Courting Emma (Little Hickman Creek Series #3) (2 page)

To Debbie:
My precious friend,
Provider of giggles,
Sharer of secrets,
Spreader of joy,
Partner in prayer.
Life would be much duller without you.
I love you, girlfriend.

July 4, 1896

ninia Browning's boot heels clicked out a rhythm on the
wooden sidewalk as she strode purposely toward home.
She'd just spotted Ezra, her galoot of a father, staggering in
her direction, and if she didn't get out of sight soon, he'd be
sure to make a fool of her-again!

She glanced skyward and watched as one tiny cloud rolled
across a blanket of blue, obliterating the sun's rays for the briefest of moments. Oppressive humidity and uncommon heat created sweat drops that trickled down her back. Without thought
for propriety, Emma loosened the tie on her bonnet and rolled
her sleeves up to her elbows, exposing skin baked to a golden
tan from working in her vegetable garden.

A red, white, and blue banner bearing the words INDEPENDENCE DAY stretched across Main Street from the upper story
window of Flanders' Food Store to Community Bank and
Trust, catching the eye of every passing citizen. And passersby
were something the town of Little Hickman, Kentucky, had
plenty of today. In fact, it would seen the whole of Jessamine
County had shown up for the town's festivities, which included
field games for the children, horseshoes and target shooting
for the men, pie-eating contests, food booths, cakewalks, and
a host of other activities to keep a body busy for hours.

The slight breeze stirred up the wonderful aroma of
roasted chicken. Emma's stomach growled as she stepped
down from the sidewalk and passed Irwin Waggoner and
Toni Flanders, both donning long white aprons and standing in the alleyway between Winthrop's Dry Goods and Flanders'
Foods, turning several chickens on spits over an open fire
pit.

"Afternoon, Miss Eninia," called Irwin, smiling from ear
to ear, one crooked top tooth jutting past his upper lip. Emma
waved a greeting, glad when they didn't stop her to make conversation. Earlier, Fancy Jenkins, Bess Barrington, and Caroline Warner had talked her ears nearly off about everything
from the weather to this fall's upcoming United States presidential election, Bryan versus McKinley, and, frankly, she was
too done in to listen to more banter.

"Miss Browning, Miss Browning!"

Eninia stopped at the high-pitched squeal and discovered
Lilt Broughton running toward her, her toddling younger
sister, Molly, clinging to her skirts. Molly's elfin nose was
smudged with dirt and her red-and-white checked pinafore
was covered with sticky goo.

"Are ya havin' fun?" Lill asked, coning to a stop in front of
her, pushing a strand of golden hair out of her eyes.

Emilia smiled in spite of the snag in her plan to escape the
hullabaloo taking place on Main Street. Tall for her age and
sweet as sugar, Lilt's own smile stretched wide across her face,
revealing a deep dimple in her left cheek.

"Oh, yes, a grand tine," she fibbed, glancing behind her
and giving a quick sigh of relief to find that old Ezra Browning
had disappeared from sight.

"We're having a grand time, too. There's fireworks tonight.
Did you know that? Are you plannin' to watch 'em?"

"Oh, I 'spect I'll see 'em, all right. And where are you young
ladies off to now?"

Lili's eyes sparked with eagerness. "Papa says nie and
Molly, er, Molly and I," she corrected, "can go have a mule ride. 'Cept we have to wait for hint and my stepmama to catch
up.

"Oh?" Eninia's gaze meandered to the middle of Main
Street, now closed off to traffic, and spotted Benjamin and
Liza Broughton chatting with a group of farmers. Ben looked
up, no doubt keeping an eye out for his children. He waved at
Emnia, and she smiled, returning the greeting.

"Did you know Mr. Livingston has the tallest mules in all
of Jessamine County?" Lill prattled, her enthusiasm drawing
Eninia back into the conversation.

"Does he now?" she said. Sam Livingston owned and
operated Little Hickman's only livery. Although Emma, sole
proprietor of the town's boardinghouse, had little use for a
horse, when the rare need did arise to venture beyond the
town limits, she'd rent one of Sam's. "I guess I have heard talk
about them. Didn't they will a couple of ribbons at the county
fair last summer?"

Lill nodded, slanting her face at Emnia, the sun's intense
rays making her wrinkle her nose and squint. "Did you know
a mule is half horse and half jack-well, Papa says I'm not to
say the real word for the other half of a mule, even though
it's right there in the Holy Bible. I know it's there, too, 'cause
Reverend Atkins said it last Sunday right durin' the Scripture
readin'."

She couldn't stop the sudden giggle that escaped. "Is that
so? Well, your papa's probably right; a real lady watches her
manner of speaking."

Molly tugged at her sister's arm and shrieked her impatience. On cue, Ben and his pretty wife of less than a year
started toward them. "Hello, Emma," Liza Broughton called
on their approach, lifting her skirts as she and Ben scuttled
across the dirt-packed road, Ben's boots leaving dust clouds in their wake. With nary a drop of rain in the past several
weeks, and a seemingly endless heat wave, the earth's topsoil
had turned to dust, and Emilia swore it was all coming to settle
on her parlor floor.

Nearly five months pregnant, Liza showed the barest
beginnings of a rounded belly. Emma smiled at the pair as
they stepped up to the sidewalk. Ben took Liza's hand and
gazed at her adoringly, making it clear their newly married
status hadn't yet worn off.

"Lill here was just tellin' me she's about to go for a mule
ride," Emma said, fighting off the urge to add she'd also been
about to tutor her on the mule's mutant beginnings.

Ben grinned, took off his battered Stetson to scrape a hand
through his black hair, then plopped it back in place. "It's all
she's been talking about. Liza and I decided if there's to be any
peace in the family, we'd best get over to Sam's before the line
of squalling kids grows any longer. After all, it's not every day
one gets to ride an ornery old mule, you know."

"Papa, they ain't ornery. Leastways, I don't think they are.
And they're prize-winnin' mules. Even Miss Browning says
so.

`Aren't, Lill," Liza corrected, stepping forward to give one
of Lili's braids a tiny, tender yank. "They aren't ornery." It
would seem Lill didn't stand a chance with her countrified
drawl and misuse of grammar. Liza, Little Hicknian's former
schoolteacher, would no doubt see to it that her new daughters
spoke proper English.

"Gus Humphrey told Andrew Warner that Sam Livingston's mules was the tallest mules in all of Kentucky. It's so, ain't
it, Papa?"

Liza angled a weary glance at Ben and shrugged her shoulders. It was all Enna could do to hold in her laughter.

"Would you care to join us for supper?" Liza asked, putting a hand to her belly and turning her attention on Emma.
"I packed plenty of food. Ben's already laid out our blanket
where we can get a good view of tonight's fireworks, and we've
a basketful of goodies all set for our evening meal."

Although Emma appreciated the invitation, she looked
forward to enjoying a casual evening of uninterrupted solitude. A good book was more to her liking on a night like this.
"I thank you for the invitation, but I 'spect I should head back
and tend to my own evenin' meal. No telling how many will
show up at my table tonight, but I best be prepared."

Ben's brow arched. "I hear one of your boarders moved to
Oklahoma. Doesn't that leave you with an opening?"

She had a notion what he was getting at. Since late spring,
Ben's lifelong friend, Jonathan Atkins, Little Hicknian's new
preacher, had been hounding her about taking a room in her
boardinghouse. Short on room, she'd had a good excuse for
turning hint down. Besides, her boarders consisted mostly of
loud-mouthed ruffians, not the sort suited for any preacher's
company. Moreover, Jon Atkins had a way of setting her on
edge with his jocular manner and handsome looks, not to mention his blatant Christian testimony. As if her boardinghouse
wasn't already a mishmash of unfortunate misfits, adding a
man of the cloth to the pot might really stir things up.

"Shouldn't take long for another hooligan to come knockin'
on my door once news gets out."

Ben tipped back on his boot heels. "Wouldn't hurt to let
Jon take a room, you know. You probably heard lie's sold his
farm. Plans to donate most all his profits to building a new
church."

"That's a mighty generous act," Enema said. Foolhardy, too,
she silently added. What Yvan in his right mind did a thing like that? Sold his property, then wound up giving his profits to
the church? These were hard times. It was a fine fix she'd be
in if she let the man take a room with her only to discover he
hadn't the means for paying his rent. She didn't imagine the
congregants of Little Hickman Community Church indulged
hint in much of a salary.

"All he needs is a place to lay his head," Ben said. "Might
be a smart thing to allow his good influence in your establishment. Matter of fact, I should think you'd welcome it."

The last thing she needed, or wanted, was some preacher
forcing his beliefs on her, and she didn't imagine the bunch
of sad sacks she housed would appreciate it, either. Keeping
her opinions to herself, she said instead, "I'll give it some
thought."

"Can we go now, Papa?" Lill asked, tugging on Ben's arm
with her free hand, her other one clutching tightly to little
Molly.

The nearby aroma of fresh baked bread blended with the
roasted chickens, reminding her it'd been awhile since her
meager lunch, an apple and a bowl of vegetable soup. She
smiled at the little fancily. "You'd best get over to Sani's before
them mules start balking at all the free rides they're forced to
give.

"I think you're right," Liza said, bending to take Molly into
her arms. The child nestled her head into the crook of Liza's
neck, rubbing her eyes with her pudgy fists. "If you change
your mind about the supper offer, be sure to join us," Liza said
over the child's head. "It's to be quite a fireworks display from
what we hear. Ben says Clyde Winthrop footed the entire bill,
sending for some company out of New York."

Emma had no doubt it would be quite the show, but it
didn't interest her. What did interest her was going back to a quiet boardinghouse, making a simple supper, then running a
tepid bath. Perspiration dotted her forehead and ran in little
droplets down her temples. About all she could think of now
was getting out of this heavy dress and into her cotton chemise.
Perhaps later, after the sun went down, and folks gathered out
behind the livery in the big open field for the fireworks display, she would sit at her open window and watch from afar.

"I'ni sure it-" Eninia was interrupted by a huge coninio-
tion. Everyone's eyes alighted on the staggering, slightly round
man coming up the street. Dirty trousers sagged below his
belly, one suspender keeping them from sliding to the ground.
A bottle of booze swung from his hand as he belted out some
indecipherable song.

Eninia put a hand to her throat. It was what she'd feared.
Disgust and shame roiled in the pit of her stomach. How could
Ezra Browning keep doing this to her-mortifying her in
plain daylight? Someone ought to shoot the miserable, tanked-up,
tangle footed jug-head, she thought, then heave him facedown into
Little Hickman Creek's deepest waters. If she weren't afraid of the
consequences, she'd do it herself.

Hauling in a heavy dose of air, Emma mopped her damp
forehead with the back of her hand and sighed, avoiding
the gazes of Ben and Liza. "Guess I should get hint off the
street."

When she stepped forward, Ben reached out a hand to
stop her. "He's not your responsibility, Emma. He may be
your father, but Sheriff Murdock should be the one tending
to him."