The Inheritance (9 page)

Emma’s breath stuttered beneath the weight of her tears. “But . . . I-I don’t want my . . . mama in heaven.”

“I know you don’t, sweetheart. I don’t want her there either. I want her here with us. But that’s not possible anymore.” She attempted to brush away Emma’s tears, but the child shrank back. Surprised at the reaction, McKenna sought to comfort her with words. “Before your mama passed away, she asked me to take care of you. And I promised her I would. I’m here now, and I’m not going to let anything happen to you. We’re going to live together in this house you love, that your papa built. And I’ll be here whenever you need anything, okay?”

She reached out to hug her, but Emma’s tearful scowl told her the affection wasn’t welcome.

Dr. Foster came around to their side of the bed and leaned down to pick up Emma. She went to him willingly, which stung. McKenna tried her best not to show it. Emma was only a child, after all. But when Emma laid her head on Dr. Foster’s shoulder, McKenna couldn’t mask the hurt.

He cradled Emma’s head. “Don’t let this upset you, Miss Ashford. I delivered Emma. She’s known me her entire life. Vince and Janie used to have me out for Sunday lunch after church, too, so we’ve gotten to know each other real well. Give it time. She’ll come around to you.”

As if on cue, Emma looped her thin arms around his neck and gave McKenna a look that said quite the opposite.

A familiar dread clawed its way up the back of McKenna’s throat. “Of course,” she forced out, nodding. “I understand.” And she did. She was a stranger to the girl.

But understanding didn’t remove the sting of rejection, and she wondered again if Janie had made the right choice. And if
she’d
made the right choice in coming West to begin with. Maybe if she hadn’t been here, Janie would have struggled harder to live. McKenna felt a sinking inside. Maybe her own arrival to Copper Creek had been the deciding factor, and she hadn’t realized it. Until now.

Following a dinner of beans and cornbread, McKenna enlisted Robert’s help in watching Emma, already bracing herself for his refusal. Judging from the scowl on his face, his mood hadn’t improved much since earlier that day. “I only need you to watch her for an hour. So I can help Dr. Foster with”—she lowered her voice—“preparing Janie’s body for the funeral tomorrow.”

Frowning, Robert glanced behind him where Emma sat at the table, her head bowed. “What do you want me to do with her?”

“Take her for a walk. Ask her to show you the barn. Anything to occupy her for a little while, so I can help Dr. Foster. Please, Robert. I would really appreciate it.”

He sighed and turned away, running a hand through his hair. Then he looked back. “Hey . . . Emma!”

Cringing at the casualness of his tone, McKenna saw Emma’s head come up.

“I’m wondering if you’ve got any cows around here.” Robert peered out the kitchen window, as though not seeing the cattle in the adjacent field. “Sure would like to see me some. If you know where any are.”

Emma’s tear-rimmed eyes widened. She nodded, shyly.

The unlikely pair went outside and walked down the road together. As she watched them, McKenna prayed for them both, then joined Dr. Foster back inside. They worked in silence, a late summer sun casting a golden glow over the room. She washed and arranged Janie’s hair and chose Janie’s best dress from the chiffarobe, all while memories of better days long past pressed especially close.

Later, after Dr. Foster had gone and Emma was finally asleep, McKenna sat on the front porch steps as darkness swiftly approached, sifting through the decisions facing her now. Faint light from the barn told her of Robert’s whereabouts, as did the sound of crates being moved. He was unpacking the wagon as she’d asked him to do—and without having to be told twice. She sighed. Maybe this change of scenery would be good for him after all.

She leaned forward, arms clasped around her knees, mindful of the tender sutures in her left hand. The poultice Dr. Foster had made was helping with the pain and swelling.

Going back to St. Joseph wasn’t an option, for reasons she’d given Robert earlier. She’d come to Colorado to make a new life for her and Robert, though it would be a far different life than she’d imagined. And more challenging. She had an additional person to provide for now, but at least here they had a place to live, and Mr. Trenton at the livery had already agreed in a letter to hire both her and Robert. She simply had to be strong. To persevere.

She would not allow herself to be broken by this. God
would give her the strength she needed—she kept telling herself that.

She was planning on calling on Mr. Trenton the day after tomorrow and would be certain to take the letter he’d written that outlined her and Robert’s responsibilities at the livery. She’d written, notifying him of the week of their arrival, but not the exact date. Which, as it turned out, was a good thing.

She spotted Robert walking toward her from the barn. From the set of his shoulders, he looked tired.

He paused at the bottom of the porch stairs. “She okay?”

Understanding who he was referring to, she nodded. “Emma’s asleep. Thank you for watching her earlier.”

He shrugged, a familiar gesture for him.

McKenna loosened the leather tie from her braid and began unraveling the strands of hair. “She knows her mama is in heaven, but she doesn’t understand what’s really happened.”

Robert didn’t say anything. The darkness obscured his expression, so McKenna couldn’t read his mood—which seemed to change with little notice these days.

“I guarantee you she doesn’t understand,” he finally whispered, his tone surprisingly tender. “Not yet.” He bowed his head. “But she will, soon enough.”

McKenna stared, unaccustomed to the emotion in her younger brother’s voice.

After a long silence, he looked up. “But I wouldn’t push it with her. She’ll have the rest of her life to try to make sense of it all.” He took the porch stairs in twos and walked past her into the cabin.

The next morning, a knock sounded on Emma’s bedroom door, and McKenna looked up from buttoning the child’s dress. “Yes?”

“Miss Ashford,” Dr. Foster spoke softly through the closed door. “The pastor has arrived.”

“Thank you, Dr. Foster. We’re almost ready.”

As she straightened the ribbon in Emma’s hair, McKenna caught the reflection in the mirror that hung askew on the wall. What she saw tugged at overfrayed emotions. With their best frocks pressed and their hair combed and arranged, she and Emma were dressed for the funeral, but McKenna knew that neither one of them was ready for what lay ahead.

She turned the child to face her, not surprised at the ill-tempered expression she received. Since telling Emma about Janie’s passing, the child hadn’t looked at her without displeasure. McKenna reached out to smooth a piece of lace on the child’s dress—a dress Janie had sewn for Easter—but Emma pulled away.

McKenna formed a smile. “Emma, do you remember what I told you last night before you went to bed?”

Uncertainty penetrated Emma’s scowl, and the child shook her head. But McKenna knew she wasn’t telling the truth.

What she’d planned on telling Emma about the funeral and what would be happening in the next few hours suddenly seemed unfitting, and she decided to tell her what was in her heart. “I know this is hard for you to understand, Emma. And I know you’re not happy with me right now, so I hope you’ll listen.”

The dainty furrows in Emma’s brow deepened.

“I want you to remember, above anything else, that your mama and papa love you, very much. As do I, and Uncle Robert. And that no matter what happens, nothing can take away that love.”

A second knock sounded, and through the closed door McKenna heard what she assumed was the pastor’s voice, as well as Dr. Foster’s. People would be arriving soon. It was nearly time.

Movement from outside the window drew her attention. She spotted a blurred figure cresting the hill behind the cabin. The person made his way down the path toward the homestead. At first she thought it was Robert, who had let her know earlier that morning that he refused to attend the funeral. She’d told him he didn’t have a choice and then hadn’t seen him since breakfast.

She stepped closer to the window and squinted. It wasn’t Robert . . .

It was Marshal Caradon, and he was walking back toward the cabin, cradling something in his arms.

NINE

W
yatt looked down at the tiny bundle he held. The infant hardly weighed anything at all. He couldn’t help but wonder what this child was doing now, in the hereafter. He hoped he was running and playing, doing all the things he hadn’t a chance to do here on earth. And with his papa and mama beside him, no less.

Dr. Foster had swathed the boy snug in a thin quilt before burial, presumably one Janie had made. Wyatt hadn’t removed it, nor had he pulled the edge back to peer into the infant’s face. He already had an idea in his mind of what the baby looked like, and he preferred to commit that visage to memory instead of the other.

He’d purchased a baby’s blanket from the mercantile yesterday and had wrapped the babe in it, layering the new over the old, and hoping to diminish the effects of the body being in the earth for several days. Seemed to him the child should be buried in clean swaddling with his mother too. Somehow he knew Janie Talbot would have appreciated that, even if Miss Ashford might not.

It hadn’t taken him long to exhume the body, but it had taken a while to dig the hole deeper, as he’d told the doc he would do, in preparation for the funeral. The morning air was uncustomarily cool, but he’d still sweated through his shirt. He’d brought a fresh one along and brushed the dirt from his pants as best he could.

Drawing closer to the homestead, he spotted three men standing to the side of the barn. He recognized one of them as Pastor Vickery, the pastor of the church he visited the last time he came through Copper Creek. Wyatt skirted his way around the back of the cabin and through the front door. Dr. Foster requested he be discreet when bringing the body into the house, in case people from town were present. The front room was empty, but he saw the doc, Miss Ashford, and Emma in Janie Talbot’s bedroom.

He stayed by the door, not wanting to sit.

He hadn’t attended a funeral in seven years and didn’t fully know why he was here today. But having been present for Mrs. Talbot’s passing and learning about the deaths of her husband and son, it felt like the right thing to do. Even though it stirred images he’d laid to rest long ago. Ones he preferred would remain undisturbed.

Knowing what Miss Ashford was going through had influenced his decision too. Not that it mattered to her if he was present or not. He’d received the distinct impression that she didn’t really care to have him around and—though he wasn’t overly confident when it came to women—he couldn’t quite figure out why. Normally women acted as if they would be open to his company, if he was open to offering it.

“Marshal Caradon!”

He looked up. “Miss Ashford.”

Dark half circles beneath her eyes betrayed a lack of sleep. She looked tired—beautiful, but tired—and the droop of her shoulders revealed the invisible weight she bore.