Legacy of Honor

by Renae Brumbaugh Green

“You’re not making any sense.”

  Before Allison could respond, the door opened, and Emma stepped out in the most ridiculous looking get-up he’d seen since P. T. Barnum last brought his travelling circus to these parts. Without thinking, Riley snorted, then let out a guffaw that quickly escalated into a full-fledged attack of hilarity. By the time he realized Emma wasn’t smiling, but Allison was, the damage was done.

  He should have bolted when he had the urge.

  “I hope this is to your liking, Mrs. Stratton,” Emma said.

  “It’s perfect. Please be sure to wear that at all times when you’re working. Even when you make trips to town on our behalf. We have a reputation to uphold.”

  Allison didn’t even try to hide the condescension in her attitude.

  Suddenly, Allison looked every bit a spider, Emma her prey. He had to do something. Save Emma from...he wasn’t sure what. He looked at Allison. “You’re joking, right? You’re not really going to make her wear that, are you?”

  Allison smiled her wicked smile. “Of course she’ll wear it. She’s a servant. I’d think she’d be grateful not to muss up her everyday things.”

  “Allison, I hardly think—“

  “It’s all right, Mr. Stratton.” Emma adjusted the ill-fitting sack. “She’s right. It will be so much easier not to have to worry about what I’ll wear to work. Now if that’s all, I have much to do.”

  Allison nodded curtly and watched Emma retreat to the kitchen.

  “Why are you doing this?” Anger bubbled from deep in his bowels.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s perfectly acceptable for household staff to wear a black and white uniform.”

  “In London, maybe. Not in Lampasas, Texas.”

  “We may live in Lampasas, but that doesn’t mean we have to be socially backward. It’s our duty to set an example for others in the community. Give them something to aspire to.”

  “You think people around here will aspire to wear that?”

  Allison rolled her eyes. “You’re a man. You wouldn’t understand. About Thursday night—you should wear evening apparel.”

  “You want me to come to dinner in my long johns?”

  “Riley Stratton, you’re impossible. You know exactly what I meant. Don’t you have work to do?” Why was it that every time he annoyed his sister-in-law, she reminded him of his job?

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” He left her standing in the hallway and exited through the front door. No use in her knowing he was about to go for a short ride with their newly-clad maid.

  Emma opened the back door when he knocked and sailed past him with an icy blast that could have frosted over the early spring blooms. She didn’t say a word, just made a black-and-white beeline for the carriage house, like some kind of angry flying insect.

  “Emma.”

  She lifted her chin but didn’t respond. That’s when he saw the moisture in her eyes, the deep red of her neck and cheeks. Was she trying not to cry?

  “Emma, I’m sorry.”

  “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Mr. Stratton.” Her voice came out thin and tight.

  “Yes I do. I shouldn’t have laughed.” Why did I laugh? I’m such a baboon.

  “It’s your house. You have every right to behave however you please.”

  “Emma. It’s just...the dress. It took me by surprise, is all. I don’t claim to understand Allison. She’s an imbecile, as far as I’m concerned. But as far as uniforms go, you make that thing look as good as anybody could.”

  More silence.

  He’d better stop talking. Something told him he was only making things worse. I finally decide to do something a little bit noble, and I end up making the object of that nobility even more miserable. He could kick himself. Curse himself and his stupid family. He definitely needed more practice at this do-gooder thing. Medina whinnied, as if scolding him for not knowing the right thing to say, and she was right.

  How could he fix Emma’s day, or at least make it a little better? She deserved more joy in her life.

  That gave him an idea. Instead of the buggy….

  “What do you say we take Sugar and Medina? Skye can ride back with you on Sugar.”

  “I’m hardly dressed for horseback riding.”

  “My mother wore men’s dungarees under her skirts when she rode. There’s a pair of her old ones in the tack room, if you’d like to try them.”

  She looked like she wanted to consider it. Her eyes flashed to the house, as if expecting Allison to pounce at any moment.

  “Don’t worry. Allison’s had her fun with you for today. She’ll retire to her room and we won’t see her for another two hours, at least.”

  “I look ridiculous enough as it is. Can you imagine all this on horseback?” She gestured to the austere, shapeless garb.

  “Who’s going to see you? Besides Skye and Donnigan, and, well, it looks like they’ll have to get used to that get-up like the rest of us.”

  She gave a curt nod, and Riley led her to the tack room, removed his mother’s dungarees and a pair of her boots from the shelf and placed them on a bench, then shut the door behind him on his way out. Any other time, he’d have taken a little more time with anything that belonged to his mother. But Emma seemed so fragile at the moment, he didn’t want to do anything to cause her to change her mind.

  He led Sugar out of her stall and found an extra saddle. He’d just readied both horses when she emerged, looking the same except for a light of mischief behind her eyes.

  Without comment, he held out his hand to help her onto her horse.

  She accepted, but paused before she hiked her skirt up, revealing just enough leather and denim to make him want to see more. He averted his eyes, even though he hadn’t seen anything inappropriate, and cleared his throat. This woman sent his emotions on a runaway Ferris wheel ride.

  “It is rather ridiculous looking, isn’t it?” Emma asked once she was in place. She searched his eyes, as if waiting for validation.

  Riley smiled, cherishing her rare, vulnerable expression. He’d best weigh his response carefully. “Trust me, Miss Monroe. Your face makes any dress look like it’s fit for a ball at Buckingham Palace.”

  She burst into a fit of giggles. “As a scullery maid, perhaps.”

  Emma knew the Stratton property was vast, but had never guessed it was this expansive. She pushed Sugar to full speed—which wasn’t very fast, really—and enjoyed the velvety feel of wind through her hair. They’d been riding maybe ten minutes when Riley drew his horse in, and she followed suit.

  He swept his arms to the right and left. “All this is ours.”

  And your father would begrudge my pa his one-hundred-sixty acres, just because it keeps you from getting what’s on the other side of it? Emma bit the words back, knowing they wouldn’t serve any purpose. “How much land does your father own, exactly?”

  “Four thousand acres, give or take a little. He didn’t start out with that much, of course. When he moved here in the early 1850s, Texas granted no more than 640 acres to ranchers. Ten years earlier, and he could have been granted thousands. But he didn’t let that stop him. Over the years, people have sold him the adjoining land. Most people, anyway.”

  Yes, most people bowed to John Stratton’s bullying. To be fair, she had to admire the man’s business sense. But there was a fine line between being successful and being greedy. And in her mind, John Stratton crossed that line a long time ago.

  “Donnigan’s cabin is right through here.” He guided Medina into a thick, wooded area. Sugar followed as if she already knew the importance of their journey. Not far into the thicket was a simple, rough-hewn structure, camouflaged by the woods around it. She’d have never found it on her own.

  A slight movement through one dirt-covered window let them know they’d been seen. Emma held her breath. Surely Donnigan would agree to this opportunity for his daughter. Wouldn’t he?

  “Wait here.” Riley climbed from his horse and handed her
the reins, then approached the cabin’s door. After knocking three times, he called, “Donnigan. It’s me, Riley.”

  After a few long moments and some scuffling inside, the door opened wide, and Donnigan stepped onto the porch wearing nothing but denim britches, suspenders, and a soiled undershirt. Emma turned her head away, but she felt him looking at her.

  “What?” Donnigan asked his brother.

  “I’ve come to talk to you about Skye.” Riley’s voice was low, and Emma strained to hear.

  “What about her?”

  “Miss Monroe here would like to take her on as a sort of...protégé.”

  “You want your maid to teach my daughter how to be a maid?”

  “It’s not like that. Emma...Miss Monroe...plans to be a teacher one day.”

  Emma fought not to stare at Riley, slack-jawed. The way he said it, becoming a teacher was still a possibility, but that wasn’t true. Why would he mislead his brother like that? Perhaps he’d misunderstood, though she couldn’t imagine how he could have.

  A movement to her side caught her attention, and she turned her head in time to see Skye, perched on a low branch of a pecan tree, transfixed on the conversation on the porch. Her face was dirty, and her hair fell in a tangled black nest down her back. She wore the same dress she’d worn yesterday, and Emma had a sneaking suspicion she’d worn it for quite sometime.

  Emma’s heart broke for the girl. It was hard enough at nineteen to lose her mother. But this little one...she had no one to teach her about fixing her hair or ironing a dress or...how to be a lady. Please, God. I want to help this child. Let this happen. Emma nearly added, You owe me that much, but even in her current state of displeasure with the Almighty, she knew better than to sass God. Please.

  She perked her ears toward the porch once again, in time to hear Donnigan say some words she’d never repeat, words that a child should never be subjected to. But then, he shook his head, spat into the yard, and said, “All right. Do what you want.”

  Did that mean yes? Emma wanted to squeal. Instead, she climbed down from the horse, looped Sugar’s and Medina’s reins around a low branch, and slowly, cautiously approached the young girl in the tree.

  “Hello,” Emma said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Skye looked at her, but didn’t answer.

  “Do you remember me? We met yesterday, in your grandfather’s kitchen.”

  Still no response.

  “I...asked your Uncle Riley if you might be able to work with me some each day. I’m dreadfully busy, and on top of that, I’m a little lonely. I’d love to have you there...not just for the work, but to keep me company. Would you like that?”

  Skye looked at her father, who was still talking to Riley in a low murmur. She returned her gaze to Emma and offered the slightest nod. So slight, in fact, that if Emma hadn’t been watching carefully, she would have missed it.

  “Wonderful. Would you like to start today?”

  Another nod, and the girl cautiously climbed down from the tree and landed on the fallen leaves in a noiseless action.

  “Skye! Get over here, girl.” Donnigan’s voice wasn’t harsh, exactly, and the girl didn’t act afraid, for which Emma was grateful. He may be a foul-mouthed drunk, but perhaps he wasn’t a complete monster.

  “You remember your Uncle Riley.”

  Skye nodded.

  “That lady over there is Miss Monroe. You met her yesterday. How would you like to go with her every day and learn to cook and sew and do some other things?”

  Another nod.

  “Good. Then it’s settled.”

  Riley tenderly placed his hand on the child’s back and guided her toward the horses. He had a gentle way with his niece. He’d make a wonderful father someday. Not that it mattered to Emma.

  “Would you like to share the saddle with me or Miss Monroe?” he asked the girl.

  Skye looked at Emma, and Emma summoned her most welcoming smile. “This is Sugar. Would you like to pet her?”

  Skye reached for the mare’s muzzle, then pulled back at the last moment. Sugar nodded, as if telling the girl it was okay.

  “Here.” Emma reached into her pocket. “Her name is Sugar because she has a sweet tooth. Feed her a sugar cube, and she’ll love you forever. Like this...hold your hand flat.” Emma demonstrated, then placed a cube in Skye’s hand.

  Sugar licked up the offered treat, and Skye giggled, a soft sound that sent Emma’s spirit soaring.

  Thank you, God, Emma’s heart whispered over and over, as she held the child close in the saddle all the way back to the main house.

  Chapter 7

  It was all Riley could do to stay out of the way and let Emma and Skye do...whatever it was they were doing. Lunch had been simple but delicious. Emma never served anything that wasn’t mouth-watering. And Skye was nowhere to be seen during the meal.

  He did notice Emma going into the pantry a lot. And he did notice a chair was missing from the kitchen table. The thought of his niece being hidden away in a dark closet was so absurd, so unthinkable that he wondered how the other members of his family could eat their meal as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

  And yet Emma quietly went about her work—he could see her from his place in the dining room—and hummed softly as she washed dishes and cleaned the countertops. Despite having lost her mother, she had something, some ethereal quality that Riley longed for.

  Her mother’d had it too. Come to think of it, so did her father. Sick as he was, there was just something...

  Peace. That was it. Though Emma was still clearly distraught over her mother’s death—her daily countenance showed as much—she had an inner light. He looked around at each member of his own family and realized that with all their money, all their finery, none of them possessed that intangible characteristic that couldn’t be bought, but seemed to be worth more than any amount of riches.

  And Riley wanted it.

  He wanted it so much that he lingered after the others had finished their meal and returned to whatever it was that pressed them. When Emma entered to clear the table, she started when she saw him.

  “Mr. Stratton. Forgive me. I thought everyone had finished. Can I get you anything else?”

  “No, thank you. It was delicious. I was just...”

  “Yes?” she asked, and the confused expression on her face somehow sucked the courage right out of him. How could he ask a question, when he didn’t even know enough to ask?

  Instead, he looked toward the pantry. “You put her in the closet?”

  She must have thought he disapproved, because she began backing away. “Oh, uhm...yes. I’ll find a better place for her as soon as possible, but there wasn’t much time today. I...”

  “It’s all right. What is she doing in there, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  A smile swept across her face like wind on the prairie, causing her eyes to dance like wildflowers. “Copying her letters.”

  Her smile was contagious, and it pulled Riley into the moment, though he had no idea what she was talking about. How could anyone copy letters in a dark closet? But he only said, “What a fabulous idea. May I look in on her?”

  “Certainly.”

  She led him through the kitchen and tapped softly on the pantry door before opening it.

  What he saw inside was so simple and charming, he wanted to laugh out loud. But considering he’d already gotten himself in trouble by laughing today, he held his emotions in check.

  Inside the pantry, Skye sat on the missing dining room chair. She leaned over a kitchen bench, using it as a makeshift desk. Beside her was an oil lantern, a chipped pitcher filled with pink and blue and yellow flowers from the field out back, a plate of cookies, and a glass of milk. On a high shelf was another lantern, adding its light from above.

  On a piece of paper was a simple handwritten alphabet, with space between each letter so Skye could copy each one. The girl moved her arm to the side to show her progress when Emma knelt beside her. />
  “Excellent work, Skye. You have lovely penmanship. Have you written anything before?”

  Skye opened her mouth to answer, but when she noticed Riley, she closed it again.

  “I agree with Miss Monroe, Skye. You’ve done a splendid job. I don’t mean to interrupt. I’ll let you two get back to your work.” Riley left them and headed for his office. It seemed lately, all he did was think about Emma. Like it or not, he had a job to do, bills to pay, and budgets to balance. But despite the to-do list front and center on his desk, his thoughts pulled him to that little make-shift classroom in the pantry.

  Ideas flashed through his mind like lightning. There might be a way he could put a window in the pantry.

  How long would it take to build Skye a proper desk?

  If memory served him correctly, there was a box of primers in the attic.

  Mostly, he thought about the question he wanted to ask Emma, but he didn’t know how to word it. Something in his spirit cried out for an answer, and suddenly he realized there was someone he might talk to, who might be able to help him even better than Emma.

  Riley’s job could wait. He’d have to stay up and work by lamplight tonight. The questions in his heart hounded him, and needed addressing now. Within the hour, he knocked on Charlie Monroe’s door again.

  The man’s face broke into a wide grin when he saw Riley at the door. “I was wondering when you’d be back.”

  “You were expecting me?”

  “Not expecting you, exactly. Just a hunch I hadn’t seen the last of you. You’re in time for lunch. Emma left me some bread and cheese on a plate in the kitchen. Would you get it? It’s covered in a blue cloth. And get yourself a plate, too.” The man shuffled back to his chair and pulled a wool blanket over his legs.

  Riley didn’t comment on the odd statement about his coming today. He wasn’t hungry, but he did as he was told and filled two plates with Emma’s bread and a few slices of yellow cheese. The man was probably tired of eating alone. Back in the parlor, he set the plates on the table between the two chairs, used the poker to stir the fire, then took the seat opposite Mr. Monroe.