Love on the Range (Brothers in Arms #3)(44)

“How about Ma? Do you have pictures of her?”

“I don’t remember having any. I’d be willing to sort through more old papers to see if they turn up, but I’m not sure where to start. Maybe that’s a task I can give myself in the near future.”

At least Win was sure she remembered her mother. A picture would have been a cherished possession, but her memory was keen. “Tell me about yourself, Pa. Your childhood. Where did you grow up?”

Her father’s eyes sharpened. He smiled easily enough, but it went no further than his lips. “I grew up in Chicago. Lived there all my life until your ma and I headed west.”

“Tell me about your parents.”

She saw his gaze shift. He looked down to the left, and she could almost feel him creating a story. She knew what he’d say next was a lie.

He talked of his father, a lawyer. A successful one. And his mother, a lovely society matron. He was an only child.

Since Win assumed it was all a lie, she wondered for the first time if her father wasn’t an only child. Did she have aunts and uncles? How could she find out?

He went on, talking about a happy childhood. A fine school that made him want a finishing-school education for Win.

On he went, and Win prayed as she listened to a made-up life so grand and pretty it was only fit for a fairy tale.

Lord, how do I honor my father? Is there a rule in the commandments that allows a believer to abandon this one commandment if there is only dishonor in the parent?

She’d told Kevin that honoring was not to let her father’s lies and mistreatment, possibly even to the extent of murder, go on to the next generation. She would honor him by not living as he did. And she would honor him by being honest. That was the hard part. To honor him by speaking truth to him and giving him a chance. He might change his life. He might become worthy of honor. But she couldn’t do that as long as Molly was in his house.

God, is that right? It has to be right. Because there is no way, as honor is traditionally understood, to honor such a man.

Her pa talked of meeting Ma, and she wondered if there was truth in that. Even if he wasn’t the well-connected young man he pretended, he might have lied his way into Ma’s social circle. Charmed a pretty young woman. Married her while keeping the falsehoods alive. These lies might be of long-standing, lies he’d told in his youth and clung to even now.

As she wondered what to say, what to do, what to believe, words pressed to be spoken. The truth. She needed to speak the truth. She’d be honest, then she’d leave here, Molly and Wyatt with her. She had to challenge his stories, and she felt God goading her to speak right here, right now.

She opened her mouth to do it.

Molly walked in, and Win’s mouth snapped shut. Had God been goading her? Or had God sent Molly just in time?

“I thought coffee might be welcome. Kevin will join you soon, but I didn’t wait for him.” Molly got very busy setting the tray up, pouring the coffee. She didn’t sit down.

Molly was as good as a sister now. And yet, Pa didn’t invite her to join them. And Molly hadn’t brought a third cup. She knew she wouldn’t be welcome. She hadn’t brought a cup for Kevin, either. Win wasn’t sure what that meant.

“M-Molly.” Win ransacked her mind for some topic of conversation beyond the only one Win could think of: Have you proved my father is a killer yet? “Look at these pictures Pa gave me.”

Molly came and looked. Win felt her father stiffen at the invitation. He’d been able to accept the intrusion when it was nothing but a servant bringing coffee. But to join the conversation annoyed him.

What’s more, Molly knew. Win saw a slight tremble to Molly’s hand as she reached for the pictures of Win’s grandparents. They were small, and Win knew two prominent, wealthy Chicagoans would have had full-sized portraits painted. Large, well-done portraits. And there should be paintings of her mother, too. Possibly even one of Win as a small child. Where were all those pictures? Had Pa burned them? He’d dug deep for these in a book in a forgotten corner of his study. Possibly he’d meant to burn them and neglected these small portraits and had only remembered them when Win asked.

A poor family setting off across the continent hoping to homestead eighty or one hundred sixty acres might be forced to leave valuable family heirlooms like portraits behind. But a wealthy man like her father? Who had moved luxuries across four states?

If those portraits were gone, it was an act of spite. Win couldn’t help but wonder if he’d forced Ma to watch him burn them. It seemed like the kind of thing her pa might do. Maybe she couldn’t speak truth to her father today, but she could demonstrate right and wrong, at least as Win saw it.

“Molly, go get another coffee cup. Get two, one for Kevin and one for you, and join us.”

“Now, Win . . .” her pa began.

“Molly is my sister.” Win cut him off before he could say whatever unkind thing he was preparing to say.

“Sister-in-law,” he corrected her. “And she’s my housekeeper. You can’t expect me—”

“I do expect it, Pa.” Win met his gaze. As their eyes met, she realized how rarely she’d done it. Every lifelong reflex she possessed pushed her to look down, look away, and mind her father. Don’t provoke his wrath. But in this way, she could truly honor him. By expecting honor of him.

“I lived with Molly so I know what a hard worker she is, what a fine cook.” Win looked at Molly and then reached out to grab her hand and hold on when Molly might’ve left the room. “You are blessed to have such a fine housekeeper. But that doesn’t mean she’s not my sister. We will include her. I’m sure when Kevin comes in, he’d be shocked not to find Molly with us. He’d find it terribly wrong, and so do I.”