"That's it, Becky," Emma said. "You're doing just fine."
Emma was rewarded with a brilliant smile.
By the time the boys came into the kitchen a while later, a heaping plate of flapjacks, bacon and scrambled eggs was waiting for them.
"How would you feel about living here? With me?" She'd planned to wait until after they'd finished eating before she asked, but she couldn't stop herself.
Becky ignored the question, instead concentrating on wiping up a puddle of syrup with her finger.
Joseph eyed Emma with a suspicious stare, but said very little. Nathan, outspoken as always, asked her only one question. "Why?"
How could she explain this to a six-year-old? Did they really need to hear her reasons? "Because I don't have any children of my own."
"Why not?" he asked between mouthfuls of blueberry flapjacks.
"Because ... because I'm not married," she answered.
"You gotta have a husband to have babies," Joseph put in wisely.
"Why ain't you married?"
"Who'd like a glass of milk?" Emma asked, getting up from the table to fetch a pitcher of milk. Hopefully, if she ignored the question, Nathan wouldn't persist.
"These is good." Becky looked up at Emma and stuffed another forkful of flapjack into her mouth.
"Well?" Emma persisted. "If what you told me is true, then you have no home. Would you like to live here?"
"You think we should, Joseph?" Nathan asked.
"I don't know--"
Emma turned away, mentally kicking herself for her impulsive nature. She'd done it again, acted without thinking. That one character trait had caused her a lifetime of grief, and still, she hadn't learned her lesson. Instead, she'd blurted out the question that had tumbled through her brain all night without stopping to think about the consequences. She had no right to offer these children anything, especially a home.
Not that it was likely that they'd been telling the truth. Even if what the children had told her was true, there was absolutely no reason for their father to allow her to keep them. Heavens, the man didn't even know her.
The whispers behind her stopped, but not before she heard a few words coming from Nathan. " ... does cook good ..."
Emma turned to face them.
"Okay," Joseph pronounced. "We'll stay."
Oh, no! She'd really done it this time. Somehow, she'd have to try to explain that it wouldn't be her decision.
Before she had the chance, a loud hammering at the door startled her, almost causing her to drop the jug of milk in her hand.
Taking a deep breath, she set the jug on the table and opened the door. The man facing her filled the opening, his broad shoulders almost grazing the sides. His face was mostly in shadow beneath the worn, stained Stetson. Dark stubble covered his square chin and his lips were pressed into a thin line.
Their father, she assumed. He was such an imposing presence that Emma shrank back for a moment. No wonder the children were terrified.
With one fluid movement, he was in her kitchen, an agonized sound escaping from his lips as he moved towards the children.
Scampering off the chairs, the boys scurried backwards, away from the furious man advancing on them.
A few paces away from them, Sam stopped to snatch Becky up in his arms. "Papa," she cried. "Papa, me make flat japs," she announced proudly, pointing to the pottery bowl on the counter.
Joseph, flattened against the wall, glared at Emma. "You told him." The accusation in his voice were like a knife in Emma's heart.
"Joseph, I--" What could she say? He was only telling the truth. She had arranged for word to be sent to their father. Right now, seeing the hatred in Joseph's eyes, she wished she'd never done it. They had trusted her, and she had betrayed them. She'd had good reason, but they certainly wouldn't see it that way.