Legacy of Honor

by Renae Brumbaugh Green

At church, they offered the obligatory greetings and endured the pitying stares of neighbors who’d promised to stop by but hadn’t. And Emma felt a heightened twinge of the ever-present ache when she scooted into their row, with the reminder that they now had more elbow room than they had just a couple of months ago.

  But when Riley walked in, Skye at his side, Emma sucked in a breath. She watched the silent exchange between Riley and his father, as the older man refused to move in and make room. She watched Mayor Bridges come to the rescue and invite Riley and Skye to join his family on their pew. She watched others in the room, throwing eye daggers at Skye. She watched Skye, seemingly oblivious to it all. Yet Emma was familiar enough with the still surface of the child’s countenance to know she didn’t miss a thing. When Skye sat between Clara and Riley, she caught Emma’s eye for just a moment, and Emma offered a reassuring smile, an encouraging nod.

  Hettie struck the first chords of the first hymn, and the congregation stood in unison and sang a hearty rendition of Blest Be the Tie that Binds. Emma struggled through the chorus, trying not to watch the pretty picture they made—Riley, Skye, and Clara—trying with everything in her to be happy that her two beloved friends would surely provide a lovely home for Skye one day. Emma was happy. She really was.

  But for some reason, she couldn’t stop her bottom lip from quivering, or the tears that slid down her cheeks, wet her collar, and surely turned her nose a most ridiculous shade of red.

  Riley knew, without a word spoken between himself and his father, that a mark had been drawn. In the coming days, he knew more lines would be etched. There was no going back. And the funny thing was, he didn’t care.

  No, that wasn’t right. He did care. But despite the fact that he cared deeply what his father thought, he knew he couldn’t continue to carry the façade his father wanted him to carry. So what if people talked about them? They’d talk, regardless.

  Dad’s fantasy that people only had good thoughts about the mighty Strattons needed to be challenged. For all Dad’s bully and bluster, he was a coward. He was afraid of people seeing him as weak or flawed. An Indian grandchild would certainly put the Strattons in the “flawed” category, in a lot of people’s minds.

  As soon as the service was over, Riley took Skye by the hand and introduced her to the people around him. “Hello. Good to see you. Have you met my niece, Skye?”

  Most were polite, if not sincere. Some marched past him, as if they couldn’t hear his greeting. He tried to ignore the gunpowder glare coming from his father. But he couldn’t ignore the jagged words, hissed in his ear as Dad passed him in the aisle. “Get home. Now.”

  Dad’s face looked like an overripe tomato. He stalked through the crowd, not even nodding or giving the usual pleasantries.

  The scent of cinnamon and vanilla alerted Riley to Emma’s nearness even before he saw Skye lunge into her arms. “Look at you,” she said. “You look so pretty in your new dress. Did your Uncle Riley fix your hair?”

  Skye nodded.

  “He did a very nice job.” Emma placed a hand on Skye’s shoulder and greeted Clara, to his left, before she looked at Riley. Thank you, she mouthed. Something in her eyes looked both relieved and sad before she followed the ebbing crowd toward the exit.

  She might be relieved, but he certainly wasn’t. He might have done the right thing this morning, but it wouldn’t be without its price. He had the devil to pay.

  Riley dropped Skye at the cabin and went straight home. Now, he sat in Dad’s study and tried not to cringe under the verbal barrage.

  “You sorry, good-for-nothing traitor. Do you have any idea the damage you caused by dragging that brat to church? We do business with those people, Riley. Word travels fast, and it travels far. Our livelihood depends on being able to sell cattle, to sell beef to people. Do you really think they’re gonna buy beef from Indian lovers?”

  Dad’s eyes held a treacherous glint. Riley had to work hard to maintain eye contact.

  “I have given you everything, boy. Paid for your fancy school, for those fancy clothes you wear, given you a job where you don’t have to do a thing but pay a few bills. All I’ve asked for in return is that you honor the Stratton name. Instead, you spit in my face! I’m done being the nice guy. That little girl ought to be on a reservation. I’ve a good mind to send her and Donnigan away right now. One more stunt like this, and I will.” Dad’s eyes bulged from his head. Veins popped from his neck like they might explode, and for a moment, Riley feared his father would have a heart attack. “What were you thinking?”

  Riley weighed his response carefully.

  Before he could form words, Dad slammed his fist on his desk and yelled, “Answer me!”

  Riley sat up as tall as he could. “What was I thinking? I was thinking that Skye is my brother’s child. She’s lost her mother. And she needs to be shown some love and consideration. What would Mom think, Dad? What would she say about the way you’re treating your own granddaughter?”

  In an instant, Dad was out of his chair and across the desk. The punch that landed across Riley’s jaw left him stunned, though the pain of it hadn’t had time to develop yet. He reached his hand to the spot, now beginning to throb, and looked at his father. How was he supposed to respond to that? Physical violence had never been their way.

  Dad stood there, fists clenched, a dangerous glaze over his eyes that told Riley no response would be the correct one.

  Riley stood, nose to nose with his father. After a thirty-second eternity, Riley turned and exited the office. He needed some space.

  As soon as he slammed the door behind him, he saw Colt, leaning against the wall, hands stuffed into his pockets, looking like he’d just witnessed a gunfight where both parties ended up dead. Riley tried to pass, but Colt placed a firm hand on his brother’s chest and let out a string of curse words. “Why would you do something like that? Bringing her to church? You knew how Dad would react.”

  “Do you think people don’t know about Skye? Do you honestly think they’re not talking already?”

  “I don’t care what other people are doing, Riley. You knew bringing her to church, parading her around in public would upset Dad. And it sets a precedent. If we’d just ignored the situation, eventually people would’ve found something else to gossip about. Now, Donnigan and Skye is all they’ll talk about. Dad’s right. We’ll lose money over this. You know how it is, how many people in these parts hate Indians. It could take years for Stratton Ranch to recover. I swear, Riley. For all those brains in your head, you can be pretty stupid.”

  “How do you think Mom would have reacted to Skye? Do you think any of this would be happening if she were still here?”

  “She’s not here, Riley. Mom’s dead, and she’s not coming back. It’s us and Dad now, and unless we play by his rules, we’re going to lose everything. I won’t be surprised if Dad doesn’t disown you over this. ”

  “More for you, then?” Riley hated himself for the accusation, but he wouldn’t apologize.

  Colt’s eyes hardened. “You know that’s not what I want. If you want to mess everything up for yourself, go right ahead. But think real hard about doing things that affect the rest of us.” He jammed his hands back into his pockets, turned, and stormed away.

  Riley rubbed his jaw again. It was starting to swell, along with the growing knot in his stomach.

  For the next week, the climate in the Stratton household changed. Emma saw very little of Riley, and his absence hung on her spirit in a thick shroud of regret. Colt and John Stratton ate their meals in silence and skittered away as if the house itself made them ill. And though Allison seemed all business as usual, she opted to take Davis with her into town when she went for her Temperance Society Meeting.

  Emma assumed Donnigan continued to work with Joe, for each morning when she arrived, Skye sat on the back porch steps with Rilene. On Tuesday, Emma took the girl with her to town, for she still needed to see Mrs. Wesson about the measurements for her new work attire.


  But the joy in Emma’s heart constricted at the whispers and glares thrown their way whenever Skye was present. Not everyone, but enough people to make her wonder if she ought not save her trips to town for when she could go alone. She held her head high and smiled. She would not kowtow to public perception when that perception was wrong.

  Her heart sank even more when she looked across the street and saw Riley rushing into the mayor’s office holding a stack of papers and looking very much like a man on a mission. What was he doing?

  She chided herself. It was none of her business what Riley Stratton did with his time. None whatsoever. And the sooner she learned that, the better off she’d be.

  “Why, Emma. Mrs. Stratton told me you’d be stopping by, and I’ve barely been able to contain myself. Come here and give me a hug.” Mrs. Wesson folded Emma into her arms, and it felt like coming home to a safe place.

  “I’ve missed you,” Emma whispered with more emotion than she was prepared to deal with. “I have someone I’d like you to meet. This is Skye.”

  “Good day to you, Skye. What a lovely young lady you are. And who is this?” Mrs. Wesson gestured to the doll.

  “Rilene,” Skye answered, though her voice was barely audible.

  “I love that the two of you have matching dresses. Did you make them yourself?”

  Emma smiled. That was one of the things she loved about Mrs. Wesson, and one of the reasons she had such a loyal following of customers. She made every person who entered her presence feel important.

  Skye shook her head. “Emma made them.”

  “I see. Well, I should have known. Did you know Emma used to work here in this shop? But she’s gone off and left me, and I’m quite lost without her.”

  This time Emma laughed. “I doubt that. I was told you needed to take my measurements.”

  “Nonsense. I still have your measurements from the last dress we made you. I just wanted an excuse to see you. Mrs. Stratton has ordered quite a wardrobe for you. Apparently, you’re no longer her maid. You’re her assistant.”

  “Her assistant?”

  “That’s what she said. She must think very highly of you, to go to such extravagant expense.”

  Emma didn’t comment, but her face must have clouded, for Mrs. Wesson leaned forward. “She is covering the expenses, is she not?”

  Emma turned away from the woman. “My, would you look at this new fabric you have. It’s lovely.”

  Mrs. Wesson took Emma’s arm in her own and whispered, “Surely she’s not making you pay for these dresses.”

  Emma cleared her throat, but didn’t answer. How could she? She refused to be disloyal to her employer. But she wouldn’t lie.

  “Oh, dear. That’s what I was afraid of. Now you listen to me, young lady. I won’t charge you for my time, and you’ll pay what I pay for the fabric. Understood?”

  “I can’t accept that, Mrs. Wesson. This is how you make your living. I wouldn’t feel right.”

  “Oh, posh. I’ll not hear another word about it. Surely you won’t begrudge an old woman a bit of joy, dressing you up like the daughter I never had, will you?”

  “Your generosity, as always, overwhelms me. But I assure you it’s not necessary.” The last thing Emma wanted to be known as was a charity case.

  “I didn’t say it was necessary. I want to do this. It will make me happy. Will you please just let an old woman have a little happiness in life?” The spark in Mrs. Wesson’s eyes belied her poor, pitiful-me tone.

  “Only if I can reserve the right to do something kind for you one day, when I have the chance.”

  “Deal.” The woman pulled Emma into another sideways hug, then moved behind the counter. “Now about the fabrics Mrs. Stratton chose. Hmmm...she was in quite a hurry when she stopped in. I’m afraid I can’t remember which of these she wanted...why don’t you come over here and help me decide.”

  Emma had a strong suspicion Mrs. Wesson remembered exactly which fabrics Allison had chosen. She just wanted Emma to select her own. But she had no way of proving such an allegation, so she just played along.

  “I’ve always been partial to blue.” Emma fingered an exquisite blue cotton toile. “And green.”

  “Look at this green one. It matches your eyes perfectly.” The woman held up a stunning length of imported silk plaid that took Emma’s breath away. Where would she ever wear such a thing?

  “It’s beautiful. But it’s not very practical, I’m afraid.”

  “Remember dear. You’re Mrs. Stratton’s assistant. She wants you to look your best.”

  That was probably true. Though why on earth Allison would want her to cook and clean in a silk dress was beyond her. That she’d originally wanted to humiliate Emma in front of Riley was obvious. Now that Riley and Clara were courting, she supposed Allison didn’t mind if Emma looked nice. But silk for a maid? Ridiculous. Maybe she could save this dress for the days she went to town. “All right.”

  “And look at these, since you’re too practical for your own good. Here’s a pretty pink calico I just got in yesterday afternoon. I haven’t seen this shade before, but it suits you quite well. And here’s a striped muslin—would you look at those tiny blue flowers between the stripes? So pretty. Oh, this will be such fun!”

  Emma could see her friend really was enjoying herself, and Skye joined the excitement. “What about this one?” Skye held up a lavender checked cotton with heliotropes embroidered here and there. It had been hidden beneath some of the other bolts, but it truly was one of the prettiest things Emma had ever seen.

  “That’s perfect!” Mrs. Wesson cried. “Oh, dear. It’s the end of a bolt. I’m afraid I don’t have enough to make a dress of it, but don’t worry. I’ll come up with something.”

  “I’m afraid we’ve chosen enough fabric to clothe half of Texas,” Emma told them, but really, she relished the moment. Her clothes had always been more serviceable than pretty, though she did try to look as attractive as possible. But having pretty dresses just for the sake of having pretty dresses—even if they were impractical—even if Allison Stratton had lost her ever-lovin’ mind—well, Emma had to admit. This was fun.

  For the first time in Riley’s life, he felt alive. Really alive. He had a mission. A purpose. Before, he’d viewed life through a clouded lens, but now the window was clean.

  Not that everything in view was pleasant—quite the contrary. Riley had always wanted to please his father, but not any more. All those years at college trying to make Dad proud. None of it mattered, if Riley couldn’t be proud of himself.

  He left home early every morning and stayed out late. And truly, the thought of escaping, of creating a new life for himself, and possibly for his future family, drove him more than he’d ever felt driven in his life. All the while, a calm assurance blanketed his spirit, as if he were being both pushed from behind and pulled from ahead by God Himself.

  So this was what faith felt like. It was simultaneously comforting and terrifying.

  This morning, when he saw Emma and Skye park in front of Mrs. Wesson’s shop, he wanted more than anything to go to them. To look into Emma’s eyes and see if any of her disdain for him was gone. But the thought of seeing disappointment in her eyes was more than he could bear.

  No. He’d wait until he made something of himself, apart from his family. Then he’d go to her and declare himself. The worst she could do was reject him. Again.

  For now, he’d have to be content knowing that whether or not she ever looked at him with love in her eyes, he was doing his best for her. For her future. One day soon, if everything went as planned, she wouldn’t have to serve his father or Allison or anybody else, all for the sake of a dollar.

  If he had his way, the Monroes would have plenty of money to support them for the rest of their lives.

  Chapter 15

  Everything was coming together nicely, in Riley’s estimation. Though the Bowmans had decided to hold off until after the train depot was well established, Charlie Monroe was all
in. A crew was set to begin next Monday on a twelve-room hotel and spa near the springs on the Monroe’s property, with a tentative plan for a restaurant and another hotel nearby.

  If everything went according to plan, the hotel should be ready by the time the first train pulled into town. Mayor Bridges was so excited he could barely sit still. He had already purchased ads in newspapers around the country, inviting tourists to Lampasas come next spring.

  Riley rode Medina all the way up to the front porch and looped her reins around the rail post, climbing the steps two at a time. Three knocks, but he didn’t wait for an answer before he nudged open the door. “Hello? Charlie?”

  “Come on in,” Charlie called.

  “It’s all ready to go.” Riley handed the older man the large brown envelope and took a seat next to him. “I have a good feeling about this.”

  Charlie’s knotted fingers smoothed out the building plans on his lap. He adjusted his spectacles and studied the papers. “Looks pretty fancy.”

  “Yes. People who can afford to come to a luxury spa will expect fancy.”

  Charlie didn’t say much else, other than an occasional, “Hmmm...” as he turned the plans this way and that. But Riley thought the man looked pleased.

  “You sure you got the money to pay for all this?” Charlie set the papers aside and eyed him.

  “I believe so, sir. I’ve worked for my father since I was fifteen, and I’ve invested that money. My dad’s actually a pretty savvy investor, and I’ve followed his lead. It’s taking nearly everything I have, but as I said, I have a good feeling this is going to be a success.”

  “I hope so. For all our sakes,” Charlie said. “Did you see to the other matter we discussed?”

  “My lawyer is drawing up the papers now. He said it would be another week or so.”

  “And Emma and Lyndel will inherit equally? I want Emma taken care of.”

  “Yes, sir. I made sure he understood.”