Legacy of Honor

by Renae Brumbaugh Green

  He took some bread and butter, added some pickled carrots and a pile of salted pecans to his plate, and thanked her. She nodded and moved on.

  “Oh, I know it must have been. Please tell me some stories.” Clara beseeched him with enormous, violet-colored eyes, and he felt like an oaf for putting her off.

  “I suppose I might have a story or two.”

  “Perfect.” Allison interrupted again. “You two can sit next to each other at dinner.”

  Colt, Dad, and Mayor and Mrs. Bridges made small talk, the kind of talk he’d much rather be a part of than stuck trying to entertain a socialite. But good manners dictated his actions.

  When Emma entered the room again a few minutes later, she tapped Allison on the shoulder and whispered something. Allison nodded. “Dinner is ready, everyone. Shall we move to the dining room?”

  They all stood, and Clara took Riley’s arm even before he offered it. They followed the others, and Clara spoke to him in a low voice. “I’m glad we’re sitting together, Riley. I’ve thought about you a lot while you were away.”

  Really? He hadn’t thought of her once since...since... Well, he couldn’t remember when he’d ever thought much about her. But he only smiled and held out her chair.

  That’s when he looked at the dining table, and it looked stunning. That was the only word he could think to describe it, and he wasn’t one to notice such things. But each place was set with their finest dishes. In the center of each plate was a napkin, folded like a fan. Where did Emma learn to do that? Had her mother taught her?

  Skye probably helped her. The thought of them bent over the table, brows furrowed, trying to get each one just right made him smile. Clara must have thought he was smiling at her, because she grinned back at him like a hound pup eying a rib eye.

  Unfortunately, the one he wanted to smile at him, or even look at him, acted like he didn’t exist except as a no-name, no-face customer. Emma’s performance as a servant was flawless. He couldn’t fault her for anything. But for some reason, that bothered him.

  A lot.

  Emma came around and filled each of their glasses with tea, standing behind and to the left. When she got to Allison, Allison lifted her arm at the last moment as if she had something important to say, and the pitcher spilled all over Emma’s apron, soaking through that awful sack of a dress.

  “Miss Monroe! Can’t you do anything right?” Allison hissed. Then, to the table, “It’s so hard to find competent help these days.”

  Emma apologized several times, then rushed to the kitchen.

  After an awkward lull in the conversation, Mayor Bridges said, “Have you heard the railroad will be finished within the year? Possibly sooner.”

  “That’s wonderful news,” Dad told him. “It should bring all kinds of business to Lampasas.”

  “Yes, I hope so. I have a few business ventures I’m looking into that I hope will bring tourists.”

  “Lampasas, a tourist town?” Colt laughed. “I can’t see that we have much to offer tourists.”

  “Oh, we may have more than you’d think.”

  Several minutes later Emma appeared again, in a dry dress—how did she do that?—holding a bowl with a lid. Riley thought it was called a soup tureen, though where he’d learned that, he couldn’t recall. As if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, she placed the lid on the buffet behind them, then went behind each person, head lowered in serene deference, and ladled something that smelled heavenly into each of their bowls.

  He had to speak to her. Had to pull her into the conversation somehow, if only for a moment. “Pardon me, Miss Monroe, but what is this called? It looks delicious.”

  She stood upright and looked at him for just a moment, then straight ahead as if she were talking to the wall. “This is vermicelli soup, sir. Mrs. Stratton chose the menu. If you enjoy it, the credit goes to her good taste.”

  Allison cleared her throat, as if in preparation to regain control of the conversation. “Miss Bridges, I understand you’ve been published? Tell us about that.”

  Clara did that eyelash thing again. “Oh, it was nothing. I submitted a recipe to the ladies’ section of the Herald, and they printed it.”

  “That’s quite impressive. Not many women your age have seen their names in print. Of course, someone of your background and breeding will certainly be a credit to your family. Cream always rises to the top.” Allison cooed over Clara like she was a precious doll on Christmas morning. “Speaking of cream, Emma? I believe you added too much cream to this soup. It’s quite thick. I do apologize, everyone. If the soup isn’t to your liking, we can move to the next course and hope for an improvement.”

  Everyone shook their heads that no, the soup was fine.

  Emma didn’t respond. Just continued her service as if she didn’t have a thought of her own, other than to see to their comfort and disappear.

  He wanted to wipe that smug look off Allison’s face. No one else in the room seemed to notice anything at all. They simply dug into their meals and continued the conversation, but it was lost to Riley. For a moment, he was swept back to the simple meal, the simple prayer with Charlie Monroe. He’d rather be sitting in that small house, eating bread and cheese with water, than here with all the finery and shallow conversation.

  What was wrong with him?

  In his mind, he said a silent, Thank You, God, for this food. Amen. Then he leaned forward and sampled a spoonful of the most delicious soup he’d ever tasted.

  Emma’s heart pounded like a hummingbird beating to get out of a cage. She felt certain Allison had spilled the tea on her dress on purpose. And that comment about the soup? Allison hadn’t even tried the soup when she said it was too thick. Emma had followed the recipe exactly.

  As a matter of fact, she’d done everything she could to present a beautiful table, to prepare a savory meal, to make Allison look like the gracious hostess. And yet, the woman seemed set on making her own house staff look incompetent.

  Emma tried to remember that her worth was found in God, not in her employer’s opinion of her. And she tried to remember to show grace to Allison, who was probably nervous about making a good impression on the mayor. But grace was a hard concept to grasp when she was covered in a cold, sugary drink.

  With every ounce of her flesh, Emma wanted to charge in there and dump the remainder of the soup on Allison Stratton’s head. She wanted to toss this ugly uniform in the fire and dump the ashes on the Stratton’s front porch.

  Of course, she’d never actually do any of those things. But she might march out of this place and never look back if it weren’t for Skye. Emma didn’t know how much difference she could make in Skye’s life, but she knew one thing—that child didn’t have anybody else in this world looking out for her.

  Other than Riley. But who knew how long his interest in the child would last? Emma hoped it was permanent, but she had no way of knowing. If she could help, in even a small way, to make Skye’s life better, to coax a smile here and there and prepare her for this cold, harsh life, well, Emma must stay.

  For Skye, she’d use every last drop of self-control she could find and continue through the meal like an obedient, whipped puppy. Tail tucked. Eyes to the ground.

  But even with her head down, she couldn’t miss the way Clara gawped over Riley. Well, good for them. She hoped they were very happy together. Clara would fit right into this bunch, with her fancy clothes and manipulative eyelashes. She and Allison would create quite a force, though against what, she didn’t know. Didn’t care.

  That Clara had done nothing to deserve such harsh thoughts, Emma was perfectly aware. But right now, she was put out with everyone at that table.

  Why was she angry with Riley? He hadn’t actually done anything other than be a polite dinner guest. Did Emma think Riley would fall for her? Even if he did, she wouldn’t return his feelings. Not if it meant becoming a part of this crowd of lunatics.

  She placed—slammed was a more accurate term—the veal onto yet an
other tray, one more tray she’d have to wash later. Part of her wanted to spit on Allison’s veal. But of course she wouldn’t, and was ashamed she’d even have such a thought.

  “Miss Emma?” Skye’s voice whispered from across the room.

  Oh, dear. She didn’t know why Riley hadn’t taken her home earlier. Poor child shouldn’t have to remain in a closet. It was wrong. Perhaps she could sit on the back steps until after dinner. When did Riley plan to take her home, anyway?

  “What is it, dear?” Emma whispered back, looking over her shoulder to make sure no one saw.

  “I...I need to go...”

  “All right,” Emma whispered. “Go to the outhouse. You know where it is. Take the lantern with you. It will be dark soon. If you want, you can stay out there and play for a while.” She remembered Lyndel’s firefly jar, and scooped a mason jar off a shelf. As quickly as she could, she removed the lid and replaced the inner ring with a thin rag. “Why don’t you catch some fireflies and put them in here?”

  “It’s too early for fireflies,” Skye told her. Goodness, she was smart.

  “You’re probably right. A frog, then? Or whatever you want. Why don’t you find a treasure, and when I’m done here I’ll see what you found. It will give me something to look forward to.”

  The girl nodded and made a beeline for the outhouse, leaving the lantern behind. Emma set it and the jar on the back steps and rushed to serve the main course. As much as she hated certain aspects of this job, there was too much at stake now to lose it. Some things were worth even more than money.

  For Riley, the next hour seemed to take four hours to get through. That Clara had taken a shining to him was obvious. That Allison wanted Riley to notice Clara was also quite clear. Honestly, all he wanted to do was check on Emma, but he’d only make things worse for her if he did.

  So he sat politely while Clara peppered him with questions about his job and his years at Baylor and his plans for the future. If he hadn’t been so preoccupied, he would have been amused at the way she treated each of his short answers as though he’d stated something rare and profound.

  He supposed it could have been worse. Clara was rather nice to look at. But Emma, even in her shapeless black and white outfit, outshone any woman Riley had ever known. And the knowledge that she would never be accepted by his family grated at him more each day. Not so much because he cared what they thought—though he did. They were his family—but because if he were to pursue her, they’d surely make her life miserable in the process.

  Not that he wanted to pursue Emma. Argh. That woman enchanted him. He didn’t plan to pursue any woman for a good long while, if ever. Right now he had freedom to go and do and dine with whomever he wanted. And he liked it that way. He did. Who did Allison think she was, trying to force him into a relationship with Clara Bridges? Dad too, though Dad had a way of keeping his hands clean in his underhanded schemes. If Riley questioned him, he’d deny any knowledge of a matchmaking endeavor. Whoever was behind this, they’d just have to whoa their horses. Riley was a bachelor, and he planned to stay one.

  When everyone had finished their desserts, Allison suggested they take coffee on the front porch.

  Riley reluctantly escorted Clara and somehow managed to seat himself between her and the mayor. Maybe he could ease into some of the conversation with the menfolk now.

  “So, Mayor, tell us more about this idea you have to turn Lampasas into a tourist town,” Dad said between cigar puffs.

  “The springs. Some of our natural springs have healing powers in them.”

  Colt laughed, really loud. “Healing powers? What do you mean?”

  “Perhaps you’ve heard of Saratoga Springs in New York? Some of the early native tribes swore by its healing powers. Even George Washington claimed the place had restorative powers. He tried to purchase the land with one of the springs for himself. He was unsuccessful, though.”

  Dad leaned forward. “I’ve heard of Saratoga Springs.”

  “Over time, people have continued to make sensational claims about the benefits of this special type of mineral water. Even doctors have recommended taking the waters to cure kidney and liver complaints, rheumatism, diabetes, heartburn, scrofula, dyspepsia, cancer, malaria, hangovers and”—he cleared his throat—“weakness of women.”

  An awkward silence settled over the group at that declaration. Colt broke it with a laugh. “Are you talkin’ about the stinky springs? Why would anyone in their right mind want those?”

  “They stink, son, because of the sulphur. Does sulphur have healing properties?” Dad asked.

  The mayor nodded. “There’s a similar place in West Virginia called Sulphur Springs. About a hundred years ago, a woman claimed her rheumatism symptoms disappeared after bathing in the warm, sulphurous water there. Since that time, people have made the journey from hundreds of miles around, just to bathe in those springs.”

  That grabbed Riley’s full attention. “You said some of our springs. How many springs are you talking about?”

  “We need to do more testing. I’ve hired a man to test the waters, but many of the springs are on private property, and we need the owner’s permission.” Bridges took a sip of his tea.

  Riley caught the mayor’s vision. “With the railroad coming, we can capitalize on these natural springs and draw people to our town. West Virginia is a long way. New York is even further. If we advertise the same type of healing power, people will come.”

  The mayor nodded. “My thoughts, exactly.”

  Riley leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. Sulphurous springs? Healing waters? “But like Colt said, most people think the sulphur smells bad. What do they do? Buy bottles of it? Bathe in it? Drink it? Rub it on their ailments?”

  “All of those things,” Mayor Bridges answered. “I’ve done my research on this, and I believe Lampasas can become the ‘Saratoga of the South.’ It’s what I’m aiming for, anyway.”

  Riley tapped his foot in excitement. “That will take a lot of preparation. We only have one inn, and it has four rooms.”

  “Yes. I’m hoping the people of our community will get behind this. I’ve drawn up a development plan, and I’m currently looking for investors.”

  Dad leaned back in his chair, and Riley recognized the look deep behind his eyes, that he wasn’t pleased. “Sounds mighty interesting, mayor. But Lampasas is a ranching community. Turning this into a tourist town will cause more industry, more commerce. That could damage the cattle business, encroach on grazing land. Before long, our green pastures will be filled with shops and hotels. I’m not sure you’ll be able to drum up the support you’re hoping for. Your constituents don’t want more industry here. We just want our nice, peaceful community to continue on like it has.”

  Mayor Bridges, to his credit, looked unaffected by Dad’s comment. “I think there’s room enough for both. But perhaps you’re right. We shall see.”

  “Oh, Papa. Must we always discuss politics?” Clara fanned herself with an ornate fan. “I’d much rather hear another of Riley’s stories about college.”

  “Well, Clara, if things go as I hope they will, we’ll soon have a college right here in Lampasas. And an opera house, and much more.”

  Dad’s eyes took on that glinty look he got when someone dared go against him. Riley felt torn. He wanted to hear more of the mayor’s plans. He also wished the man would be quiet. Mayor Bridges didn’t know it, but he was entering dangerous territory by going against John Stratton.

  Allison snickered. “A college in Lampasas? Why, mayor, I believe that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Something darted by, to the left of the porch, and everyone looked that way. There was Skye, oblivious to them all, holding a jar in one hand and chasing a bullfrog. Her yellow dress stood out against the dusky background, and the effect should have been delightful.

  Instead, Dad nearly bit his cigar in two. He looked at Riley, his eyes flashing lightning rods, but didn’t say a word.

&
nbsp; Riley read the unspoken command and stood. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, I need to see to something inside.”

  He found Emma in the kitchen, washing the last of the dishes. “Did you know Skye is outside?”

  “Yes. I didn’t think it fair to keep her in a closet all evening.”

  “My father saw her.”

  Her shoulders stiffened in that way he was all too familiar with. “Good for him. I hope he invited her onto his lap like a proper grandpa should.”

  “Emma...” The shame he felt over his family had become woven into his fiber like strings in a loom. He didn’t like it, but it was as much a part of his existence as breathing. “Please believe me when I tell you I don’t like the way things are any more than you do. But if my father has to come face to face with her, he’ll simply forbid her from coming to the house. You don’t want that, do you?”

  She set the pan on the stove a little too firmly, creating a loud bang in the quiet kitchen. “Fine. I’m finished here anyway. I was just about to take her home.”

  “I’ll ride along with you. I suppose I made a bad call, not taking her earlier, but I thought...I don’t know what I thought. I...kind of like her being here.”

  Emma’s face softened, just a bit, then hardened again. “You have guests. I can find the way.”

  “But it’s dark. You’re normally home by this time. I insist—”

  “No, I insist. Mr. Stratton, I appreciate your concern, but there’s no need for you to trouble yourself over a mere servant.”

  “I don’t think of you as a ‘mere servant,’ as you put it. I thought we were...old friends.”

  “Perhaps you should adjust your way of thinking. Good evening, Mr. Stratton.” Emma grabbed her things off a hook behind the door and shut it behind her.

  Chapter 10

  The sky lay with torn-paper edges across the horizon in diminishing shades of blue and orange and gold, making a great collage of the day’s farewell. It almost seemed a misuse of a perfectly lovely sunset to cast it on such a useless family as the Strattons. Honestly. John Stratton was a waste of good oxygen.