveal golden-brown oatmeal raisin cookies.
He tasted one, and it had a hint of cinnamon and something else he couldn’t identify. “This is delicious. Any chance I could keep them all for myself?”
“There’s always a chance, depending on what you tell me about Skye.” She flashed him a sassy grin, and his heart did a little flip. Did she know the effect she had on him? Was she using it to her advantage?
No. Emma Monroe was a lot of things, but manipulative wasn’t one of them. Nor deceptive. And that knowledge only added to her allure. “Then I’ll get right to it. Dad thinks it’s a good idea for Skye to help you. ‘Good training,’ he said.”
Emma clapped her hands together like a child being offered a pony ride. “I’m so glad! I hardly slept last night, thinking about her.”
“There’s just one hitch.” He hated this part—it only confirmed what he already knew. His family had their priorities all out of order. “He doesn’t want to see her. Ever.”
“What do you mean? How can she work here without him seeing her?”
“That’s the catch. You’ll have to keep her out of sight when he’s around. It usually won’t be a problem, since you only see him at meals. And if she’s gone by the time he gets home in the evenings, I figured you could just hide her away when he’s around.”
Disgust and disapproval soaked into her features, drowning any remnant of the childlike delight. “Mr. Stratton, a child is not an object that can be stowed in a closet when the lord of the manor stops in.” With one swift motion, she picked up the lid to the cookie tin and replaced it with a clack.
“I know. But those are his conditions. Take it or leave it.”
She drew the tin toward her, as if guarding it from further enjoyment by the enemy. A myriad of emotions played across her face before she spoke again. “I suppose I’ll have to take it.” Then she removed a corner of the lid, took out one more cookie, and placed it before him. “Thank you for speaking to him about it.”
She stood, and with a swish of her skirts, stowed the tin on a high shelf and dusted her hands. “The rest of those will have to wait until lunch. Now, do I need to fetch her myself?”
“I thought we might do that together, after breakfast.”
She nodded. Then she retrieved the flour, a bowl, and a few other items and began mixing biscuits, he presumed. He should leave. But she fascinated him. Everything she did, every move she made, had purpose. Her purpose, it seemed, was to take care of others. Her father. Her brother. Now Skye.
Purpose.
What’s my purpose? Do I even have one?
After a few moments of him staring at her, Emma stopped her work and gave him a dismissive nod, as if she were the queen of England dismissing a servant.
Chapter 6
Emma was so anxious to gather her new protégé, she nearly dropped the pan she washed while the Stratton family ate breakfast. Add to that, she’d come dangerously close to spilling coffee on the senior Mr. Stratton’s sleeve and had nearly poured gravy on the bowl of blackberry preserves. She’d better just slow down, take some deep breaths, and think about the magnitude of what was to come.
She actually had a chance to teach. One student, yes. But the idea of hiding Skye away during mealtimes was actually becoming more attractive. Why, she could set up a small desk in the massive pantry where Skye could do schoolwork. Surely she wasn’t far behind the other children. Perhaps Emma could have her caught up by next school year.
But after the family finished their meal, when Emma thought surely she and Riley would fetch the child, Allison called Emma into the parlor.
“Have a seat,” the woman said.
Why did Emma feel like something bad was about to happen?
“How are your plans for Thursday evening coming?”
“I believe I have everything under control, Mrs. Stratton.”
“Good. Because this is a very important dinner. I took the liberty of ordering you two work uniforms. I’d like you to start wearing them when you’re here. It just seems more...professional.”
Work uniforms? What on earth was she talking about?
Allison retrieved a folded stack of clothing from a side table and handed it to Emma. “You can start now.”
“You...want me to wear these?”
“Yes. Do you have a problem with that?” Allison’s smug look begged for Emma to protest.
“Uh...no, ma’am. I...suppose I can use the privy to change?”
“That will be fine.”
Emma resisted the urge to examine the clothes then and there. Instead, she sat in stiff silence, waiting to be dismissed.
“That will be all.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She gathered the stack of coarse, folded broadcloth and headed for the fancy indoor privy. Though she’d cleaned it many times in the past weeks, she had never allowed herself to actually use the thing. Instead, she headed for the outhouse when she had need.
But this room… It had an engraved porcelain toilet that actually flushed away the waste, and a matching porcelain tub with running water. She couldn’t imagine the amount of money it took for such extravagance. And all for human waste! It seemed absurd. Still, a part of her longed to try it for herself.
Not today. For now, this was a dressing room and nothing more. Once the door was secured and locked, she sat on the closed toilet lid and examined her new uniform. It was truly the most hideous thing she’d ever seen.
The black dress was gathered at the neck, but had no defined waist. It looked like a big black potato sack. The white apron had straps at the shoulders which crisscrossed at the back and loosely attached at the hips. Again, no definition or shape. And to top off the ensemble was a white, ruffled mobcap. She’d seen pictures of these caps, worn during Revolutionary times, but in 1880? She’d look ridiculous. Why on earth would Allison require such a thing?
Then it occurred to her. She wanted Emma to look ridiculous. It was a challenge...and Emma would take it. What was it to her what she wore while she cooked and cleaned?
But once she changed her clothes and examined her reflection in the full-length mirror, she truly did feel humiliated. Somehow, she’d have to find the courage to walk out that door and show herself to the world. Or at least, to the Strattons.
Something flickered in her memory, and she sat on the toilet once again and recalled her mother’s words. “When everything in the world seems terrible, find one flicker of light, one small piece of hope, and focus on that. It might only be a single flower in the midst of a garden full of weeds, but focus on the flower. You’ll always find something to be thankful fo
r, if you look hard enough.”
She pressed her palms against her eyes to push the tears back in. “Ma, I wish you were here.”
Her mother’s face faded from her mind’s eye, and Skye’s came into view. This ugly dress and cap were nothing. She had a student. A child, who needed her. And she still had her father, who never once felt the need to hide her away or humiliate her. And a younger brother who, despite his current aversion to baths, was kindhearted and decent and respectful and intelligent...yes, she had much to be thankful for.
Someone tapped on the door. “Emma? Are you all right? You’ve been in there a while.” Allison’s false concern provided just the encouragement Emma needed to hold up her chin and march out of the room.
She gathered her things, put on her most dignified countenance, and opened the door.
Riley waited twenty minutes before going in search of Emma. What he found was Allison, pacing back and forth in front of the privy as if Santa himself would pop through the door at any moment.
“Where’s Emma?”
“Our maid,” she replied, disdain clinging to her words like foam on a stagnant pond, “is changing into her uniform.”
“Uniform?”
“Yes. I thought it would be more appropriate for her to wear a uniform, especially in light of Thursday evening.” Allison tilted her head up and back, and he could see her nostril hairs.
“Thursday evening?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.” She put both hands on her hips. “It’s a very important evening. For you, especially.”
“For me?” Why did he have the sudden urge to run for the hills?
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Riley. Would you stop responding to everything with a question?”
“I don’t know what on earth you’re talking about, Allison. Why in the world is Thursday night important for me?”
Allison leered at him, stepped closer, and brushed a bit of imaginary dust off Riley’s shoulder. “Let’s just say it’s time for you to stop being a little boy, and start acting like a man.”
Legacy of Honor Page 6
