Emma hated the wounded look on Riley’s face. Hated that she had put it there. She didn’t mean half the things she said. But somewhere deep within her, the dam had burst, and she felt powerless to harness the torrent of emotions she’d held in since...since...oh, God. Part of her soul cried out to her Maker, and she fell to her knees and sobbed. “I miss her, Riley. I miss her so much.”
Chapter 11
Riley had never been in a gunfight. But what he felt at that moment was, in his imagination, a pretty good indicator of what it must be like to get shot up, beaten, and left to die on the road.
To have the worst things he’d ever thought about himself or his family confirmed, out loud, by the one person in this world he wanted to please, left him both numb and shell-shocked. When did her opinion come to matter so much to him? And why? When had he...wait. Was he in love with her?
He was. He was in love with Emma Monroe. And she couldn’t stand the sight of him. At that realization, his dinner threatened to come back up the way it went down.
He tucked his feelings aside, however, and knelt in the straw next to Emma. Right now, she needed to cry. And he wasn’t going to let her cry alone. Should he touch her? Just sit there? He reached a tentative hand and placed it on her back.
She recoiled from his touch, even as she sobbed. And in that moment, he felt as disgusted with himself as she was with him.
He sat there another moment, watching her shoulders convulse in emotional agony and feeling about as low as he’d ever felt, knowing he’d added to her burden by his complacence. Emma’s lantern flickered on the rough wooden barn walls, and the musty smell of old hay fought against the cinnamon-vanilla smell that was all her. Well, a little vinegar, too...but the sour display she’d just showed him was truth. In a way, he’d been given a gift. He could see himself clearly through Emma’s eyes.
Eventually her sobs abated, and they were left with nothing but the sound of crickets, accusing him, just as she had. Guilty...guilty...guilty.
Slowly, he rose to his feet and held out a steady hand. “Come on. I’ll see you to your door.”
With a snuffle and a sniff, she allowed him to assist her to her feet. They spoke no other words. He walked her to the porch. Watched as she cracked open the door just enough to squeeze inside. Shut it behind her, leaving him alone with nature’s chorus of condemnation. Truly, it didn’t shout nearly as loudly as his own heart.
He climbed back on Medina, but did little else. The horse, probably sensing his mood, ambled toward home in a relaxed pace, as if in her own way, she wanted to soothe her master. Riley used the opportunity to look at the stars, wondering if it was even worth it to ask God for help out of this mess that was his life.
Somewhere deep in his memory, a voice whispered. His mother’s voice. Riley, you can do or be anything you wish. I know your father wants you to stay on here, but you don’t have to. You’re free to pursue your own destiny, whatever that may be.
Had she really said those words, or had he dreamed them? Why would she say that to a young boy?
But the further he rode, the more certain he was that yes, she had said those things to him. That she was preparing him for the day when he realized he wanted out. Encouraging him, even.
Truth was, he loved his family. He loved the way they accepted each other, even as they looked down on everyone else. He loved their loyalty. He loved that, no matter how they bickered, they put on a united front to the community. It made him feel like someone had his back, all the time.
But as much as he loved them, he didn’t like them very much. And he certainly didn’t want to be like them. When he was around them, without realizing it, he adopted a “go along to get along” attitude, and that made him no better than they were. Emma was right. He was worse, for he knew he could do better. He just chose not to.
Not any more. Emma Monroe may hate him...and that broke his heart. But there was something even worse...Riley was pretty close to hating himself. Whoever first said that money can’t buy happiness knew what he was talking about. Riley’s father had made their family one of the richest this side of the Mississippi. But all the money in the world couldn’t buy self-respect.
God, I don’t know how or when or where, but I want to separate myself from my family. Just enough so I can be the man You want me to be. Can You help me?
There was no answer, other than Medina’s slow, steady clop-clop-clop. Not that he expected the clouds to part and God in the flesh to step off His throne, in order to help Riley figure things out. Still...it would be nice if He did.
He had no idea how much time passed between leaving the Monroe’s and arriving home. The place was dark when he got there. He settled Medina in the barn, made his way through the house, and lay down on his bed without even removing his clothes.
Emma shut the door behind her and leaned against it. Her head pounded with a crying headache, and she could feel the swelling in her eyes and nose. But her conscience ached even more than her head. Never in her life had she hurled such cruel words at another human being as she had to Riley, just now.
How many times had Ma told her the rules of polite conversation? She was to ask herself three questions, before speaking about another person.
Is it true?
Is it kind?
Is it necessary?
Unless the answers to those questions were “yes,” she should remain quiet.
Well, the things she’d said to Riley tonight certainly weren’t kind. And they weren’t necessary.
It didn’t matter if they were true or not...which, many of them weren’t. Riley was a good man, and he had no control over the way his family behaved. But even if they had been true, she shouldn’t have said them.
“Want to talk about it?”
Emma started at her father’s voice, and shame oozed over her like pond scum. She’d assumed Pa was in bed already. “No, thank you.” Right now, all she wanted was a cup of hot tea and her soft pillow. The thought of curling up next to Skye, like a live doll, offered the only solace she could find at the moment.
She walked to her father, kissed the top of his receding hairline, and left him without another word. After fixing her tea, she took her cup to her bedroom and placed it on the bedside table. Soon, she snuggled beneath the covers, one arm around the little girl who had stolen her heart.
As tired as she was, it took a long time for sleep to claim her. Instead, thoughts swirled around her mind, wrapping and squeezing like weeds in the okra patch.
Would she still have a job tomorrow?
If not, what would become of Skye?
Would Riley ever forgive her for the things she said tonight? She needed to apologize.
Would Riley marry Clara? If so, Emma would have to quit her job. As much as she loved Clara, she didn’t think she could be a maid in their home. Although Ma did...she was maid to her best friend. But Ma never had feelings for John Stratton the way Emma had feelings for Riley.
She knew Riley would eventually marry someone, but it seemed to her, it would be easier if a stranger captured his love, rather than her dear friend.
Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, Emma let go. She gave the tangled ball of yarn that was her mind to God, and let Him have it. A last, single tear slipped down her temple, past her ear and onto the already-soaked pillow. A last, single thought of her mother’s face drifted through her mind, and she slept.
Morning came too soon, and Emma lay in bed for too many minutes, in that halfway place between asleep and awake. Her sleep had been fitful, haunted by dreams of weddings with ill-fitting gowns and babies being snatched from her, and special meals cooked and burned. But then, toward the end of the dream, Ma showed up. She didn’t say anything, just took Emma in her arms, held her and let her cry.
Now Emma relished the last moments of her mother’s presence, not ready to say goodbye. It all felt so real. But alas, the pinky-white edges of Ma’s face faded, her scent evaporated, and the dream was gone.
Emma forced leaden feet ont
o the cold floor, shuffled to the kitchen—it seemed only a few minutes ago she’d made that cup of tea—and started a pot of oatmeal.
And it dawned on her, this would probably be her life. Every single morning, fixing two breakfasts, a simple one for herself and an elaborate one for her employer. A black hole closed over her spirit. No light. No air. How long could she survive without hope?
But she’d keep doing it, for Pa. For Lyndel. For Skye. She’d keep doing it, to help care for the ones she loved.
Just as Ma had done for her, all those years.
Chapter 12
Early Friday morning, Riley arose long before the sun. He dressed with no particular destination in mind, other than away from here, and crept out of his room. He was just about to descend the stairs when he thought he might take his Bible—the one Ma gave him for his twelfth birthday—his last birthday she was alive. He retrieved it from his night table and went about his stealthy business of saddling Medina. The Bible fit perfectly in his saddlebag.
He led the horse on foot until he got to the road so he didn’t take the chance of waking anyone. He knew he was leaving early enough that he wouldn’t meet Emma on the way. Where to go, he wasn’t sure. So he headed for town. Rebecca’s Café opened early, maybe he’d get a cup of coffee and some eggs.
Sure enough, the café lights already burned, though the “Closed” sign was still turned outward. Looping Medina’s reins around a hitching post, he approached the door. Maybe the operating hours were listed somewhere. Cupping both hands around his face and pressing against the glass, he saw Rebecca Hendrix flit from table to table, straightening chairs, getting ready for the day. She caught her breath when she saw him, then hurried to the door and opened it. “Riley Stratton. Is that you? You like to scared the livin’ daylights out of me, boy!”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hendrix. I just wondered what time you open.”
“Ten more minutes. But you might as well come on in now. Can I get you some coffee?”
“If it’s no trouble.”
She hurried away, and soon came back with a cup and saucer, a pot of coffee, and a pitcher of creamer on a tray. “You’re out early.”
“Yes, ma’am. Couldn’t sleep, and as I lay there in bed, I thought, ‘A cup of Rebecca’s coffee sure would be mighty fine right now.’”
The crinkles around the woman’s eyes deepened, and her gaze sparked. “Riley Stratton, you sweet-talkin’ son of a gun. You’ll have to wait on your breakfast like everyone else.”
Riley laughed. “Yes, ma’am.”
She left him to enjoy his coffee, and he pulled out his Bible. Pulled the small table lantern close. Let the Bible fall open to a random location, hoping for some divine wisdom that might point him in the right direction. But as the pages cascaded open, something caught his eye. Were some of the verses underlined?
He flipped through and sure enough, here and there were verses, sometimes entire chapters, underlined. And in the margins were notes, written in his mother’s script.
For a suspended moment in time, he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. All he could do was turn the pages while his heart pounded and the sound of rushing blood echoed in his ears. There were dozens of passages. Dozens of encouragements from his own dear mother.
All this time, this Bible had rested on his night table, nothing more than a decoration. How much time had Mom spent writing notes and underlining passages just for him? This was obviously important to her. How could he have missed this for so many years? Her reminder to seek God. Her reminder that God was essential. How might his life be different now, if he’d bothered to crack open these pages years ago?
A few more customers entered, and soon Rebecca stood in front of him with a note pad. “You ready to order?”
“Uh...yes. What do you recommend?”
“Well, I’ve got flapjacks, eggs, bacon, sausage, and biscuits. You can have one or all of those things.”
“Send me a little of everything, if you don’t mind. And a glass of milk.” Might as well settle in. It looked like he’d be here a while.
Rebecca nodded, scribbled something on her pad, and moved to the next table.
With as much care as if he were handling an ancient, gold-covered treasure, he leafed through the pages and settled on a passage in Jeremiah. Chapter 27, verses 11-14.
For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end. Then shall ye call upon me, and ye shall go and pray unto me, and I will hearken unto you. And ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart. And I will be found of you, saith the Lord: and I will turn away your captivity, and I will gather you from all the nations, and from all the places whither I have driven you, saith the Lord; and I will bring you again into the place whence I caused you to be carried away captive.
In the margin, his mother had written, God has good plans for your life. That doesn’t mean you won’t go through hard times. But when you seek God with all your heart, you’ll find Him, and He’ll lead you to a good place. Always seek God with your whole heart.
Seek God.
How long had Mom had this Bible before she gave it to him? He knew it wasn’t her own personal Bible. Dad had that beside his bed, though Riley was certain it was ornamental. Perhaps sentimental, too.
She must have worked for months, preparing this for him, underlining verses and writing notes. And he’d never even opened it until today. Joy and sadness bubbled up in the same well inside his soul. He felt like, for this moment, he had her back. Like she was sitting across the table, talking to him.
Well, now that he’d found the treasure box, he’d keep mining it until he found a map to point his way out of this maze...a way to escape the choking tendrils of the Stratton dynasty.
Emma worried all the way to work about her uniform—or lack thereof. She’d gotten in so late last night, she hadn’t had time to launder her two dresses. And since they were both soiled, she could either wear a dirty frock, or a clean dress that wasn’t a uniform. She opted for the clean dress.
She needn’t have worried. Allison didn’t even come to breakfast. Riley wasn’t there either, and Colt and the senior Mr. Stratton merely grabbed a couple of biscuits on their way out the door. It would have been nice if someone had alerted her before she fried a pound of bacon and scrambled a dozen eggs. But oh, well.
She saw Joe tending to something in the barn corral. Maybe she’d offer him some of it. Skye was busy with a few simple math problems, so Emma heaped eggs, bacon, and biscuits on a plate and slipped out the back door.
“Are you hungry? It seems I have enough left over to feed a small army.”
“Hungry? No. I already ate. But I can always make room for food that smells this delicious.” Joe took the offered plate and leaned against the fence. “Thank you.”
Emma didn’t know whether to stay or leave...but something about the way the wind whispered in her hair and offered a cool balm to her still-swollen eyes, made her want to linger. She leaned her elbows on a post and looked out over the landscape.
“Everything all right, Miss Monroe? You seem...pensive.”
“Pensive? Yes, I suppose I am.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“I’d love to talk about it, Mr. Barnes. But my mind is such a jumble, like a bunch of strings all knotted together. I don’t think I could even find words. None that would make any sense, anyway.”
“Why don’t you just pick one of the strands and start talking?”
“Hmmm...pick a strand. All right. I miss my mother terribly.”
“I know you do. And you’ll always miss her. But you will learn to go on without her. The pain won’t ever leave you completely, but it will dull some with time.”
“You sound like someone who knows what he’s talking about.”
“Unfortunately, yes. I lost both my parents when I was a child. I was raised by an aunt and uncle. They were good to me, but no one co
uld ever take my parents’ place. Later, I lost my wife and child.”
“Your wife and child? I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”
He scooted the eggs around on his plate and took another bite. After a moment he said, “We were both young. I married her, and we went west in search of adventure. What we found was a lot of hardship. We claimed a little piece of land, built a cabin. I was gonna be a farmer. Then, when we learned a baby was on the way...well, those were the happiest days of my life. But there was no doctor or midwife close by. There were complications...a little girl...they both died.”
A weight pressed on Emma’s chest as Joe’s story unfolded. “I don’t know what to say. I really am sorry for your loss.”
“After that, I lost my heart for farming. I just wanted to get away...far away. I’ve been traveling around, doing odd jobs, ever since. This is the longest I’ve stayed at any one place. I suppose it’s because as long as I do my job, the Strattons leave me alone.”
If only the same were true for her.
They stood in amiable silence. He finished eating, and she needed to get back to work. But her head still hurt, and something about Joe Barnes just felt...easy. Safe. Like the big brother she never had.
Not like Riley, who set everything all topsy-turvy whenever he was near.
“Next string?” Joe asked.
“We’ll have to save that for another time.” She took his plate and turned toward the kitchen. “Mr. Barnes?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for telling me. About your wife and daughter.”
He didn’t respond, and she didn’t say more. Nothing more needed to be said. But there was a house to clean and a few items to add to the grocery list. If she hurried, she and Skye could make it to town and back in time to prepare lunch. Something about the beautiful spring day comforted her, and she wasn’t ready to confine herself indoors.
A trip to town might be just what her spirit needed.
Legacy of Honor Page 12
