A pang of conscience rose up in her at such spiteful thoughts. No one was irredeemable. Who was she to judge another man’s heart, when she herself was capable of such unkind reflections?
Still. Knowing that man would pass up the opportunity to love a child—his own flesh and blood—was unthinkable to Emma.
“Skye, it’s time to go,” she called softly, hoping the girl was nearby.
“I did it, Emma. I caught a frog!”
The thrill in Skye’s voice washed over Emma like a spring rain. Even with all the hours they’d spent together the last few days, she hadn’t heard that kind of pure, childish joy in her tone until now.
“Really? Let me see.” Emma had seen many frogs in her day, and had no real desire to examine another one up close. But for the child’s sake she did, pronouncing it the finest specimen of amphibian she had ever seen.
Skye beamed. “Can I keep him?”
“If your father says it’s okay. Now come with me. I’ll be driving you home instead of your Uncle Riley.”
Joe met them at the carriage house door. “I figured it was getting close to time for you to leave.”
To Emma’s relief, Sugar was already hitched to the buggy and ready to go. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”
“No problem, ma’am. It’s getting dark, though. Mebbe I should ride along with you.”
Skye had swallowed her jovial mood the moment Joe appeared, and now clung to Emma’s skirt like a baby opossum clinging to its mother.
“No, thank you. We’ll be fine.” The child seemed to relax at her rejection of Joe’s offer.
“All right. But you should at least take a light.” He removed one of the kerosene lanterns from its hook and handed it to her once they were both seated.
After thanking him again, Emma clicked to Sugar, and they headed for Skye’s home, with a silent prayer that she’d be able to find it in the dark.
“You’ll have to help show me the way,” she told Skye when they turned out of the drive. “I’m not sure I could find it again in the daytime, and here it is, dark.”
“It’s easy. Just close your eyes.”
“Close my eyes? I’m not sure that’s a good idea, with me driving the buggy.” She looked at Skye, with the lamplight flickering on her olive skin.
The girl lifted her face to the heavens and closed her eyes.
“What are you doing, honey?” Emma asked her.
“I’m feeling the way.” She pointed in front of her, then moved her arm to the right just a little. “Home is there.”
After a little ways, the road curved to the right before coming to what appeared to be a dead end.
“Through here.” Skye pointed.
“But there’s no path there. I remember there being a path.”
“The path is there. Come. I’ll show you.” The child climbed down, and Emma secured the brake and reins, then followed, clutching the lantern as if these woods were an ocean and the light were the last buoyant thing she could find.
Sure enough, there was the path she and Riley had taken, overgrown with grass and weeds. “All right. I’ll know better than to question you again.”
They climbed back into the wagon. Soon they pulled to a stop in front of the cabin, but there was no sign of life. No sign of anyone waiting by the window for a little girl to come home. Emma couldn’t just dump Skye here. A sharp sense of foreboding pulsed through her.
“You stay here a minute. I want to speak to your father.”
Emma climbed down. Should she leave the lantern with Skye? Emma would probably need it more than the girl. “Will you be okay in the dark?”
“Yes,” Skye answered, and Emma tried to inhale some of the child’s bravery. Skye may not be afraid of the dark, but in this instance, Emma was.
“You know how to get back to the big house, don’t you?” she asked Skye.
“Yes.”
“Even in the dark?”
“Yes.”
“All right. I’ll...be right back.” Emma ignored her shaking hands, ignored the pulse roaring in her ear, and took tenuous steps forward until she stood in front of the rough door.
She knocked three times.
No answer.
Knocked twice more.
Nothing.
“Mr. Stratton? It’s Emma Monroe. I’m bringing Skye home.”
Silence.
With more courage than she felt, or perhaps it was just raw nerve, she pushed the heavy planks until the door scraped open. “Mr. Stratton?”
A putrid smell assaulted her nostrils. Tenuously, she took one step inside and held up the lantern, then sucked in a scream. Donnigan Stratton lay on the floor, arms spread wide, his head turned to one side.
Was he dead?
Her answer came in the form of a deep, ragged snore. Closer examination showed several empty whiskey bottles scattered near him. Dear, God! What do I do? I can’t leave Skye here.
As soon as the prayer formed, the answer came clear. Tonight, Skye would go home with her.
A quick examination of the chaotic quarters turned up an envelope and a stubby pencil, and she scribbled a quick note.
Dear Mr. Stratton,
I was sorry to find you…
How in the world was she supposed to word her statement to him? She couldn’t very well say, I’m sorry you’re a sorry, no-good drunk. I have your child. True as it may be, even she knew the law wouldn’t side with her in a suspected kidnapping. Especially not if John Stratton were to step in. Not that he would. Still, it was best to keep things civil with Donnigan Stratton, if she wanted to continue a relationship with his daughter.
I was sorry to find you ill. Rest is often the finest nurse for many of our ailments. I’ve taken Skye home with me for the night, in order to give you time to recuperate. I hope you’re feeling better soon.
* * *
Sincerely,
* * *
Emma Monroe
Cautiously, Emma placed the note between the man’s outstretched thumb and forefinger, then tiptoed out and shut the door behind her.
“Your pa isn’t feeling well, so I told him you could stay with me tonight.”
The lamplight revealed enormous brown eyes, too old for their years, as Skye nodded. She looked both sad and pleased, as if she’d been handed a great treasure, only to learn the cost was more than she wanted to pay.
Well, Emma would simply do whatever she could to bring the childhood back into those eyes. She couldn’t fix everything, but hopefully she could make some parts of Skye’s life a little better.
At times, Emma missed Ma in a whisper.
Other times it was conversational.
And in moments like these, the ache for her mother roared.
Yet somehow, caring for Skye both accentuated and soothed the loneliness of Emma’s heart, as if by needing Ma, she drew her closer.
“You’ll have to direct me out of here, Skye, or I may have us in Canada before daybreak.”
The girl giggled and pointed the way.
Back on the main path, the crickets serenaded them in a loud, cheerful melody that seemed to proclaim everything would be all right. When they passed by the main house again, the Strattons had gathered around Mayor Bridges’ surrey as they spoke their goodbyes. It must have been the way the wind blew, for Emma caught Clara’s words to Riley.
“Isn’t that Emma? Who is that child with her?”
Emma couldn’t hear Riley’s response. But she placed her arm around Skye’s shoulder and whispered, “Someday, when I have a little girl of my own, I hope she’s very much like you.”
When Emma drove by a little while later with Skye in the wagon, headed toward the Monroe place, Riley knew he had to follow her. Skye was his niece, and he needed to check on her. Why was she going home with Emma?
Oh, who was he fooling? He hadn’t checked on her much at all before Emma took an interest in her. What kind of person was he?
An awful one.
But something deep in his spirit
told him he could be a better man. That he wasn’t shackled to his family name, as if that alone defined him. Before Emma Monroe upset his world, he was perfectly fine with himself. But now, seeing the way she accepted difficulty with fortitude, seeing the way she lovingly cared for her own family and for strangers alike...he wanted to be better.
Aside from Mom’s death, Riley’s life had been easy. He never had to worry over money. School was a breeze. He never wanted for friends, male or female. Yet for all his ease, he couldn’t think of one thing he’d really accomplished. Not one way his life had affected others, for the greater good. At least, not until Emma showed up in his kitchen.
He thought again to his conversation with Charlie Monroe, about talking to God. So as he saddled Medina and climbed on her back, he talked—muttered, really, in nondescript syllables that must have sounded like nonsense.
“Where are you headed?” Dad’s voice pierced the darkness.
“I...feel like someone needs to make sure Emma gets home safely.” He figured it best not to mention Skye.
“It’s not your place.” The disapproval in Dad’s tone was obvious, even without being able to see his face.
Riley knew there was no point arguing, unless he could convince his father he had something at stake. “A woman out alone at night isn’t safe, even in these parts. If something happens to her, it will reflect poorly on us.”
A few moments of silence must mean he was considering it. “I’ll send Joe.”
“I’m already saddled. I’m going.”
“You should let Joe handle it. He and Emma seem to enjoy one another’s company.” Riley could hear the veiled threat in Dad’s voice. “Your time would be better spent on Clara.”
Riley chose not to respond. With a flick of his spurs, he and Medina left his father in the dark.
Joe and Emma.
That was one relationship Riley couldn’t figure out. Joe was too old for Emma. Wasn’t he? Were they sweet on each other?
No. That was none of his business. Tonight, it was time he stepped up and showed his niece a bit of the love and concern she deserved...especially since no one else in his family planned to.
God, I’ve carried this idea about myself that I wasn’t like my father or my brothers. That I was the good one, with the kind heart. But I’m no better than they are. Is change even possible?
Medina must have felt Riley’s tension, because as soon as they got on the open road, she increased to a full run.
It wasn’t fast enough, however. By the time he arrived at Emma’s, her horse and buggy were already in the barn.
Emma’s brain felt like a pile of scrambled eggs, like all the parts of her life had collided, been whipped and beaten, and poured into a too-hot skillet. Try as she might to separate the things that weighed on her heart, she couldn’t. It was one big mess.
Ma’s death was the first domino to fall, and each day, another one collided. Pa’s illness. Tonight’s humiliation. Would the money hold out? What if she lost her temper with John Stratton or Allison? Because she might. But she couldn’t afford to. And what of Lyndel? He just kept rolling along. He rarely complained. She worked so much, she hardly saw him. How was he holding up?
Somehow, so far, she’d managed to hold all her anxiety inside with a slim layer of will. She had to, for Skye’s sake. For Pa and Lyndel’s sakes. But if one more thing happened, that paper-thin veil of self-control would rip open, and who knew what would tumble out?
As usual, Pa sat by the fire when she came in, straining to read the latest copy of the Lampasas Dispatch in the dim glow.
“You’ll ruin your eyes,” she whispered, as she did every evening.
He grunted, as he did every evening, then folded the paper and set it aside. When he saw Skye, his brows lifted. “Well now. Who do we have here?”
Skye stepped partially behind Emma, as if that might make him un-see her.
“This is Skye.” Emma moved aside and placed a reassuring hand on the child’s shoulder. “She’s going to stay with us tonight.”
Pa’s wrinkled face split into a delighted grin. “Lucky for us. This is the brilliant young lady you’ve told me about?” He paused to catch his breath. “You said she was pretty, but you failed to tell me she was beautiful. We’re honored to have you in our home, Miss Skye.”
Skye dropped her eyes, but Emma sensed the child relax a little. “Skye, this is my father, Mr. Monroe.”
Down the hall, Lyndel must have heard their voices, because his bedroom door scratched open and he padded into the living room.
“And this is my brother, Lyndel.”
Skye peered up for only a moment before dropping her eyes again.
“Lyndel, this is Skye.”
Lyndel’s eyes held questions, but he had manners enough not to ask them. “Howdy, Skye.”
“Are you hungry?” Emma asked the child as she led her past the table. She noticed the dishes were all done and put away. She’d have to thank Lyndel later.
Skye’s answer was a silent shake of her head.
“Well then, let me show you where you’ll sleep tonight. I hope you don’t mind sharing a room with me.” Emma knew there’d be questions later. But for now, thankfully, both of her menfolk carried on as if they had seven-year-old guests stay overnight all the time.
In her room, Emma showed Skye the bed, the dresser, the hooks on the wall. “Let’s hang your new dress here. That way it won’t get wrinkled, and you can wear it again tomorrow.”
She tucked the tiny girl under the covers on one side of the double bed they’d share and said a simple childhood prayer. She was turning down the lamp when she heard the clopping of a horse’s hooves, accompanied by a unique snort-blow-snort she recognized immediately.
Medina.
Riley Stratton was the last person she wanted to see. Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone?
“I’m going to do a few things in the kitchen, and I’ll be back shortly. You close your eyes and go to sleep.” With a kiss on Skye’s silky forehead, Emma shut the door behind her and trekked through the front of the house without stopping. She opened the front door just as Riley lifted his hand to knock.
“What?” Even she was surprised at her own rudeness. Surprised, but at the moment, not sorry.
“I...saw you and Skye pass by the house earlier. I just wanted to check to make sure everything’s all right.”
Without a word, Emma grabbed the lantern on the hook by the door, stepped onto the porch, and shut the door behind her. “No. Everything is not all right, Riley Stratton,” she whispered. Alarm bells sounded in her head, telling her she was on the edge of hysteria, but she didn’t care.
She did care, however, about the audience she may gather if she stayed on the porch. With a lift of her chin, she pushed past Riley, down the porch steps, and headed toward the barn. Halfway there, she stopped and turned back to Riley. “Are you coming or not?”
Only then did he follow her.
In the barn, she hung the lantern on a high hook and spun around. “How dare you follow us here, as if you care one whit about me or that child. I don’t know what kind of game you’re trying to play with me, but whatever it is, you can just stop.”
He opened his mouth as if to respond, but she didn’t give him a chance. She had no desire to hear anything he had to say.
“You, with your veiled flirtations and your false compassion. If you really cared about your niece, she wouldn’t be living the way she is. Do you know what I found when I took her home this evening?”
“Uh...”
“Your brother. Passed out cold on the floor, reeking of alcohol. No telling how many times that child has had to tiptoe around a drunken father. No telling what she endures when he’s not unconscious.”
“Now hold on a minute—”
“That’s right. Go ahead and defend him. I thought you might be different from the rest of your family. But you’re exactly like them. You only care about appearances, not about the truth. As long as Sk
ye and Donnigan are tucked safely away where no one can see, you don’t concern yourselves with what Skye might be going through. What are you people, some kind of monsters? I can’t even stand to look at you.”
Even as she said the words, her conscience pricked at her to stop. She knew Riley was at a loss to know what to do for his niece. He had shown her kindness. But then he’d had the gall to flirt with Clara tonight, after being so nice to Emma all these weeks. Was that what had really brought on her fury?
But she didn’t spend more than half a second contemplating that possibility before she spewed more. Pure, unedited venom.
“There’s Allison, whose main source of pleasure in life, at the moment, is humiliating me. As for that accident tonight with the tea, that was no accident. I’m sure of it. But she’s not even as bad as your father. He’s nothing more than a foul-mouthed, self-important tyrant who talks with his mouth full and smells of cigars. But at least he has a little bit of a brain, unlike that dimwitted, simpleton of a brother you call Colt. No wonder Allison’s so mean. She’s probably bored out of her skull, having to be married to him.
“The almighty Strattons. If only people really knew...you’ve got a bully, a tyrant, a clod, a drunk, and...and then there’s you. You’re the worst of them, as far as I’m concerned, Riley Stratton. You’re a coward, because I can see you know right from wrong, but you refuse to stand up to any of them. You just sit by and watch all the wrongs your family heaps on others, and you don’t do a thing about it. That makes you the bottom rung.
“And you have the nerve to play up to Clara Bridges? Why, she’s too good for you, Riley Stratton. She’s too good for all of you. I only pray she figures that out before she takes your name and it’s too late. No wonder my mother didn’t talk more about all of you. She had too much class. She rarely said a cross word about anyone, but with all of you, there really wasn’t much nice to say.”
Legacy of Honor Page 11