“That’s very...kind of you, Mrs. Stratton. However, if you’ll tell me what exactly you’d like me to wear, perhaps show me some pictures or something, I’ll be more than happy to see to it myself.”
“I’m not sure you could manage the styles I have in mind. I’ll let Ingrid Wesson handle it. She makes all my dresses. I know you worked for her before you came here, but there’s a reason you were only the assistant.”
Emma swallowed. She knew she couldn’t afford the dresses and fabrics Allison would choose for her, especially if she had to pay Mrs. Wesson to make them. But for the life of her, she couldn’t think of a response that wouldn’t get her fired.
“Yes, ma’am,” she said, but in her mind she was saying some very uncharitable things. God, help me.
Emma remembered her hard-learned lesson from last night. What was it Ma used to say? The less said, the less mended.
And also, wasn’t there something in Scripture about loving each other deeply, because love covered over sins? Well, she wasn’t sure she could ever love Allison Stratton deeply. But she could at least try to be civil. Maybe even kind.
Yes. What if, every time she wanted to say something ugly, she forced herself to say something kind, instead? It was worth a try. She searched her mind for something—anything—positive to say to Allison. Nothing...nothing but blank space. Oh, wait.
“Mrs. Stratton, I’m sorry to change the subject, but I just wanted to remark on what a happy child Davis seems to be these days. I guess his teething issues are over for a while. He certainly is content when he’s around his mama. You clearly have a way with him.”
Allison looked at her son and smiled. Smiled. That was a rare occurrence, at least around Emma. “He is a delightful child, isn’t he?”
“He’s adorable.”
Something softened in Allison, and Emma was glad she’d made the effort. Yes, that would be her new tactic with this family. Every time they made her angry, she’d say something kind. Even if it had no long-term results, it certainly did help diffuse a potentially explosive moment.
Deep breath. Emma wasn’t sure what else to say or do.
Allison stiffened again, then nodded curtly. “If you’ll please stop by Mrs. Wesson’s next time you’re in town and allow her to take your measurements, I’ll choose some styles and fabrics for you. That’s all.”
And just like that, Emma was dismissed.
Riley rode Medina past the cutoff to the Monroe farm and circled back around four times before he finally decided he might as well go for it. He had nothing to lose, and maybe something to gain.
Still, his stomach twisted and turned into a pretzel at the thought. Did Mr. Monroe know about the confrontation last night? Would he even welcome him into his home any more?
And would it be better to do some more research before asking Mr. Monroe if he was interested?
Probably. But that could take weeks. Months, even. And the mayor had acquired someone to do the research. No use putting off the question.
This time, he rode Medina right up to the front steps and looped her reins around the porch rail. As usual, after Riley knocked, he heard Mr. Monroe’s weak voice.
“Come in.”
Was his voice getting weaker? What was it he had? Consumption?
“Riley. Good to see you, son. Come on in. You know the routine. You hungry? Got beans on the stove...”
A rush of relief flowed through Riley’s veins at the warm reception. “No, sir. I’ve already eaten, thanks. Can I get you anything?”
“I’m good. What brings you here today? The ranching business not keeping you busy enough? Or did you just miss my handsome mug?”
Riley chuckled. “Well, sir, I’m actually here on business.”
“On business? I’m not sellin’...”
“Oh, no sir. I don’t expect you to sell your land. But since you’re not able to farm right now, I wanted to share another opportunity with you. Something you could do to bring in some extra income...just until you get back on your feet.”
Monroe wheezed and coughed, a weak cough that made Riley’s chest hurt just hearing it. The other man took a sip of his water and set down his cup. “I must admit, you’ve got me curious. What is this business venture you’re so fired up about?”
“Have you ever heard of Saratoga Springs?”
“Seems like I read something about it. Some kinda hot springs, isn’t it? Supposed to heal people. Sounds like a bunch of nonsense to me.”
“Nonsense or not, many people have given testimony to how the springs have improved their health. But they’re a long way away. Mayor Bridges thinks we can make money off our own sulfurous springs. He wants to advertise Lampasas as ‘The Saratoga of the South’ and make this a tourist town.”
“Hmmm...I’m listening.”
“He feels it will be a success. Problem is, all the land with sulfur in the springs is owned by farmers and ranchers, and so far none of them wants to give up their water source as a tourist destination. I thought...under the circumstances...you might be interested.”
The older man studied his wrinkled, age-spotted hands for a long time.
Riley felt for him. Farmers had a lot of pride. It would take a big dose of humility to agree to this. In a way, agreeing to do this would be admitting defeat. Admitting that in truth, he’d probably never farm again.
Finally, Mr. Monroe lifted his eyes. “You say I won’t have to sell?”
“No, sir. You’d retain ownership of the land and control of the property.”
“What are you proposing, exactly?”
“Well, I’d have to give it some more thought. I mainly just wanted to see if you’re open to the possibility. If you’re interested, I could see developing the area around your springs with a small hotel, a restaurant, maybe a spa of some sort. Of course, as owner, you’d have final say over anything that was done.”
More silence.
“You think this would help pay a few bills around here?” Mr. Monroe asked after a time.
Riley weighed his words before he spoke. “I believe so, sir. No guarantees, but I think the mayor’s onto something. This could help a lot of people. It will bring more jobs, for certain. Mayor Bridges even mentioned bringing a college to Lampasas. Better access to higher education is always a good thing, in my opinion.”
“And what would be your involvement? Aren’t you committed to your father’s business?”
More silence. But nothing about it was awkward. There was something about Charlie Monroe that was just...easy.
Riley cleared his throat. “Well, sir...I’m not sure the, uh, ranching business suits me. I guess you could say I’m exploring other options. If you’re interested, I suppose I’d like to be as involved as you want me to be. I’d love to oversee the development of the types of businesses I described.”
Monroe coughed again. The lines etched in his face seemed deeper than they had just a few days ago. “You’ve given me a lot to think on. Come back next week, and we’ll talk more.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Before you go, though, I have one more question for you.”
“What’s that?”
“What are your intentions toward my daughter?”
Emma walked back to the kitchen, determined not to let the concern about money for these new dresses get the better of her. Most professions had expenses associated with them. If new attire was required, it was required, and she’d just have to figure out how to scrimp and save to make ends meet.
But right now, the best therapy she could think of for her worries was Skye. That little girl had a soothing effect on Emma’s soul. And at this moment, she needed to be near the one person in this place she knew was, as of yet, pure and sweet and untainted.
She opened the back door, half expecting to see the child in the same place she had been earlier, rocking and singing to her doll.
Skye was gone.
The dishes she’d used were left untouched to one side of the porch.
&nbs
p; How odd. It wasn’t like Skye to run off. “Skye! Where are you?” Emma called.
Nothing.
Emma returned to the kitchen and looked in the pantry, but it was empty.
Her heart tightened and quickened at the same time, making it hard to draw in breath. Had Skye’s father taken her? Certainly, it was his right to take his own child any time he pleased...but without saying goodbye?
Or had she wandered off, perhaps stumbled into some type of danger? With shaking hands, Emma opened the back door again and rushed down the steps. “Skye! Skye, where are you? Come here, please.”
No response, other than two mockingbirds taunting each other, taunting Emma with their calls.
The barn. Maybe she’d gone in search of the old tabby cat. “Skye! Are you in here?” She couldn’t contain the tremor in her voice. Her own echo answered back, but still no Skye. Sugar whickered as if she wanted to tell Emma what she knew, but couldn’t find the words.
“Skye!” she tried to yell again, but panic clawed her throat and blocked the sound.
“Miss Monroe? Everything all right?” Joe’s voice was a welcome one. He knew these parts as well as anyone. He could help find her.
“It’s Skye. She’s gone. I don’t know if her father came and got her or if she’s lost or—“
“I believe I saw Donnigan riding this way earlier. Looked like his horse, anyway. Would you like me to ride out to his place and check?”
“Yes. As a matter of fact, I’d like to go with you.”
“Suit yourself.” Joe quickly saddled both Sugar and another horse. Soon, they sped toward Donnigan’s place and banged on the door.
Donnigan answered, his eyes dark and droopy. He smelled like some dead thing the cat had dragged from under the porch.
Emma craned her neck to see around his shoulder, and there was Skye, inside her house, rocking her baby and humming a tune Emma wasn’t familiar with. Thank God! She was safe. Why would Donnigan take her without telling anyone?
“What do you want?” Donnigan asked, looking back and forth between Joe and Emma.
Emma pushed back her frustration. “I just wanted to make sure Skye made it home all right. I’m sorry you were, uhm...unwell last night. I hope you’re feeling better.” Emma spoke with utmost care so she didn’t anger this man who could, if he chose, keep Skye from her.
“Yeah, well.” Donnigan cleared his throat. “I suppose I am. Thank you for looking out for her.”
“It was no trouble, I assure you. Skye is a delightful child.” Emma shifted her eyes to Skye, who looked up at her and smiled for just a moment before going back to her doll. “Did she show you the doll her uncle gave her?”
“Her uncle? Oh. Rilene. Yeah...I should’ve guessed Riley had something to do with it.”
Donnigan made no move to invite them in. He gave no indication if he’d allow Skye to return to the big house or not. Emma’s mind scurried for something, anything, to say that might convince the man of how important it was for Skye to spend the days with her.
Oh, God, please. I’m a mess. This is a mess. But please don’t let him keep her here, like a prisoner. Please, God. Let this man see.
That’s when Joe spoke up. “You know, Mr. Stratton, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about some things. I’ve noticed some discrepancies around the property lines, where some large sections of fence have come down. I need to repair them, but I’m not sure exactly where the lines are. Since you grew up here, I thought you might be able to ride out and advise me.”
Something amazing happened. Donnigan’s eyes actually lit up, as if a spark had just been ignited in the deepest part of him. Not a full flame, but a glimmer, and though he didn’t move, he stood a little taller. “I suppose I could do that. When?”
“Now, if you feel like it. I’m sure Miss Monroe would be kind enough to watch your little girl back at the house for a while.”
Donnigan looked at Emma again...was that suspicion in his eyes? Did he think she was trying to steal Skye from him?
Was she?
It was all so confusing.
Emma held her breath while silent cries went up to heaven. Please, God, please, God, please...
Finally, Donnigan nodded. “Skye, you wanna go back with this lady?”
She jumped to her feet, still holding Rilene, and ran to Emma.
Emma saw—even felt—Donnigan’s pain in a fresh way.
The man before her wasn’t a monster. He was sick. He was sad. And he was without hope. As bad as things were for Emma, she had never been without hope.
Donnigan backed into his home and reached for his hat, and in the process, his foot bumped a liquor bottle. His hope, or lack of it, was contained in that vile bottle.
Her hope was in the Lord.
How could so much happen in her spirit, in that tiniest sliver of time? She felt simultaneously sorry for being angry at God, shame at judging this man so harshly, and a fierce determination to save Skye from following the same hopeless path as her father and his family.
Riley’s face dashed through her mind. That sweet, beautiful face, with flashes of vulnerability, flashes of longing in his eyes. He was searching too. He needed saving too.
But realization didn’t equal ability. She pulled Skye to her side and knew she couldn’t save anybody. All she could do was love them, and point them to the One who could.
The four of them rode back to the house. Riley arrived at the same time. She wanted to avoid his eyes, but she couldn’t help herself. She searched his face for any sign of forgiveness. What she saw was him looking from her to Joe and back with an unreadable expression. After Joe helped her and Skye down and took Sugar’s reins, Emma led the girl to the back entrance as quickly as possible. No sense prolonging the misery that seemed to be her existence every time Riley Stratton was anywhere around.
Chapter 14
The next Sunday morning, Riley got up early and drove to Donnigan’s place. “You up?” He called after knocking several times.
The door creaked open and Skye peeked out. “Shhh. My pa is still asleep.”
“Oh, okay,” Riley whispered. “May I come in?”
Skye stepped back and held the door open for him.
The place was filthy, save one little corner that was meticulously arranged with the doll bed he’d bought on Friday, a child-sized blanket and pillow, and a few other toys and trinkets.
This was unacceptable. No wonder Emma had been furious.
Riley knelt down to his niece. “I’d like to take you to church with me. Go put on your prettiest dress, and bring me a hairbrush. I’ll help you with your hair.”
She looked at him like he’d spoken a foreign language. “Church?”
Oh, mercy. Had this child never been to church? “Yes, church. I’ll explain all about it on the way. But right now, you go get ready.”
She nodded and disappeared behind a curtain.
Donnigan lay passed out on the one bed in the room, snoring so loudly, Riley feared he’d suck the roof in on top of him.
Riley poked him. He flinched, but didn’t move. No use trying to have any kind of conversation with him now. It would have to wait until he slept off whatever alcohol still claimed his body. But this...this was all going to change. From now on, Skye would stay with him in the big house. It was their responsibility to care for this child. Surely Dad could see that. But no...Dad felt no responsibility toward Skye, and Riley knew it.
He pushed the harsh thoughts to the side and decided, for now, to take things one step at a time.
Soon, Skye reappeared wearing a blue dress that looked new. Had Emma made that for her? She must have.
Skye handed him the brush, and his hands felt clumsy and awkward with the child’s silky strands. If only he had a string or something. What did girls use to tie their hair back? “Do you have a ribbon for your hair?”
She handed him one she had folded in her tiny hand, and he fumbled with it, trying three times before making a respectable bow. It wasn’t great,
but it would have to do.
“Let’s go,” he whispered.
She ran to the corner and picked up her doll. “Can Rilene come?”
“Of course. Everyone is welcome at church.” He hoped, for her sake, that was true.
The bags under Emma’s eyes were so large, she felt certain she could pack her entire trunk in them. She hadn’t slept well since Thursday night. Since then, she spent each night tossing and tangling herself in the sheets, replaying her dreaded outburst and trying to figure out a way to undo the damage. She knew her ruminations did no good, but she was like an old Jersey cow with her cud—she just couldn’t stop chewing.
But it was Sunday. And despite the fact that she felt like the world’s biggest hypocrite, she knew she had to go to church. More than that, she needed to go to church. Needed to sit in the pew where Ma sat. Needed to look at the rugged wooden cross on the back wall behind the pulpit. Needed to hear the familiar, comforting sounds of the pipe-organ as Hettie Woods missed the beat every fifth or sixth measure, and Hal Thomas’s off-key tenor blared from the back row.
In this time when her whole world seemed to have shifted, where the walls of her existence seemed to be caving in on themselves, the imperfection and sameness of the little church felt somehow reassuring, though reassuring of what, she couldn’t say.
So, eyes still closed, she pushed her feet off the bed. Was this what Donnigan felt like when he had a hangover?
Pancakes for breakfast. Quick and easy.
Hair in a chignon. Quick and easy.
On the way to church, the sun stood regally in the sky, directing an alleluia chorus of cardinals in a grand performance. Pa weakly whistled Amazing Grace while Lyndel pointed out every rabbit and squirrel along the way, and lamented the fact that it was Sunday and he wasn’t allowed to hunt. Emma found the whole ride painfully consoling. She was glad the cocky little birds shared their song. Glad Pa felt good enough to whistle. Glad to see a glimpse of her little brother, instead of the old man he’d recently become.
Legacy of Honor Page 14
