Riley had never been in a gunfight. But what he felt at that moment was, in his imagination, a pretty good indicator of what it must be like to get shot up, beaten, and left to die on the road.
To have the worst things he’d ever thought about himself or his family confirmed, out loud, by the one person in this world he wanted to please, left him both numb and shell-shocked. When did her opinion come to matter so much to him? And why? When had he...wait. Was he in love with her?
He was. He was in love with Emma Monroe. And she couldn’t stand the sight of him. At that realization, his dinner threatened to come back up the way it went down.
He tucked his feelings aside, however, and knelt in the straw next to Emma. Right now, she needed to cry. And he wasn’t going to let her cry alone. Should he touch her? Just sit there? He reached a tentative hand and placed it on her back.
She recoiled from his touch, even as she sobbed. And in that moment, he felt as disgusted with himself as she was with him.
He sat there another moment, watching her shoulders convulse in emotional agony and feeling about as low as he’d ever felt, knowing he’d added to her burden by his complacence. Emma’s lantern flickered on the rough wooden barn walls, and the musty smell of old hay fought against the cinnamon-vanilla smell that was all her. Well, a little vinegar, too...but the sour display she’d just showed him was truth. In a way, he’d been given a gift. He could see himself clearly through Emma’s eyes.
Eventually her sobs abated, and they were left with nothing but the sound of crickets, accusing him, just as she had. Guilty...guilty...guilty.
Slowly, he rose to his feet and held out a steady hand. “Come on. I’ll see you to your door.”
With a snuffle and a sniff, she allowed him to assist her to her feet. They spoke no other words. He walked her to the porch. Watched as she cracked open the door just enough to squeeze inside. Shut it behind her, leaving him alone with nature’s chorus of condemnation. Truly, it didn’t shout nearly as loudly as his own heart.
He climbed back on Medina, but did little else. The horse, probably sensing his mood, ambled toward home in a relaxed pace, as if in her own way, she wanted to soothe her master. Riley used the opportunity to look at the stars, wondering if it was even worth it to ask God for help out of this mess that was his life.
Somewhere deep in his memory, a voice whispered. His mother’s voice. Riley, you can do or be anything you wish. I know your father wants you to stay on here, but you don’t have to. You’re free to pursue your own destiny, whatever that may be.
Had she really said those words, or had he dreamed them? Why would she say that to a young boy?
But the further he rode, the more certain he was that yes, she had said those things to him. That she was preparing him for the day when he realized he wanted out. Encouraging him, even.
Truth was, he loved his family. He loved the way they accepted each other, even as they looked down on everyone else. He loved their loyalty. He loved that, no matter how they bickered, they put on a united front to the community. It made him feel like someone had his back, all the time.
But as much as he loved them, he didn’t like them very much. And he certainly didn’t want to be like them. When he was around them, without realizing it, he adopted a “go along to get along” attitude, and that made him no better than they were. Emma was right. He was worse, for he knew he could do better. He just chose not to.
Not any more. Emma Monroe may hate him...and that broke his heart. But there was something even worse...Riley was pretty close to hating himself. Whoever first said that money can’t buy happiness knew what he was talking about. Riley’s father had made their family one of the richest this side of the Mississippi. But all the money in the world couldn’t buy self-respect.
God, I don’t know how or when or where, but I want to separate myself from my family. Just enough so I can be the man You want me to be. Can You help me?
There was no answer, other than Medina’s slow, steady clop-clop-clop. Not that he expected the clouds to part and God in the flesh to step off His throne, in order to help Riley figure things out. Still...it would be nice if He did.
He had no idea how much time passed between leaving the Monroe’s and arriving home. The place was dark when he got there. He settled Medina in the barn, made his way through the house, and lay down on his bed without even removing his clothes.
Emma shut the door behind her and leaned against it. Her head pounded with a crying headache, and she could feel the swelling in her eyes and nose. But her conscience ached even more than her head. Never in her life had she hurled such cruel words at another human being as she had to Riley, just now.
How many times had Ma told her the rules of polite conversation? She was to ask herself three questions, before speaking about another person.
Is it true?
Is it kind?
Is it necessary?
Unless the answers to those questions were “yes,” she should remain quiet.
Well, the things she’d said to Riley tonight certainly weren’t kind. And they weren’t necessary.
It didn’t matter if they were true or not...which, many of them weren’t. Riley was a good man, and he had no control over the way his family behaved. But even if they had been true, she shouldn’t have said them.
“Want to talk about it?”
Emma started at her father’s voice, and shame oozed over her like pond scum. She’d assumed Pa was in bed already. “No, thank you.” Right now, all she wanted was a cup of hot tea and her soft pillow. The thought of curling up next to Skye, like a live doll, offered the only solace she could find at the moment.
She walked to her father, kissed the top of his receding hairline, and left him without another word. After fixing her tea, she took her cup to her bedroom and placed it on the bedside table. Soon, she snuggled beneath the covers, one arm around the little girl who had stolen her heart.
As tired as she was, it took a long time for sleep to claim her. Instead, thoughts swirled around her mind, wrapping and squeezing like weeds in the okra patch.
Would she still have a job tomorrow?
If not, what would become of Skye?
Would Riley ever forgive her for the things she said tonight? She needed to apologize.
Would Riley marry Clara? If so, Emma would have to quit her job. As much as she loved Clara, she didn’t think she could be a maid in their home. Although Ma did...she was maid to her best friend. But Ma never had feelings for John Stratton the way Emma had feelings for Riley.
She knew Riley would eventually marry someone, but it seemed to her, it would be easier if a stranger captured his love, rather than her dear friend.
Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, Emma let go. She gave the tangled ball of yarn that was her mind to God, and let Him have it. A last, single tear slipped down her temple, past her ear and onto the already-soaked pillow. A last, single thought of her mother’s face drifted through her mind, and she slept.
Morning came too soon, and Emma lay in bed for too many minutes, in that halfway place between asleep and awake. Her sleep had been fitful, haunted by dreams of weddings with ill-fitting gowns and babies being snatched from her, and special meals cooked and burned. But then, toward the end of the dream, Ma showed up. She didn’t say anything, just took Emma in her arms, held her and let her cry.
Now Emma relished the last moments of her mother’s presence, not ready to say goodbye. It all felt so real. But alas, the pinky-white edges of Ma’s face faded, her scent evaporated, and the dream was gone.
Emma forced leaden feet onto the cold floor, shuffled to the kitchen—it seemed only a few minutes ago she’d made that cup of tea—and started a pot of oatmeal.
And it dawned on her, this would probably be her life. Every single morning, fixing two breakfasts, a simple one for herself and an elaborate one for her employer. A black hole closed over her spirit. No light. No air. How long could she survive without hope?
But she’d keep doing it, for Pa. For Lyndel. For Skye. She’d keep doing it, to help care for the ones she loved.
Just as Ma had done for her, all those years.