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"Children, these are your grandparents," Sam announced.
The children began to speak all at once.
"Pa! You promised we wouldn't have to go--"
"What are they doing here?"
"I don't wannna go--"
"Hush, now," Emma said firmly. "You aren't going anywhere. Your grandparents have come a long way to visit you. Now mind your manners."
Two heads bowed at the rebuke. "Sorry," they muttered simultaneously. Nathan kicked at the dirt with the toe of his boot.
"We weren't expecting you," Sam said finally.
"Obviously not," Florence muttered, brushing at an invisible speck of dust on her skirt. "I assume you would have cleaned up a little if you'd known we were coming."
The muscles in Sam's jaw tightened, and he glanced at Emma. She had straightened to her full height, and Sam was well aware how the insult would sit with her.
Winston's gaze took in the house and land. "So this is the squalor my daughter was forced to live in. It's no wonder she became so ill."
God, the man was doing it again - making him feel worthless, as if he'd never been good enough for Catherine. Winston was the main reason he'd taken Catherine and the children and moved to Texas, to get away from the constant criticism, to make a life for his family by himself.
Florence took a step towards Sam. "And when she wanted to return home, you kept her here, away from decent medical care, until she died."
Sam's grip tightened even more on Emma's hand. It was taking every ounce of self control he possessed to hold on to his temper, and not toss their pompous asses off his land.
Sam didn't respond.
Catherine's father then turned his attention to her. "And I suppose you're the whore Sam found to replace my daughter."
Sam released Emma's hand and closed the gap between him and Winston. He'd apparently heard enough. Emma saw his hand clench in a fist, and knew he was itching to use it. Before he could, she gripped his arm.
Sam took a deep breath, and his voice was low and controlled when he spoke. Yet the underlying threat was clear. "I'm warning you, Winston. This isn't Boston, and you can't get away with speaking to people as if they aren't fit to wipe your shoes. Out here, men don't take kindly to people insulting their women."
Taking a step backward, Winston slid a glance to his wife, who was cowering behind him.
Sam's rage was obvious. "Don't ever speak like that about my wife again or you'll be going back to your fancy newspaper with a mouthful of gums!"
Winston's face reddened, but he didn't apologize.
Emma forced a smile, trying desperately to ease the tension. "Please come inside and have a cool drink," she offered quickly. "You must be thirsty after the ride from town."
"Of course we are," Florence put in, emerging from behind her husband now that the danger had dissipated. "I was wondering how long it would take you to show some common courtesy."
Emma choked back a retort and led them inside. Thankfully, she'd spent the morning cleaning, so the furniture gleamed and the kitchen was spotless. A pot of stew simmered on the stove, the aroma filling the air.
"Please sit down." Emma indicated the settee in the parlor, then scurried out to the kitchen, leaving Sam to deal with Catherine's parents.
What horrible people! How could Sam even have considered sending the children to them? What kind of childhood would they have had? No wonder he'd agreed to marry her, and agreed to the conditions she'd set. Anything was better than allowing those people to raise his children.
Taking the tray of lemonade back into the parlor, Emma tried to smile, all the while praying they'd be on their way soon and never come back.
"... Nathan is awfully thin, isn't he?" Florence commented. "Don't you feed these children?"
"He eats like a horse," Sam countered. "Isn't that right, Nathan?"
Nathan stood beside his father, staring at the two strangers, and nodded slightly.
