CHAPTER 26
Emma
Breakfast is over.
After tidying the kitchen, Finn and Jasmine leave the house and I continue my deep clean.
First, I scrub the baseboards on the bottom floor.
Then, I move outside to the front porch.
There are a lot of cobwebs that need to be tackled.
The screen door needs to be scrubbed, and the front door itself needs to be washed.
Finding a hose, I fill up a bucket with soapy water. I’ve already changed into cutoffs and a short-sleeved T-shirt for the wet work, and I kick off my shoes to get started.
Finn left to work with his brothers right after breakfast, and Phyllis picked up Jasmine to take her to school. It’s just me and the big house. There’s an amazing sound system in the house, but I would need a PhD from a fancy East Coast college to figure it out.
Instead, I enjoy the distant sound of ranch workers, horse hooves in the dirt, the occasional ranch vehicle passing by to keep me company. And the wind blowing a sweet breeze to keep me cool.
I begin with hosing down the front door and the entire porch.
The cool water feels wonderful on my feet, and I think once again about the resort-style pool out back.
As soon as I get my first paycheck, I’m going to town to buy a bathing suit.
Then I’m going to jump in—straight in the deep end.
I plan to swim every day as long as the weather holds out.
I wonder if swimming is against Finn’s rules. I don’t remember seeing it, but now that everything’s soaked in coffee, how can I double-check?
I chuckle to myself. Screw it. The rules don’t apply now, since I’ve marked my territory.
Scrubbing the baseboards means this mansion is mine.
Once I deep clean the second story, Finn should hand over the deed to me.
By next week, I’ll even start moving the furniture around.
And using the tomato grinder and the pasta maker as much as I like.
Emma Clark with a house and family. Who’d have thunk it?
It’s a big upgrade from sleeping on the floor in a foster house with seven kids to a room. A family of my own instead of a temporary situation in a hostile environment.
I drop the hose in horror, realizing where my thoughts have wandered.
No.
What is wrong with me?
This is a job. Maybe not even a permanent one. The baseboards aren’t mine, and neither are the kitchen gadgets or the furniture I’m thinking about moving. And this beautiful family isn’t my family, no more than any family I’ve ever stayed with.
Not Finn. Not Jasmine. Not any of the MacLaine sharks or anyone who lives on Yosemite Ranch.
In my mind, I drum up every motto and inspirational saying I’ve ever seen in Walmart’s home and stationery departments.
Every word of advice about staying in the present, enjoying the now, attuning to the positive energy, and all of that stupid crap I can’t believe people pay good money on to remind themselves of.
Turning off the hose, I take a deep breath.
This may be temporary, but for right now, I live in a beautiful place surrounded by wonderful people. For this short moment, I’m safe and happy.
And that is definitely an upgrade.
I dig the soapy sponge out of the bucket and start washing the screen door.
Dirty water trails onto the wood porch. It’s dirtier than I anticipated, but getting the screen as clean as possible gives me a sense of accomplishment.
Maybe Finn will notice how I’ve improved his house. How I’ve made his life a bit easier.
And how he can’t live without me.
Forget it. I’m pathetic. It’s like I’m a ninth grader back in Mrs. Chesney’s class, hoping the JV quarterback might ask me to the homecoming dance. Blech. I’m cringy-cheesy, and maybe even a little bit crazy.
I give the porch a once-over, refill the bucket, and do it all over again. Yosemite Ranch might have magnificent homes and huge barns and land as far as the eye can see, but it’s still out in the wilderness, and that means a lot of dust and grime carried by the winds.
Eventually, I finish with the door and the large bay window that takes up much of the living room’s south-facing wall. I refill and start on the deck when Phyllis comes toward me waving her hand enthusiastically.
“Hello! Good morning!” she sings. “Beautiful day!”
“Beautiful day!” I sing back, waving with my soapy sponge. “And thank you so much for putting food in the house last night. What a wonderful surprise that was.”
She stops at the bottom of the porch steps. “Of course. I figured it would at least get you started.” She scans my work. “Looking good. I think you’re just what this house needed—the house and its inhabitants, even if they didn’t know it.”
“Is that why you hired me without telling Finn?”
Phyllis smiles, apparently proud of sneaking me onto the ranch.
“Listen, I’ve been around MacLaine men a long, long time.
You think Finn is stubborn? All the boys are, but they are nothing compared to my late husband, Murray, Jamie’s brother.
That man was so hard-headed you could split firewood on his skull. ”
I feel my eyes widen.
She stands on the bottom step. “And of course, there’s Jamie himself, and I don’t even want to get started on that. But what I’m saying is the MacLaine boys come by it honestly—they’re from a long line of men who never gave up, no matter what.”
She climbs two more steps. “I guess that’s what it takes to carve out a big chunk of the American West. Now, that being said…”
Phyllis has reached the top step. She makes a clicking sound with her tongue and gives me a sympathetic smile. “Sometimes, we women have to distract them and then rip the wheel out of their hands.”
I laugh. “The old ‘it’s better to ask for forgiveness than ask for permission’ trick.”
She points at me. “Exactly! You’ve figured it out already, and you arrived just days ago! I’m impressed.”
I make a deep curtsy, spreading my imaginary skirts to my sides, which makes Phyllis giggle.
“Come on, girl. Drop your sponge. I’m making you lunch.”
“I can’t leave the porch unfinished.”
“Listen, honey, everyone deserves a lunch break. Besides, that porch looks better than it has since the builders handed the keys to Finn two years ago. I’m making pulled pork sandwiches. You don’t want to miss that.”
I can’t help but chuckle. Now I know where Jasmine got that expression.
I drop the sponge back in the bucket, slip on my shoes, and follow Phyllis to her house. On the way, she tells me that she moved in with Jamie when her sister-in-law Stella died after a short battle with cancer. The boys were aged fifteen all the way down to eight.
“And I didn’t change a thing in here,” she says, opening the door and letting me in before her. “It’s a time capsule. An ode to Stella Roberts MacLaine, God rest her soul. That woman was a saint.”
The house is well-worn and well-loved. It’s probably at least a hundred years old and built like a grand old ranch house, made of beautiful wood, massive rafters, and rough-hewn furniture.
Unlike Finn’s house, which seems like it was decorated professionally before he moved in, his father’s home evolved over years, decades, and even generations.
I follow Phyllis to the kitchen. Finn’s father, Jamie, is eating a sandwich at the kitchen table while reading a thin local newspaper called the Sweetbriar Daily Dust Devil. He looks up and smiles at me.
“To what do I owe this honor?” he asks. “To have such beauty in my house is a real pleasure.”
“This is Emma, and she’s visiting with me, not you, Jamie,” Phyllis says. “We’ve got women’s stuff to talk about. Finish up and go outside to smoke your pipe.”
“I’ll have you know, Phyllis, that I quit smoking a pipe over thirty years ago. You know that Stella made me quit when she got pregnant with Cal.”
Phyllis levels her gaze at me, including me in the exasperation she feels for her brother-in-law. “You quit smoking in the house, Jamie. You’ve been smoking your pipe outside every day since Cal was a bean in his mother’s belly.”
“I beg your pardon.” Jamie places his hand on his heart and bats his eyelashes. “Madam, you wound me.”