Page 4 of The Outlaw and the Heir

"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 pathbefore 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 ranchwasmy 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 peoplelike 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.

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