Chasing Charity (19 page)

She stifled a yawn. Thanks to Charity she’d been awake for hours, long before first light. The girl had kept her up half the night, moaning and panting as if something chased her. When Bertha gave up on sleep and got up, Charity kept to her bed, but just barely. The way she pitched and rolled, it wouldn’t be long before she threw herself to the floor.

It hurt Bertha so fiercely to watch, she had to get plumb out of the room. She’d left Charity a note saying where she’d be and struck out on foot before sunup, headed for Magda’s place.

Now that she was here, she felt a mite silly. There was no sense in bothering Magda again. No matter how many times they hashed it over, they came up with the same answer.

The die was cast. The milk spilt. Tomorrow her only child would become one in the sight of God with a man not fit to touch her. Bertha didn’t reckon she could bear it.

Careful to steer clear of the rosebush, she stepped on a crate and pulled herself up to sit on the rail. The haunting smell of the red blossoms wafted up, wrapping her in scent as heavy as her sorrow. She leaned her head against the post and settled in for a good cry, but the sudden sense of another presence raised the hairs on her arms. She took a slow, careful look behind her.

“Squeeze that rail any harder and you’ll snap it in two.”

She shrieked and leaped to her feet, nearly twisting her ankle.

Magda stood on the threshold in a blush-colored dressing gown, her hair let down to her waist.

Bertha fell against the rail, one hand over her pounding heart. “Land sakes, Magda, you scared me right out of my bloomers.”

Unruffled, her friend regarded her with doubtful eyes. “Honey, Humble ain’t ready for that one.”

“You ought not to sneak up on a body. With your hair all loose and flowing, I thought you was a spirit.”

Magda grinned. “A ghost in a pink sheet? Get in here out of the dew, honey. I reckon it’s soaked your brain.” She made a sweeping motion toward the door. “Well? What are you waiting for? This calls for scrambled eggs.”

Bertha held up her hand. Long scratches dotted with tiny drops of blood ran the length of her forearm. “You ain’t getting no eggs out of me. Look, you made me brush up agin’ those blasted thorns.”

Magda dismissed her wounds with a glance. “Well, we can summon the doctor if you like, but I believe I can patch that up myself.” She held the door wider. “But not with you on the porch. Get yourself inside.”

Bertha allowed herself to be herded into the house. Just before Magda closed the door, she leaned out and searched the yard for Nash. When she spotted him, she shouted orders in his direction, loud enough to be heard in town. “Nash! Leave what you’re doing and fetch us some eggs. Get a whole mess, and we’ll scramble some for you.”

Nash laid the wrench aside and stood up smiling. Remembering how damp grass rusted out a tool, he stooped to pick it up again, wiping it on his trousers before laying it in the wagon bed.

Fetch some cackleberries, you say? Yes, ma’am! I’m gon’ fetch plenty, and right this minute.

He headed for the chicken yard, stomach rumbling under his belt. Wasn’t much he liked better than those two cooking up something in the kitchen. He’d never say it to Ophelia, didn’t dare, but Miz Bloom stirred up the best pan of biscuits he ever tasted. When she drizzled on bacon-fat gravy and paired them with eggs, there wasn’t no better eating this side of the river.

At the coop, he shut the gate behind him and hurried up the slanted ramp into the henhouse. Right off he sensed the birds were restless. All around in the dim, dank-smelling house they shuffled and squirmed, making the low, throaty babble that always brought to mind the foolish chatter of women. “What be wrong with you old gals?” he cooed. “Has something done crawled in this here house?”

His mind went to a chicken snake, making him think twice about poking his hand in the nests. He loathed the slithery beasts and didn’t care to run across one today. “If an old snake was in here, you’d be stirring up more of a squawk, now, wouldn’t you? Maybe we got us a rat instead.”

Nash cocked his head and stared about, willing his eyes to adjust. “Mistah Rat, is that you? Come on now, don’t tease old Nash. Who be in this henhouse besides these tetchy hens?”

He waited. Not that he expected Mr. Rat to answer. In fact, that’d be the last thing he’d want to hear. He only hoped the sound of his voice would drive the intruder away. Hearing nothing except more chatter and babble, he smiled around at the small, dark space. “Look like it just be us chickens. Now, ladies, if you don’t mind, I need to borrow me some breakfast.”

He shifted the basket down his arm and eased his other hand under the first hen. His fingers closed around two warm eggs, and he pulled them out, testing their weight to see if he’d picked up the laying egg. Before he got them to the basket, a quiet sniffle drifted from the corner behind him.

Nash spun toward the sound, dropping his prize. The real one landed at his feet with a splat. The marble laying egg hit the floor with a thud then wobbled away. “Who that now! Who be in here with me?”

A loud wail was his answer. One he’d heard before.

“Miss Emmy!” He tossed the basket aside and took a step in her direction. “That’s you, all right.”

The rightful dwellers of the house set up a squawk to match the girl’s mournful caterwauling. Some ran in wild circles, getting nowhere fast in the closed-up space. Others sailed past his head, beating their wings in his ears like giant hummingbirds.

“Come on now. Stop that howling—else these hens ain’t never gon’ lay another egg. They’ll all wind up in a pot of dumplin’s, and it’ll be all yo’ fault. Here, let Nash help you up off that nasty floor.”

He lifted Emmy to her feet, but when he turned her loose, she fell again. He caught her and held her upright. “What’s ailing you, Miss Emmy? What you doing hiding in the henhouse?”

She clung to him, still bawling like a lost heifer, and Nash could feel her trembling.

This gal’s jus’ a child,
he thought as he held her.
A wayward child, and that’s for sure, but a child no less.
He wondered what she’d gotten herself into now.

“Talk to me, girl. Did some fool hurt you? If they did, they’s gon’ answer to Nash.”

He realized she wore her town clothes and knew in his soul that her mama reckoned her still in bed. “Where you been, Miss Emmy?” he asked in a low voice. “What done happen to you?”

“Oh, Nash!” She was crying so hard he scarcely understood. “It was awful. Just awful.”

Bertha sat in the big green chair, pinned between the padded arm and her padded friend. Wedged in beside her, Magda brandished a sewing needle, determined to tease the dark tip of a thorn from Bertha’s hand. Bertha struggled to get free, but Magda hoisted a leg over both of hers, ending all hope of escape.

“Stop your wiggling and let me get it.”

“Not yet, I told you. It’s too fresh. Let the bleeding stop first.”

“I never saw a body take on so over a tiny bit of blood. Hush now. I’ve almost got it.”

Bertha squirmed again. “Get up, Magda. This chair won’t hold us both. The legs are bound to cave.”

“Then you’d best let me get this done.”

“Let me up,” she shouted. “I cain’t feel my legs no more. You got ’em wadded in a knot.”

“Bertha, hold still!”

The front door burst open. Emmy tottered on the threshold, fully dressed this time, but covered in feathery tufts from head to toe, her indigo day dress dotted with splotches of white. Red face swollen from crying, she seemed past caring what they thought.

The sight of her struck Bertha dumb. She reckoned Magda, still holding the needle aloft and staring at Emmy, suffered the same. Without a word, Emmy flew past them and up the stairs. The stench that lingered in her wake left no doubt about the nature of the white splotches. They had come from the same place as the feathers.

The two women gawked until Emmy passed out of sight and her bedroom door slammed shut. After a brief silence, the sound of hysterical crying reached their ears.

Magda broke the spell. “Well, if that don’t beat all. Where the devil has she been this time of the morning?”

Bertha’s disbelieving gaze swung her friend’s way. Magda couldn’t be that dumb. “Where you think she’s been?”

Poor Magda aimed vacant eyes at her. “She looked like she just came from tending the chickens, but why would she get all gussied up for that?”

Maybe she was that dumb. “Honey, Emmy ain’t been tending chickens—she’s been wallowing with them. She ain’t just come
in
from the henhouse. She came home
through
the henhouse. There’s the difference. She’s been hiding.”

Magda blinked once, twice. “From what?”

“From us. She seen us on the porch and tried to wait us out in the coop.”

To Bertha’s great relief, despite the crushing and pinching of her body it caused, Magda struggled up from the chair. She faced Bertha with her hands on her hips. “What are you telling me?”

Bertha stretched to work the kinks from her side and lowered her tingling legs to the floor. “She’s been with Daniel.”

After a stunned silence, tiny wrinkles formed between Magda’s brows. “Come now. You don’t really think that, do you?”

“Think it? I know it.”

Fire blazed in Magda’s eyes. “Bert, I’ll skin her. I mean it.”

Bertha shook her head. “Leave her be. What’s done is done. By the look of her, I’d guess Daniel didn’t say what she wanted to hear, though I almost wish he had. Whatever passed betwixt them two, I reckon come tomorrow we’ll still be having us a wedding.”

Magda spun and glared up the stairs. “I can’t believe the unmitigated brash of that girl. And after we warned her...” She looked back at Bertha and shook her head. “No, sir. I’ve had all I can take. I’m going up there to reckon with my wayward child. By the time I finish with Emmy, she’ll swear she’s seen the wrath of God.”

“You’ll do no such thing.”

“She gave us her word!”

Bertha curled her legs into the cushioned seat and patted the space in front of her. “Get over here now. I need you to pluck out this here thorn. After all, it’s your fault I got it.”

Magda pressed the heels of her hands to her forehead. “What am I to do with my daughter, Bertha? Lord knows I can’t control her no more. Should I send her up north to stay with her pa?”

“It ain’t too late to turn Catholic.”

“This ain’t funny, Bert. I’ve reached my wit’s end.”

Bertha smiled. “And that was a trip hardly worth packing for.” She patted the chair again. “Come sit, honey, and let’s talk. That’s right. Come on now.”

Magda ambled over and slumped beside her so heavily Bertha feared her prediction about broken legs would come to pass. She bit back her fear and wrapped her arms around Magda instead. “Give her some time, honey. We been so het up about Charity’s happiness that we plumb forgot about Emmy’s. That girl’s in love, whether she has the right to be or not. Right now she’s hurting.”

Magda sighed. “It’s hard to feel sorry for her. Her own willful nature got her into this mess. What will become of her, Bert?”

“Oh, she’ll be fine.”

“What do you base that on?”

“She’s your daughter, ain’t she? Besides, we gave our girls to God a long time ago. Don’t go taking Emmy out of His hands just when she needs Him the most. Leave God room to work.”

Magda released her breath in a ragged sigh. “I pray for her, Bert. All the time. I actually thought I saw her beginning to change. She’s been different lately. I can’t explain how exactly, but it seemed a change for the good. Did I imagine it?”

Bertha shook her head. “No, I seen it, too.”

Magda’s eyes filled with tears. “I felt so good when she broke down and cried over what she’d done to you and Charity. Before that day, I wondered if the girl had a conscience.”

Bertha nodded and rocked her gently. “Do you recollect how pretty Emmy was as a baby? I never seen a more beautiful child, before or since.”

Magda smiled, a faraway look in her eyes. “She was a delightful child. So precocious.” She shook her head and the smile left. “I reckon we encouraged that for our own amusement ... and look where it got us.”

Bertha leaned to hug her tight. “Oh, honey, she’s still that same sweet little gal. Under that vinegar and sass, she’s still our very own Emmy. We just need to find some way to coax her back to the surface.”

Magda let slip the slightest of grins. “How do you propose to do that? With a bull whip?”

Bertha roared with laughter. “I wouldn’t tote no bull whip into that room tonight! Not with Emmy in need of some way to ease her frustrations.”

Magda laughed along with her then sobered straightaway, her gaze fixed on the landing. “Do you think I should go to her?”

“I wouldn’t. If she don’t come down by suppertime, maybe you could duck in. You’ll just upset each other now.”

Magda nodded.

A commotion in the kitchen caught their attention.

Bertha pushed against Magda with her feet. “Let me up. That’s Nash coming in the back door. I reckon he’s got me some eggs to scramble. I’m so hungry I could eat a bushel.”

As they struggled to rise, the truth crept up on Bertha. A tickle in the back of her mind at first, then clear in a sudden rush. Magda stilled, too. From the look on her face, the same thought had dawned on her. Emmy had been hiding in the chicken house—and Nash had just come from there.

“Reckon he knows anything?”

Magda set her jaw. “If he did, he wouldn’t tell. Them two are in cahoots. That blasted disloyal Nash takes her side over mine every time. I should fire him and be done with it.”

“Fine. Then Emmy would have nobody. You leave Nash to me. If there’s something to be pulled out of that man, I can do it with my cooking.”

Magda grinned. “That might do it. Nash goes weak in the knees at the mention of your biscuits.”

“Go on, then. Move your mountain so I can get up. After I get us fed, Nash can take me back to town. I need to see how Charity’s faring.”

Halfway to the kitchen with Magda close on her heels, she stopped midstride and almost fell when Magda bumped into her from behind. She spun and gripped her friend’s arms, peering up into her eyes. “Magda, you know what I just realized?”

“What’s that, sugar?”

“This is my last day to look after Charity.”

Magda gave her a tender smile and pulled her close. “I doubt that. You’ll be trying to look after Charity for the rest of your life whether she’s married or not.”

Though Bertha suspected the words were true, they brought her no comfort. “Oh, Magda, hurry. Help me get breakfast over and done. I want to spend time with my baby whilst she’s still mine.”

The swinging door opened behind them. When Nash saw them embracing, he lowered his head and started back out again, but Magda’s deep voice stopped him cold. “Get that wheel finished while we cook breakfast. After we eat, I need you to drive us into town.”

Nash’s head whipped around. He stared like Magda had spoken Chinese, then shuffled his feet and worried his shirttail before he answered. “Um ... yes’m, Miz Dane. Only that old wheel be plumb shot. I was about to ask could I run it on in to the blacksmith. It needs a good patchin’.”

“You saying it won’t take us into town?”

He took a step forward, avoiding their eyes. “No, ma’am, that ain’t what I’m saying. It’ll get us to town, all right. But whilst we there, I s’pose I needs to haul it over to the smithy. See if he can do something to make it las’ longer.” He brightened a bit, as if he liked what he’d just said. “Yes’m, that’s right. It jus’ need to las’ longer this time.”

With one glance, Bertha saw he didn’t fool Magda either. They followed him into the kitchen, Magda eyeballing him all the way. She stopped him before he got to the back door.

“Nash?”

He turned, his smile too bright. “Yes’m, Miz Dane?”

“You feeling all right?”

“Oh yes, ma’am. Fine and dandy. Be a sight better when I’m chomping on Miz Bertha’s biscuits and gravy.”

Magda cocked her head, watching him.

His smile floundered and died. “All right, then. I’ll go see to that busted wheel now.”

“You do that, Nash.”

“Yes’m. I’ll do that right now.”

When the door banged shut behind him, Magda hiked her brows at Bertha. “He’s up to something.”

Bertha pulled the heavy iron skillet off a hook on the wall. The weight of it pulled her close to the floor before she hefted it up onto the stove. “That he is.”

“What you reckon?”

She lit the gas burner and poured bacon fat into the skillet from an earthen jar. “He’s a man, ain’t he? No telling what he’s up to. And don’t waste your time trying to find out. It’ll come to light soon enough. It always does. Men ain’t worth spit at covering their tracks.”

Daniel sat tall on the buckboard seat, his gaze sweeping the wide expanse of open field in front of him. So much land. His land. He had bought the property, cleared it, even built the house himself with the help of a few hired hands. The knowledge warmed his insides.

He paid cash for it, every cent his own, earned with sunbaked flesh and a busted back. Raising cattle wasn’t the easiest way to earn a dollar. He refused to let the old man put a nickel toward building the house and was mighty glad of it now. He’d never bucked his folks before, so he couldn’t predict their reaction. One thing was sure as sunrise—marrying Charity without his mama’s blessing spelled trouble. But even if they disowned him, stripped him of his inheritance, they could never take his ranch.

Daniel turned his attention to the house. He took particular pride in the tall structure, two stories high and fronted with brick shipped from up north. Whitewashed columns graced the front entrance, beams as thick as a man’s waist, supporting a gabled overhang. The portico extended to a wraparound porch, which led to an attached gazebo in the rear garden.

He had cleared the surrounding pine, leaving the house nestled in an oak grove. Crafted big and fine, the dwelling bore enough modern trappings to make any woman happy, yet he’d furnished it with the simple things Charity grew up with, things to please a country girl’s heart.

Daniel had built the house for Charity, and tomorrow she would live here. A thrill shot through him at the thought. Followed by a chill at how close he’d come to losing her.

And for what?

He leaned and spat on the ground then wiped his chin on his sleeve. What on earth attracted him to Emmy Dane in the first place? He’d never chased her in school, fawning over her, panting for her attention like the other boys. Oh, she was pretty, all right. Always had been, but only on the outside. Unlike Charity, Emmy’s insides stank like rotting flesh.

Despite Charity’s pure heart, he’d seen another side of her lately, a fiery depth she’d never revealed before. Now that he’d noticed, her innocence coupled with this smoldering fire had nearly driven him mad. He wondered at the source of the mysterious flame. Had it always been there? How had he missed it before now? He pushed from his mind the fact that he’d only glimpsed it while she was in the company of that spineless Buddy Pierce.

Well, no matter. Fate had granted him a second chance. Tomorrow Charity would be his. He’d have a lifetime to find out all there was to know about her.

He heaved a sigh of relief and looked back at the contents of the wagon. He had hauled in the furniture weeks ago; it was time now to lay in supplies. Tools for her garden, staples for her pantry, sheets for her bed. All the things necessary to turn Charity’s house into a home.

Charity reached deep into the wardrobe and pulled out her wedding gown. Stepping in front of the mirror, she held it against her body and turned from side to side in order to see it from every angle. Such a lovely dress, the prettiest she’d ever seen. Even more precious given the sweet hands that made it.

She clutched the fabric to her face and breathed in the smell. A mixture of sweet magnolia, infused there from spending so much time in Mama’s room, mingled with the scent of pine picked up from weeks of hanging in her closet at home.

Home. The word conjured a picture of the big house she loved, fronted by the very magnolias she smelled on the dress and flanked by the towering pine from which Papa had cut wood for the closet. But it was her home no longer and would never be again. Even if she and Mama moved in today, Charity couldn’t stay long enough to take off her shoes.

Tomorrow she would go to live with Daniel, and the thought made her feel lost. His was a lovely house, built just for her. She’d walked through it with him, laughing and planning the day they would share it. There’d been a time she thought that day would never come.