“We have just a few months before the first train arrives. How long do you think it will be before we turn a profit?”
“Since the land is paid for and I’m not having to borrow to cover the building expenses, it shouldn’t take long. If we can hire the staff we need and keep the hotel filled to capacity, I’d say you’ll be well provided for in no time.”
“I don’t like Emma working as a maid. She wants to be a teacher. No offense to you or your family.”
“I understand. A local university is part of the mayor’s long-term plan. Maybe Emma can get her teaching certificate without leaving home.”
“As long as she has the option.” Charlie speared him with a look that said more than a library of books ever could. If only Riley could make the man understand. Whether she ever returned his affections or not, nothing would make Riley happier than to see all Emma’s dreams come true. Actually, nothing would make him happier than her love...but even if she never loved him, he’d do his best for the Monroes. For Emma.
Because that’s the kind of man he wanted to be.
It didn’t take long in the General Store since Emma only needed a couple of things to restock the Stratton’s pantry. By the time she and Skye finished, Medina was gone. Still, Emma didn’t want to take a chance of meeting Riley on the road, so she decided to take a quick detour. She’d stop by and check on Pa before going back to work.
She’d ventured so deep into her thoughts, lulled almost into a trance by Skye’s soft humming, that she was all the way in her yard before she noticed Medina hitched to the porch rail.
What was Riley doing here? Should she turn around and go back to work?
But it was too late. They must have heard the horse and buggy, for the front door opened and Riley stepped out. The expression on his face held a mixture of guilt and regret and something almost mischievous, as if he’d gotten caught pinching the cornbread again.
“Hello,” he called.
“Uncle Riley!” Skye jumped from the wagon and ran up the stairs, lunging at his legs with the force of a young filly running for a fresh bucket of apples.
“Hey there, Sunshine.” Riley scooped up his niece and held her close. “I see you’re taking good care of Rilene. Has she been minding you?”
Skye giggled and nodded.
“She eating well?”
More laughter. “Yes.”
“Cleaning up her room?”
Skye chortled. If Emma hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, she wouldn’t have believed the transformation. What had happened between these two?
She climbed from the buggy, and Riley swept down the stairs to offer his assistance, still holding Skye on one hip. Why did he have to be such a gentleman?
“Thank you,” Emma whispered. “I must admit, I wasn’t expecting to find you here.”
“I was just leaving,” he said, but offered no further explanation. He set Skye down and tipped his hat to them both. “Ladies.” Then he climbed on Medina and left them on the porch in a cloud of dust.
Emma stood there, mouth agape, watching him ride off into the blue-sky-and-cedar-framed road. Then she took Skye by the hand and marched into the house.
“Hello, Pa.”
“Well, hello. I certainly didn’t expect you at this time of day. Hello, Skye.”
“What have you been doing?”
“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all. Just sitting here, like always.”
Clearly, Pa wasn’t going to give Emma a clue as to why Riley was there. If they wanted to play that game, they could just play alone.
Except curiosity was about to eat her from the inside out. She swallowed back the questions that fought to get out and kissed her father on the head. “I’m glad to see you’re well. Skye and I best get back to work.”
“See you in a few hours.” Pa picked up some papers...what were those? But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of looking over his shoulder. She’d just have to wait until tonight when he was asleep. Maybe she could snoop then.
“All right.” She used a haven’t-got-a-care tone, but Pa seemed unaffected.
For now, she didn’t have any choice but to take Skye by the hand, climb in her wagon, and head back to the Strattons.
It was going to be a long afternoon.
Riley had found the best crew money could buy. Or at least the best crew in these parts. He’d even paid extra to have the foreman’s word that they’d keep the entire project under wraps until its completion.
Oh, word would get out long before then. But the longer Riley could avoid telling his father about his plans, the longer he’d have a place to sleep. When Dad found out what Riley had gotten himself in the middle of, he was going to detonate.
And Riley would be quite homeless.
Emma was another story, though. In a few days, men would be crawling all over her property, not to mention the enormous structure that would soon rise like a phoenix from the barren fields of what was once a beautiful farm. How would she react? Would she be angry? Would she accuse Riley of taking advantage of her father’s illness, or using his influence to push the man into doing something he didn’t want to do?
Knowing her opinion of him, he felt pretty sure she wouldn’t be happy about his joining forces with her father. But maybe one day, she’d see that he really was trying to do the right thing.
Maybe one day she’d see he wasn’t like the rest of his family. But even if she didn’t, that was all right. Just knowing he was acting honorably, following God’s lead, was enough for him.
At least that’s what he kept telling himself.
But the thought that one day soon, he would stand alone against everyone who’d ever been important to him was more than a little unsettling. It left him feeling both excited and terrified. He’d already jumped from the boat. Whether he sank or swam was yet to be seen.
Just when Emma was finally recovered from the Thursday evening dinner, Allison decided she wanted to throw a tea party for the Temperance Society ladies. She showed up in the kitchen Friday afternoon, Davis on her hip, a stack of recipes in her hands, and announced the party would be the following Tuesday.
Emma took the recipes and assured her employer she’d see to it, and Allison exited toward the front of the house, onto the wide front porch. The music of Davis’s giggles and squeals brought a smile to Emma’s heart.
Was there a third voice on the porch? Oh, dear. Where was Skye? Emma had sent her to the garden to cut some fresh rosemary. A look out the kitchen window showed Skye was nowhere to be seen.
She tiptoed to the dining room where she could peer, unnoticed, onto the porch. There was Skye, sitting cross-legged on the blanket next to Davis, playing peek-a-boo with the little boy as Allison watched, laughing.
Emma was transfixed. Never in a thousand lifetimes would she have thought Allison Stratton would show any kind of tenderness, or even tolerance, toward Skye. Yet here she was, treating the child as if she had a right to be there, playing with her cousin.
After several minutes, Emma returned to the kitchen. This family was truly an enigma. Were they good people or evil overlords?
After a time, Skye returned through the back door and said nothing of the interaction on the porch.
A short time later, Allison reappeared. Surprisingly, she sat right down at the kitchen table and asked Emma’s opinions on which sandwiches and what flavor of punch sounded best for the party. She even asked Skye if she’d like to help make decorations.
Skye nodded.
Truly, this new side of Allison left Emma feeling pretty wobbly. Was it a trick? Was Emma being set up?
“I hope at least one of your dresses will be ready by then, Emma,” Allison told her.
“I suppose I could stop by tomorrow and see how she’s coming along.”
“Splendid. You can get supplies for the party while you’re in town.”
Emma had never in her life had such a hard time deciding if something smelled of roses...or a rat.
When Skye whispere
d she had to use the necessary, Emma dismissed her to the outhouse. As soon as the door shut behind the child, Allison cleared her throat.
“I...want you to know...I think it’s a good thing, what you’re trying to do for that child. It’s a pity...well…” Allison pulled at a thread on the tablecloth.
Allison Stratton, nervous? And at a loss for words?
She’d seen everything now.
“I don’t know what will become of her,” Allison continued. “But whatever happens, I’m glad you’ve taken an interest in her.”
“You know, she’s really warmed up to her Uncle Riley. I’m sure she’d welcome attention from her Aunt Allison, as well.”
Allison stood, walked to the kitchen window. “You don’t understand how things work in this family. It’s not that easy. Riley is John Stratton’s son, I’m just the daughter-in-law.”
She was right. Emma didn’t understand. What was Allison afraid of? John Stratton? How could anyone just stand by and watch an innocent child suffer?
But Emma knew better than to voice those questions out loud. For now, it would have to be enough to know Allison had revealed a chip in her armor. She had a soft spot for children.
Emma wasn’t quite sure what to do with that information. It was so much easier to think of Allison as the Ice Queen—cold and uncaring. She didn’t know how to respond to this new version of her employer.
As if Allison sensed the disarray her revelation had caused, she sealed up the chink, stiffened her back, and turned to Emma. “There will be a lot of important ladies at this tea. I hope you won’t let me down.” And with an icy stare that chilled Emma from her nose to her toes, Allison left the room.
For the hundredth time since she’d been in their employ, she thanked God for not making her a part of this crazy family.
But even as the thought floated through her mind, Riley’s face melted away the chill, and she felt a twinge of regret that, indeed, she never would be part of this family.
Chapter 16
Riley was beyond tired. Exhausted. But he couldn’t sleep. Too much was on the line, and no matter how still he was or how he tried to push everything from his mind, he ended up just lying there in the dark, staring into the black.
What time was it? One a.m.? Two? He fumbled around and lit the kerosene lamp, then looked at his watch.
Four thirty. Man. He’d lost an entire night’s sleep, and today was the big day. He’d instructed his crew to be at the Monroe place at seven thirty. Since Emma always showed up here by seven o’clock, he’d at least have a day to get things started before she found out. Before she had a chance to object, or to change her father’s mind. Hopefully by this evening, they’d at least have some kind of skeletal structure in place.
He would have felt like a rat, except Charlie Monroe himself had suggested they do it this way. “Sometimes, when it comes to Emma, it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission,” he’d said, with a glint of humor in his eyes. “She’s a lot like her ma that way. She’ll fuss and fret about something before the fact, but once it’s underway, she’s as loyal and supportive as a hound dog. Don’t tell her I said that.”
The picture of Emma as a hound dog made Riley chuckle. He sure hoped Charlie was right, that Emma would be supportive once they got started. But even if she wasn’t, what did he have to lose? She already thought he was lower than a cemetery mole in a graveyard tunnel.
Well, there was no sense wasting time, lying here stewing like a lovesick pigeon. He sat up, pulled on his Levi Strauss & Company denims, and grabbed his boots. On socked feet, he crept through the hallway, down the stairs, and through the kitchen toward the stables. He and Medina needed some riding time...and some thinking time.
“You sure have been makin’ yourself scarce lately.”
Riley nearly tossed his boots in the air at the sound of his father’s voice from the study. “Dad. I didn’t know you were up.”
“Hurt my back yesterday. Keeping me awake.”
“Sorry to hear that. Can I get you something?”
“You can sit down. Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”
That was the last thing Riley wanted to do. But he also didn’t want to lie to his father. He pulled up a chair and sat. At least Dad offered a bit of civility Riley could grab onto. For that, he was grateful. “What do you mean?”
“You courting the mayor’s daughter. Who do you think set you up? I like her. She’s a good match for you.”
“I’m...what?”
Dad laughed, then grabbed his side. “Hurts to laugh. I know it’s fun to keep things a secret when you’re first courtin’. But don’t go sneakin’ around too much. Her father finds out you’re meeting her in the dark, he’s liable to get a gun after you. Just declare your feelings, right out in the open, and keep things respectable.”
“But, you don’t...”
“No point in denying it, son. People talk. You’ve been goin’ to town every day. You’ve been seen comin’ and goin’ from the mayor’s house. Nothin’ to be embarrassed about. Clara’s a lovely young lady. She’ll do us right proud. And it’ll be good to have the mayor’s alliance.”
“Alliance? Dad, I...”
A low groan escaped his father’s mouth. “I’m sorry, son. I thought this chair would be better for my back, but I was wrong. Can you help me back to bed?”
“Certainly.” Riley supported his father to a standing position, then assisted him to his room and helped him settle in, tucking the covers around him. “Would you like anything else? Tea? Water?”
“How about some whiskey? That should numb the pain.”
A picture of Donnigan, surrounded by whiskey bottles, flashed in Riley’s mind. “Why don’t I fetch Dr. Hutchins?”
“Good idea. He’ll have morphine. Wait for daylight, though. I’m not dying or anything. I can make it ‘til then.”
“All right.” Riley watched his father’s head lean to one side and his eyes droop to half-mast.
Riley felt like the lowest sort of creeping thing. Here was Dad, trying to have a heart-to-heart, father-son talk. Trying to bridge the gap that had been present for weeks now. What would happen when Dad learned the truth?
Would he truly disown Riley?
He might. Riley had known the possibility was there from the beginning. But now, with Dad actually being nice. Heat stung Riley’s eyes, clogged his throat. Why couldn’t Dad keep being a jerk? For the thousandth time, Riley counted the cost and came up short.
God, this is hard.
For now, he’d avoided the issue of Clara Bridges. But one day soon, he’d have to explain himself, and his actions, to his father.
It was nearly six o’clock when he and Medina finally trotted toward the Monroe farm. He’d have to stay out of sight until Emma left, but something pulled him that way. Exhilaration for this new venture. Anticipation, maybe. But he couldn’t wait to get started.
When he approached the turn-off to the Monroe place, he heard singing in the distance.
Was that Emma?
It sure sounded like her. What was she doing out at this time of morning? Where was she?
He guided Medina off the road, into the woods, toward the sweet sound of her voice. Soon, they approached a small stream, which branched off from one of the springs. There, in the blue-gray dawn, with the first watercolor streaks of pink stretching across the horizon, was Emma, sitting on the shore, shoes beside her, singing her heart out. He’d heard her sing before in school. He remembered her voice was lovely. But here, in the quiet, worshipful birth of a new day, it seemed he wasn’t in her presence alone. He felt God here, in her words, in her voice, in the sweet echo of her heart reaching out to her Savior.
What a friend we have in Jesus
All our sins and griefs to bear
And what a privilege to carry
Everything to God in prayer
Oh, what peace we often forfeit
Oh, what needless pain we bear
All be
cause we do not carry
Everything to God in prayer
He watched from the cover of a copse of oak trees, feeling like an interloper, yet for the life of him he couldn’t take his eyes from the scene. She reached up and wiped her dewy cheek, then covered her face with both hands, and he knew he had to leave. This was her moment. Hers and God’s. He had no right to be here.
But Medina didn’t have the good sense to display diplomacy and tact, and to remain quiet during their retreat. She snorted and whinnied, as if to say, “Encore, Emma! Sing another one.”
“Hello? Who’s there?” Emma called, and Riley felt every kind of terrible. Now he’d gone and frightened her, busted in and broken up this exquisite moment like a moose at a tea party.
After another long night of no sleep, Emma had finally decided a visit to her secret place might soothe her spirit. That place by the stream where she used to go with Ma to pick berries, back when she was very young, before Ma worked for the Strattons and didn’t have time for berry picking any more.
It was more than just the berries, though Emma still went there from time to time during blackberry season. But the memories she had of this place went far deeper than the black-stained hands and apron, or the deep purple juice running down her chin, or the burst of flavor on her tongue as she popped the ripest berries into her mouth instead of the basket.
When they finished picking, she and Ma would take off their shoes and wade in the stream for a while, holding hands to keep from slipping. Then Ma would sit on the bank and sing hymns and talk to her about God’s love and how He had a special plan for her life, and answer Emma’s questions about where the birds went at night or why the stars didn’t fall and crash into the earth.
If she closed her eyes, she could still remember Ma’s singing. Such a soothing, rich alto voice she had, and she’d sing and sing and sing while Emma made mud pies and twig dams and tiny waterfalls fashioned from pebbles.
So she’d crawled out of bed and dressed in the dark. The sun wouldn’t yawn over the horizon for another hour or more, but thankfully, the full moon cast enough light that she didn’t need to take a lantern along. It was as if God Himself had set up a tea party at their special place and sent the invitation, and now waited for her to arrive.
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