Chasing Charity (20 page)

When she understood about Daniel and Emmy, she had grieved for the house, mourned the fact that it would be Emmy’s things adorning the rooms, her clothes in the closets, her children playing in the yard.

Now the fickle house had changed mistresses again, only this time Charity couldn’t imagine herself living there. Her vision of blue-eyed children running over those grounds had gone, replaced by a ruddy-cheeked, sandy-haired brood that scampered among sweet magnolia and pine, gazing up at her through smoky green eyes. Her mind couldn’t conceive of any other way.

She groaned and lifted her face to God.
I’ve never asked You for anything this important before. Can You? Will You?

A shrill voice in the hall interrupted her tortured prayer. “Charity! Where are you, baby?” Mama burst through the door and flew at her, her breath coming in labored gasps. She wrapped Charity, dress and all, in her arms and squeezed her so tightly it hurt.

“Mama, for heaven’s sake! I’m right here where you left me. What on earth?”

Mama didn’t answer, just held her, rocking back and forth. Mother Dane lumbered in, more breathless than Mama, and shut the door behind her. “Pay her no mind, sugar. She’s just being Bertha.”

Charity smiled over the little woman’s head. “Well, that explains a lot, but not nearly enough. Why is she breathing like this? Has she been running?”

“Up the stairs. I tried to stop her, but I couldn’t catch her.”

Mama, her swollen eyes squeezed shut, still grasped at her, straining to get a better hold.

Charity pulled her loose and held her at arm’s length. “Stop it now. What’s ailing you?”

Mother Dane sprawled on the bed, her chest heaving. “When I catch my breath, I’ll give you the long version. The short of it is, it finally dawned on her that you’re getting married tomorrow.”

“Oh, mercy. Come here.” Charity pulled her weeping mama close and held her while she cried, fighting hard to push aside her own bitter tears.

Charity stretched out on a knotted rag rug across from her mama and Mother Dane. Mama sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the bed chattering like a schoolgirl while Mother Dane wound her long mane into a proper bun. Charity smiled each time Mama mindlessly held up a hairpin when Mother Dane wiggled her fingers, never missing a beat in her story. Yet Charity’s mind was on anything but hair and idle babble.

Every footstep on the stairs was Buddy, every word in the hall his voice. She watched the door until her eyes hurt, ears straining for the sound of a knock that never came.

“That reminds me, Magda,” Mama said, “did you check on Emmy before we left?”

Mother Dane scrunched her lips and sniffed. “A lot of good it did me. She just curled up and moaned. Didn’t even bother to answer.”

Charity sat up straight. Their conversation had taken an interesting turn. “What’s ailing Emmy?”

It took too long for them to answer. Mama caught Mother Dane’s finger and pinched it before she let go of the next hairpin. Mother Dane gave an answering tug on her hair.

Mama winced then smiled up at Charity. “She ain’t herself today, baby. That’s all.”

“What’s the matter? Is she sick?”

“No, not sick, really. More like a bit out of sorts.”

Charity crossed her arms and looked from one to the other. “What are you two keeping from me?”

Mama’s shoulders drooped. “All right, then. Emmy found it out, and she’s grieving.”

“Found what out?”

“That you’re marrying up with Daniel.” Mama’s eyes widened. “We didn’t tell her though. She snookered us.”

The words sent Charity’s mind reeling.
Emmy grieving? Over Daniel?

“She loves him, then?” It eased her heart to know it. It meant Emmy hadn’t toyed with their lives just to ease her boredom.

Mother Dane turned kind eyes her way. “Don’t you fret over Emmy, pet. The Good Book says we reap what we sow. If Emmy’s heart is heavy today, it’s because it’s harvesttime and she’s finding her crop hard to swallow.” She went back to pinning Mama’s hair. “You have enough grief to bear, Charity. Don’t throw Emmy’s weight on your shoulders.” She heaved a deep sigh. “Anyway, I reckon she’s my load to carry. Speaking of which, I need to head on back and see about her. What time of the day is it getting to be?”

Charity pushed off the floor and opened the shade. “The boardwalk’s thinned out and it sounds like the dining crowd has waned. That would make it well past one.”

“Could it be that late? No wonder I’m hungry. We plumb missed lunch.”

Mama handed up another pin. “Now there’s a first, you missing a meal. You ate enough this morning to hold you past noontime tomorrow.”

Mother Dane pulled Mama’s hair again. “Did not. You rushed us through breakfast so fast that Nash stuffed biscuits in his pockets on his way out of the house.” She glanced toward the window. “Where is that ornery man anyway? He said he’d have the rig downstairs in three hours. It’s been more like five.”

“But, Mother Dane,” Charity said, looking over her shoulder then back at the street, “the rig
is
downstairs.”

Mother Dane’s head jerked up. “It is?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Charity pointed. “It’s right there. Parked just below us.”

Throwing one leg over Mama’s head, Mother Dane pushed off the bed. She joined Charity at the window and aimed her gaze along Charity’s finger. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. That’s my wagon, all right. Now why didn’t Nash send someone up for us?”

Mama twisted around to all fours and pushed up, rear end first. Shoving her way between them, she craned her neck left and right then looked up at Mother Dane. “He ain’t down there, that’s why.”

Mother Dane strained to see as far up and down the street as possible. “Now where do you suppose that man’s gone off to?”

Mama tugged on her sleeve. “Remember how he acted this morning?”

“You think this has something to do with that?”

“Why not? Maybe he’s chasing some fast woman.”

Mother Dane shook her head. “Nash ain’t like that. He’s a Christian man, with a family.”

“Any man who ain’t careful can be snared by easy trash.”

“Not any man, Mama,” Charity said, “just Clark men.” She gasped and put a hand to her mouth, her round eyes fixed on Mother Dane’s face. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean...”

Mother Dane patted her shoulder. “I know what you meant, honey. I just pray for your sake Daniel’s not such easy prey next time.”

Mama sneered. “There’d best not be a next time if he values all his parts.” She started for the door. “Let’s get down there and find Nash. I’m getting a mite hungry myself. Are you planning to feed us, Magda? I expect they’re done serving downstairs.”

“If there’s any cooking to be done, you’ll do it. Otherwise it’s finger food.”

Mama turned at the door. “Charity, get your things. We’ll stay the night at Magda’s and get ready for the wedding there.” She held up her hand before Charity could protest. “No arguments. You can do this for me. It’s only one night. You can stand on your head for one night.” She frowned and nodded at the sequined gown hanging on the wardrobe door. “Don’t forget that thing. It’s not how we planned it, but I expect it’ll finally be put to some use.”

Downstairs on the street, a jubilant Red leapt up and barked a greeting, dancing around them on his long hind legs. The stubborn dog survived his runaway-wagon ride intact, turning up the day after looking no worse for wear. He’d kept a vigil outside the hotel ever since, lying in constant wait for Charity.

There was no sign of Nash. He had strapped the horse to a feed bag and tied it to a post, as if he planned to be gone a good long while.

Mother Dane stood on the boardwalk, hands on her hips, staring at the rig. “When that man turns up, I should fire him on the spot.”

“Let’s leave him here,” Mama said. “Let him walk back. It’ll serve him right.”

Mother Dane unfastened the feed bag and tossed it into the wagon bed. “Bertha, that’s mean-spirited enough to make me feel better. Hop on, girls. This here conveyance is homeward bound.”

Whooping like a raiding war party, Mama clambered onto the seat. “That’s telling him, Magda.”

Mother Dane pulled herself up beside her. “It ain’t telling him half what I plan to when he finally shows himself. That man’s due a good tongue-lashing.”

Charity looked around to make sure no one was watching before she gathered her skirts and climbed on back. Whining piteously, Red planted his big paws on the tailgate and jumped like an oversized jackrabbit, trying his best to scramble aboard.

“No, boy,” Charity scolded. “Not this time. Git now! Shoo! Go over yonder and lay down.”

Mother Dane turned the horse’s nose toward home. The wagon bounced along the rutted street until they reached the trail, where Charity braced for a rough ride home. Red heeded her commands no better than usual and followed them all the way. When the wagon came to rest in the yard, he stared at her from the ground, his long dappled tongue lolled to the side and a wide grin on his face.

She shook her finger at him. “You’re a bad dog, Red Pike. Or is it Mr. Bloom these days?”

He wagged his tail.

“So that’s what you think, is it? That you’ve wormed your way in? Well, get such thoughts out of your head, old man. Despite your noble beginnings, you’re numbered with the enemy now. They’ll make you slink home to join their ranks one day soon, and don’t you forget it.”

The dog wriggled so violently he was bound to get dizzy. Charity hopped down and cupped his big head in her hands. “You haven’t heeded a word I’ve said, have you? Be still now. Keep that up and you won’t be able to walk a straight line.”

While Mother Dane unhitched the horse, Charity took the dog by his baggy scruff and led him to the house. At the door, she ordered him to lie down. He dropped and curled at her feet.

Mama chuckled as she stepped over his long legs to get into the house. “I ain’t seen him pay you no mind before. I guess you scared him with that talk about sending him home. Get him some water, sugar. His tongue’s dragging. We’ll have to rustle him something to eat in a bit.”

By the time Charity tended Red and joined Mama in the kitchen, Mother Dane was coming in at the back door. “Get to shaking that skillet, Bert,” she called. “I’ve worked me up a raging hunger. This is the longest I’ve ever waited for lunch.”

“I’m moving as fast as I can. Pull out the ham and slice it. That coffee we made this morning’s strong enough to stand up and holler by now. Thought I’d use it to stir up some redeye gravy. Charity, hand me the coffeepot, sugar.”

Mother Dane rubbed her hands together. “Now you’re talking.”

While Charity fetched the pot, Mother Dane hurried for the covered charger that held the smoked ham. Balancing it on one hip, she carried it to the table.

“Emmy must be faint from hunger,” Mama said from the stove. “When I get everything ready, you can carry her up a plate.”

From behind them came a gasp. Charity and Mama turned in unison to look.

Mother Dane stood over the pan with the lid in her hand, staring down at the meat. “That won’t be necessary,” she announced. “Believe me, that girl ain’t hungry.”

“What is it, Magda?”

“Just Emmy up to her old tricks.”

Mama set down the coffeepot and joined Mother Dane at the table. “What are you going on about?”

“As you can see, Emmy’s already eaten, and eaten good by the look of it. This ham’s been whittled to the bone.”

Mama whistled. “There’s enough meat cut from that shank to feed her for a week, and Nash to boot.” Mama shook her head and headed back to the stove. “And here I was worried about her empty stomach. Magda, if there’s anything left, whack it off and lay it on a platter. We’ll eat it with bread. That’ll stretch it.”

Bertha lounged on Magda’s green-striped sofa and watched her lumber down the stairs. She could’ve tracked her progress with her eyes closed by the groaning of the old floorboards. Never a small woman, Magda had fattened up considerably over the years. Fretting over her daughter drove the poor woman to eat. In the place of corn liquor, Magda drowned her sorrow in corn pone, corn pudding, and corn on the cob.

Bertha had battled her own bouts of distress since Thad died. She wondered if her scattered emotions during the year of bone-numbing grief that followed had hastened all the vexing maladies plaguing her these days. If so, she wouldn’t mind trading places with Magda. She’d rather contend with a wider girth than droopy skin and whiskers.

She glanced at the tray Magda had carried in earlier from the kitchen. “Are you still planning to eat this sandwich? It’s your third, you know.”

Magda trudged the last few steps and plopped down on the divan. “I didn’t bring it out here to look at it. And I can count, thank you. Where’s Charity?”

Pain echoed through Bertha’s chest. “She went to lay out her wedding dress. How’s Emmy?”

Magda reached for her food. From the look in her eyes, she nursed the same heartache. “I poked my head in, but she wouldn’t answer. Just laid there with the quilt pulled over her face. I let her be. I only hope she’s asleep and not pouting. At least her belly’s full and she’s not bawling.”

Bertha nodded. “Her belly should be full. I never seen a body eat so much food, except you, when you were carrying her.”

Magda choked on her bite of sandwich. When she recovered, she stared at Bertha with bulging eyes.

Bertha shook her head. “Honey, don’t even think it. That would be a tragedy worthy of Shakespeare’s quill. Emmy put in the family way by Charity’s husband?” She shuddered. “None of us could bear it.”

Magda blotted her glistening neck with the napkin in her lap. “How can we be certain? After all, she’s acting so desperate.”

“I give Emmy credit for having more sense than that. She’s willful, not stupid.”

“I’m glad you think so. I’m not so sure anymore. Judging by the stunts she’s pulled lately, you wouldn’t know Emmy had any sense at all.”

Compassion tugged at Bertha’s heart. “She’s suffering for it now, though, poor little thing. Despite all she’s done, a body can’t help but pity her.”

“Pity?” Magda’s lips took a dubious turn. “I’m not sure she deserves it.”

“Listen to you!” A small shred of ham rested in the hollow of Magda’s chin. Bertha snatched the napkin from her hand and plucked it off with a lacy corner. “And after you told me I dealt too harsh with Charity.”

“I don’t mean to sound harsh, Bertha. I love Emmy. Trouble is, my bullheaded daughter thinks if she wants something, then everyone should just understand and get out of her way. If she gets moon-eyed over her best friend’s fiancé, why, that’s reason enough to set her cap for him. After all, hasn’t she always got whatever she wanted?”

Bertha smiled. “And whose fault is that?”

Returning her food to the plate, Magda wiped her fingertips. “I already admitted we spoiled her. Don’t forget, you had a hand in it, too. But what she done to Charity she never learned from me. I had a spell of mooning over Thad years back, but it never once entered my mind to try the stunt Emmy pulled.”

Bertha fell against the button-tucked cushion and stared. “Magdalena Dane, are you telling me you was swimmy-headed over my Thad?”

Magda’s cheeks flushed a bright pink. “For about one minute. Then Willem came along and that was the end of it.”

Bertha scooted to the edge of her seat. “ ’Til Willem came along? Honey, that was a year before we had our babies. You’d known Thad seven years by then. That’s a heap more’n a minute.”

Magda sat mute, studying her hands.

“All this time and you never told me?”

“Didn’t see no reason to.”

Bertha couldn’t get past it. Magda sweet on Thad for that long but never once letting on. It explained a couple of things—why Magda was an old maid before she finally married, and why Thad’s death hit her so hard.

“You and Thad. Honey, if I’d only known...”

Magda shook her head. “If you’d known, things would be just as they are. It was never me and Thad. The two of you belonged together from the start, just like Willem and me. I’ve had no room in my head for anyone but him from the first day we met.” She winked. “Despite Thaddeus Bloom’s winning ways and powerful good looks.”

Bertha gazed at the ceiling, remembering. “He sure was a fine figure of a man.”

Magda grinned. “
Ein hübscher Mann,
as my mama used to say. As handsome as you were pretty. You two made a lovely couple.”

Bertha returned her grin and nodded. “I had good teeth back then and nice skin.” She traced her fingers over her cheek and frowned. “Hard work and old age be hanged!”

Magda hoisted her glass of milk. “Hear, hear!”

“I don’t think Thad would know me if he come back now.”

“Balderdash. He’d still cut you out of a herd.”

Bertha tilted her head. “You reckon?”

“I do.”

She leaned to pinch off a corner of Magda’s ham sandwich and poked it into her mouth. “I never was as pretty as Charity,” she said, her mouth full. “And nowhere near the likes of Emmy.”

Magda sighed. “I only wish Emmy acted pretty.” She pointed her finger at Bertha. “Besides, you’re mistaken. You were more fetching than the two of them put together. Don’t you recall being chased about town by Moses Pharr and the rest? Every boy in Jefferson, Texas, wanted to court you.” She chuckled. “You led them a merry chase ... at least until Thad come along.”

Nudging a greasy piece of ham deeper between the two thick slices of bread, she picked up her sandwich. “Are you forgetting you were twice the rascal that Emmy can be? Never made no sense how I wound up with my girl and you with yours. If I hadn’t watched you deliver a month before I birthed Emmy, I’d vow those two got switched.”

Bertha slapped her legs, laughter bubbling up from her belly. “Weren’t no mixing them babies, what with Charity’s black hair and Emmy’s crop of white curls.”

“Still as white as the day she was born. I blame Willem’s seed for that curse. A curse it’s been, too, since men are bound to make fools of themselves over fair-haired women. And Emmy’s too weak in character to resist the attention.”

Bertha shook her head. “Don’t sell her short. That girl’s strongwilled and smart. She’s just learned to use what she’s got to get what she wants.”

Magda snorted. “Trouble is, most times what she wants belongs to someone else. That brings sorrow to everyone concerned.”

Bertha patted her friend’s knee. “The Lord uses our mistakes to guide us.” She nodded toward the top of the stairs. “Emmy’s feeling the sting of her own actions, but she’ll be the better for it. It’ll teach her to count the cost before she jumps next time.”

“Sugar, I hope you’re right. If Emmy learned to love others half as much as she loves herself, it sure would save me some grief.”

Bertha offered a sympathetic grin. “I don’t think she sets out to cause you pain. Do you?”

Magda took a big bite and waved one hand absently at Bertha. “Not really,” she said with bulging jaws. “She just gets in over her head sometimes.”

Emmy took another bite of her sandwich and waved one hand absently at Nash. “This ham is divine. Packing a lunch was the best idea you ever had.”

Nash seemed not to hear. He sat hunched in the seat across from her with his face pressed against the passenger car window while the countryside scrolled past. Emmy could see his reflection in the glass. His wide eyes danced back and forth, trying to take in everything at once.

She held out a sandwich wrapped in paper. “Here. Eat some before it goes bad.”

He shook his head and answered without turning. “Got no time for to be eating. Ain’t never rode me no train before, and I don’t aim to miss it.”

Emmy grinned. “So you like it, do you?”

“It’s jus’ like I reckoned.”

Emmy giggled at the wonder in his voice. “And you were scared to come. I knew you’d love it. Didn’t I say you wouldn’t be sorry?”

He faced her then. “Love it, I do. Sorry is what I’ll be when your mama finds out. Sorry, no ’count, and out of work—if I ain’t lynched first.”

“Oh, Nash.”

“Don’t you ‘Oh, Nash’ me. How long you reckon before Miz Dane jerk back that quilt and see them pillows sleeping in yo’ bed instead of you? Probably already did see. I bet all my wages she’s got the sheriff dogging us now. Most likely a posse on horseback chasing this train.”

Emmy wiped a greasy thumb on the paper around her sandwich. “Don’t be silly. I don’t want to hear that foolish talk.”

Eyes bulging, he gawked at her. “You ain’t gon’ be saying silly when he catch up to us. Jus’ how silly you gon’ feel watching me swing from a rope? I still cain’t figure how you got me into this mess.” He shook his head. “Mm, mm, mm. No, sir. I sho’ can’t figure it.”

Emmy cast a nervous glance at the surrounding passengers. Raising her nose a bit higher, she ignored their angry glares. She had obtained permission for Nash to ride up front by insisting she needed her
boy
for protection and to carry her bags. It made Emmy’s stomach ache to say such a hurtful thing, and even more so when Nash lowered his head, but there was no help for it.

She frowned across the aisle at him. “Shush now, before someone hears. You’d be in worse trouble if you’d have let me come alone. You know it yourself.”

He glowered. “There now, you see? Hanged if I do and shot if I don’t. You done hauled me into a full-sized mess.”

“Oh, pooh. Quit your squawking. We had to come, didn’t we, if we want to save Charity?”

The memory of Daniel’s threat made her shudder. “I still can’t believe how he fooled me ... fooled us both.” She rubbed her wrist, still feeling his cruel grip on her arm. “Of course, he wouldn’t dare lay a hand on Charity until after they’re married, but by then it’ll be too late. You want to help me prevent that, don’t you?”

Nash didn’t answer. He perched across from her, too busy wading through deep indignation to answer, sullen to the point of pouting. He spared her a look. “What good you reckon finding Mistah Pierce gon’ do?”

“Gracious. Don’t you ever listen when I speak?”

He shook his head. “Not so much. Generally gets me in too much trouble.”

Emmy wadded her sandwich wrapper and shoved it inside the sack. “It may not help at all. But if there’s any truth to what I heard...” She leaned close and lowered her voice. “If Mr. Pierce feels one spark of affection for Charity, then he’s our only hope. It’s a gamble, but a gamble we must take.”

Nash’s tense hands worried the tattered hat on his lap. “You reckon they know we’s gone by now?”

“Maybe.” Emmy considered her answer for a minute and then nodded. “Most likely, in fact.” She shook her head to dislodge the thought and handed Nash a sandwich. “Eat this and don’t talk about it. What’s done is done. There’s no going back.”

Nash took the wrapped offering in one hand, shooing her words like pesky flies with the other. “Naw, missy. Ain’t nothing done yet. I could go back, all right. I could get off this contraption and walk home. Tell Miz Dane I ain’t seen hide nor hair of her wayward child.”

Burying his face in the paper, he took a huge bite of the sandwich and proceeded to talk around it. “That’s right, I sho’ could. In fact, I jus’ might.”

Emmy shrugged. “Suit yourself, but you’re in for a mighty long walk, considering we’re pulling into the station. We’re here, Nash! We’re in Houston!”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Miss Emmy, don’t you try to fool old Nash.”

She pointed out her side window. “See for yourself.”

He squirmed in his seat, trying to see through every glass at once. “No, we ain’t! That fast?” A grin spread over his face, wider than the grease on his cheeks. “Now don’t that jus’ beat all?”

Emmy stood, fighting to keep her balance as the big engine rolled to a jerky stop. She grabbed her reticule and handed Nash her leather bag. “Stop that gawking and follow me.”

She moved into the aisle and started for the exit, helped along by the surging crush of people. When she looked back and found herself alone, she stepped aside before the disorderly stampede pushed her right out the door.

Nash still hovered over her seat, trying to gather the remaining sandwiches with one hand while juggling their bags with the other.

“Leave that, Nash. It’s trash now. It won’t last in this heat. We’ll find something to eat later on.”

Nash dropped the bundle with some reluctance and pushed his hat down on his head. He pressed into the aisle and came toward her, glancing back several times at the food.

“Stop dawdling over that trifling ham,” she shouted past the scrambling passengers. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you starve.”

“But, Miss Emmy, we ain’t got us no money.”

The rush swept Emmy along. She had no choice but to step down off the train into bedlam. Gentility and manners had vanished with the coming of the oil boom, along with every trace of decency and order. Those waiting to board merged with those departing, becoming a blur of frantic people. Emmy broke free and shoved her way to the side, adjusting her hat and smoothing her rumpled skirt while she waited for Nash. He appeared on the threshold at last, holding their bags aloft.

“There’s no need to fret about money or food,” she called up to him. “I have my ways.”

A burly man pushed past Emmy in his rush to board, jostling her so rudely she would’ve toppled and been trampled underfoot had Nash not leaped to the platform to offer a steady hand. He cast a dark look at the surrounding horde. “I ain’t so sure even your wily ways gon’ help in this place.”

Emmy followed his gaze. A most curious assortment of people milled about on the boardwalk. Not even in Humble, where the boom had brought thousands of strangers to her town, had Emmy seen the likes of this lot. Work-roughened, sin-coarsened men loomed on every side. Whatever lured them, whether the promise of excitement or unbridled greed, they allowed themselves to be driven like cattle toward the train.