He filled his spoon, blew on it, and took a bite.
His taste buds exploded with warm, sweet peaches mixed with a flaky, melt-in-your-mouth crust, and just the right amount of cream to balance it out. Without a word, he took another bite and another until it was all gone. Finally, he looked at Skye and said, “I can’t decide if I like it or not. May I have a little more?”
The girl giggled again, but it was Emma who answered. “No, you may not, Mr. Stratton. You’ve had your taste. Now out with you.”
Riley pushed back the bench and stood, an odd sort of warmth filling both his belly and his spirit.
“What’s this?” Lyndel wrinkled his nose that night at the dinner table.
“It’s called Veal Collops. Try it.” Emma scruffed his hair before adding some of the entrée to her own plate.
“Why’d ya fix this? We never eat veal.”
“Allison Stratton requested it for a special dinner on Thursday, and I wanted to practice. The butcher was kind enough to give me a small portion of veal at his cost, since I also purchased enough for the dinner party. By the way, Pa, I’ll be late getting home that evening. I’ll put a pot of beans on to simmer, and that can be your dinner that night.”
“This is delicious,” Pa mumbled around a small mouthful, his voice frail. He coughed. Would he choke? When his breathing settled, he said, “You’re almost as good a cook as your mother.”
Would he ever get well? She looked at Ma’s empty chair, then pushed her own plate away. Would the gaping hole in her heart ever stop hurting? “Thank you, Pa.”
There were crullers for dessert. A cruller, she had learned, was simply a deep-fried, braided, or twisted pastry. In reality, none of the recipes were hard, but Emma was glad she’d given them a test-run before the dinner party.
“This girl...you say she’s Donnigan’s child?” Pa asked after he wiped his mouth and dropped his napkin on his plate.
“Yes. They’re living in a shack in the woods—well, it’s a little better than a shack—and when I found her today, she was filthy. But she’s the sweetest thing, and sharp as a pin.”
“And John Stratton doesn’t want anything to do with her?”
“No. I want to pity her, but honestly, I pity him more. To have such a dear creature in his family and not even know it.”
“She has school in the pantry?” Lyndel asked. “I’d hate that. Unless I could eat while I was in there. Then it might not be so bad.”
Emma chuckled. Lyndel was growing so fast she could hardly keep his pants at the right length, and it seemed like all he thought of was food. Would they be able to feed and clothe him after her savings were depleted? Good thing she had a job that paid well. She didn’t see how she’d ever be able to quit, to attend teacher college.
After the dishes were washed and put away, Emma got out Ma’s old basket of fabric and notions and sat in the chair next to her father’s. Lyndel disappeared outside to catch fireflies. It was still early in the season for the little bugs, but she didn’t tell him that. He really just wanted an excuse to be outdoors until dark.
“Riley Stratton paid me another visit today,” Pa told her.
She nearly dropped her basket. “Really?”
“Yes. Really.”
“What did he want? And when did he come?”
“Early afternoon. He just wanted to talk.”
She wanted to press further, but she knew better. If Pa wanted her to know more, he’d tell her. If he didn’t, wild stallions couldn’t pull it from him. Instead, she pulled out several different fabrics from Ma’s basket and held each up to the lantern, trying to decide which she had enough of to make a small dress. Which would look nicest on Skye? The dishes still needed doing, but this chore was more fun. She’d cut out the patterns, then tend to the kitchen.
Skye was a lovely child, and in all truth, any of the fabrics would do nicely. After several minutes of deliberation, she decided on the yellow gingham. She had some yellow bric-a-brac for the sleeves and hem, and a set of tiny mother-of-pearl buttons she’d been saving for a special project.
If she had time, she’d make her another dress from the blue calico. If not, she’d get to it later this week. For the first time, she thought of Ma without fighting back tears. Oh, the ache was still there. But as she cut the fabric and pieced together the tiny dress, she almost felt like Ma was right there with her, approving.
What would Ma say if she knew how much time Emma spent thinking about Riley Stratton, or how her stomach flipped like a hot griddlecake when he came near? Emma recalled his flirtations with every pretty face in school, and the stories she’d heard about all the swooning girls while he was away at university, and suddenly those griddlecakes in her belly went flat.
The next morning, Skye waited in the kitchen for Emma when she arrived. The little girl sat at the table across from Riley. The oven fire was already started, and the aroma of fresh coffee filled the room.
“Are you trying to steal my job, Mr. Stratton?”
“Not at all. Skye insisted she couldn’t start her day without coffee. I didn’t have a choice.”
Skye giggled.
“Is that true, Skye?” Emma asked.
The girl giggled some more and shook her head.
Emma looked at Riley, who was holding a finger over his lips, telling his niece to “shush.”
“It appears that someone else is in need of coffee, and is trying to blame an innocent child. Shame on you.”
“I confess. Will you make me write sentences, Teacher?”
Emma tried to keep her face stern, but she couldn’t help but laugh. “If you’re not careful, I might do exactly that. Now if the coffee is ready, you may pour yourself a cup and skedaddle. Skye and I have important business to conduct, and it doesn’t involve you.”
Riley feigned a hurt look, poured his coffee, and exited into the hallway, mumbling something about being unappreciated.
When he was well out of hearing distance, Emma looked at Skye. “I have a surprise for you. But first, we have to get you cleaned up. Let’s move this washtub into the pantry and fill it halfway with water. I’ll boil some more water on the stove to heat it up. Do you have running water at your house?”
“No, but a creek runs behind the house.”
“That’s nice. When I was your age, I used to love to bathe in the creek in the summertime. But in winter, Ma made us haul water into the house to bathe, so she could heat it. That wasn’t nearly as fun. But she made us do it every day.”
Skye smiled, grabbed a bucket and slipped out the back door. Emma watched her pump water, and held the door open for her as she carried it to the big tub in the pantry.
The child continued her work in silence, and Emma tried to think of a way to teach Skye about appropriate hygiene without embarrassing the girl. Skye’s mother had probably taught those things, but Donnigan clearly didn’t know how to address such issues. When the tub was half full, Emma added a big pot of boiling water and stirred it around. Then she pulled out the brown paper package she’d discreetly placed on the counter when she came in.
“I made this for you.” She handed Skye the package.
The girl’s eyes lit up. She held it in her hands, as if she didn’t know what to do with it.
“Aren’t you going to open it?”
Skye nodded and sat in the small desk Riley had placed there, which was now scooted to the corner to make room for the tub. Carefully, tenderly she untied the string and set it aside. Then she unfolded the paper as if she wanted to save it to use later. When she saw the dress, her expression held such awe, such wonder, that Emma’s chest tightened with emotion.
“Do you like it?” Emma whispered.
Skye nodded. She poised her hand just above the fabric, as if she were afraid to touch it.
“Go ahead. You won’t hurt it. That’s one of my favorite fabrics. It’s cotton, and it’s very soft.”
With an almost holy reverence, Skye touched the fabric, then picked up the dress
and held it to her cheek as if she wanted to remember this moment forever.
Emma cleared her throat. She had to stop being so sentimental. “I’m glad you’re pleased. But we never want to wear a new dress unless we’re nice and clean.” She turned the lantern up as high as it would go, then stepped back into the kitchen. “Off with your dress, and hop in. I’ll be back in a few minutes to help you wash your hair.”
She was glad Riley had started the fire and made the coffee. Otherwise, she would have been late with breakfast. As it was, she and Skye had breakfast on the table, and Skye was contentedly ensconced in her classroom, looking radiant in her new dress and clean braids, by the time the Strattons were seated.
Hours flew by in a whirl of activity. Emma found a chapter on table settings in one of Ma’s old cookbooks, and she helped Skye practice her numbers as they tried out various designs. “Place four plates, one at each of these places. Now count out four forks, four spoons, four knives...and set them in this pattern, beside each plate.” Emma couldn’t say for sure, as she didn’t have any other students to compare her to, but Skye seemed uncommonly bright for her age.
By the time Thursday rolled around, Emma felt like she could conquer the world. She could certainly conquer this strange cuisine Allison had requested. Everything was ready, and as close to perfect as she could make it. Emma had been given two uniforms, so she brought them both with her and changed into a fresh one twenty minutes before guests were scheduled to arrive.
When she emerged from the privy, Allison waited in the hall. “They’ll be here soon. You’ll answer the door and escort them into the parlor, where you’ll serve hors d’oeuvres. Please give us about twenty minutes, and then call us in for dinner.”
Hors d’oeuvres? Oh dear.
Emma refused to let on, refused to show panic. Instead, she simply nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
Then she calmly dismissed herself from the woman’s presence and slowly, with as much dignity as she could muster, returned to the kitchen pantry. “Skye, I need you to help me with a project.”
“All right.”
“See that shelf of pickles and nuts? I want you to choose several things that you think would look nice on a tray. Look for different colors, shapes and sizes, while I look for a serving platter. Can you do that?”
“Yes!” The way Skye said it made it sound like they were playing a game instead of standing on the brink of disaster.
And why not make a game of it? They were in a race with the clock to create an hors d’oeuvre tray to beat all hors d’oeuvre trays, and they would win. They had to win.
That Allison had set her up again was indisputable...or perhaps not. Emma should have known hors d’oeuvres would be expected.
In the dining room, beneath the large buffet cabinet, Emma knew there was a beautiful silver tray, intricately etched with a floral design, and with ornate handles on each end. She’d just polished the silver last week, and had taken extra time with that tray. But could she remove it without Allison seeing?
Slowly, silently she crept into the dining room. There was Allison, sitting across the way in the parlor, with her back to Emma. If she took extra care, she could retrieve the tray without being detected.
As quietly as possible, she knelt in front of the cabinet, eased open the doors, and found the tray. It took her longer than she wanted to remove the items stacked on top of it, as she had to take her time to avoid any clatter. But at last, she’d replaced the unneeded pieces and shut the door, and was just standing to her feet when a male voice cleared his throat behind her.
Riley.
He was watching her from the foyer, a look of amusement in his eyes like he didn’t know whether to laugh or not.
“Riley, is that you?” Allison called from the parlor. “What are you doing?”
He must have read the panic in Emma’s face as she held a finger over her mouth and pleaded with her eyes for him not to give away her presence, for he just smiled, but didn’t acknowledge her verbally. “I’m coming to join you, Allison. I was hoping to see Davis...is he already down for the night?”
“He was nearly asleep when I left him. I’m about to go check on him once more before...”
Their conversation trailed out of Emma’s hearing as she snuck back through the kitchen and into the pantry. She set the large tray on Skye’s little desk and gasped in delight at the assortment the child had lined up on the edge of the middle shelf. Pickled okra, pickled olives, pickled carrots. Add to that the practice loaf of bread she and Skye had baked this afternoon, plus some dainty jars of jam, a jar of nuts, and a fresh crock of butter and voila! An hors d’oeuvre tray.
The crack of the giant brass doorknocker echoed, and Emma’s heart quickened. “Skye, do you think you can arrange these pickles in a pretty pattern around the edge for me? Leave room in the middle so I can add a few more things.”
Skye nodded. She looked like she was having fun. And truly, the child was heaven-sent, especially in this moment when her serenity fell over Emma’s anxiety like cold lemonade on a hot day.
After a deep breath and a few pats of her hair and skirt as she approached the foyer, Emma answered the door. Mayor Bridges and his wife stood on the porch. And there, hanging onto his arm and looking like an illustration from a fashion journal, was Clara.
And here she was looking like a cross between a mortician and a lace doily.
“Good evening, Mayor Bridges, Mrs. Bridges, Miss Bridges. Won’t you come in?” Emma focused on the mayor, in hopes of bypassing conversation with Clara.
“Why, Emma, I never in a million years expected to see you here. And...dressed like that.” Clara giggled, but there was no malice in her tone.
Allison and the Stratton men waited just behind Emma, so Emma didn’t respond. She simply held the door open wide and allowed the visitors to enter.
Clara threw Emma a look that was part question, part apology as she swept past.
“Mayor Bridges, I’m delighted you could join us this evening. Mrs. Bridges and Clara, as always, you ladies grace any room with your presence.” John Stratton’s words felt like a slap to Emma, punctuating even further her own status in the Stratton family.
Though Emma had never spoken of her own feelings for Riley, Clara had whispered and dreamed and hoped for the day she’d one day become Mrs. Riley Stratton. Clara and every other girl in school. Emma silently excused herself from the group, but not before she saw Clara’s doe-eyed look in Riley’s direction. After all these years, Clara still had feelings for Riley.
Is this whole evening a matchmaking opportunity? A burning sensation pierced Emma like a knife in the gut. In all honesty, the two of them would probably make a very nice match. And what did it matter? She had a job to do.
She stiffened her spine, schooled her features, and put the final touches on the tray.
Chapter 9
Riley stood as Emma led their guests into the parlor. He hadn’t even thought to ask who was coming to dinner, but he shouldn’t have been surprised Allison would try to manipulate the mayor’s favor. Dad probably put her up to it. Money and power were all they thought of.
Dad took the lead, stepping forward to shake the mayor’s hand and complimenting Clara and her mother.
Clara blushed and said “Thank you,” while she lowered her eyelashes in that dainty way women do when they’re trying to appear modest.
Colt stepped up and shook hands with the mayor, then finally it was Riley’s turn.
“Mayor, Mrs. Bridges. Miss Bridges.” It was going to be a long evening. Maybe he could escape to take Skye home. He should have taken her home two hours ago, but since Emma was still here, he figured she could use the extra help. Both Skye and Emma seemed to enjoy the new arrangement immensely, and as long as they both stayed busy and out of sight, it seemed to work out well for everyone.
They’d just taken their seats again when Emma entered, carrying a tray with several small plates and a stack of neatly folded napkins, which she placed on a s
ide table before disappearing again. Soon she returned with an enormous silver tray loaded with all kinds of good things to eat and placed it on a low table in the center of the room.
Everyone ignored her, just continued with their small talk as if she didn’t exist. But for Riley, Emma Monroe was a hard person to ignore.
He heard his name and realized Allison had been speaking to him.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “My mind was wandering. Could you repeat the question?”
“I just wondered how many grades you were ahead of Miss Bridges.”
Riley looked at Clara, who smiled demurely. She really was a pretty thing, though in school he’d always thought her rather silly. He’d much preferred Emma and her willingness to join in a game of stickball or tree climbing. But several years had passed, and he doubted any of them would be getting up a game of stickball anytime soon. “I believe I was...two years ahead of you. Or was it three?”
“I think it was three,” the young woman replied, and did that eyelash thing again.
Emma now held the tray with the dishes, and stopped by each person to silently offer the items. Everyone took a plate and a napkin. She never looked at any of them directly, just kept her head bowed in humble deference.
“Mr. Stratton, I haven’t had an opportunity to welcome you home from university,” Clara told him.
“I’m sure in this setting it will be fine to call him Riley,” Allison interjected in her too-bright voice. “After all, you are schoolmates, and there are three Mr. Strattons here this evening.”
“Oh, all right. Riley.” Clara smiled, a dazzling smile that was sure to win some poor lout’s heart with a single flash. “I’d love to hear all about your time there. Was it truly exciting?”
“I don’t know if I’d call it exciting,” Riley told her while Emma presented the hors d’oeuvre tray. He didn’t want to make Emma nervous by staring. Her being required to serve this way didn’t set right with him. But Allison had mentioned extra pay. That was a good thing, wasn’t it?
Legacy of Honor Page 9