The Rebel Wife by Taylor M. Polites Page A

wait until he has talked to the servants. He must know I am wild about the money.
    “You all were loyal servants to Mr. Branson,” Judge says. “And he recognized that in his will, leaving each of you with a small bequest. A token.” He turns his head to clear his throat, then looks at each of them. Only Emma looks down at her hands, nodding to herself. The others look Judge right in the eye. His voice grows louder as he speaks, and he stares them down until John looks away, too, averting his gray eyes to the floor. Little John has the same pale gray eyes. He shifts in Rachel’s lap, curling up, although he is getting too big for her.
    Henry squirms and says, “Emma,” in a whisper. His restlessness is so distracting that I must let him down. Judge watches, his cheeks suffused with red, as Henry clip-clops in his little shoes to Emma and climbs into her lap. He is next to Little John and seems happy because of it. Judge looks at me and grimaces, disapproving.
    “They are not important sums,” he continues. “Simply tokens. But you should know that Eli was concerned for your welfare and left the disbursement of funds in my charge.”
    Simon shoots Rachel a look, something critical, maybe disbelief, but Judge does not catch it—or pretends not to.
    Emma nods. Her arm is wrapped around Henry. He dangles his legs and reaches an arm out to pinch Little John. Emma grabs his hand and holds it in his lap, making him giggle.
    “The estate is very complicated, and it will take some time to unwind, so until then I will keep a record of the funds allocated to each of you. They will be payable after the settlement of the estate’s debts.” Judge looks at each of them evenly, challenging them.
    Rachel knocks her knee against Big John, but he won’t look at her. She does it again and then puts her hand on his arm. She jerks her head toward Judge, but John won’t do what she wants. She is becoming agitated, and her boy starts to struggle in her lap, arching his back against her.
    “That is all. You may go,” Judge says, and he waits for them to get up, but no one moves. Rachel turns to John and whispers something to him. Judge glares at them. Emma’s eyes, too, nervously dart to them.
    “I have a question, sir,” Rachel says. Judge looks at her and doesn’t say a word. “How long before we get our money?”
    Judge’s mouth curls down again. His nostrils flare. He turns toward the garden, scanning the lawns and flower beds, taking his time, then turns back to Rachel. “I can’t give you a time. It may take several months to go through your former master’s estate. There is a lot of work to be done. When it is done, you will be paid.”
    “He was never my master, sir,” Rachel says with the thinnest veneer of respect in her tone. “And if the money is ours, why can’t we get it right now?”
    “Because I said, that’s why,” Judge answers sharply. “Now go.”
    “Thank you, sir,” Emma says, and she gets up, taking Henry by the hand and leading him into the house.
    John gets up, too. “Come on, Rachel, enough now,” he says in a low voice. Simon shoots Rachel another look, and she nods back to him.
    “I said enough, woman,” John says more forcefully. He takes her arm and pulls her up out of her chair. They go inside the house bickering, Rachel holding Little John like a sack of flour.
    Simon gets up and turns away from Judge. He ambles back to the carriage house, his head high and his steps easy.
    “Now, Augusta.” Judge turns to me. “We should talk.” He looks over at the office at the end of the gallery. He walks toward it, not waiting for me. He is in no mood for anything contrary. “Eli acted like he was a Chinese king,” he says, shaking his head and looking back at me. “I always thought he built that office so he could see whatever was coming at him.”
    He must mean the windows. They make the small office seem so much bigger. Just after he bought the house, Eli added the extension “to