Chasing Charity (12 page)

Charity tried not to roll her eyes. “That well is just speculation, not a sure thing. Suppose it never comes in. Then what?” Before Mama could answer, she forged ahead. “Besides, how you reimburse Mr. Pierce is not the point. We just met him a few days ago, yet you’ve totally entrusted him with my care.” She held up a creamy forkful of pie, poised to take a bite. “If you want to give this town something to talk about, let them get wind of that.”

Mama lowered her brows and shifted her lips to the side. “I never looked at it that way. ’Course they’re bound to talk anyways, what with a young girl living alone in a hotel when she has kinfolk alive to care for her. It just ain’t done, daughter.”

“It’ll seem a lot more respectable if I’m paying my own way instead of living off a stranger. Besides, I’m hardly his responsibility.”

“You’re right about that. You’re mine.” She pushed up from her chair and came to sit beside Charity on the divan, resting the plate of food she’d barely touched on her lap. “Come back and stay with me, sugar. I’ll set things straight before long. Buddy said that oil in the bog holds the promise of a future for us—of a day when I can put you in a big, fine house and take care of you myself. Living here might be hard for a spell, but—”

Charity slapped her hands over her ears. “Please don’t.”

Mama gulped, swallowing the rest of her words. “Don’t what?”

“Spout one of those senseless things you always say.”

Mama set her plate on the table then gave Charity a long look. “Well, for heaven’s sake, what things?”

“Things like, ‘It’s never easy to blaze a new trail.’ Or ‘We gotta wrestle it through to the end.’”

Her mama heaved a sigh and slumped back on the divan.

Ashamed, Charity took her hands from her ears. “Oh, go on, then. Spout away since you’re busting to.”

Huffy, Mama leaned to retrieve her plate. “Well, I cain’t now. You done took all my good ’uns.” Eyes narrow and sulky, she picked up her sandwich and took a bite.

Laughing, Mother Dane slid one arm around Charity’s shoulder and squeezed. “Your mama’s right, though, darlin’. You need to come stay where you belong. I know it’ll be hard to face Emmy, but you’ll have to someday. You girls can’t stay at odds forever. We’re family.”

Charity hugged Mother Dane. “I appreciate the offer; I really do. Right now I have a place to stay. All I need is this one bit of help so I can make my own way for a while longer.”

Mother Dane looked puzzled. “What bit of help is that, sugar?”

Charity twisted to face her mama. “Permission to sell my wedding dress.”

Mama’s eyes flew as wide as the dish on her knees. “You want to sell the dress I made?”

Charity talked fast. “Lord knows I don’t want to, but I got a real good price. Mrs. Pike agreed to pay me thirty dollars. Can you believe it? That’s all the money I need to get myself out of this fix and to hold me until things get straight. Don’t you see? It’s the only way.”

Mama slung her sandwich, missing the table and scattering greasy bread and chunks of ham over the rug. She stood to her feet. “If it’s the only way, then you’re sunk, little miss. You ain’t about to sell that dress.” That said, she swept past them to the landing and stomped upstairs, tackling each step as if it were a bitter enemy.

Charity started after her. “Mama, wait!”

Mother Dane grabbed her arm and lowered her to the divan. “Let her go, honey. She ain’t mad. She’s hurt. Bertha’s dangerous when she’s hurt.”

Charity’s mouth went dry as dirt. Fear tickled her insides like a swarm of scurrying spiders. “I have to talk to her.”

“If you don’t give her time to cool down, she’ll say things she don’t mean. Once said, they’ll hang between you.”

“You don’t understand. I need that dress.”

If a look could bare the soul, Charity’s lay stripped to the bone before Mother Dane’s probing eyes. “I’m afraid to ask, honey. Why so desperate?”

“Because ... I’ve already sold it.”

Mother Dane’s jaw fell slack. “Oh, honey, you didn’t.”

Charity turned out the pocket on her skirt, displaying the bright silver coins. “Mrs. Pike gave partial payment. We shook hands.”

Mother Dane stared at the money cupped in Charity’s palms. Instead of offering a glimmer of hope, the expression on her face made Charity’s insides hurt. She released the pocket, and the coins slid out of sight with a lighthearted jingle, an outlandish sound in the midst of such gloom. “I guess I should’ve known better, I know how mulish Mama can be. Now what am I to do?”

Mother Dane pulled her close and gave her a little shake. “Don’t take on so. This will require a bit more time to figure, but we’ll think of something. Go on and finish your lunch. Afterwards, we’ll sort it out together.”

Charity squinted at her plate. The slice of pie, so appealing a moment ago, caused her stomach to lurch. She passed the food to Mother Dane, stood, and picked up her shawl. “I have to go.”

“Honey, don’t leave. That’ll just make matters worse. Her Irish temper will cool in a bit.”

Charity pulled on her gloves with such force the seam of one finger busted. “I don’t have time to wait for that cantankerous old woman to cool. If I’m to fend for myself in this world, then I need to be about it, don’t I? Thank you for lunch, Mother Dane. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go find a way out of this mess Mama’s landed me in.”

She rushed to the door. Red lay curled on the porch sound asleep, his eyes hidden under saggy bags of skin. When Charity moaned at the sight of him, he jerked alert, his tail thumping a rhythm on the smooth stones. She was not so pleased to see him.

Mother Dane hustled up behind her. “Where are you going? What will you do?”

Charity stared at her in silence. Where would she go? “I don’t know yet. I need time to think. Good-bye, Mother Dane.”

There was no way around the big dog panting up at her, as persistent and immovable as the cut of ancient rock on which he lay. So Charity tiptoed over him, stepping wide to clear his bulk. Instead of making her way to the path, she jumped off the side of the porch and made a beeline for the front garden. Shaking all over, and still drained by the squabble with her mama, she stumbled into Mother Dane’s shaded arbor and sat down in front of the fountain. She needed time to ponder, to get her bearings before starting the long trip back to the Pikes’.

Red had followed, and he promptly laid his nose to snuffling the soft clay around the trees and shrubs. Leaving him to his own devices, she leaned against the cold iron bench to think.

It would be easier to send Red home than to get that obstinate old woman to change her mind. In fact, if it came to a match between the two, Mama was more dog-stubborn than the dog.

A sound reached her ears over the whining and snorting of the big hound—a relentless tapping that penetrated the whirlwind in her head and plucked her from the pit of dismal thought. Annoyed, she looked around to find the source.

The rapping grew louder, followed by the rattle of a windowpane. Red lifted his head and growled deep in his throat. Thinking it had to be Mother Dane, Charity looked at the house, but a quick check of the lower windows proved her wrong.

Mama perhaps?

Expecting to see the crabby old grouse, she followed the noise to the upper floor ... and came face-to-face with Emmy, peering down from her bedroom. Charity tried to look away, but the girl’s wide-eyed stare held her fast.

Red trotted over and nudged her with his nose, demanding attention.

Her willful, disloyal gaze still fixed on the tortured blue eyes above, Charity’s fingers found and caressed the dog’s soft, bristly muzzle. The irony of the moment struck her. They had changed places, she and Emmy. Now Emmy watched from above while Charity embraced a mongrel in the garden.

With a start, she realized Emmy still wore her nightdress. Her flaxen curls, always pinned and perfect, fell past her shoulders, dull and matted. The lovely pale face Charity knew so well gazed down without expression, her breath misting frosty puffs on the glass. Without warning, she raised one hand, pressing her palm to the window. Leaning in, her face crumpled with grief.

Charity spun and bolted from the garden. With Red on her heels, she lifted her skirt and sprinted for the thick woods that lined the property. When she reached the cover of the trees, she dove in as fast as she could, dodging bog holes and saplings until she came to the trailhead. A good way up the path she stopped, completely spent. Bent over at the waist, one hand at her throbbing side, she gasped for air and fought the sobs crowding her throat.

Red left her side and trotted ahead a few paces to greet someone emerging from a thicket just off the path.

Startled, Charity jerked upright. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” Daniel said. “We need to talk.”

Her hand still pressed to the window, Emmy watched Charity reach the edge of the yard and dart into a sparse crop of seedlings. Plowing through their spindly branches, she fought her way to the mouth of the trail then ducked behind thick brushwood. Emmy caught only glimpses after that, until Charity finally disappeared into the trees.

Emmy knew what she must do. Even to her fevered mind the act seemed foolish, but there was no time to think it through. She opened the window and crawled over the ledge, deftly gaining a foothold on the rickety trellis. Hanging there, suspended between right and wrong, she wondered if her rose-infested tomb had driven her quite mad.

Dressed only in her gown in the bold light of day, she scrambled to the ground. When her bare feet touched the cold red clay, her mind went to Nash, the only person on the place besides Mama and Aunt Bert. No matter. She trusted him. Even if Nash saw her streak across the grounds in her nightdress, he’d sooner cut off his arm than snitch on her.

She gathered the hem of the cotton garment and lit out, feeling Mama’s eyes on her back from every window in the house. She knew exactly at what point the trees would hide her from sight—the same place where they’d swallowed Charity—and she didn’t breathe until she reached that spot.

Daniel had followed Charity down the trail then hung back when he saw where she was headed. He had a feeling she wouldn’t be staying long, so rather than face the two clamorous shrews crouched on the back side of Mrs. Dane’s door, he’d hunkered down behind a juniper tree to wait. The sight of Charity through spiny branches told him his hunch had paid off.

He couldn’t wait to speak to her, to tell her he still loved her. He imagined the look on her face when he said it. Her dark brows would lift in surprise and the corners of her full, red lips would twitch with pleasure. Maybe she’d toss her head and laugh the way she had that day in the hotel.

Heart thumping, he moved closer. “Did you hear what I said, honey? We need to talk.”

Her hat in her hands, her long black hair disheveled and freed from its pins, she looked wild and beautiful ... and furious. She lifted her chin and her eyes flashed. “Oh, you’re right about that, Daniel Clark. We need to talk, and that’s for sure.”

He took another step forward.

Charity matched it with one step back. “What are you doing out here anyway, skulking behind bushes, waiting to spring out on lone women?”

Daniel ignored the last part and reckoned the answer to the first should be obvious. He summoned the patience to respond. “Like I already said, I was waiting for you. I followed you all the way from town.”

“Is that a fact?” She watched him from beneath her dark lashes.

Daniel’s hands began to sweat. Things weren’t going well. Her look remained guarded, not at all what he’d expected.

She held her unyielding stance and raked him with glaring eyes. “Maybe you weren’t waiting for me at all. Maybe you were lurking out here until I left Mother Dane’s house so you could slither up and spread more lies.” She glanced around at the bushes and tall grass. “I don’t see Sidney and Jack. Won’t you need your two deceitful witnesses?”

So that was the burr in her britches. Well, it explained her fury. “Now, honey, don’t be mad. I didn’t go to hurt you none. I was only trying to protect you from that oil company fellow.”

His heartfelt words brought a curious reaction from Charity. Her eyes flew open, and her body recoiled like he’d struck her. Daniel realized afresh that he’d never understand women.

Scorn blazed in her eyes. She spoke, her tone low and mean. “Tell me something, Daniel. Why do I need the likes of you to protect me from anything?”

He rested his hands on his hips and stared at the ground. “I guess you don’t. Looks like I had this figured all wrong. Turns out it might be me who’s needing you.”

Daniel held his breath, waiting for her reaction. When it seemed he could reach out and touch her silence, he glanced up and found her staring. Some other emotion had replaced the anger, one he didn’t recognize. Whatever its source, it left Charity’s face as blank as a new slate.

“Why would you say something like that to me?” she finally asked. “After all that’s happened.”

He edged closer, longing to touch her. Charity’s body tensed, and the hound beside her stood up and growled. Daniel glanced at the dog but held his ground. “I said it because it’s true. I love you, sugar. I know it now. I’d wrestle a bull to win you back.”

Astonishment replaced her empty expression. Daniel bit off a smile and watched, waiting for it to turn to pleasure. “Please, Charity. Let me come close. I need to hold you. Let me soothe away the pain I’ve caused.”

Her lips curled. She tilted her head and laughed, but not the way he remembered. “You think you can smooth things over just by holding me?” Her dark brows lifted—in contempt, not happy surprise. “I guess I should be grateful you got my name right. It must get rather confusing dangling two women on the same line.” One brow rose higher. “Assuming there are just two of us.”

“Now, honey, you know better.”

“Do I?”

He dashed his hat against his leg. “Yes! I ain’t never loved nobody but you.”

“What about Emmy, Daniel? Can’t you make up your mind which one of us you want?”

This was all wrong. She should be in his arms by now. Angry at himself, frustrated with Charity, Daniel raised his voice. “Can’t you see I made a mistake? I don’t care nothing about Emmy. It’s you I want. Emmy don’t even matter no more.”

Charity cringed and covered her face. “How can you say such a cruel thing?” She hurled the question, the accusation, at him in a low moan. “Emmy does, too, matter. She matters to me.”

It was his turn to raise a brow. “Why? Lord knows she don’t deserve it. That girl’s not fit to kiss your feet. Shoot, she’s not fit to pour out your chamber pot.”

Charity lifted her face, her features set in stone. “Get out of my way.”

“Just wait a minute. We’re not done talking.”

“Yes, we are.” She tried to shove past, but he grabbed her shoulders.

“No, now! Please listen. I can’t eat. Can’t sleep. You’re all I think about. All I care about. Don’t go like this.”

The dog advanced, hackles raised. The warning growl he gave was no bluff, so Daniel turned her loose. She lurched away from him and called off the dog.

Daniel gripped his head with his arms. He had to think, had to find the right thing to say. At the sound of hurried footsteps, he looked up to find that Charity had run up the trail, well away from him.

He cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted after her. “You just need time to ponder what I said. You’ll come around, and when you do, I’ll be waiting.”

She didn’t answer or even look behind her. Instead, she picked up her pace, stumbling along the rutted trail as if he were chasing her. Daniel followed, but not too closely, because every so often the old dog stopped and checked over his shoulder, making sure he kept his distance.

Emmy knelt in the brush, watching Daniel’s broad back until he reached the far end of the trail. When he made the turn toward town, she gave in to trembling legs and dropped to the ground on her behind.

A large dung beetle attached to the side of her knee and walked the length of her bare leg, coming to rest at her thigh.

Emmy stared down at it, smiling at the irony, and accepted the reproach. She shivered at the feel of its barbed legs against her flesh but couldn’t summon the will to brush it away.

She wished the numbness she felt extended to knees pressed too long against the cold, hard ground. She noted the indention of a pinecone etched into one, leaving a blue-black imprint in her flesh. It hurt, but not like the ache crowding her chest. An intolerable throbbing had started down deep and pushed up her throat in waves that kept time with her heartbeat.

“Emmy don’t even matter no more.”

“Emmy does too matter. She matters to me.”

Emmy fell against the hard ground and surrendered to the pain. She lay in a hollow, a spot wallowed out in the tall brush by hogs. Certain she deserved the sharp sticks and knobby roots biting into her flesh, and the stale, fetid stink left by the last pig to sleep on the dead grass, she started to cry. As she stared up at the cloudless blue sky through a canopy of soaring pine and a blur of hot tears, something Aunt Bert had said years before echoed in her mind—words that had come to her more than once of late, but she’d pushed them away.

“Don’t live your life for the devil, Emmy. Old Slue Foot plies his wares like they’re treasures. Then when you least expect it, he trips you up and leaves you flat on your back.”

She’d laughed when she heard it. The words had conjured a picture of the vendor carts at the St. Louis World’s Fair, only Aunt Bert’s peddler hawked his goods wearing horns and a forked tail.

“Don’t live your life for the devil.”

She mulled the words over again, feeling as if God Himself had bent to whisper in her ear.

Yet how unlikely that a holy God would stoop to where she’d fallen or speak to someone sprawled on the ground, laid worthless and bare.

Would You, God?

The swaying branches overhead swam into a cluster. Emmy felt, more than heard, a low moan starting in her throat, becoming a high-pitched wail as she cried out her shame. Clutching her face, she rolled over, drawn into a tight ball of misery.

The sensation that someone knelt beside her persisted. Emmy didn’t understand one thing about it, but she knew in her heart that she wasn’t alone. Something powerful swept over her, carrying her high above the rebuke of pain and the stench of swine, leaving ease and sweet release in its wake.

When she sat up, she couldn’t tell how much time had passed. She thought she must’ve slept a bit. What else but sleep, though she’d never slept so well or found such peace at rest.

The sound of an approaching wagon roused her, striking fear in her fragile heart. It had to be coming from home. Theirs was the only house this far down the trail. Maybe only Nash, headed into town on an errand.

“Emily Bertha Dane! Where are you?”

Mama!

Emmy pressed close to the ground and willed herself small. The rig had pulled alongside her now, and she prayed the brush was thick enough to conceal her white nightgown.

“Where could she be, Bertha? I’ve seen that girl pull some high jinks in her day, but even I can’t believe this one.”

“That makes two of us. You sure he said she was in a nightdress?”

Nash, you no-’count scoundrel.

“Yes, and in broad daylight! I’m going to put her in a convent, Bert, I swear it.”

“You ain’t Catholic, honey.”

The rig rattled past, drawing the voices out of earshot. Keeping low, Emmy rolled to her sore knees and parted the high grass to peer out. Well beyond her now, they headed in the direction of town. Nash wasn’t with them, so Mama held the reins, and Aunt Bertha rode beside her. The women sat tall on the seat, the motion of the wheels on the rutted trail tossing them to and fro.

Emmy watched them, Mama’s head turned to the left, Aunt Bert’s to the right, searching the woods on both sides of the trail. Low in the distance she heard Mama call out to her again. “Emmy? Emily Dane! Land sakes, child, answer me!”

Her eyes fixed on the distant wagon, Emmy backed out of her hiding place and slipped into the woods. She would have to make it home through the trees without being seen, even by that traitor Nash. Once safely there, she’d figure a story to tell them they’d believe.

At the edge of the clearing, she crouched behind an overgrowth of honeysuckle vine and watched for Nash. Seeing no sign of him, she dashed across the field to the yard. Reaching the trellis, she scrambled up like a hounded cat and tumbled over the windowsill, landing on the floor with a crash.

“Why you ain’t jus’ took the door, little miss?”

Whirling, she came face-to-face with a haughty, indignant Nash.

“No call to sneak no mo’. They’s onto you.”

She struggled to her feet and grabbed a quilt from the bed to wrap herself. “What are you doing in my room?”

Nash, who towered over tall men and loomed over her, filled the room with his presence. His bulk intimidated most people, but Emmy knew him to be as meek as a lamb. He jabbed his chest with his thumb. “What am I doing in here? What I’m s’posed to be doing. Waiting for you, like I’s told.” He gestured at the quilt. “Ain’t no sense hiding what you done showed the whole world. That’d be like tying up the gunnysack after the kittens crawl out.”

“Why’d you tell on me?”

He lowered his gaze. “Didn’t want to. Didn’t when I first seen you shimmy down that trellis in your altogethers. I jus’ shook my head and mind my own business. I guess I be used to your shenanigans by now. But then I heard you squealing like you being skint.”

Emmy gasped. “Did you tell that to Mama?”

“No, missy. Didn’t want to scare her no more than I had to. But I was beholden to tell her something in case you was in trouble.”

She flung herself back on the bed. “Oh, Nash! I am in trouble now. Mama will skin me herself.”

He nodded. “Yep. When she find out you ain’t dead, she jus’ might kill you. That be a murdering even old Nash can’t spare you.”

Emmy bolted upright, her fingers clasped under her chin. “But you
can
spare me. In fact, you’re the only person who can.”

Eyes wary, Nash eased toward the door. “Naw, now. Uh-uh. Don’t you start in on me. I tol’ you if you didn’t quit flying out that window, you’d lose some of them fancy tail feathers. Now your behind’s showing, and jus’ like always, you expect me to help you cover it.” He held up a restraining hand. “You may as well turn aside them bewitchin’ blue eyes. They ain’t doin’ you no good this time.”

“I wasn’t doing anything bad, Nash. You believe me. I know you do. Help me think of something to tell Mama.”

His brown eyes widened. “Miss Emmy, I loves you like one of my own. You know I do. Only I got to make myself scarce on this one.”

“You can’t! Not this time. Please, I need your help.”