The Inheritance (15 page)
She leaned down and kissed Emma’s cheek. “You’ve had enough to drink for tonight, sweetie. Remember what happened—”
“
Please
, Aunt Kenny?”
“I said you’ve alrea—”
“I’ll be good,” she said in a singsong voice, smiling and tilting her head to one side.
McKenna smiled. “The answer is still no, Emma. You’ve already wet your—”
“I don’t like you!” Emma pulled back, her brow dipped low. “And you’re not my
mama
!”
McKenna stilled, feeling as if someone had slapped her across the face. “No, Emma . . . I’m not your mama.” She spoke over the child’s whimpers. “But your mama asked me to take care of you, and I’m doing that. As best I can. I think we can be very good friends, if you’ll only give me a chance.”
Emma’s glare said the possibility of that was slim.
After an hour of her getting out of bed and McKenna putting her back down again, Emma finally fell asleep. And McKenna collapsed onto the couch, completely spent. She really needed to return to the barn to work on the saddle. Either that or milk the cow, pump more water, or wash the laundry.
Tears edged the corners of her eyes, but she determined not to give in to them. She determined to remain strong.
I will not be
broken.
She repeated the phrase, over and over.
I will not be
— Footfalls outside brought her upright. The door handle turned.
Robert stepped inside, and his eyes widened when he spotted her. “You’re still awake.”
McKenna stood. “Yes, I’m still awake. And Emma just now went to sleep.”
He made a face. “She was asleep when I left.”
“When you
left
?” She didn’t even try to keep the harshness from her voice. “You agreed to watch her this evening so I could work. You promised, Robert!”
“What . . . ?” He shrugged. “She fell asleep, and there was nothing else to do. Besides, you were in the barn if she needed anything.”
“You can’t leave a child her age alone, Robert. It’s dangerous. And I was
working
in the barn. I’ve got a job to do, same as you. Only I can’t get mine done if I have to take care of Emma too.”
“Well, maybe you should’ve thought of that before you agreed to do this.”
He’d said it beneath his breath, but she heard every word. “I can’t believe you’d say that.” She caught a whiff of something. Or thought she did. She moved closer and took another sniff.
Robert looked away, confirming her suspicions.
“You’ve been drinking?”
He crossed to the kitchen cupboard, a familiar swagger in his step. “I had a beer in town. One beer. I wouldn’t call that drinking.” He rummaged through the shelves. “Do we have anything to eat?”
McKenna could only stare. She’d felt slapped in the face earlier, but this felt like a punch in the gut. Disbelief fed her anger. “Robert, we’ve talked about this before. Alcohol isn’t something that I’m going to toler—”
“For God’s sake, Kenny. It was one drink! Don’t make this into more than it is.”
“I’m not making this into more than it is. I just—”
“You’re not my mother!”
She blinked, caught off guard by the vehemence of his statement. And its similarity to Emma’s earlier. Robert looked away muttering something low and foul. And every syllable delivered a wound.
He was right. She wasn’t his mother. She’d been a friend and confidant when he was younger. A sustainer and a lawgiver as the years passed. And though she’d tried to be a mother to him, to fill that gaping hole, she’d obviously failed. After the incident in St. Joseph, their pastor had told her to make a decision: either choose to trust Robert again or continue to harbor suspicion. “It’s impossible, McKenna,” the pastor had said, “to truly believe that someone can change for the better, if you’re constantly dwelling on his past.” For a while, she’d walked a tightrope between trusting and suspicion with Robert. But then she’d come to the point when she’d decided to trust him again, to believe in him, and not to withdraw from him as others had done.
And then something like this happened . . .
“Just forget it.” Robert slammed the cupboard door and grabbed the blanket from the couch where he usually slept, then headed for the door. “I’ll bed down in the barn.”
He was halfway out the door when McKenna found her voice. “Robert . . . ”
He stopped, his back to her, and finally turned. Contempt riddled his eyes—eyes deep set and stormy gray, like their father’s.
She chose her words with care. “You’re right. I’m not your mother. But I’ve done the best I could.” She bit her lower lip. “We can’t afford for this move not to work, or for you to lose this job. For either of us to lose our jobs. Mr. Billings has already started foreclosure proceedings against the ranch. If I don’t deliver that payment to him by September, then—”
“I
know what he said. You’ve told me . . . three times. We’ll lose this place.”
She heard the helplessness in her sigh. “This is all we have now.” Her gaze swept the tiny three-room cabin, one-fourth the size of the house they’d left behind in St. Joseph. “We’ve already lost one home, we can’t afford to—”
“Why do you keep saying
we
? When really . . . you mean
me
?”
He retraced his steps, and as he drew closer it registered with her how tall and broad-shouldered he’d become, how strong. Far more a man than a boy.
“Isn’t that what you mean, Kenny?
I’m
the one who lost everything back home. The house. Pa’s livery. It was
my
fault. Why don’t you just say it out loud for once? You say it every day in the way you look at me.”
Oh, she was tempted . . .
His words lit a fire inside her. “You’re not being fair to me, Robert. I’ve worked hard to give us this fresh start. To make sure you have a chance at a new—”
“Don’t say you’re doing this for me, Kenny. To give me a new life. You’re doing it for yourself! You were embarrassed by what happened back home. You were embarrassed by me and wanted to get away from everyone who knew us, who knew what happened. So don’t you dare stand there and tell me this is all about giving me a chance to start over. I was fine with staying put. I didn’t give a . . .”
She cringed at the language he chose but let him speak. At least this was a chance to find out what was going on inside him. However much it hurt.
“And as far as helping with
her
”—he threw a look at Emma’s closed bedroom door—“I’ve got enough to do on my own. Trenton is working me like I’m three men. Sometimes I just need to get away to clear my mind, and if I want to go to town on occasion, I’m going to.” Defiance hardened his eyes, daring her to try to do something about it.
McKenna stared up at him, wondering exactly where it was she’d gotten so off track with him. Her chest ached remembering how she’d cradled him as a baby beside their mother’s graveside. The memory of their father’s burial rose in her mind, and she could still feel the clammy hand of a somber nine-year-old boy clinging tight to hers. Robert had fought back tears that day—tears he hadn’t even understood at the time. But she had. Just like she understood the defiance in him now, and saw through it to the hurt inside.
The pain in her chest grew more severe. “Robert, I’m sorry if you think I’ve—”
His harsh laugh cut her off. “I don’t want your pity, Kenny.” His smile was almost feral. “And I think you’re right . . . Moving here is going to be a good thing.” An emotion moved in behind his eyes, one she couldn’t define but didn’t like. “I think I’m going to end up liking Copper Creek better than I thought.”
The slam of the front door reverberated inside her.
And when she awakened the next morning, the sting of their argument was still fresh.
With Emma by her side, morning chores took twice as long. The child seemed intent on making a mess everywhere they went—nearly tipping over the milk pail, pulling laundry from the line . . . The only time she came close to compliance was when McKenna promised to read her an extra book at bedtime that evening. On those occasions, Emma would cuddle close, so that was a promise McKenna didn’t mind making.
Noon came and they stopped briefly for a lunch of cornbread and beans. The combination was warm and filling, yet all McKenna could think about was that she hadn’t returned to the barn to work on the saddle. Nor had she fed the cattle in the lower field. Robert was supposed to have done that before he left for work, but he’d gotten up late. She hitched the horses to the wagon and loaded the hay, able to manage the bales with effort. Working in the livery full-time for the past five years had strengthened her muscles, but still they burned from the exertion.
She wiped her hands on her skirt, wishing she’d thought to wear an old pair of Robert’s trousers. But she managed as best she could. By the time she and Emma returned to the cabin early that evening, they were both covered in hay and were famished. There was no way she could keep this up on her own. But neither did she have money to hire a ranch hand like she planned. Not with what little she had to pay them.
Absent of Robert’s company, she and Emma ate a dinner of beans and rice and shared the remaining square of corn bread. Twice McKenna tried to coax a smile from Emma, and twice the little girl schooled a frown, only to turn right around and reward Clara with a big kiss and a grin. Seeing her react that way to the doll brought thoughts of Wyatt Caradon close. And for some reason, thinking of him deepened McKenna’s sense of fatigue and loneliness.
She wondered how he was. Where he was . . . If he’d delivered his prisoner without mishap. Or if the prisoner was even still alive. She pushed aside the silent barrage of questions and rose from the table. “It’s time for bed, Emma.”
Emma did her best to mask a yawn. “But I’m not tired.”
McKenna read one bedtime book, and another as promised. Lacking the strength to endure their normal bedtime routine, she decided to lie down beside Emma for a while. As Emma drifted off to sleep, the child reached out and took hold of a lock of McKenna’s hair. With her eyes closed, she held the curl tight.
“Aunt Kenny . . . can we go to church?”
The question was unexpected, and McKenna was unprepared to answer. People at the funeral, from the church where Vince and Janie had attended, had invited them to visit, and she’d considered it, even planned on it—eventually. After she and Robert were more settled, and hopefully after the questions died down. But the more she thought about it, the more McKenna realized she’d missed going to church. And Janie certainly would have wanted it. “Yes, I think that’s a very good idea, Emma. We’ll do that.”
Emma’s breathing gradually evened. McKenna pulled her closer and kissed her forehead, then briefly closed her eyes.
Sometime later, she awakened to darkness with Emma cuddled close beside her, the child’s breath warm against her cheek. McKenna kissed the crown of her head and inhaled her sweet scent, something Emma wouldn’t have permitted if she’d been awake. So she did it a second time, smiling.
“I love you, Emma Talbot,” she whispered, meaning every word, regardless of how Emma felt about her. She prayed Dr. Foster was right and that, in time, Emma would grow to feel something for her too.
A thought occurred, and she nestled Emma closer. She was holding a piece of Janie in her arms. Like a swath cut from a bolt of fine silk, this precious little girl was like Janie in so many ways.
Beyond the open window, the wind rustled the aspen leaves, bringing a familiar sound, and a memory.
You should see them
come fall. That’s when they’re the prettiest,
Caradon had told her. She could still hear the deep timbre of his voice, could see his face so clearly in her mind.
She lay awake, listening to the tinkle of a thousand tiny bells, trying to imagine what the trees might look like three months from now. But would she even be in Copper Creek come fall to see those aspen trees? Not if Mr. Billings had his way . . .
She eased off the mattress, careful not to awaken Emma, and crept into the main room. The couch was empty. Robert could have come home and decided to sleep in the barn again, but a quick check confirmed that he hadn’t.
Oh God, show me what to
do. Should I trust him? Should I not? Show me how to reach Robert
before it’s too late.
Pausing on the darkened porch, a full night of work awaiting, she reached inside her skirt pocket for her mother’s handkerchief, and remembered—for the hundredth time—the Chinese woman who had taken it from her to launder.
She would seek out the woman tomorrow—as soon as she finished this saddle and delivered it, along with the bridles she’d made, to Mr. Trenton. Then, for what it was worth, she would finally post an advertisement in the mercantile for an experienced
ranch hand. One who would work from dawn to dusk for next to nothing, and who would help with extra chores around the place, without being asked and expecting nothing in return.
The mere thought prompted a bitter laugh. No man in his right mind would take the job. Not with the lure of gold mining a few miles up the mountain. She stared up into the myriad of stars flung with perfection across the inky night sky, and felt so small and insignificant by comparison.
Ask and you will receive. Seek and you will find. Knock and the
door will be opened.
The paraphrase of scripture was familiar. Perhaps too familiar.
She’d asked for God’s help so many times, only to be met with His silence. She’d sought to understand why Michael had been taken from her, but still didn’t. She’d sought to right the wrongs done in St. Joseph, but had found no way. She’d knocked on the door of heaven’s throne room until her knuckles were bloodied and bruised. Yet the door remained locked fast. But surely . . .
surely
—she swallowed the bitterness of her disappointment—there was someone out there who would be willing to help her build this ranch.
And in doing so, would help rebuild her failure of a life.
