His Pledge to Honor

Chapter One Scout Silver walked the length of the solicitor's office. The office wasn't on the main street of the small Montana town she'd lived all her life in. The town was only considered small due to its population. The square footage of Honor Valley could fit the island of Manhattan inside a couple of times. But the people could all fit into the high school football stadium with enough elbow room to be comfortable. Though they'd all likely be hugging each other while mixing and mingling. So, no, she didn't have to drive the thirty minutes it would take her to get into the heart of the town to handle her business. She'd only had to saddle up a horse and ride next door to her neighbor's at the Flying Cross Ranch. Scout hadn't even bothered to knock at the front door of the Matthews's homestead. The massive door was always open. She'd walked right in and let herself into the converted formal living room, which served as Haran Matthews’s office, to wait. Instead of waiting in one of the six chairs pulled into the room, she paced. The familiar surroundings should've eased her spirit. There was the ancient oak desk under which she'd never been found in games of hide and seek. The well-tread afghan of fading reds and blues whose patterns she'd focus on when she was being scolded for some childish indiscretion that had never been her idea, yet she'd taken the blame to protect the younger, guilty party. It was the pictures on the wall that had always fascinated her most. She looked up at those now. Most of the pictures featured tall, uniformed Black men in black and white reproductions and sepia-toned prints. The black and white print was a snapshot of the 9th Cavalry Regiment known as the Buffalo Soldiers; the all-Black soldiers who fought in the American Civil War. The sepia-toned photograph was a picture of the Tuskegee Airman; another all-Black force of airman from the century just past. The third picture was in full color. It featured a skinny Black man with his arm around a barrel-chested white man. Both men sported the modern camouflage style of military fatigues, handle-bar mustaches, and broad, toothsome grins that told the viewer that they were solemnly up to no good. Scout reached her hand up to the picture. With a tremble in her index finger, she traced the line of the white man's smile. She tried with all her might not to blink because whenever she did, the picture of her father faded in her mind. The door of the office opened. Scout jerked her hand away from the photograph on the wall. Her features went carefully blank. Her eyes trained on the afghan as though expecting punishment for the indiscretion. A white man with a handlebar mustache did not enter the room. Nor did a whiskered Black man. The door opened to reveal a head of dark brown hair much like her own. But Saylor's hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail rather than loose and down her shoulders like Scout's. "We're the first two to arrive?" asked Saylor. "Just like always." Scout opened her arms to her younger sister. The two eldest of the Silver sisters embraced in the empty room, holding onto each other like they were all they had because now that was true. "I still don't understand why we're here?" said Saylor. "The General's funeral was three months ago." Scout shrugged helplessly. "I didn't even know he'd left a will. The only thing he owned was the ranch, which he signed over to mom after the first time they got divorced." "No, that was actually the second time they got divorced," Saylor corrected. Saylor scratched at her nose. When she did so, Scout noticed the bags under her sister's eyes. Either Saylor wasn't sleeping well, or she had been crying last night. Scout wouldn't be surprised if both were true. Though she doubted the tears had anything to do with their father's death three months ago. General Abraham Silver's daughters had been prepared for this day since their birth. Their father, who'd enlisted right out of high school, had been one of the original Navy SEALS. By the time Scout was born, he'd been leading elite covert operations for a decade. His life was in danger more times than it was not. "Father Matthews didn't tell you anything?" asked Saylor. Scout shook her head, her gaze returning to the picture on the wall. She eyed the sly smile of the man with his arm around her father. Just like the biblical brothers in the Bible, Haran Matthews and Abraham Silver had been like true brothers. So much so that Abe's daughters had always called their father's best friend and neighbor Father. It was a happy coincidence that the veteran and lawyer was also a man of the cloth. "If there is a will," said Saylor, "do you think Cruella will contest it?" Scout cringed at the mention of their father's second wife. That divorce had been a battlefield with many casualties, namely the children. Their stepmother Catherine had tried to take the ranch in the settlement, which had been the main reason why their father had signed the Silver Star Ranch over to their mother the second time they'd remarried. "I don't know," said Scout. "But I have a bad feeling about this." "Cruella didn't even show up to the funeral. But I know Mareen's here." As though she heard her name being called, the product of that second marriage walked into the door. Mareen's elegance preceded her as she framed the doorway. As always, her head was high. The makeup coating her porcelain skin was perfectly done to accentuate the crystal blue eyes they all shared. Instead of cowboy boots like Scout wore, or penny loafers like Saylor wore, Mareen wore six-inch stilettos, which were entirely impractical on a ranch. She had for a short time, but then she'd chosen sides. And that side had been away from the ranch with her high society mother. "Ladies," Mareen said. Ladies. Not sisters. Not family. Though Saylor and Mareen could've been twins with how much they favored. Instead of a ponytail, Mareen's hair was coiffed in a perfect bun. Scout knew the woman's eyesight was as poor as her sisters, but Mareen wore contacts. Irish twins was a term Scout had heard whispered behind the hands of the town gossips. Ghetto twins was what she'd heard thrown at Saylor's back in the halls of school. Both Saylor and Mareen were technically the second eldest of the Silver sisters. Both women were twenty-five. Born the same year. But to different mothers. Scout and Saylor shared a look. Scout motioned her head for Saylor to say something. Saylor raised her brows and shook her head. Scout rolled her eyes. Mareen turned to glance at them. Just in time for Scout and Saylor to straighten and smile blandly. Suspicion cut the corners of Mareen's blue eyes, but like always, she said nothing, offering her older sisters the silent treatment. The three eldest Silver sisters were saved by a clamor coming through the door. It was the youngest three Silver sisters. The identical faces of Tilly and Gunny came through the door first. Their blonde hair a hallmark from their mother -their father's third wife. Well, technically Roxanne had been their father's fourth marriage. After the General left Mareen's mom, he'd come back home. For a short time. But her parent's second marriage lasted the blink of an eye. The timeline was all too confusing when Scout was busy learning Algebra, so she'd stopped trying to work out the equation and all its variables. She was simply thrilled to have two new products of the complex math; Gunnery and Artillery. Yes, the names were tragic. All their names were tragic. It just proved how head over heels each of her father's three wives must have been for him to allow that ink to dry on the birth certificates. Scout had vowed at a young age that she would never be that head over heels for a boy. She'd had a couple of boyfriends over the years. But each relationship had confirmed her commitment to never get married and save herself the drama that the institution caused. Surprisingly, her sisters didn't share the same view. Saylor was head over heels with a man who Scout knew was a one-way ticket to a divorce attorney. Luckily, Scout doubted the philanderer would ever take her sister down the aisle. Then there was Mareen, who sported a blinding rock on her left hand. "I'll bet dad left us all a secret stash of money," said Brig, the youngest and last of the six Silver sisters. "You know he didn't trust banks. He probably left piles with Father Matthews, and that's why he's called us here today." Brigadear Silver looked exactly like Scout and Saylor with her dark hair and light eyes. Because, like Scout and Saylor, Brig shared the same mother and father. After his third wife, which was his fourth marriage, Abraham Silver came back to his first wife once more. Apparently, the third time was a charm because they stayed married until her mom died ten years ago. But once Sarah Silver was laid to rest, the girls rarely saw their father again. He dove into his work with the military, rarely surfacing for more than the occasional phone call with his girls. "Hey Mareen, you came back," said Brig, her bright eyes glowed as she flung herself at Mareen. "Of course, I did." Mareen offered her youngest sibling an awkward pat on the back and a tight smile. There was some give to Mareen's smile. Brig was a force of nature. She was also too young to have felt the c*****e of all the adults' emotional warfare. But honestly, Scout simply doubted the young woman cared. Brig took the seat next to Mareen and began chatting away about her studies at the state school she was attending. Mareen tried to hold her aloof composure. But it was slipping under Brig's easygoing, tornado-like friendliness. The door opened for the fourth time. Part of Scout worried that they might be introduced to a seventh sibling. But no, it wasn't another pale-skinned woman with brown hair and blue eyes that entered. It was a dark-skinned man with a handlebar mustache. The grin that had always hinted at mischief was thin right now. Scout had always viewed Haran Matthews as the strongest man she knew, stronger even than her father because he had come back home to raise and care for his family. Father Matthews was from a line of warriors. His great grandfather was one of the Buffalo Soldiers depicted on the wall. His own father had been one of the Tuskegee Airmen. But Father Matthews looked small and tired today. Scout had to remind herself that he had lost his best friend. The weight of the loss, and whatever their father had tasked him to do in his absence, was clearly heavy on his shoulders. He looked around the room, not quite meeting any of the girls' eyes. That's when the bad feeling in Scout's stomach increased. There was one seat left open, but she wanted to pace the floor. She wanted to crawl under the massive oak desk and hide. Instead, she trained her gaze to the floor and counted the patterns on the rug. Whatever Father Matthews was about to tell them, she knew she would be in trouble. Father Matthews rounded the desk. He looked pointedly at Scout. Finally, she took the seat. Once she was seated, he sat too. "Girls, I have your father's last will and testament here." Father Matthews took a deep breath before continuing. "He's left you all equal shares of the ranch." "But I thought Mom left the ranch to Scout?" said Tilly. Tilly and Gunny's mother had died shortly after their birth. When their father had shown up on his ex-wife's doorstep with two infants in tow, Sarah Silver hadn't blinked an eyelash. She'd taken the bundles in and raised them as her own. "When your parents remarried the last time, the property became both of theirs," Father Matthews was saying. "When your mother died, it reverted back to your father." Scout sat forward. She hadn't known that. All this time, she'd been carrying on running the day to day operation of the Silver Star Ranch as though she were the sole owner. She'd converted the homestead into a horse rehabilitation ranch and taken on injured, abandoned, and discarded horses and gave them a place where they could heal and recover. The business didn't make her rich, but it paid the bills, including the education of her sisters. "Well, I'm giving my part to you, Scout," said Gunny. "You've taken care of all of us since mom died." "I agree," said Tilly. In her peripheral vision, Scout saw Brig and Saylor both nod their agreement. Mareen's chin didn't dip. It remained high, and she stared straight ahead. "I'm afraid it's not that simple," said Father Matthews. "You see, your father left stipulations. One of which being that the will couldn't be read until three months after his passing. The other stipulation…" Father Matthews set down the stack of papers. He closed his eyes and pinched the hairs at the edge of his mustache. Scout had seen her father make that same motion. He often did it when he was arguing with her mother. Or when he was disciplining one of his daughters. Again, Scout's gaze tracked down to the afghan, seeking the pattern while she awaited a punishment for an act that wasn't her doing. "As I said, your father wrote that the land reverts to each of his daughters equally. However, before any of you can sell or transfer your portions…" Father Matthews took another gulp, still avoiding each of their gazes. "Before any of you can transfer your ownership, you'll have to get married." There was silence in this room that had always been filled with so much laughter, a little scolding, and the deep baritone of Father Matthews telling stories of old to his children and the children of his best friend. "Married?" "Married!" "Married." Only Scout, Saylor, and Mareen remained mute at the proclamation. Father Matthews held up his hand as though he weren't done. But what more could there be? "If you're not all married within the year of your father's passing, the land goes…" And now Father Matthews did look up. He looked up to Scout. "…to his second wife, Catherine."