The Inheritance (8 page)

“Sister you never had. Believe me, I know.” He scoffed and raked a hand through his hair, looking for all the world like their father. Robert had never known William Ashford. Not really. He’d only known the man whose wife had died while giving birth to him. And that William Ashford had shared little resemblance to the father she’d known before.

“There’s nothing for us to return to in St. Joseph, Robert. You know that. Don’t forget the trail you left behind.”

“How could I forget, Kenny?” His smile was cruel. “You won’t let me.”

Regret soured her stomach as he walked away. She’d done her best with him. The best she knew to do, but it hadn’t been good enough. Her thoughts went to Emma, and she sighed. “Oh Janie,” she whispered, half hoping heaven would hear. “Are you certain you made the right choice?”

Rubbing her temples, she walked back toward the house and spotted Dr. Foster standing around the corner of the barn, tethering his horse to a post. She hadn’t heard him ride up, and realized he must have been there the entire time. His back was to her, and his simple task was taking far longer than it should have.

When she drew closer, his head came up. “Miss Ashford . . .”

She briefly looked at him, and away. “You’re kind to pretend you didn’t overhear that conversation.”

Sheepishness crept over his features. “I hear all sorts of things in my profession, ma’am. And for what it’s worth, I still remember what it was like to be a young man, eager to be on my own, with an older sister doing her best to look out for me.”

“Robert’s hardly a man, Dr. Foster. He’s only fourteen.”

He glanced at Robert again, mild surprise showing. “Still, he’s a lot closer to being a man than a boy, ma’am. Fourteen or not.” He reached for his medical bag looped around the saddle horn. “I brought what we need to prepare Janie’s body. I figured I’d do that here at the house, since you said you wanted to help.”

Sobered by the waiting task, McKenna nodded and walked with him to the cabin.

“I spoke with the preacher while I was in town just now. The funeral will be tomorrow morning. He’ll let people know.”

“So soon?”

He paused. “Is there a reason to wait, Miss Ashford?” The question was gentle but straightforward.

“No . . . I guess not.” She studied the hill rising up behind the cabin where Janie would be buried. “Tomorrow will be fine.”

“By the way, you’re mighty good with a needle. I was impressed.”

She stared up at him.

“Marshal Caradon’s prisoner. I checked on him at the jail this morning. I’m guessing your talent is going to make some ladies of this town mighty happy. Though Mrs. Claremore at the dress shop will be none too happy about the competition.”

“I assure you, Mrs. Claremore needn’t worry about competition from me, Dr. Foster. I much prefer working with leather than lace.”

Footsteps on the porch drew their attention.

“You’re back, Doc.” Marshal Caradon and Emma walked out.

McKenna noticed he was wearing his coat and hat, which could only mean . . .

“I’ll be heading back into town.” Caradon glanced her way. “I’ve got some things I need to tend to.”

Dr. Foster distracted Emma with a lollipop and discreetly relayed the information about the funeral to Wyatt. “Pastor Vickery said he’d be out here about ten o’clock tomorrow. So Marshal, we’ll need your
pledge
to Mrs. Talbot fulfilled before then.”

“Not a problem, sir. I’ll see it done.”

McKenna cringed, thinking about the prospect.

Dr. Foster walked inside, patting Caradon’s shoulder as he passed. Emma shadowed the doctor’s steps, doing her best to peer into his bag, presumably looking for more treats even as she slurped on the hard candy he’d given her.

A warm breeze rustled through a stand of trees close to the house, quaking the leaves and sounding like a thousand tiny bells. McKenna stared up at them, mesmerized.

“Those are aspens,” Caradon said, answering her unasked question. “They’re common to this area. You should see them come fall. That’s when they’re the prettiest.” He took the porch stairs by twos. “Emma’s asking about her mother again, ma’am. A moment ago. Just thought you should know.” He brushed the rim of his Stetson. “Good day to you, Miss Ashford.”

McKenna took a breath, gathering her nerve. “Marshal Caradon, may I have a word with you, please?”

He turned. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Last night, when Janie requested that her son be buried with her, I don’t think she realized what she was asking. With the fever and medicine, and her having been ill for so long, and the stress of recent weeks—I think all of that combined was simply too much for her. She was . . . confused when she made that request.” She searched his eyes. “Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

He didn’t answer right off. “Yes, ma’am. I think I do.”

Relieved, she sighed. “Good. I felt you would, once we talked.”

He closed the distance between them. “I understand that you don’t like the idea of a body being dug up after it’s already in the earth. You might even hold that it’s a sacrilege. To be honest, it’s not something I ever thought I’d do.” Pausing, he nodded toward the cabin. “Do you think your cousin was
confused
when she asked you to take care of her daughter, Miss Ashford? Or when she left everything she and her husband had spent their lives building together . . . to you?”

Heat flooded McKenna’s body. She knew from his tone, his manner, and the steel in his eyes that Caradon meant for the questions to be rhetorical. Still, she wished she could think of something to say in response, find some weakness in his argument. But she couldn’t.

“I don’t think so either, ma’am. I think she spoke from her heart. So I’m going to see to it that Janie Talbot’s little boy is in her arms tomorrow when that casket is lowered, because I gave her my word. On her deathbed, just like you did.”

EIGHT

I
s my mama awake yet?” Emma asked for the tenth time that same day.

Sitting in a chair on the porch, McKenna pulled a brush through the little girl’s blonde hair. She’d dreaded this moment and had been putting it off, letting Emma play outside after breakfast while she pondered what to tell the child. The truth, most certainly . . . But how? She snagged a tangle.

“
Oowie
!”

“I’m sorry, sweetie.” She rubbed the tender spot on Emma’s head. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” But she was about to do exactly that—regardless of how gently she tried to phrase what needed to be said.

She turned Emma to face her and stared into eyes the same brilliant blue as Janie’s had been. She prayed for the right words and the wisdom not to say anything that would frighten the child—like some of the things that had been said to her when her own mother had died.

She took Emma’s hands in hers. “Emma . . . your mama didn’t just go to sleep. Her body was sick, and she didn’t have the strength to get better.” McKenna spoke slowly, as tenderly as she could, and watched for the slightest sign of comprehension in Emma’s expression. “Your mama . . . passed away early this morning. She’s in heaven now with Jesus and your papa, and with your baby brother, Aaron.”

The light in Emma’s eyes flickered. She squinted, and McKenna could see her young mind working to keep up.
Oh
God, help me to be what I need to be for her.

“It’s hard to understand this, Emma, I know . . . But the last time you saw your mama was when she had a fever. Do you remember that?”

A slow nod. “I helped Doc Foster get her water ’cause she was thirsty.”

McKenna somehow found a smile. “You’re a very brave girl.” She leaned closer. “Your mama’s body is still in her bed inside, and we’re going to go see her together in just a minute.”

“But you said she was with Jesus . . .”

“She is, sweetie. But her body is still here.” How to explain this to one so young? She briefly looked beyond Emma across the sea of field grass bowing in the breeze to the mountains rising stony and gray in the distance. “When you see your mama, you may feel . . . different inside, and that’s okay. I did, too, when I first saw my mama’s body after she’d died.”

Subtle suspicion slipped into Emma’s gaze. Children were much more perceptive than most adults gave them credit for. Robert always had been.

The warble of a songbird drifted close and brought an idea with it. “Have you ever seen a bird’s nest when it’s full of eggs?” McKenna asked, already knowing the answer.

“My papa showed me one in the barn. It had babies in it.” Emma scrunched her face. “But we can’t touch them.”

The sparkle in those precious eyes caused a pang in McKenna’s chest. “Do you remember what the nest looked like after the babies had grown up and flown away? When it was empty?”

Emma nodded again.

“In a way, that’s what your mama is going to look like when you see her. It’s still your mama’s body, but she won’t be inside of it anymore. She’s with God now.” Images of long-ago days brushed up against her thoughts—images of her mother lying still and lifeless in death.
As soon as she’d walked into the front parlor—only four years older than Emma now—she’d known. And a part of her had been frightened. Not of her mother, never of her. But of the
absence
of her mother while still having the shell of her still there.

For a long time, she’d stood in the doorway, staring at the woman who’d rocked her at night when she’d awakened from bad dreams, who nursed her when she was sick, who’d stayed up late mending her skirt when McKenna had once gotten too close to the livery’s forge. But the woman lying across the room in the pinewood box had not been her mother. Not anymore.

McKenna cradled Emma’s cheek. Looking at a loved one who had passed away changed a person. And she wondered how it would change Emma, especially being so young. Yet not allowing Emma to see her mother a last time, denying her that chance to say good-bye—however a five-year-old could—wasn’t something she felt right doing either.

She reached for Emma’s hand, and the child took hold without hesitation.

Dr. Foster was inside the cabin, mixing salves and spices to prepare Janie’s body for burial. When he looked up, then looked at Emma, he seemed to understand.

McKenna inclined her head toward the bedroom. “You’re welcome to come with us, if you’d like, Dr. Foster.” She secretly hoped he would, in case Emma had questions she couldn’t answer.

He led the way and pushed open the door.

McKenna had unlatched a window earlier to air out the room. Sunshine poured inside, layering the small space with the sweet fragrance of lavender and crowding out the stale reminders of death.

Emma held back, and McKenna hoped she hadn’t frightened her by what she’d said moments earlier.

“It’s all right, Emma. We can take our time in saying good-bye.” McKenna looked at Janie’s body on the bed and tears rose to her eyes as she recalled what it had felt like to kiss her mother for the very last time, how her heart had pounded in her ears, and how foreign her mother’s cheek had felt to her in that moment.

She guided Emma to the bedside, and Emma raised her little chin to peer into her mother’s face. Janie’s expression was smooth and serene, though gaunt from illness. Gone were the flushes of fever, and her freshly brushed hair lay spread across the pillowcase, a duller mirror image of her daughter’s.

Emma reached out, then quickly pulled her hand back.

“It’s okay. You can touch her . . . if you want to.” McKenna brushed her fingers across Janie’s hand.

Emboldened, Emma did the same. “Mama?”

Only silence answered, and McKenna’s throat tightened.

Emma leaned closer, touching her mama’s arm. “Mama?” she whispered, her voice going higher. She peered up at McKenna, her blue eyes pooling. Her bottom lip shook.

Tears slipped down both their cheeks, and suddenly all the things McKenna wished someone had said to her in a similar moment years ago, came rushing back. She knelt beside her. “Your mama still loves you very much, Emma,” she whispered. “Her love for you hasn’t ended simply because she’s not able to be with you anymore. She’s thinking about you right this minute, in heaven, and she’ll watch over you until you’re together again. And you
will be
together again . . . someday. I promise you that.”