by Jane Shoup
Tommy pulled off his hat and set it on a post, avoiding her gaze, and Mr. Schultz went back to his mending. “If you’re around any of his rowdy friends,” Mr. Schultz said, “you’ll hear him called ‘pretty boy,’ but his name is Tommy.”
Em chanced another glance at Tommy Medlin and discovered he was frowning, his eyes downcast. How ironic that the most handsome man she’d ever encountered would also be shy. He picked up the horse’s hoof and began filing the shoe with precise, practiced ease. “That’s a beautiful horse,” she commented.
Mr. Schultz grunted. “One of Howerton’s prize stallions. The man’s got a passion for thoroughbreds and the pocketbook to back it up.”
“Ah, Mr. Howerton. I’ve heard the name.”
“He tends to make himself known,” Mr. Schultz replied. He looked up at the sky and then rose from his perch. “Best get inside, Em.” The words were no sooner out of his mouth than rain began falling in fat drops. Em hurriedly stepped inside, as did Mr. Schultz, bringing the table, stool and saddle with him. “Going to be a drencher,” Mr. Schultz commented as he reseated himself in the middle of the livery.
Em looked back at Tommy Medlin, whose blue eyes were immediately averted. “So, you work for Mr. Howerton?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said without looking at her.
It was strange to feel drawn to him. It was because of his shyness, she decided. “What’s he like?”
“He’s a rich man,” Tommy said slowly.
She smiled in amusement until he looked up sharply. Embarrassed. “That much I’d heard,” she replied, maintaining a warm smile. She suspected he thought she was laughing at him and she wanted to demonstrate she was not.
“He’s all business, but he’s fair,” Tommy added.
“My uncle, well, he’s actually a cousin, but everyone thinks he’s an uncle. Anyway, he’s had some dealings with him.”
“How is Ben?” Mr. Schultz asked.
“He’s . . . well. Still afflicted,” she added quietly. “But it didn’t affect his mind.”
Mr. Schultz nodded. “I know,” he said quietly. “And I know he’s glad to have you back.”
“No more so than I am to be back.” It was funny; she’d forgotten how much she liked Mr. Schultz.
“Is T. Emmett Rice looking for you?” Mr. Schultz asked Em.
“Yes.”
“Emmett,” Mr. Schultz hollered. “She’s in here.”
Em glanced at Tommy, but he was intent on filing again, and then Emmett dashed into the livery.
“Coming down in buckets,” Emmett exclaimed. “I didn’t know where you got to,” he said to Em as he propped his umbrella just inside the door.
“You were with a client.”
“So she paid us a visit,” Joe Schultz put in.
“Emmett, do you know Mr. Medlin?” Em asked.
“Can’t say that I do,” Emmett said as he walked toward the younger man, his hand extended. “T. Emmett Rice.”
Tommy clasped it. “Tommy Medlin.”
“He works for Mr. Howerton,” Em said.
“Oh? Well, who doesn’t anymore?” Emmett said. He patted the stallion’s neck. “Betcha this beauty is one of his.”
Tommy nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Well, Emmy, let’s go have some supper. Shall we?”
Em looked at Tommy Medlin again, hoping her face was maintaining its natural color. She’d felt more than one flush of heat. “It was nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you,” he echoed.
She followed Emmett, who was going for his umbrella. “Bye, Mr. Schultz.”
“You two have a good supper.”
“Will do,” Emmett returned, throwing up a hand. “Try and stay dry.”
“I’m not sweet enough to melt,” Mr. Schultz jested.
Tommy watched the interaction with fascination. They all made it look so simple. Why wasn’t it simple for him? He felt a familiar hollow ache in his chest as he watched Emeline Wright retreat into the darkening evening. He wished he was with them, one of them, going off to have supper, talking to everyone they met in that simple, comfortable way.
“Pretty thing, isn’t she?” Mr. Schultz commented.
Tommy nodded, although pretty wasn’t nearly a good enough word. Her beauty made his mouth go dry.
“Got a good heart, too,” Mr. Schultz went on. “Though it’s gotten her in some trouble.”
Tommy turned to the older man. “What do you mean?”
“I suppose you’ve heard of the Lindley clan?”
Tommy felt a tightening in the pit of his stomach. He’d done more than hear of them; he’d seen them blow into town. They were a wild bunch that intimidated most everyone they met, and liked it that way.
“Pull up a chair and I’ll tell you the story of how a young girl became an outcast,” Mr. Schultz said darkly.
Tommy glanced toward Wiley’s Restaurant. The evening had grown dark quickly, so the well-lit restaurant glowed. He set his file aside and walked closer to learn what Joseph Schultz knew.
Chapter Ten
A fortnight later, Emmett climbed back into his buggy, left the Triple H and headed to Ben’s place, confident he’d made the best deal possible. He didn’t feel great about negotiating more of Ben’s land into Howerton’s vast holdings, but it’s what Ben and Emmy needed to do.
He’d had a few doubts about Em’s commitment to the farm at first, but he’d never seen anyone throw themselves into anything the way she’d done since returning home. She’d cleaned and repaired, plowed and painted. She’d worked blisters onto her hands and calluses onto her feet, and never once complained about it. He didn’t doubt her commitment anymore.
Ben was on the porch when he drove in. “Been to Howerton’s,” Emmett called as he parked. “I told Em he wouldn’t negotiate and then he went and gave me a price he’s wil—” He broke off, realizing something was wrong. Ben’s color was pasty and his mouth slightly open. Emmett jumped down and rushed to Ben, heavy with dread. “Ben?”
Ben’s eyes took a moment to find his and then they lost focus altogether. His raspy breathing stopped. Emmett knew, because he was holding his own breath. As Ben slumped sideways, Emmett took him into his arms and eased him onto the floor. Ben was already staring up sightlessly. “Oh, Ben,” he cried in a shaky voice. Why now? he wanted to yell. Why, when things were just starting to get better? A wave of grief descended, and T. Emmett Rice bowed his head and gave in to it.
The sun was low in the sky when Em came dragging back in from the day’s work. She saw Emmett standing on the front porch and waved weakly, and even that took more energy than she had left. She led her horse into the barn and unsaddled him. By then, Emmett had followed her into the barn. “I was waiting for you.”
She knew a lecture was coming. She was working too hard. Rome wasn’t built in a day. She needed to learn to pace herself. He’d said it before and so had Ben, and she knew it was true, but the work needed to be done.
“Emmy—”
The tone of his voice startled her, and she turned to him, instantly reenergized with alarm. He was standing just inside the barn doors and the light behind him obscured his face from view. “What’s wrong?”
Emmett walked farther in, to where she could see his face. “It’s Ben.”
It felt as if the breath was knocked from her lungs. She knew. From Emmett’s expression, she knew, and yet she shook her head in denial.
“He had another attack. He’s gone, Emmy. I’m sorry.”
Em kept shaking her head because it wasn’t true, not when she’d left Ben right after lunch and he’d been fine. He’d been joking about what to do with the money from Howerton. He said they should forget the farm and go see Paris.
“I’m sorry, honey,” Emmett said.
“No,” she whimpered. “No.”
Emmett reached her and grabbed her arms to steady her. Her knees were already giving out, so he guided her to the ground and then held her as she lost all control and
sobbed bitterly.
Chapter Eleven
Gregory Howerton surreptitiously glanced at Ben Martin’s niece. He’d felt obligated to show up for the funeral, but the sight of her had been worth the effort. She stood, solemn and pale, next to Rice at the front of the small crowd. Not only was she a beauty, but she’d inherited all of Martin’s property. He knew because it was the talk of the town and because he’d confirmed the rumors with Rice. Apparently, most townsfolk had expected Ben’s property to go to his son. That would be the son, the robust, red-faced young man with the angry scowl on his face.
There seemed to be a lot of death, all of a sudden. Here they were burying Ben Martin and just this morning he’d learned President Garfield had finally died. After being shot, the poor man had gone from two hundred and ten pounds to a hundred and thirty due to one infection after another. His pain had been intense, his last days torturous. It was no way to die.
“Let us bow our heads in prayer,” the preacher said in closing.
Good. It was almost over. The service ended and Howerton made his way toward Emeline Wright. He watched her interact with the others in front of him and found her to be sober, intelligent and poised. “I’m Gregory Howerton,” he said when he reached her.
“Mr. Howerton,” she said, accepting the handshake he offered. “Thank you for coming.”
“I’m sorry to meet under these circumstances. And I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“I hope we can meet again soon in happier surroundings.”
She gave a subtle nod, and he moved on, allowing the next mourner to extend his condolences. Up close, Emeline Wright was stunning. There was also an intriguing restraint about her. She would require more study and observation, but, so far, she was looking like an excellent candidate for the role of Mrs. Gregory Howerton.
Just before dawn, Em pulled herself upright against the headboard, looking around as best she could in the dark. “Nightmare,” she whispered, although the sheen of sweat on her skin and her pounding pulse were real enough. In the dream, she’d found herself back in the Palace as everyone searched for her. She’d gone from room to room, hiding wherever she could as Sonny ranted, wielding a red-hot branding iron. They’d been closing in on her when she’d jerked awake.
She shivered and got out of bed. Stepping into shoes and wrapping a shawl around herself, she went out to use the privy. She hadn’t used the slop jar during the night and she didn’t want to have to empty and clean it if she didn’t have to. On the way back to the house, she was relieved to see darkness lifting. She went back inside for a blanket, swaddled herself with it and sat in a rocker on the front porch, waiting for the sun to rise.
Stupid.
The word seemed to come at her like an accusation, like a justly deserved punishment. She’d been stupid to get upset by a dream, and she’d been stupid to go to Richmond in the first place. Sonny had trapped her and then made it seem as if she’d asked for it. “You’re not a fool,” he’d scoffed later. “You knew I was providing a one-way passage from Bridgewater. You knew you weren’t going back.”
She didn’t want to think about Sonny, ever, not for one more second in all the rest of her life, but the nightmare had etched his face in her mind’s eye and it was still there. Lurking. Taunting. Damn him! Damn him for what he did to me. The humiliation, the whipping, making her beg to stay in order for it to end. Like a child, she brought her hands to her face, as if she could hide behind them.
After several deep breaths, she lowered her hands and tugged the blanket higher against the cold breeze. Occasional nightmares were inevitable, but it was foolish and harmful to dwell on the mistakes and misfortunes of her past. She was in charge of her mind and her life, and she would block out hateful, hurtful memories. She’d done it before.
In fact, she’d done it on the very first day she’d awoken on the farm to discover her most prized possessions had disappeared from her trunk. Her doll, Barbara Jean, was one of the lost treasures. She could still remember frantically digging through her trunk to find the doll, even though she’d been carefully placed on top. A pearl bracelet was missing, as was a delicate, red, cut-glass dish. Furious and devastated, she’d run to find Ben. Instead, she’d found Amy sewing in the parlor, and tearfully blurted out the whole thing.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Emeline,” Amy coolly replied. “But I’m certain you were upset when you packed. Naturally.”
“She’s my only doll,” Em pleaded.
“You still play with dolls?” Jimmy sneered, having just come in the room.
“You’re too old for dolls,” Amy stated. “This is not something to be upset over.”
The anger Em suddenly experienced was like a face full of cold water. It instantly stopped the tears. “And my mother’s pearl bracelet?” she demanded.
“You had best watch your tone, young lady,” Amy warned.
“What’s this?” Ben asked as he entered from the kitchen.
“Emeline forgot a doll at home,” Amy replied, lifting her chin as if daring anyone to disagree with her.
“I didn’t forget,” Em cried, turning to Ben. “I put her right on top so she wouldn’t get smashed.”
Ben walked farther into the room, looking from Em to Amy and back. “And what was that about a pearl bracelet?”
“My mother’s bracelet. It’s gone, too. And there was a red dish. It was glass. Someone took them out of my trunk when I was sleeping.”
Ben looked pointedly at Amy, and a muscle bulged in his jaw.
“Obviously, she’s mistaken,” Amy said.
Ben kept looking at his wife, and Em got the first of many warning pangs in her stomach. There was discord here, and she was squarely in the middle of it. Finally, Ben looked back to Em, and his expression was almost sorrowful. “Could you have left your doll behind? Because we could write and—”
Em shook her head stubbornly.
“Okay, Emmy,” he said. “We’ll look again and if we can’t find her, we’ll get you a new one.”
“Don’t be foolish,” Amy snapped furiously as she stood and tossed her mending onto the chair behind her. “We don’t have money to throw away on toys. And at her age!”
“She’s just lost her father and been yanked away from her home,” Ben retorted, barely holding on to his temper.
“Go outside,” Amy yelled, looking directly at Em. “All of you. Jimmy, go tend to your chores.”
“Patience isn’t doing her chores,” Jimmy whined.
Ben scowled at him. “Then tell her to get to it,” he said warningly.
Em went outside, unsure of what to do, and Jimmy followed. “You’re a damn troublemaker is what you are,” he hissed at her. “I hope you die soon, like your father.” He turned and stalked off before she could say anything, but he needn’t have. The words had been so hurtful, she’d been rendered incapable of responding.
She’d never gotten Barbara Jean back. Or any of her treasures, for that matter. In fact, the only other time the subject came up was that first night at dinner when Patience had asked what the doll looked like. Amy had silenced her, silenced them all, and forbidden anyone to mention it again. It was one of many things Em had chosen to block from her mind.
Briar Lindley was another.
After the incident with little Bo Lindley, Jimmy had possessed all the ammunition he needed to ruin her, which he chose to do for the sheer fun of it. On Em’s first day at school, Jimmy announced she’d had a ‘thing’ with the Lindleys. A few others, mostly Jim’s friends, had seized hold of it, calling her a Lindley lover and white trash. Day after day, they tormented her with it, even making up rhymes that girls jumped rope to. Emmy, Emmy W, thinks that she’s too good for you, she loves the Lindleys, bold as brass, like them, she’s just a piece of trash. She’d sniped back, withdrawn and pretended she didn’t care, but it had hurt desperately.
Occasionally, Patience would befriend her, but the younger girl always dropped her as s
oon as anyone so much as made a comment. School had been a lonely, isolated existence and home hadn’t been much better. And then Briar had begun showing up. He always found her when she was roaming the fields or out riding. He seemed to sense when she was alone. She’d heard plenty about him by then, and there was a sense of danger about him, even though he never did anything but flirt and flatter. He had the darkest eyes she’d ever seen, nearly black, and he allowed them to roam all over her. At fourteen, as she was beginning to develop, she felt awkward and shy about the changes in her body, but Briar had openly, brazenly admired her. It was embarrassing, at first, but it was also pleasing and even empowering. His attention bolstered her self-confidence.
It was bitterly ironic that she’d been shunned for having a thing with the Lindleys when she didn’t, but then she’d developed a friendship with Briar, and no one knew. Of course, she knew that as wild and reckless as he was, he would probably be dead within a few years, but at age fifteen she fancied herself in love with him. Until the rainy afternoon he’d shown up at the stable and discovered her lying on her side in an empty stall, her stall, Ben always teased, reading a dime novel on a cushion of fresh straw.
“I saw them leave,” Briar said.
Em jumped, jolted by the sound of his voice.
“Why didn’t you go?” he asked as he took off his hat and set it aside. “Or, do I already know?”
She started to sit up but, faster than she even knew what was happening, he was on top of her. She smelled alcohol on his breath and then tasted it on the tongue he shoved into her mouth. “Stop it,” she said, turning her head.
Straddling her, he lifted up and took off his shirt. “I don’t think so.”
She felt a wave of raw panic because she was pinned by his legs. “What are you doing?”
“I want to feel your skin against mine, that’s all,” he said breathlessly as he began opening her shirt.
She resisted and tried deflecting his hands, pleading for him to leave her alone, but she couldn’t stop him. She tried to scoot away, but couldn’t. She thrashed and slapped, but he was doing what he wanted and ignored her pleas. In fact, the more hysterical she became, the calmer he got. She could only recall it now in strange, jerky flashes.