Courting Emma (Little Hickman Creek Series #3)

by Sharlene MacLaren

  She ripped out a sigh, which probably amounted to about the fiftieth that day if she'd been counting. "Well, it's settled. You're stayin' here until you regain your strength," she said, wanting to sound optimistic, even though they both knew he'd never see his farm again.

  For the first time, the notion that Ezra Browning's life was closing in on him cut straight to her core. As a youngster, she'd learned the art of compliance as a means of survival, counting down the days when she could strike out on her own, escape his disparaging, stony presence.

  "Where you off to, girl? It's gettin' close to dark time."

  It was the evening of her sixteenth birthday. And her father hadn't once acknowledged it. He sat in his easy chair, feet propped on a wooden stool, one hand draped over his belly, the other holding to a bottle of whiskey. Dark spots shaded the underside of his eyes, the pupils glazed over.

  She looked around the kitchen, brushing off his question. Strange. When she walked out that door it would be to say good-bye, but he'd so conditioned her to finish her chores that somehow she couldn't leave without first washing the dishes. She dropped the knapsack stuffed with her belongings in the middle of the room and went to the sink. She sensed his eyes following her every move.

  "What you up to?" he asked again. His voice contained its usual gruff tone.

  "I'm washin' the dishes," she answered. She kept her back to him so he wouldn't see the look of elation that surely gleamed in her eyes. There was a room waiting for her at Miss Abbott's Boardinghouse, the first one on her left at the top of the front staircase. A handmade quilt bedecked the Jenny Lind bed, which had a mattress made of real feathers and down. She couldn't imagine sleeping in such luxury.

  Miss Abbott had extended the invitation to come live with her, and, by gum, she planned to take her up on it. Sixteen was plenty old enough to be out on her own, and she didn't care what Ezra had to say about it. She was done with the abuse. Done.

  "What's in that ther' bag?" he asked.

  She shivered despite June's hotter-than-normal temperatures. `Just some stuff," she muttered. After scrubbing clean the few dishes, she rinsed them and set them on a drying rack. As she'd done a thousand times before, she picked up the washbasin, dumped its contents down the drain, and then wrung out the rag and draped it over the edge of the sink.

  Turning, she gave her father a long, assessing look. "I'm goin' to Miss Abbott's place," she announced, pulling back her shoulders. "She's invited me to come and work for her. I'll be takin' my room and board there."

  When she would have expected him to blow up, he took a couple of steadying breaths and stared at her, seeming speechless. Minutes passed before he finally broke the silence. "What'm I s posed to do?"

  She'd spent her life seeing to his every whim, even going out to the barn to take from his stash when he needed a drink and couldn't find a bottle in the cupboard. His very existence depended on her, and she was plain tired of it. "You can open a can, can't you?" she asked. "You'll have to learn to get by. I ain't your slave, Pa." It was odd that her fear of him had vanished over the years, replaced by hostility and-what was it? Cold contempt?

  She looked at her shoes and noted the holes coming through at the toes. Miss Abbott planned to pay her a small stipend on top of her room and board. She would save very carefully, and when she had enough, she would buy herself a nice new pair. Never again would she have to beg her father for money to buy the essentials.

  Rather than rant, he sagged in his chair, looking spent. "Ya ain't old enough to go out on yer own."

  She picked up her knapsack and tucked it under her arm. "I'm sixteen, Pa. Some girls get married at my age."

  "Pff. Ya ain't sixteen yet. When did ya turn sixteen?"

  She turned her mouth up and tilted her head, noting her lack of emotion. "Today, Pa."

  At the sound of the tight little gasp escaping his chest, she walked across the room and out the door. And she didn't look back until she got to the top of the hill.

  Oh, the sense of liberation, that day she'd walked out on Ezra Browning.

  Which was why it made it so difficult to understand the overwhelming sadness she felt for him now.

  $/~ Zwe~~~~tec

  Von hung back in the doorway and watched as she tended to her father's needs, fluffing his pillow, fixing his blanket, setting the glass of water in the center of the bedside stand.

  "Jus' like old tines, eh?" he niurniured, his voice hoarse from hours of coughing.

  She straightened to her full height. "Not quite. The difference is you're sober for a change. All you ever did when I was growin' up was drink." Her hair had long ago escaped its ribbon and was hanging loosely down her back.

  "I know." It was nothing more than a whisper, but he'd heard it just as clear as if a bell had chimed in his ear. Regret. Deep, unwavering. He wondered if she'd heard it, too, or had she grown so accustomed to tuning him out that she'd missed it?

  She pulled up a stool and sat, unaware that Jon lurked in the shadows. "Why did you drink so much?" she asked.

  Jon held his breath. Lord, be present in this room. Grant healing to these two hearts before its too late. Turn Emma's animosity into love. May she find forgiveness in You and then in her heart. And grant hope and spiritual healing to Ezra.

  "Guess I dint see no way out. I lost my wife, and my world caved in. Life seemed prit'near hopeless."

  "You had a kid to raise up. Did ya ever think of that? Couldn't you have sobered up for niy sake?"

  Jon winced, considered going into the room, but then thought better of it, reasoning that at least they were talking. He would act as referee only if necessary.

  "'Course I did, but it wudn't easy. Once that stuff gets a hold on ya, ther' ain't no turnin' back. It eased my mind, took away the pain o' the past and the dread o' the future. I got me a powerful need right now, matter o' fact. Wouldn't hurt none to give me just a li'l swig o' somethin' from yer cupboard. 'Bout anythin'll do."

  Emma leaned forward in her chair. "What happened in your past?" she asked, deciding to skip over his need for a drink. "You've never talked about it. Who raised you?" Her voice dropped so low that Jon had to strain his ears. Immediate pangs of guilt for eavesdropping pinched his conscience, but lie couldn't force himself to move away from the door.

  "What kind o' birdbrained question is that? My ma an' pa did, who else?"

  "How come you never talked about 'em then?"

  He coughed, more out of a need to stall, though, Jon was sure. "They wasn't much worth talkin' 'bout. You wouldn't o' been interested. 'Sides, they was an uppity bunch, them and those two kids."

  "What two kids?" Emma's back stiffened as if a bolt of lightning had just run the length of her.

  "My older brother an' sister. Twins, they was. Spoilt to high heaven, too. My ma and pa would o' give them the moon if they could've. Me? I was a knife in their sides my whole life. I guess you could say I wound up on their hate list, and the day I left home for good there weren't no weepin' over it."

  "Kind of like the day I left, huh? The night of my sixteenth."

  "Phooey, girl, that was different. There weren't no celebra- tin' 'bout that. If anythin' I hated myself, not you." His voice kept goin' in and out, as if a frog had suddenly leaped inside his throat to croak out a few words of its own. "Don't you think I knew it was nie what chased ya away? If I'd a just-" He mopped his brow with the corner of his sheet, clearly exhausted. It was all Jon could do to mind his own business.

  Emma reached behind her back to gather up her thick golden hair and pull it off her neck. Then she dropped the mane, letting it fall where it would.

  "You had twins in your family and you never told me? I always figured my grandparents died and you were an only kid."

  The old man sniffed. "Don't know what give you that idea."

  "Because you never talked about them!" she blurted. "What else was I s'pose to think? You warned ine repeatedly to keep my questions to myself or you'd swat lily behind-or make me stand in the corn
er next to that hot stove.

  "Then there was that time I threatened to go find lily grandmaw if you didn't tell me where she was, and you withdrew niy suppers for a week of Sundays."

  "Weren't that long. Two days, tops," Ezra murmured.

  "Week."

  "Two (lays."

  "Week...."

  "Two-" Another serious round of hacking drowned out the last of their sparring. Emma's questions were taking their toll on the old guy. Jon wondered if it was time to step forward. Ezra shifted on the bed, trying to get comfortable. Emma reached for the water glass, but he put up a shaky hand and flicked at it, refusing.

  Seconds passed. Emma's shoulders remained taut and determined. "Are you sure you don't know Grace Giles?" This woman wasn't about to give up. She had him where she wanted hiin-flat on his back, sober, and immobile-probably a rare thing in her eyes.

  "Who?"

  "Grace Giles. The lady from Chicago I told you about. I found out today her mother is your aunt."

  "I don't got no aunt with a girl named Grace. Least, none I know 'bout."

  "Yes, you do. She tol' nie so, and she also mentioned sonicthin' about the folks who raised you, as if they weren't your own.

  "That's plain hogwash. Who's she think she is, this Grace person, and what's she tryin' to pull by feedin' lies to ya, pokin' 'er nose in where it don't belong?"

  "I don't think she's lying. And here's another somethin' strange. She talks like she knows all about Clara Abbott."

  Silence. "I wouldn't know nothin' about that. I barely knew that Abbott lady." He made a big deal of turning over in his bed, situating himself so that he faced the wall. "I'm tired."

  "I think Grace is your aunt Edith's daughter."

  "Huh?"

  "Don't play dumb with me. I know you've kept in contact with her. Why couldn't you have told me about her? Why the big secret?"

  A shaky breath fell out of him. "It weren't no secret. Ther' jus' wudn't anythin' to tell. I heard from Edith ever' so often, yeah. Fact is she was the only one o' the lot of 'em who ever cared if I lived or died. She never told me nothin' about any o' her own fancily, though, I swear. Never mentioned no Grace- jus' always asked me how I was and how-you-was doin'."

  "I suppose you told her what a burden I was to you," Emma said, her words dripping with sarcasm.

  He sighed again. "She knowed my life was rough."

  "Grace's mother passed away four months ago, did you know that? If Edith is her mother, then that means your aunt has died."

  Jon bit down so hard he thought he'd soon be tasting blood. Did she have to be so blunt in the telling? Or maybe she'd learned it was the only approach that worked with Ezra Browning.

  Ezra stirred, turned his head halfway, and stared at the ceiling. Jon hung back further so as to stay out of sight. "She died, huh? Well then." And just like that, he went back to the wall. "I ain't answerin' no more questions."

  "I have a right to know about niy relatives, Pa." She sounded angry, but it was a contained sort of anger, desperate in tone, as if she worried that showing too much emotion would shut down the entire conversation and there might not be another opportunity like this one.

  "Leave me be."

  Emma heaved a sigh that reached across the room. Jon ducked behind the door, his conscience finally getting the best of him, and why wouldn't it? He felt like a bandit sneaking up on his prey, snagging every word that rose up between them.

  He looked around the house. Should he go sit on the porch, park himself in the music room, walk down to the new church, or maybe walk out to the backyard and check on the garden? After supper, everyone had scattered, going either to their rooms or down to the saloon. He could always take advantage of the quiet house and have another look at Sunday's sermon notes, even though he felt quite studied up. He walked to the front door and looked out at the noiseless street. A sprinkling of townsfolk strolled along, stopping to peer inside shop windows or to have an evening chat with one of their neighbors.

  "I don't see why you won't talk about it, Pa." Her muffled voice still carried to his ears.

  He opened the door and moved out to the porch.

  It was the first time in a long, long while that Eninia Browning felt near to tears. She'd always prided herself on her ability to stave off her emotions, but tonight was not one of those tines. While it thrilled her to learn she had a cousin she never knew existed, her father's apparent lack of knowledge of the woman dropped a cloudy veil over her enthusiasm. Was he being truthful when he said he'd never heard of her? And what was the mystery behind his upbringing? Why had Grace alluded that his own parents hadn't raised hint-or was that just her reading more into Grace's letter than she should have? One thing was certain; Ezra had never wanted to discuss his childhood roots, and tonight was no exception. What was the big mystery? And how was she supposed to forgive and forget the past if he never let her into his?

  If ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples indeed; and ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free.

  She remembered the passage of Scripture from the book of John as if the Lord Himself had emblazoned it on her heart. What it meant, however, was another story. Was God trying to tell her something?

  Outside Ezra's room, she dabbed at both eyes. His breathing had grown heavy, indicating he'd drifted to sleep. Lord, how can You expect me to take care of him when he failed so miserably at watching over me?

  Bereft, she walked to the front door. She would gather her thoughts on the porch.

  The porch swing swayed gently, as if the wind had set it in motion, except that there was no wind, not even a gentle breeze. She glanced up at the sky and noted a sprinkling of stars but no moon in sight. Hugging herself against the cool temperatures, she dropped into the swing and pushed off with both feet. A breathy sigh escaped as she leaned back and closed her eyes.

  "I take a stroll through your garden and what do you do? Steal my place. Now you'll have to make room for me."

  At the sight of Jonathan Atkins coming around the corner of the house, her breath caught. Why did he have this strange effect on her? She was no teenager, for mercy sakes, but a spinster for all practical purposes. But lately her mind had been dancing with all manner of fanciful thoughts. Shyness overtook her as she slid over.

  "I thought you'd gone up to your room," she murmured.

  "Too nice a night to be holed up in illy room, even if it is on the cool side. Afraid fall is just around the corner." He settled in beside her and the swing moaned under the additional weight, but it was made of sturdy wood and hung by heavy chains. Truth be told, it would probably outlast the house.

  "You chilly?" he asked.

  "I'm fine," she whispered, even as her teeth chattered noiselessly, more from nerves than anything, she expected.

  She felt his eyes bearing down on her. All at once, lie stopped the swing and jumped up. "Be right back," lie announced, scurrying into the house, the screen door shutting behind biro with a thwop.

  She gave her head a little shake. What was lie up to? A second later, she had her answer when lie reappeared with a quilt in hand. "Here you go," he said, positioning it across her lap, taking care to cover her completely. She regarded him with wide eyes. No man had ever treated her with such kindness, and the question of how to behave drove her a little crazy. In all her born days, she'd never required the attentions of a man, and now was no time to start.

  "Th-thank you," she stammered.

  "You're welcome," he said, dropping down beside her and setting the swing back in motion. "He's snoring in there," he said, angling his head in the direction of the front room window. "Guess he's finally tuckered out."

  "Either that or puttin' on a good act."

  His gentle chuckle rippled through the air. "He's a tough nut."

  The swing gently swayed as ensuing silence seemed to stretch into tomorrow. Finally, they both spoke at once.

  "It was nice of you to-" lie said.

  "Thank you for all you-" she start
ed.

  "Go ahead," she said.

  "No, you go first," lie insisted.

  "Oh,...I was just going to thank you for all your help today."

  "Didn't I tell you I'd do most of the work? He's a cranky old soul. No need for you to have to put up with that. Besides, you've a boardinghouse to run."

  "And you've a congregation to tend to, sermons to preach, and a church to build," she argued. "Much as I hate to admit it, lie is my father." She felt her chin jut forward. "And my responsibility."

  Piano music, loud and twangy, carried from Madam Guttersnipe's establishment.

  "I was going to say it was mighty generous of you to provide the room for him," lie said in a soft voice. "I'm sorry if you felt pressured into it. That wasn't niy intention."

  Eninia nodded, pulled the blanket up under her chin, and slanted her face in the direction from whence the music came. "I hate that place," she muttered. "Ezra Browning gave his life to that rotten slop house. Worked hours on end to support his wretched habit. It's ironic how he's wastin' away under my roof while up the road they're goin' strong as ever.

  An owl hooted from three trees over, his spookish cry seeming to match her morose mood.

  "My pa hung out there, too, you know," Jon acknowledged. "Heard it said when I was a kid that he and Ezra Browning used to have their drinking matches."

  Emma's mouth fell open. This was news to her. She looked hint full in the face. "What do you mean?"

  A pathetic chortle cut loose. "Folks would gather around and bet on who they thought could guzzle down the most booze in one sitting, Luther Atkins or Ezra Browning. Guess it was a pretty even draw most nights."

  In all the years she'd known him, she could count on one hand the number of tines he'd mentioned his father. Oh, she'd heard stories that he was a no-good drunk like her own pa, but it'd never occurred to her that they'd been drinking buddies.