“Easy now,” she said soothingly, both to herself and to her father. She knew she needed to do her best to remain calm and steady while maneuvering him down the hall.
When they arrived at Emmett’s room, Layla eased her grip off his waist and walked with him toward the dresser. Placing his elbows on top of the dresser, he bent at the waist. He put his head down and made a content sound at the cool, smoothly polished surface. Layla bustled around the room, trying to pick up the mess she had noticed there earlier, but there was too much to gather quickly. She made do with preparing the bed. This was all new to her, so she was flummoxed. She knew her father drank too much, but he was usually able to drag himself upstairs into his bedroom, or at the very least into the sitting room, where he would rest in her mother’s faded blue wing-backed chair.
“There now, Father,” Layla said, turning from her task and returning to him. “We shall get you to bed, and then, in a few hours, we will discuss matters.”
“Few hours,” Emmett mumbled. “Yes, I would like some sleep, I think.”
“Of course, Papa. Rest, and I will take care of everything,” Layla spoke in her most soothing tone as she helped her father climb into the bed. She tucked the gray and red blanket up around his chin and took two steps back.
Quietly, she tiptoed backward out of the room, keeping her eyes on her father’s face. She left the door ajar so that she might be able to hear him should he need her later.
She lost her appetite for breakfast, and the good mood that hung about her when she awoke that morning had also disappeared. Moving into the kitchen, she pulled out a finely polished wooden stick chair, sat primly, then her resolve crumbled. She put her elbows on the table, raised her hands, and allowed her head to fall dejectedly into them.
Sadly, Layla thought,what am I going to do with him?
***
Layla knew she could not neglect the general store all day, and so she went into work for a few hours that morning. She was used to opening the store and helping customers make their purchases, but she generally didn’t have to do it all alone, as her father would be there with her. When she came back home for her mid-day meal, there weren’t any snoring sounds coming from her father’s room. Rushing down the hall, she found him sitting straight in his bed.
“Father, are you all right?” she gasped when she saw his pale figure.
“No,” her father replied, shaking his head sadly. He lifted his eyes to peer at her, and tears were streaming down his cheeks.
“What’s happened?” Layla asked, moving swiftly toward his bedside. Remembering the tear in his sleeve, she worried that he might be injured.
Her father shook his head again. “I don’t want to tell you,” Emmett said meekly, continuing to shake his head vehemently.
“Papa, you must tell me what the matter is,” Layla ordered, using her sternest voice and narrowing her eyes.
“I don’t want you to know about my …” Emmett breathed a gigantic sigh, and his shoulders shrugged heavily as tears cascaded down his cheeks.
“Father,” Layla said, trying to coax the information out of him. “I cannot help if I don’t know the problem. Please, tell me what happened.”
Her father’s eyes darted from her face to the window on the far wall. Then, his gray eyes, still bloodshot, came back to her own. “I’ve made a mistake,” he said slowly.
“Go on.”
“I’ve done something terrible. Last week, I was playing Faro with the boys over at the Tumble Weed—”
“The Tumble Weed?” Layla interrupted. “Father,” she scolded, “you know only the worst sort of cheats and gamblers go there.”
“I know,” Emmett replied in a most wretched manner. His hands shook slightly, but he continued, “I was there last week, and I bet a great sum of money. I couldn’t cover my bid.”
Layla’s hand flew to her mouth, fearing what he might say. “How are you going to pay the debt?”
“Mr. Flint is a shrewd businessman, and he wanted the only thing I had to offer,” Emmett said with a touch of regret in his voice.
“What did you give him? What did you have to offer?” The heat rose inside the small bedroom, and her palms started to sweat.
“I used the house and the store as collateral.” Her father’s eyes moved back toward the window. “I found out last night that Mr. Flint is unwilling to extend my loan any further. I must repay my debt immediately, or he will take the house and the business.”
“But Father!” Layla cried, taking hold of his forearm. “What can we do?”
“I don’t know,” Emmett admitted grudgingly. Taking a navy-blue handkerchief from his pocket, he blew his nose noisily. “I was so upset last night; I decided to have a few drinks and forget all about it.” He stared into Layla’s eyes once more. His gray eyes watered; the tip of his nose red. She stood abruptly and gazed down at him.
“Drinking will not help,” Layla said, lifting her chin in a dignified way. Since her mother’s death, Emmett’s regular drinking had not once helped him or the family in any fashion.
“I know,” Emmett moaned softly.
