2
She looked troubled by the idea, as she had every time I brought it up, but that was Lizzie for you. Walter hadn't been wrong when he’d proclaimed that stubbornness was a family trait because it ran thick and true through the line. Elizabeth was a woman who was determined to know the best way to get through things, even if it was the path she had traveled. She was more understanding than our brother, but that didn't mean she wasn't determined to see things her way if she could.
"I suppose," she said uncomfortably, and I knew the argument wasn't done.
My father had been quiet throughout the whole debate, something that was unnerving and unsurprising at the same time. In truth, he’d never been one to critique me on my choices in life, even if he constantly gave me a hard time for the quality and efficiency of the work. He’d watched us during the conversation, and I never knew what he thought or felt. Was it disappointment in me? Agreement with some of what I said? Or simple resignation that his youngest would fail where his eldest two had succeeded in ways I never would?
And when it came to that topic, my greatest dread was that deep down, he knew why I wasn't interested in a wife and children like my siblings. That he knew about the drifter who’d come to Rapture when I had been a teen, who was only a little older than me and had shown me why the women in town had been of no interest to me. Or that I had that confirmed a few years later when I’d been sent with others on a supply run further north and had met a man with gray eyes and a winning smile who had shown me what a mouth could be used for other than talking and kissing, or how good it sounded to hear another man groan beneath me.
My father saw a great many things with those sharp eyes of his, and I feared he saw to my core despite how buried and hidden it was and knew all my secrets.
After a few moments of silence, my father looked my way, wiping his mouth with the cloth beside his plate. "You and I will be running into Rapture later today."
Several things were on my list for the day, but there was no point in arguing. “Concerned about the town?"
"After the past couple of raids, there's been some damage," he explained unnecessarily. "And it's a good idea that they know we still stand with them, even if we weren't able to help them. At the very least, we can see if there is anything we can offer."
Joseph scoffed. “Rapture has done just fine. They fought the criminals off on their own without our help. They know we're still good to trade with them."
That annoyed me. “People need more than just money and goods coming through. This ranch was one of the ones that helped start Rapture. They need to know we stand with them, even if it isn't about making money."
"And what would you know about making money?" Joseph asked with a sneer.
"I know the only thing keeping you from being a bandit is that you were raised right," I shot back without thinking. "Because it sure as shit isn't about you being a better person."
Joseph's eyes flashed as he gripped the edge of the table. “Awfully rich, you talking about right and wrong when you?—"
"Enough," our father said, his voice soft but still managing to crack like a whip. "You are family, and you will act like it."
"Yes, sir," I muttered, dropping my eyes as my brother sat stiffly across from me, a sour expression on his face. None of us liked being chastised by our father, but Joseph, in particular, seemed to take great offense when it happened. That it had happened because the two of us had been arguing undoubtedly made him even angrier with me than he already was.
Not that it bothered me. I was used to my brother's dark looks and biting comments. We had never been close, and I had no hope it would change. Only our father's presence kept the peace between us most days, and sometimes, I wondered what it would look like when our father was no longer around.
I cleared my throat, looking at Lizzie. “And where is George this morning?"
The troubled expression on her face dropped at the mention of her husband. “He is heading toward town as we speak. Apparently, there's supposed to be a new shipment he wanted to look over."
"Again?" I wondered. "It's only been a couple of weeks since the last one."
She smiled at that. “George and I have been working hard to put some life into Rapture. That little town might not be so little for long."
"And I say you should not waste your money," Joseph scoffed, at least willing to drop our argument for the moment. "If the town can't do well on its own, that's on them."
"And if we don't put Rapture on a few maps, our ranch isn't going to do that well," Elizabeth pointed out with a smile. "You worry about things here, Joseph. George and...well, George can handle things on our end just fine."
Our brother hadn't missed her slip, but one glance toward our father, and he kept his opinion to himself. The ranch had done well in our generation, meaning some ideas about women and their capabilities had bled into our family—or at least into our generation—probably due to the governess my father brought in when we were still children after our mother died.
My brother seemed to believe women had no place working, including in business matters. If you asked me, that was a waste of a brain, considering my sister was more than capable of handling things. It was a secret that wasn't a secret that her husband often relied on her insights and knowledge in their business. Joseph never wasted an opportunity to sneer at it when he could, and our father...well, it was hard to tell what my father thought about anything unless he decided to share it.
Finally, silence descended on the table. Even the kids were busy with their plates. Then again, they were typically quiet when my brother was around, especially his own children. Yet, with my father, they were usually their normal, chatty selves. I remember being told parents were far sterner with their own children but softened up considerably once the grandchildren came along. I wasn't sure my father could be called softer, but I saw him smile at his grandchildren more than he had at us.
When I finished my meal, I pushed the plate away, knowing a member of the staff would pick it up. My relief was quickly quelled when I watched my father wipe his mouth and push away from the table. His gaze locked on me, which wasn't coincidental timing. He clearly wanted to walk with me, meaning he had something important to say. Then again, my father didn't waste words, so if he was saying something, I always considered it important.
"You be good," I told Alma, giving her braid a light tug and making her giggle, which made me feel a little better. She had her mother's sweetness but, thankfully, wasn't as serious as Lizzie had always been, which I hoped came from George. All the Isaiahs were a pretty serious group, so it was nice to see some of my blood could still smile and laugh, even if Alma would never be an Isaiah in name.
I tried not to show the grimace I could feel wanting to form on my face as I walked toward the front entrance. I wasn't surprised when my father caught up with me, and I stopped, knowing he would say what he wanted to say when he wanted.
"She's not wrong," he said after almost a full minute.
"Who?" I wondered. "Lizzie?"
"She's worried about your happiness," he said, and I couldn't tell if that was on his list of concerns, but I suppose it didn't matter. My father had always been direct and cared about immediate concerns while bracing for the future. Happiness didn't have a lot to do with that. "But what she's not saying is that you need to be worrying about your legacy."
"My legacy?" I wondered, confused but trying to grasp what my father was saying. He wasn't impatient, but he wasn't one to stand around and explain himself.
"You're not getting any younger," he pointed out. "Your brother was married by twenty, your sister by nineteen. They've got kids and spouses and have been doing their best to lay a path before them that others might walk after them. You're turning twenty-six soon. Think about that."
There was no point in telling him I wasn't worried about anything like a legacy. My life had been in a constant state of getting by as best I could, and there was no point trying to change that now. Wanting something better, or at least different, had never really factored into my life, and I didn't see any reason to start now.
Yet there was even less point in arguing with my father. He was not a man who was thwarted easily, and he didn’t appreciate being argued with either. He had said his piece, and now I would have to live with it just like I would have to live with whatever disappointment came from not doing what he thought was the best course of action. It was a cycle I was all too familiar with and wouldn't escape until I was dead and buried, and maybe not even then.
With a nod, he put on his hat and walked out through the double doors, leaving me to think about what he’d said or, more accurately, feel miserable about it. He and I both knew I had no plans for a legacy. This ranch was my life, and its legacy would be mine. My brother was the one who would inevitably run things, my sister would be the face of it when she could, and I was the one who knew how to work hard.
I jerked when I heard a soft tutting noise and turned to see her standing near the right side hallway. She had been thinner when I was younger, and at the time, I’d thought she was so tall and strange in her darkness. When I'd asked why her skin was so dark, my father had shot me a sharp look that quieted me, but not her. She’d laughed and said the Lord had left her to bake too long.
I knew her family had been slaves, and she had been too before my parents had bought her from a passing slave merchant. I'd heard some people in Rapture say that people like her weren't like the rest of us and were closer to animals. Intelligent animals, sometimes clever, capable of a few good deeds, but ultimately just beasts that needed training.
Which had confused me because, to me, she was the woman who knew what my favorite stories were when the governess we’d had refused to tell me. She would sneak me cookies when my father wasn't looking, and she had a voice as soft and clear as a bell but one that could rumble when the occasion called for it. She was a good and kind woman, the closest to a mother I’d ever had. She was just?—
"Hipolita," I said, shoulders easing when I realized she had seen the pain and confusion on my face rather than anyone else, "why are you sneaking around?"
"Hush that mouth," she said with an easy smile that told me she didn't mean it. "If you don't have something nice to say, you best keep it to yourself."
"Yes, ma'am," I said, bowing my head regretfully but unable to hide my smile.
"It's awfully nice seeing you around here," she said as she approached, holding onto the skirt she always wore. I once asked her why she didn't wear pants like some of the house staff did, and she'd told me she’d been hurt badly when she was younger, and pants were hard to wear. When I asked for more details, she'd given me a sad expression and changed the subject quickly. I hadn't meant to upset her, and I’d learned then that even the most innocent of words could cause hurt if you weren't careful. "Haven't seen a lot of you lately."
"Like you don't know where to find me," I said with a shake of my head. "Like you haven't hunted me down before."
"But it's nice to see you here," she said.
I shrugged. “It's...this isn't, well?—"
"I know," she said softly, approaching me with a gentle expression. "Just like I know about the conversation you just had."
"I…" Glancing over my shoulder toward where my father had just been, I could only shrug. "You know how it is. He's just trying to do right by me."
At that, she shook her head and sighed. “That he is. I just wish he could...well, wishing never really got anyone too far in life."
"But prayers do?" I asked with a knowing smile, considering she almost always asked me if I was making sure to keep up with my daily prayers.
"The Lord helps those who help themselves. You can pray all you want, but unless you're out there doing something, he can't do a thing for you," she said, reaching up to pat my cheek. It was sometimes strange to remember how big she had seemed, and now she barely came up to the bottom of my neck. I would never call her fragile, as the great strength I remember feeling from her as a child was still there, but?—
"I think you might've told me that a time or two. Or twenty," I said with a chuckle.
"And more," she said, a twinkle in her eye. "But maybe you should think about what your father said in a different way than I know you are."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, a legacy doesn't have to be what you think it is. It can be anything that leaves a mark with your name written at the bottom like those paintings Miss Elizabeth loves so much. My legacy could be something like seeing you grow up into the man you've become or the recipes I've slipped to the cook that you all eat like you're starving whenever they show up."
"Not sure that's what he means."
"And I remember you always complainin' that you never knew what your father was thinking or what he meant. Now you know all of a sudden?"
I could only shrug because, at the end of the day, we both knew I was the disappointment of the family and the one who had brought the most pain just from being born. My father had never seemed to know what to do with me, and now it was obvious that he was always going to want more from me than I could ever hope to give him.
I was wrong. Something inside me didn't fit in the way it did with my brother and sister. Maybe my birth had been a herald of things to come, or perhaps it was just the first in a long line of things that made me stand out from the rest of my family in the worst way. Whatever my father's original expectations for me, if there had been any at all, they’d been quickly pared down, and I would never attain even the sliver that was left.
Perhaps it was better that way. I could see how it had hardened my brother, made him sharper at the edges, and he’d lost some of his color and brightness. Now, the young boy who’d once known how to smile even with a temper that could be scary had become a man who was dismissive and cruel. Perhaps if I could live with the pain of being a disappointment, I might be able to hold onto something of myself that was mine and mine alone.
"You're thinking those dangerous thoughts," she said, running a hand along the side of my head and beaming. "You're so handsome. It would be nice to see you settled down with a pretty girl and some pretty babies."
"But?" I asked, sensing the word at the end of the statement.
"But," she said with a wink. "I want you to be doing something that makes you happy. And if that don't mean a bride and children runnin' around, then so be it. God has a plan for everyone, and it ain't up to the rest of us to figure out what his plan is for you. That's for you to find out. So if your heart is tellin' you something different, then by His will and grace, go out and find that thing and make it yours."
It was a nice idea, but there was no way anything of the sort would happen, and we both knew it, even if she was willing to play along with the idea for longer than I was. Still, it was nice to have at least one person completely in my corner, and I gave her a hug and a kiss atop her head in a rare show of affection. Thankfully, she was like my father in that regard and didn't need words to understand what was being said.
"Yes, yes," she said, patting me on the shoulder. "Go on now, get to work. Sounds like you've got a busy day ahead of you."
"Yes, ma'am," I said, knowing full well that as much as she hated hearing those words directed at her, a part of her also loved it. Hipolita had never had children of her own, and I suppose that, in many ways, I had been a fill-in for that in her life.
Not that I minded. It wasn't like I had anything in the way of a mother unless you counted that awful governess my father had brought in who had taught us or at least attempted to teach us everything she could. She hadn't been motherly, though more like the female version of my father's worst and hardest parts crammed into one person. It wasn't kind of me to say, but the accident that took her life had been one of the better days for me, and my hands still itched from the switch she used to crack across them whenever she thought I wasn't paying attention.
But Hipolita, a 'maid' in title, was so much more than that to me. Maybe the preacher in Rapture was right, and treating her not only as my equal but as someone greater than me would send me straight to the pits of Hell, but maybe some things in life were worth burning for eternity over.
"I'll check on you later," she said, pushing me toward the door.
Which I accepted as I stepped through and prepared myself for what should have been a day like any other.
Another smile slipped across my face as Bear emerged from the shade under the front porch, greeted me with a soft woof, and followed me.