Emma's Wish

by Margery Scott

  Although the children were now dry, their clothes weren't in much better condition than those they'd removed. A button was missing from Joseph's shirt, and there was a three-cornered tear in the leg of Nathan's pants. The hem of Becky's dress had come loose, and she had a hole in her stockings. One of the children had lined up their shoes in front of the fire. All three pairs were scuffed and needed new soles.

  Even though their clothing was shabby, the children apparently were responsible enough to care for what they had. Their wet clothes had been draped across the hearth to dry. Emma's admiration for them raised a notch. "How about a cup of hot cocoa?" she asked pleasantly. She had to keep them here until she could find out who they were, and figure out what to do. She'd already discovered they didn't respond to stern words. Especially Nathan.

  "Cocoa?" Nathan repeated. "Ain't never had cocoa."

  "You'll like it," Joseph assured his brother. "Yes, ma'am," he said, turning his attention to Emma. "That would be real nice."

  Good, she thought, setting a kettle of water on the fire to boil. The children could use a hot drink to warm them.

  Emma took the tin of cocoa from the cupboard. As she spooned the powder into three mugs and mixed it with sugar and a little milk, she tried to keep the conversation light. "What made you decide to stop here?" she asked. Her house sat at the edge of town, and it surprised her that runaways would go towards civilization instead of staying away from populated areas.

  "Just got tired, that's all," Nathan replied. "But we gotta go just as soon as we're finished the cocoa."

  "I see. Anywhere in particular?"

  Nathan eyed her steadily. "Yep. We got plans, don't we?" He turned to his brother, who nodded in agreement.

  "Good," Emma agreed. "It's always a good idea to make plans before one sets out on a journey. Don't you think it might be a wise to wait until morning when it's light and the storm is past."

  Just at that moment, Becky yawned.

  "Becky's sleepy. Why don't you stay here tonight and we'll talk in the morning?"

  "No," Nathan said. "We have to move on."

  "What's your hurry? Is someone looking for you?"

  If Emma hadn't been watching closely, she would have missed the look that passed between the boys. "No," they both said in unison. "Nobody cares if we're gone."

  "I see." Emma took a potholder off a hook near the fireplace and picked up the kettle, pouring the boiling water into the mugs.

  Stirring the cocoa, she murmured, "I'm sure your parents care. Why, right now they're probably out in this terrible rain searching for you. They must be worried sick. If I had children like you, I know I would be."

  "We don't have a ma," Nathan informed her. "She died."

  That explained a lot, certainly the clothes in such need of repair. That might also explain the hollow look to them, as if they hadn't eaten properly in quite some time. "I'm sure your father must be worried--"

  "He ain't," Nathan interrupted. "In fact, we're savin' him a lot of money--"

  Emma put down the spoon and took a step towards the boy. His eyes were bright, as if he was blinking back tears. "How?"

  "Never mind," Nathan said gruffly, then slumped down in the chair.

  "Joseph?" Emma asked softly. "How are you saving your father money? Please tell me."

  "Should I?" Joseph asked Nathan. "Don't make no difference if she knows anyway."

  Nathan shrugged, then took a sip of the warm cocoa. A brown mustache outlined his upper lip when he lowered the mug.

  "If we're gone, he won't have to buy train tickets."

  "Train tickets?"

  "To send us away. He don't want us now that Ma's gone."

  Emma couldn't think of any way to respond to this pronouncement. She found it difficult to believe the boys were right, yet they seemed convinced.

  "You must be mistaken--"

  "No," Nathan interrupted, setting his mug back on the table and licking his lips.. "He told us. Said he can't look after us no more. Said he can't afford it."

  "I see."

  "So we decided to go ourselves, and that way he won't have to spend no money. He can use it to buy feed and fence wire," Joseph added.

  So the children lived on a ranch. Finally, a clue.

  Emma blinked back the tears that welled up in her eyes. Those poor children. Heavens, they were just babies. First losing their mother, then being sent away from the only home they'd ever known.

  Surely they were wrong. What kind of man could be so cruel to his own flesh and blood?

  No matter how poor she was, no matter what she had to do to keep a roof over their heads and food in their stomachs, Emma would never give up her children. Never. She would steal if necessary. She flexed the fists her hands had formed. She would even sell herself if that's what she had to do. Not that she would ever face that problem, since having a child was out of the question.

  Perhaps that was the reason she was drawn so to these children. They needed someone to care about them. Lord knows I need someone to care for.

  "Look," she said softly, glancing towards the fireplace.

  The boys followed her gaze. Becky had curled up in an armchair and had fallen asleep, her thumb in her mouth. Emma felt such a strong protective sensation, it took her breath away. What was it about these children that made her heart swell and bring a lump to her throat?

  "Looks like you'll have to wait until morning to leave after all," she whispered.

  Both boys muttered something in reply. Then Joseph added, "I guess we'll stay then. But only until morning."

  "I'm glad. I'll enjoy the company."

  For the first time, Joseph smiled.

  ***

  Rain lashed against Sam's slicker, but he rode on relentlessly. Where could they be? He'd been searching most of the night, but they had disappeared into the wilderness. When he'd checked on them before turning in and found them missing, he'd figured they'd headed to Fred's homestead two miles north. He'd ridden directly there, not overly concerned until Fred told him the children hadn't been there.

  Then the fear had set in, gnawing at his insides like a hungry rat. Fear, or guilt. This was his fault. He should never have agreed to send them to their grandparents. If anything happened to those children, he might as well die, too.

  "Ain't no sign of them," Fred shouted, reining his horse to a stop beside Sam’s. The wind howled, and Fred had to yell to make himself heard. "I checked over by South Creek and east as far as the river."

  Sam pulled his Stetson farther down. Rain dripped off the brim, and he ran his hand across the two-day stubble on his face. "If I had any idea what direction ... where they would go ..."

  "Joseph's probably got them holed up somewhere--"

  Sam nodded. Joseph was wise beyond his years. He'd have the sense to get the younger two out of the rain. "I suppose you're right."

  "Come on. Lou will have coffee on. We might as well wait until daylight, and then start out again."

  "No--"

  "Sam, all you're doin' is ridin' around in circles. There's no point to that."

  "I have to keep looking--"

  "Sam--"

  "I'm going to keep looking. You go home."

  Fred shook his head. "You're the stubbornest man I ever did meet," he yelled. "Why, even the mule I had a few years back wasn't as pig-headed--"

  Sam smiled. Fred was one of the few people who could get away with insulting Sam. "If you aren't going to shut up, go home," he muttered, knowing full well Fred was just as worried about the children as he was.

  "I should. I should just leave you out here--" Fred's voice trailed off as Sam dug his heels into the horse's side, and he rode away, leaving Fred to follow.

  ***

  By the time Emma woke, a watery sun was peeking through the lace curtains at her bedroom window. She was exhausted. She’d lain awake most of the night searching for a solution to the children's problem.

  She had to return the children to their father. She knew that, yet sh
e recoiled at the thought. In fact, he should be arriving shortly. With the few clues they'd unintentionally given her, she'd gone next door after the children were asleep and sought advice from her friends. James has identified the children immediately.

  Much as she hated to, she'd had no choice but to send word to the children's father. Surely the children would understand that. Why, by now, James was probably already at the Jenkins' ranch.

  She couldn't keep them herself, and she couldn't let them leave. They were far too young to be going off by themselves. They would hate her at first for betraying them. That much was certain. But they'd be thankful once their father explained, and they realized they'd misunderstood.

  Surely the children were mistaken. Perhaps their father had been angry and threatened to send them away, words spoken in haste, words that he regretted immediately after they’d left his mouth. The man was probably beside himself with worry by now and searching frantically for his children.

  But what if they were telling the truth, that their father really was sending them away? She'd be helping him to dispose of his own children. How could she live with herself?

  She would find out the truth, though. Legally, there was nothing she could do, no matter what she did find out. She couldn't force the man to look after his children, or to even keep them. But there was one thing she was certain of. If he did intend to get rid of his children, she would not leave them with that man without giving him a piece of her mind first. And everyone in town knew that when Emma Witherspoon got mad, she was a spitfire.

  Glancing at Becky sleeping beside her, she smiled softly, offering a silent prayer of thanks that the children hadn't run off again during the night. Oh, what she wouldn't give to have this child - to have all the children - permanently. They were the closest thing she'd ever get to having her own children, and she would give them as much love and care as the mother who'd borne them.

  An idea began to form in her mind, one that not only would prevent the children from running away, but would give her the one thing she'd dreamed of. Assuming, of course, that the children weren't mistaken. A wicked thought popped into her mind. For a moment, and she'd only entertain the thought for that long, she hoped the children were telling the truth.

  Slipping from the bed, Emma slid into a robe and crossed the hallway to the other bedroom. She peeked through the open door and, satisfied that the boys were both still asleep, tiptoed down the stairs to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

  She hummed as she moved about the kitchen.

  Becky was the first to come into the kitchen. She stood at the doorway, rubbing her eyes with her chubby fists. A frown creased her forehead, and for a moment, she looked like she might start to cry. "Where Nafan? Where Joseph?" she asked.

  "They're still sleeping," Emma said.

  Emma's answer seemed to satisfy her. "Would you like to help me with this?" Emma asked, lifting a pottery bowl filled with batter and setting it on the table. She handed Becky a wooden spoon.

  Becky frowned and pursed her lips as she peered into the bowl, then eyed Emma with a questioning glance.

  "Flapjacks," Emma said. "Do you like them?"

  Becky grinned and nodded, taking the spoon from Emma. Batter flew from the bowl as Becky began to whip the batter, and Emma barely avoided a clump landing on her cheek. With a chuckle, she took Becky's hand and began to show her how to blend the mixture without losing most of it. When she let go, Becky continued, her brows knitted together in concentration.

  "That's it, Becky," Emma said. "You're doing just fine."

  Emma was rewarded with a brilliant smile.

  By the time the boys came into the kitchen a while later, a heaping plate of flapjacks, bacon and scrambled eggs was waiting for them.

  "How would you feel about living here? With me?" She'd planned to wait until after they'd finished eating before she asked, but she couldn't stop herself.

  Becky ignored the question, instead concentrating on wiping up a puddle of syrup with her finger.

  Joseph eyed Emma with a suspicious stare, but said very little. Nathan, outspoken as always, asked her only one question. "Why?"

  How could she explain this to a six-year-old? Did they really need to hear her reasons? "Because I don't have any children of my own."

  "Why not?" he asked between mouthfuls of blueberry flapjacks.

  "Because ... because I'm not married," she answered.

  "You gotta have a husband to have babies," Joseph put in wisely.

  "Why ain't you married?"

  "Who'd like a glass of milk?" Emma asked, getting up from the table to fetch a pitcher of milk. Hopefully, if she ignored the question, Nathan wouldn't persist.

  "These is good." Becky looked up at Emma and stuffed another forkful of flapjack into her mouth.

  "Well?" Emma persisted. "If what you told me is true, then you have no home. Would you like to live here?"

  "You think we should, Joseph?" Nathan asked.

  "I don't know--"

  Emma turned away, mentally kicking herself for her impulsive nature. She'd done it again, acted without thinking. That one character trait had caused her a lifetime of grief, and still, she hadn't learned her lesson. Instead, she'd blurted out the question that had tumbled through her brain all night without stopping to think about the consequences. She had no right to offer these children anything, especially a home.

  Not that it was likely that they'd been telling the truth. Even if what the children had told her was true, there was absolutely no reason for their father to allow her to keep them. Heavens, the man didn't even know her.

  The whispers behind her stopped, but not before she heard a few words coming from Nathan. " ... does cook good ..."

  Emma turned to face them.

  "Okay," Joseph pronounced. "We'll stay."

  Oh, no! She'd really done it this time. Somehow, she'd have to try to explain that it wouldn't be her decision.

  Before she had the chance, a loud hammering at the door startled her, almost causing her to drop the jug of milk in her hand.

  Taking a deep breath, she set the jug on the table and opened the door. The man facing her filled the opening, his broad shoulders almost grazing the sides. His face was mostly in shadow beneath the worn, stained Stetson. Dark stubble covered his square chin and his lips were pressed into a thin line.

  Their father, she assumed. He was such an imposing presence that Emma shrank back for a moment. No wonder the children were terrified.

  With one fluid movement, he was in her kitchen, an agonized sound escaping from his lips as he moved towards the children.

  Scampering off the chairs, the boys scurried backwards, away from the furious man advancing on them.

  A few paces away from them, Sam stopped to snatch Becky up in his arms. "Papa," she cried. "Papa, me make flat japs," she announced proudly, pointing to the pottery bowl on the counter.

  Joseph, flattened against the wall, glared at Emma. "You told him." The accusation in his voice were like a knife in Emma's heart.

  "Joseph, I--" What could she say? He was only telling the truth. She had arranged for word to be sent to their father. Right now, seeing the hatred in Joseph's eyes, she wished she'd never done it. They had trusted her, and she had betrayed them. She'd had good reason, but they certainly wouldn't see it that way.

  "What'dya go and do that for?" Nathan asked. "You said we could stay here and live with you."

  Heavens. Why had Nathan mentioned that right now, before she'd even had a chance to discover how much of what they had told her was true?

  The children's father turned to face her, as if he was seeing her for the first time. "What the hell have you done to my children?" the man raged. "What are they talking about?"

  "Mr. Jenkins, I assume?" If she could pretend she didn't hear him, perhaps he'd forget what Nathan had said.

  "Uh ... yeah ... Sorry. Sam Jenkins."

  "I'm pleased to meet you. The children spent the night here with me."

&n
bsp; "I'm sorry they put you out, ma'am. I'll deal with them when we get home."

  "Pa, we can live here," Joseph yelled. "Miss Emma said we could." He paused, then gave Emma a daring glance. “Unless she was lying."

  "Joseph, that's enough." Sam glared at Joseph. "Apologize to the lady."

  "Sorry, ma'am," Joseph muttered sullenly.

  "Mind explaining what he's talking about?" Sam asked, turning his attention to Emma. "Why would he think he was going to live here? What did you tell them?"

  "It isn't what I told them," she replied, ignoring his initial question. "It's what they told me. They're afraid, Mr. Jenkins."

  His voice boomed in the small kitchen. "Afraid? Afraid of what?"

  "You. And the way you're bellowing isn't going to help."

  "Bellowing?"

  Emma nodded. "Please lower your voice."

  "Why the hell would they be afraid of me?" he asked. Emma was pleased to see that his voice had reached a more acceptable level.

  "Ask them yourself."

  His gaze left her face and focused on the two boys. Nathan was the first to speak. "I ain't scared of nobody," he announced with his head held high, although Emma didn't miss the tremor in his voice.

  "Come here, Nathan," Sam ordered. "Now."

  Slowly, Nathan crossed to his father. Setting Becky back on her chair, Sam crouched down and looked him squarely in the eye. "Do you have any idea what you put me through last night?" Sam looked up and caught Joseph's gaze across the room. "Do you?"

  "We thought we were helping ... honest ..."

  "Helping?"

  Joseph suddenly moved, taking his place beside his brother. With a steady voice that made him seem years older, he explained the reasoning behind their actions. "Are you mad at us?" he asked when he was finished.

  Sam raked his fingers through his hair and gave Emma a questioning glance, as if asking her what he should do. She shook her head, unable to offer any suggestions. How did he expect her to know? She had no experience in dealing with runaways.

  Then he turned his attention back to the children. "I should be. I should tan your hides from now 'til next week. But no, I'm not mad. Come here." Opening his arms, all three of the children crowded against him. He held them tightly, the cords in his forearms bulging with the pressure.