“What’s on your mind, son?” Mayor Bridges leaned back in his chair and pushed his plate away.
“I’d like to hear more about how you think the natural springs can draw people to Lampasas. Do you really think you can sell this as a tourist town?”
“I know I can. I just need a few more supporters.”
“People in town don’t want tourists here?”
“Oh, they want them here just fine. But ranchers and farmers privately own all the land. Nobody wants to give up their ranch or their farm that they’ve worked so hard to grow, to build a hotel or a spa. Most of them don’t even want their waters tested.”
“How many healing springs do you think there are?”
“Judging from my unofficial research, five or six. Maybe more.”
“And what is your unofficial research?” Riley’s curiosity was full force.
The mayor laughed. “My nose. The springs that stink on a hot, windy day? Those probably have some sulphur.”
Riley didn’t think they had any of those on their property. The smelly springs were closer to town. Closer to the Monroes’ land.
“If we can access the mineral springs, the problem won’t be getting the tourists here. The issue will be acquiring a place for them to stay once they arrive.”
Riley took a long sip of the sweet iced tea. “Have you talked to all the landowners, or just a few?”
“Only a few, but so far I haven’t made much progress. The Bowmans have agreed to dedicate one corner of their land, but they’d want someone else to develop it. And they want to retain ownership.”
“I think I may know a farmer who’d be willing to develop his property.”
The mayor leaned forward. “Really? Who?”
“I’d rather speak with him before I disclose his name. I’d also like to speak to the Bowmans, if you’re not opposed to that.”
“Be my guest. I’ll take all the help I can get.”
Clara offered Riley another piece of pie, but he declined.
“What do you have up your sleeve, Riley Stratton?” Clara did that fluttery eyelash thing. She was good at that. Could teach classes, if she wanted to.
“Just a couple of ideas. I hate to eat and run, but I have some business I need to see to, and I don’t want to hold you up.”
Mayor Bridges stood and offered his hand. “Nonsense. You’re not holding anybody up, but by all means, go take care of business. Clara, walk Mr. Stratton to the door.”
Riley stood and offered his arm to Clara, and she walked him onto the porch.
“I hope I didn’t overstep my place or come across as critical to your sister-in-law about Emma’s uniform. Emma and I have been friends a long time, and she’s very dear to me. I can’t imagine she enjoys dressing that way, but perhaps it wasn’t my place.”
Riley laughed. “When Allison gets something in her head, it’s hard to change her mind. But you’re right. The thing looks ridiculous.”
Clara nodded. “I feel protective of Emma somehow. She’s had enough hard knocks against her lately. I know wardrobe is a minor issue, but for a woman, it plays a big part in how we feel about life. If we look pretty, we feel more confident. If we look dowdy, it just...I don’t know. It affects our mood. I’m sorry...I’m probably not making much sense to you.”
Riley looked at the woman before him through a new lens. Clearly, there was more to Clara Bridges than met the eye. She had depth as well as beauty. And her protectiveness of Emma caused his respect for her to lift considerably. “No, ma’am. I think you make perfect sense. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must be going.”
He replaced his hat on his head, tipped it, and headed for the livery. He and Charlie Monroe had some business they needed to discuss.
Emma served lunch to Allison and little Davis by themselves. For the second time that day, nobody told her about any changes in plans for mealtime.
Oh, well. She supposed they didn’t owe her an explanation.
Allison practically ignored Emma. She had a stack of newspapers and ladies’ journals at her side, which she read out loud to Davis. He responded with laughter and cooing as if she were reading him a bedtime story. As much as Emma disliked her employer, she had to admit, she seemed to be a good mother.
Tension clawed through Emma’s shoulders and neck as she waited for Allison to comment on her dress, or her lack of uniform. But Allison seemed not to notice. Should Emma say something, or wait for her employer to address it?
She finally decided to just take the calf by its hind legs and rope the issue herself. She placed a piece of cherry pie in front of Allison and waited for her to pick up her fork.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Stratton. I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if I might have a word with you when you finish your meal.”
“Certainly. I have something I’d like to discuss with you as well. I’ll see you in the parlor as soon as the dishes are cleared.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Skye sat on the back porch steps and hummed softly to her doll. The memory of Riley’s tenderness with his niece only amplified Emma’s own guilt over her outburst last night. For a moment, she’d allowed herself to lose control and unleash all the anger and frustration within her, and for a moment, it felt good.
Unfortunately, that moment had a high price. The cost of a friendship.
She pushed open the screen door. “Skye, I’ll be in a meeting with Mrs. Stratton for a few minutes. Will you wait here for me?”
“Okay.”
When Emma returned to the dining room, Allison and Davis were gone. Emma cleared the dishes and set them in the sink to soak, then went to the parlor. Davis sat on a quilt at Allison’s feet, and alternated between shaking his rattle and chewing on it.
“Emma. Come in. Have a seat, please.” Allison’s tone was dangerously neutral.
Emma sat across from her employer.
“I see you’re not wearing your uniform. Would you like to explain why?”
“I’m sorry about that, ma’am. I used both of them yesterday, and they were dirty. I didn’t have time to wash and dry them before this morning. I’ll make sure they’re clean before tomorrow.”
“I see. Well, that won’t be necessary. I’ve decided you may wear your own clothes.” When she said, “your own clothes,” she wrinkled her nose and looked Emma over from head to toe as if disgusted by the thought.
“The problem is, from what I’ve seen, your clothes are little more than rags.”
Emma stiffened. That wasn’t true. She was an excellent seamstress. The fabrics she wore may not be imported silks and satins, but she certainly didn’t dress in rags. Sure, she wore her older things to work in, because after all, she was a cook and a maid. Why would she wear her Sunday best to do this kind of work?
“I’d like to have some dresses made that are more...appropriate for a servant of your status. I’ll use my personal seamstress and deduct the cost from your pay.”
Emma could feel her blood pressure rising. Could feel the anger clawing at her stomach lining, as if it would surely tear through and jump all over Allison at any moment. What was it about this family? Emma had to get hold of this anger before it took over her life.
God, help me. I don’t know how to respond.
Calm surrounded her like a warm blanket, fresh from the clothesline on a sunny, summer day. She couldn’t control Allison. She could, however, control herself.
“That’s very...kind of you, Mrs. Stratton. However, if you’ll tell me what exactly you’d like me to wear, perhaps show me some pictures or something, I’ll be more than happy to see to it myself.”
“I’m not sure you could manage the styles I have in mind. I’ll let Ingrid Wesson handle it. She makes all my dresses. I know you worked for her before you came here, but there’s a reason you were only the assistant.”
Emma swallowed. She knew she couldn’t afford the dresses and fabrics Allison would choose for her, especially if she had to pay Mrs. Wesson to make them. But for the life of her, she couldn’t think of a response that wouldn’t get her fired.
“Yes, ma’am,” she said, but in her mind she was saying some very uncharitable things. God, help me.
Emma remembered her hard-learned lesson from last night. What was it Ma used to say? The less said, the less mended.
And also, wasn’t there something in Scripture about loving each other deeply, because love covered over sins? Well, she wasn’t sure she could ever love Allison Stratton deeply. But she could at least try to be civil. Maybe even kind.
Yes. What if, every time she wanted to say something ugly, she forced herself to say something kind, instead? It was worth a try. She searched her mind for something—anything—positive to say to Allison. Nothing...nothing but blank space. Oh, wait.
“Mrs. Stratton, I’m sorry to change the subject, but I just wanted to remark on what a happy child Davis seems to be these days. I guess his teething issues are over for a while. He certainly is content when he’s around his mama. You clearly have a way with him.”
Allison looked at her son and smiled. Smiled. That was a rare occurrence, at least around Emma. “He is a delightful child, isn’t he?”
“He’s adorable.”
Something softened in Allison, and Emma was glad she’d made the effort. Yes, that would be her new tactic with this family. Every time they made her angry, she’d say something kind. Even if it had no long-term results, it certainly did help diffuse a potentially explosive moment.
Deep breath. Emma wasn’t sure what else to say or do.
Allison stiffened again, then nodded curtly. “If you’ll please stop by Mrs. Wesson’s next time you’re in town and allow her to take your measurements, I’ll choose some styles and fabrics for you. That’s all.”
And just like that, Emma was dismissed.
Riley rode Medina past the cutoff to the Monroe farm and circled back around four times before he finally decided he might as well go for it. He had nothing to lose, and maybe something to gain.
Still, his stomach twisted and turned into a pretzel at the thought. Did Mr. Monroe know about the confrontation last night? Would he even welcome him into his home any more?
And would it be better to do some more research before asking Mr. Monroe if he was interested?
Probably. But that could take weeks. Months, even. And the mayor had acquired someone to do the research. No use putting off the question.
This time, he rode Medina right up to the front steps and looped her reins around the porch rail. As usual, after Riley knocked, he heard Mr. Monroe’s weak voice.
“Come in.”
Was his voice getting weaker? What was it he had? Consumption?
“Riley. Good to see you, son. Come on in. You know the routine. You hungry? Got beans on the stove...”
A rush of relief flowed through Riley’s veins at the warm reception. “No, sir. I’ve already eaten, thanks. Can I get you anything?”
“I’m good. What brings you here today? The ranching business not keeping you busy enough? Or did you just miss my handsome mug?”
Riley chuckled. “Well, sir, I’m actually here on business.”
“On business? I’m not sellin’...”
“Oh, no sir. I don’t expect you to sell your land. But since you’re not able to farm right now, I wanted to share another opportunity with you. Something you could do to bring in some extra income...just until you get back on your feet.”
Monroe wheezed and coughed, a weak cough that made Riley’s chest hurt just hearing it. The other man took a sip of his water and set down his cup. “I must admit, you’ve got me curious. What is this business venture you’re so fired up about?”
“Have you ever heard of Saratoga Springs?”
“Seems like I read something about it. Some kinda hot springs, isn’t it? Supposed to heal people. Sounds like a bunch of nonsense to me.”
“Nonsense or not, many people have given testimony to how the springs have improved their health. But they’re a long way away. Mayor Bridges thinks we can make money off our own sulfurous springs. He wants to advertise Lampasas as ‘The Saratoga of the South’ and make this a tourist town.”
“Hmmm...I’m listening.”
“He feels it will be a success. Problem is, all the land with sulfur in the springs is owned by farmers and ranchers, and so far none of them wants to give up their water source as a tourist destination. I thought...under the circumstances...you might be interested.”
The older man studied his wrinkled, age-spotted hands for a long time.
Riley felt for him. Farmers had a lot of pride. It would take a big dose of humility to agree to this. In a way, agreeing to do this would be admitting defeat. Admitting that in truth, he’d probably never farm again.
Finally, Mr. Monroe lifted his eyes. “You say I won’t have to sell?”
“No, sir. You’d retain ownership of the land and control of the property.”
“What are you proposing, exactly?”
“Well, I’d have to give it some more thought. I mainly just wanted to see if you’re open to the possibility. If you’re interested, I could see developing the area around your springs with a small hotel, a restaurant, maybe a spa of some sort. Of course, as owner, you’d have final say over anything that was done.”
More silence.
“You think this would help pay a few bills around here?” Mr. Monroe asked after a time.
Riley weighed his words before he spoke. “I believe so, sir. No guarantees, but I think the mayor’s onto something. This could help a lot of people. It will bring more jobs, for certain. Mayor Bridges even mentioned bringing a college to Lampasas. Better access to higher education is always a good thing, in my opinion.”
“And what would be your involvement? Aren’t you committed to your father’s business?”
More silence. But nothing about it was awkward. There was something about Charlie Monroe that was just...easy.
Riley cleared his throat. “Well, sir...I’m not sure the, uh, ranching business suits me. I guess you could say I’m exploring other options. If you’re interested, I suppose I’d like to be as involved as you want me to be. I’d love to oversee the development of the types of businesses I described.”
Monroe coughed again. The lines etched in his face seemed deeper than they had just a few days ago. “You’ve given me a lot to think on. Come back next week, and we’ll talk more.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Before you go, though, I have one more question for you.”
“What’s that?”
“What are your intentions toward my daughter?”
Emma walked back to the kitchen, determined not to let the concern about money for these new dresses get the better of her. Most professions had expenses associated with them. If new attire was required, it was required, and she’d just have to figure out how to scrimp and save to make ends meet.
But right now, the best therapy she could think of for her worries was Skye. That little girl had a soothing effect on Emma’s soul. And at this moment, she needed to be near the one person in this place she knew was, as of yet, pure and sweet and untainted.
She opened the back door, half expecting to see the child in the same place she had been earlier, rocking and singing to her doll.
Skye was gone.
The dishes she’d used were left untouched to one side of the porch.
How odd. It wasn’t like Skye to run off. “Skye! Where are you?” Emma called.
Nothing.
Emma returned to the kitchen and looked in the pantry, but it was empty.
Her heart tightened and quickened at the same time, making it hard to draw in breath. Had Skye’s father taken her? Certainly, it was his right to take his own child any time he pleased...but without saying goodbye?
Or had she wandered off, perhaps stumbled into some type of danger? With shaking hands, Emma opened the back door again and rushed down the steps. “Skye! Skye, where are you? Come here, please.”
No response, other than two mockingbirds taunting each other, taunting Emma with their calls.
The barn. Maybe she’d gone in search of the old tabby cat. “Skye! Are you in here?” She couldn’t contain the tremor in her voice. Her own echo answered back, but still no Skye. Sugar whickered as if she wanted to tell Emma what she knew, but couldn’t find the words.
“Skye!” she tried to yell again, but panic clawed her throat and blocked the sound.
“Miss Monroe? Everything all right?” Joe’s voice was a welcome one. He knew these parts as well as anyone. He could help find her.
“It’s Skye. She’s gone. I don’t know if her father came and got her or if she’s lost or—“
“I believe I saw Donnigan riding this way earlier. Looked like his horse, anyway. Would you like me to ride out to his place and check?”
“Yes. As a matter of fact, I’d like to go with you.”
“Suit yourself.” Joe quickly saddled both Sugar and another horse. Soon, they sped toward Donnigan’s place and banged on the door.
Donnigan answered, his eyes dark and droopy. He smelled like some dead thing the cat had dragged from under the porch.
Emma craned her neck to see around his shoulder, and there was Skye, inside her house, rocking her baby and humming a tune Emma wasn’t familiar with. Thank God! She was safe. Why would Donnigan take her without telling anyone?
“What do you want?” Donnigan asked, looking back and forth between Joe and Emma.
Emma pushed back her frustration. “I just wanted to make sure Skye made it home all right. I’m sorry you were, uhm...unwell last night. I hope you’re feeling better.” Emma spoke with utmost care so she didn’t anger this man who could, if he chose, keep Skye from her.
“Yeah, well.” Donnigan cleared his throat. “I suppose I am. Thank you for looking out for her.”
“It was no trouble, I assure you. Skye is a delightful child.” Emma shifted her eyes to Skye, who looked up at her and smiled for just a moment before going back to her doll. “Did she show you the doll her uncle gave her?”
“Her uncle? Oh. Rilene. Yeah...I should’ve guessed Riley had something to do with it.”
Donnigan made no move to invite them in. He gave no indication if he’d allow Skye to return to the big house or not. Emma’s mind scurried for something, anything, to say that might convince the man of how important it was for Skye to spend the days with her.
Oh, God, please. I’m a mess. This is a mess. But please don’t let him keep her here, like a prisoner. Please, God. Let this man see.
That’s when Joe spoke up. “You know, Mr. Stratton, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about some things. I’ve noticed some discrepancies around the property lines, where some large sections of fence have come down. I need to repair them, but I’m not sure exactly where the lines are. Since you grew up here, I thought you might be able to ride out and advise me.”
Something amazing happened. Donnigan’s eyes actually lit up, as if a spark had just been ignited in the deepest part of him. Not a full flame, but a glimmer, and though he didn’t move, he stood a little taller. “I suppose I could do that. When?”
“Now, if you feel like it. I’m sure Miss Monroe would be kind enough to watch your little girl back at the house for a while.”
Donnigan looked at Emma again...was that suspicion in his eyes? Did he think she was trying to steal Skye from him?
Was she?
It was all so confusing.
Emma held her breath while silent cries went up to heaven. Please, God, please, God, please...
Finally, Donnigan nodded. “Skye, you wanna go back with this lady?”
She jumped to her feet, still holding Rilene, and ran to Emma.
Emma saw—even felt—Donnigan’s pain in a fresh way.
The man before her wasn’t a monster. He was sick. He was sad. And he was without hope. As bad as things were for Emma, she had never been without hope.
Donnigan backed into his home and reached for his hat, and in the process, his foot bumped a liquor bottle. His hope, or lack of it, was contained in that vile bottle.
Her hope was in the Lord.
How could so much happen in her spirit, in that tiniest sliver of time? She felt simultaneously sorry for being angry at God, shame at judging this man so harshly, and a fierce determination to save Skye from following the same hopeless path as her father and his family.
Riley’s face dashed through her mind. That sweet, beautiful face, with flashes of vulnerability, flashes of longing in his eyes. He was searching too. He needed saving too.
But realization didn’t equal ability. She pulled Skye to her side and knew she couldn’t save anybody. All she could do was love them, and point them to the One who could.
The four of them rode back to the house. Riley arrived at the same time. She wanted to avoid his eyes, but she couldn’t help herself. She searched his face for any sign of forgiveness. What she saw was him looking from her to Joe and back with an unreadable expression. After Joe helped her and Skye down and took Sugar’s reins, Emma led the girl to the back entrance as quickly as possible. No sense prolonging the misery that seemed to be her existence every time Riley Stratton was anywhere around.