Courting Emma (Little Hickman Creek Series #3) (37 page)

"Kind of like the day I left, huh? The night of my sixteenth."

"Phooey, girl, that was different. There weren't no celebra-
tin' 'bout that. If anythin' I hated myself, not you." His voice
kept goin' in and out, as if a frog had suddenly leaped inside his throat to croak out a few words of its own. "Don't you think I
knew it was nie what chased ya away? If I'd a just-" He mopped
his brow with the corner of his sheet, clearly exhausted. It was
all Jon could do to mind his own business.

Emma reached behind her back to gather up her thick
golden hair and pull it off her neck. Then she dropped the
mane, letting it fall where it would.

"You had twins in your family and you never told me? I
always figured my grandparents died and you were an only
kid."

The old man sniffed. "Don't know what give you that
idea."

"Because you never talked about them!" she blurted. "What
else was I s'pose to think? You warned ine repeatedly to keep
my questions to myself or you'd swat lily behind-or make me
stand in the corner next to that hot stove.

"Then there was that time I threatened to go find lily
grandmaw if you didn't tell me where she was, and you withdrew niy suppers for a week of Sundays."

"Weren't that long. Two days, tops," Ezra murmured.

"Week."

"Two (lays."

"Week...."

"Two-" Another serious round of hacking drowned out
the last of their sparring. Emma's questions were taking their
toll on the old guy. Jon wondered if it was time to step forward.
Ezra shifted on the bed, trying to get comfortable. Emma
reached for the water glass, but he put up a shaky hand and
flicked at it, refusing.

Seconds passed. Emma's shoulders remained taut and
determined. "Are you sure you don't know Grace Giles?" This
woman wasn't about to give up. She had him where she wanted hiin-flat on his back, sober, and immobile-probably a rare
thing in her eyes.

"Who?"

"Grace Giles. The lady from Chicago I told you about. I
found out today her mother is your aunt."

"I don't got no aunt with a girl named Grace. Least, none
I know 'bout."

"Yes, you do. She tol' nie so, and she also mentioned sonicthin' about the folks who raised you, as if they weren't your
own.

"That's plain hogwash. Who's she think she is, this Grace
person, and what's she tryin' to pull by feedin' lies to ya, pokin'
'er nose in where it don't belong?"

"I don't think she's lying. And here's another somethin'
strange. She talks like she knows all about Clara Abbott."

Silence. "I wouldn't know nothin' about that. I barely knew
that Abbott lady." He made a big deal of turning over in his
bed, situating himself so that he faced the wall. "I'm tired."

"I think Grace is your aunt Edith's daughter."

"Huh?"

"Don't play dumb with me. I know you've kept in contact
with her. Why couldn't you have told me about her? Why the
big secret?"

A shaky breath fell out of him. "It weren't no secret. Ther'
jus' wudn't anythin' to tell. I heard from Edith ever' so often,
yeah. Fact is she was the only one o' the lot of 'em who ever
cared if I lived or died. She never told me nothin' about any o'
her own fancily, though, I swear. Never mentioned no Grace-
jus' always asked me how I was and how-you-was doin'."

"I suppose you told her what a burden I was to you," Emma
said, her words dripping with sarcasm.

He sighed again. "She knowed my life was rough."

"Grace's mother passed away four months ago, did you
know that? If Edith is her mother, then that means your aunt
has died."

Jon bit down so hard he thought he'd soon be tasting
blood. Did she have to be so blunt in the telling? Or maybe
she'd learned it was the only approach that worked with Ezra
Browning.

Ezra stirred, turned his head halfway, and stared at the
ceiling. Jon hung back further so as to stay out of sight. "She
died, huh? Well then." And just like that, he went back to the
wall. "I ain't answerin' no more questions."

"I have a right to know about niy relatives, Pa." She sounded
angry, but it was a contained sort of anger, desperate in tone,
as if she worried that showing too much emotion would shut
down the entire conversation and there might not be another
opportunity like this one.

"Leave me be."

Emma heaved a sigh that reached across the room. Jon
ducked behind the door, his conscience finally getting the best
of him, and why wouldn't it? He felt like a bandit sneaking up
on his prey, snagging every word that rose up between them.

He looked around the house. Should he go sit on the
porch, park himself in the music room, walk down to the
new church, or maybe walk out to the backyard and check
on the garden? After supper, everyone had scattered, going
either to their rooms or down to the saloon. He could always
take advantage of the quiet house and have another look at
Sunday's sermon notes, even though he felt quite studied up.
He walked to the front door and looked out at the noiseless
street. A sprinkling of townsfolk strolled along, stopping to
peer inside shop windows or to have an evening chat with
one of their neighbors.

"I don't see why you won't talk about it, Pa." Her muffled
voice still carried to his ears.

He opened the door and moved out to the porch.

It was the first time in a long, long while that Eninia
Browning felt near to tears. She'd always prided herself on
her ability to stave off her emotions, but tonight was not one of
those tines. While it thrilled her to learn she had a cousin she
never knew existed, her father's apparent lack of knowledge
of the woman dropped a cloudy veil over her enthusiasm. Was
he being truthful when he said he'd never heard of her? And
what was the mystery behind his upbringing? Why had Grace
alluded that his own parents hadn't raised hint-or was that
just her reading more into Grace's letter than she should have?
One thing was certain; Ezra had never wanted to discuss his
childhood roots, and tonight was no exception. What was the
big mystery? And how was she supposed to forgive and forget
the past if he never let her into his?

If ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples
indeed; and ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make
you free.

She remembered the passage of Scripture from the book
of John as if the Lord Himself had emblazoned it on her heart.
What it meant, however, was another story. Was God trying to
tell her something?

Outside Ezra's room, she dabbed at both eyes. His breathing had grown heavy, indicating he'd drifted to sleep. Lord,
how can You expect me to take care of him when he failed so miserably
at watching over me?

Bereft, she walked to the front door. She would gather her
thoughts on the porch.

The porch swing swayed gently, as if the wind had set it
in motion, except that there was no wind, not even a gentle
breeze. She glanced up at the sky and noted a sprinkling of
stars but no moon in sight. Hugging herself against the cool
temperatures, she dropped into the swing and pushed off
with both feet. A breathy sigh escaped as she leaned back and
closed her eyes.

"I take a stroll through your garden and what do you do?
Steal my place. Now you'll have to make room for me."

At the sight of Jonathan Atkins coming around the corner
of the house, her breath caught. Why did he have this strange
effect on her? She was no teenager, for mercy sakes, but a spinster for all practical purposes. But lately her mind had been
dancing with all manner of fanciful thoughts. Shyness overtook her as she slid over.

"I thought you'd gone up to your room," she murmured.

"Too nice a night to be holed up in illy room, even if
it is on the cool side. Afraid fall is just around the corner."
He settled in beside her and the swing moaned under the
additional weight, but it was made of sturdy wood and hung
by heavy chains. Truth be told, it would probably outlast the
house.

"You chilly?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she whispered, even as her teeth chattered
noiselessly, more from nerves than anything, she expected.

She felt his eyes bearing down on her. All at once, lie
stopped the swing and jumped up. "Be right back," lie
announced, scurrying into the house, the screen door shutting behind biro with a thwop.

She gave her head a little shake. What was lie up to? A
second later, she had her answer when lie reappeared with a
quilt in hand. "Here you go," he said, positioning it across her lap, taking care to cover her completely. She regarded him
with wide eyes. No man had ever treated her with such kindness, and the question of how to behave drove her a little crazy.
In all her born days, she'd never required the attentions of a
man, and now was no time to start.

"Th-thank you," she stammered.

"You're welcome," he said, dropping down beside her and
setting the swing back in motion. "He's snoring in there,"
he said, angling his head in the direction of the front room
window. "Guess he's finally tuckered out."

"Either that or puttin' on a good act."

His gentle chuckle rippled through the air. "He's a tough
nut."

The swing gently swayed as ensuing silence seemed to
stretch into tomorrow. Finally, they both spoke at once.

"It was nice of you to-" lie said.

"Thank you for all you-" she started.

"Go ahead," she said.

"No, you go first," lie insisted.

"Oh,...I was just going to thank you for all your help today."

"Didn't I tell you I'd do most of the work? He's a cranky
old soul. No need for you to have to put up with that. Besides,
you've a boardinghouse to run."

"And you've a congregation to tend to, sermons to preach,
and a church to build," she argued. "Much as I hate to admit
it, lie is my father." She felt her chin jut forward. "And my
responsibility."

Piano music, loud and twangy, carried from Madam Guttersnipe's establishment.

"I was going to say it was mighty generous of you to provide the room for him," lie said in a soft voice. "I'm sorry if you
felt pressured into it. That wasn't niy intention."

Eninia nodded, pulled the blanket up under her chin,
and slanted her face in the direction from whence the music
came. "I hate that place," she muttered. "Ezra Browning
gave his life to that rotten slop house. Worked hours on end
to support his wretched habit. It's ironic how he's wastin'
away under my roof while up the road they're goin' strong
as ever.

An owl hooted from three trees over, his spookish cry
seeming to match her morose mood.

"My pa hung out there, too, you know," Jon acknowledged.
"Heard it said when I was a kid that he and Ezra Browning
used to have their drinking matches."

Emma's mouth fell open. This was news to her. She looked
hint full in the face. "What do you mean?"

A pathetic chortle cut loose. "Folks would gather around
and bet on who they thought could guzzle down the most
booze in one sitting, Luther Atkins or Ezra Browning. Guess it
was a pretty even draw most nights."

In all the years she'd known him, she could count on one
hand the number of tines he'd mentioned his father. Oh,
she'd heard stories that he was a no-good drunk like her own
pa, but it'd never occurred to her that they'd been drinking
buddies.

"What-was it like for you-growing up with your pa?"

The way his brow crinkled up, as if the question pained
him, made her regret having asked it, but then he gave a loose
shrug and grinned. "Truthfully? He was a mean cuss when he
was drunk, which was most of the time; knocked my ma and
me around if we so much as blinked wrong. I stayed clear of
hint as much as possible."

How could he appear so nonchalant? "And your
mother?"

That sobered him some. "She took the brunt of it, always
defending nie, coming between us so that when his fists flew
they'd hit her first. There carne a day, though, when I was old
enough and big enough to fend for myself, that she couldn't
take it anymore. That's when she-well, you know."

She did know. News of any kind traveled through Little
Hickman as swift as a grass fire, but folks particularly seemed
to cherish sharing juicy gossip. Luther Atkins' wife had hung
herself in the barn, and her teenage boy, Jon, was the one
who'd discovered her body. Emma recalled how the news had
sent a chill racing through her body. How did a boy go on
living after making such a horrid discovery?

Where was his bitterness, the expected rage? If he had
any, he'd hidden it well.

As if he'd read her thoughts, he tipped his face in her
direction. "I hated hint for what he'd done to my nia, Enuiia,
but the Lord healed me of my anger a long time ago." He
dipped lower until mere inches separated their faces.

In haste, she looked down at her shoes peeking out from
the hens of the blanket.

"I was mad enough to kill him, don't think I wasn't. I knew
where he kept his guns, and I was ready to go after him.