Charity could not pretend she didn’t care for one second longer. She’d been a fool. A stupid, gullible fool. How many times had she told herself it was insane to fall in love? Yet she had done it. That was the worst part of all this. She had fallen in love with a man who was unworthy of even the friendship and admiration she had bestowed. To love him, really love him, was an abomination.
Thrusting the basketry hat at Nancy, Charity broke away and ran, half-blinded by tears. She headed away from the encampment and toward the forest, the only place where she knew she’d find the privacy necessary to cry her heart out. She felt as if her best friend had abandoned her and that she had died as a result. Her hope had.
In a way, Thorne had died to her, too, she reasoned through her grief. He was a fraud. He had lied to her and led her on when all he’d really wanted was a nursemaid for his illegitimate son.
It didn’t matter that Thorne had been planning to leave Naomi and Jacob behind in the territories and return to the sea. That made his perfidy even worse. Not only had he behaved in a beastly manner once, he was about to do it again by callously abandoning his child.
Cyrus Satterfield watched from the guard post inside the fort, smiled and blew smoke from his cigar. He’d wanted to draw at least one of the blond women away from her companions and it looked as if he was getting his wish, although he would have preferred that she’d taken the brat with her to save him the trouble of seeking it out later.
He sighted on the clump of cedars into which she had fled and lined it up with the Indian encampment so he could be certain of finding the right place once he had descended to ground level. She wouldn’t get away from him this time. He not only had his rifle and pistol, he was also armed with the poison. It would be easy to steal an unattended arrow from one of the reveling Indians, poison its tip and use it to stab the woman to death. If he failed to get close enough for that, he’d simply shoot her, instead. The plan was foolproof.
And then he’d go back and take care of the other woman and the boy.
Thorne frowned as he scanned the assembled crowd. He was certain he’d seen Charity speaking with Nancy White a few minutes ago but at present he couldn’t spot either of them.
Naomi had joined her father and seemed to be getting along all right, considering, so Thorne scooped up Jacob and headed their way.
William nodded and smiled a greeting. “Hello there. I wondered where everyone had gotten to.”
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Thorne said. “I’ve lost track of Char…Miss Beal.”
“Ah, I see.” He patted the place next to him, opposite Naomi. “Why don’t you two share our blanket and take a load off. I’m sure the women are fine.”
“I don’t know. It’s not like Miss Beal to wander away alone.” Thorne sat cross-legged on the blanket and held Jacob in his lap to keep him from running to join some older Indian boys who were chasing a playful, agile puppy through the milling throng of celebrants.
William nodded sagely. “I suspect Miss Beal wanted to do some serious thinking and praying.”
“Why is that?” He didn’t like the grave way the older man was looking at him. The perusal made him decidedly uncomfortable. When the reverend finally spoke, however, he understood the man’s mood only too well.
“My dear wife has been telling your Charity a little about my daughter’s past sins.” Holding Naomi’s hand in a show of support he pressed his lips together and nodded slowly, deliberately, as if he knew exactly what Thorne was thinking. “Our Naomi is many things but she has remained her mother’s daughter. That’s why she chose to bare her soul and ask our forgiveness before she went through with her marriage to your brother.”
The older man directed a gentle, loving, knowing smile at Jacob. “We can see now that she was finally being totally truthful with us.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say a thing, son. ‘All have sinned and come short of the glory of God.’”
Thorne hugged the child tighter. “I was not a Christian at the time. I don’t know what I would have done if I had been.”
“You are also a healthy young man. If my wife has the details right, you were not the instigator of the incident, nor were you unmoved by what you had done. She says you begged Naomi to marry you.”
“Yes. I did,” Thorne answered. He had been watching Naomi’s blank expression and noted with relief that she seemed oblivious to what was being said. “My brother and I had a terrible quarrel when he saw her weeping afterward. As far as I know, she never admitted anything to him but Aaron must have known. How could he help but see the evidence in his son’s face?”
“As have we all,” White said. “Which brings me back to the matter of your Charity Beal.”
“What about her?”
“Nancy has taken her aside and told her everything, discreetly I’m sure. If we are to carry out the plan we’ve been considering it was necessary that Charity be made aware of the entire story, first.”
“No!” Thorne passed the child to William and leaped to his feet, scanning the crowd. “You don’t know Charity the way I do. She won’t be able to accept hearing something like that from anyone but me. I have to explain.”
“Perhaps, if your intentions were as serious as I believe they are, you should have already done so.”
“I was going to,” Thorne said. “I was waiting for the right time.”
“Then I suggest you find her. I’ll watch the boy.” He pointed. “Here comes Nancy. She should know where Charity has gone.”
Thorne was beside himself. If Charity had been told all the sordid details of his past, she was probably never going to sit still long enough to listen to his pleas for forgiveness. He had no excuse for his behavior, nor had he ever had. It was just that he felt such news would have hurt less if it had come from him. Now that the damage was done, there was no telling how badly Charity had been hurt. Or what she might do or say as a result.
Running blindly, Charity tore through the mucky, grassy lowlands and straight into the forest. Her shoes were caked with mud, her skirt torn by brambles and her hands and face scratched, yet she pressed on.
The only pain she felt was in her heart and mind. “Oh, Thorne,” she sobbed. “Why did you lie? Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”
Because you would have hated me for it, came the unspoken answer.
Charity started to argue with herself, then realized that her conclusion was correct. She would have reacted in exactly the same way she was now, cut to the quick and blinded by tears.
Why weep for someone who was unworthy? Because, in her deepest heart and in spite of everything he may have done in the past, she was afraid she loved him still.
Gasping, she leaned against the trunk of a sturdy pine while trying to catch her breath. Why was she such a poor judge of men? She had idolized her father and he had abandoned her twice; once to go west in search of gold and again when he had as much as told her she wasn’t important in his new life with Annabelle.
No thoughts of prior disappointments would be complete without considering Ramsey Tucker, too. He had taken advantage of her youth and inexperience to gain her trust and had abused her both physically and mentally while he was alive.
“But Thorne isn’t like that,” she argued, weeping and drawing in jerky breaths between sobs. “He isn’t.” He had always treated her kindly and fairly and with reserve, as a gentleman should. Even when she was half out of her mind with fever he had not done one thing that was out of line or could be construed as taking advantage of her.
If he’s so perfect, why did he lie with Naomi? her broken heart asked. And why had he not made a clean break of his past?
That question brought her full circle to her original conclusion. When she barely knew him, such a confession would have kept her from agreeing to make the trip and care for the needy child. Later, when she had grown fond of Thorne, she would have been even less likely to accept his explanation no matter
how fervently he had presented it.
Drawing another and another shuddering breath, Charity wiped her eyes on her sleeve and fought to calm herself. Other than a broken heart, a torn frock and a few scratches from her flight into the forest, she was physically unhurt. She would survive this trauma just as she had survived others. She would return to the Whites and act as if their news about Naomi and Thorne had not truly bothered her.
Will I be able to control my emotions when I look at him? she wondered. She doubted it but that did not negate her need to try to hold herself together, for her own sake as much as for that of Naomi’s parents.
Oh, how she wished Nancy had not been so blunt. All the woman’s words were awhirl in her mind, not making sense the way she wished they would. Nancy had said something about a plan and the necessity of revealing all, but for the life of her, Charity couldn’t put those words into their original context.
Sniffling, she straightened, preparing to return to the wedding feast and face her disappointment. Turning in circles, she assessed the trees and blossoming blackberry thickets. It was impossible to tell which way she had come or even in which direction the fort lay.
Peering through the dense vegetation, she hoped to glimpse the snowcapped Cascade range and thereby get her bearings but the surrounding leaves and branches blotted out both the sun and the distant mountains. Worse, her headlong flight through the brush had not left enough damage to the vegetation to indicate her prior path.
Out of earthly options, she closed her eyes and laced her fingers together to pray for guidance. “Dear Heavenly Father, I’ve certainly gotten myself into a fine pickle, haven’t I?” Her sigh punctuated the informal plea. “Please? I know You must be tired of rescuing me but I really need some help? Which way should I go?”
When she opened her eyes and spotted a man coming toward her through the woods she was instantly relieved and deeply grateful.
“Thank you, God,” she whispered, starting toward her rescuer with a wave of her arm.
In response, the man raised a rifle and pointed it directly at her.
She froze, incredulous. Surely he couldn’t be planning to shoot her.
The click of the hammer being cocked echoed in the silence. He fitted the stock against his shoulder.
The muzzle flashed.
At that very instant, Charity ducked.
Chapter Nineteen
Thorne heard the resounding echo of the gunshot. He’d entered the forest where Nancy had told him to but had soon lost Charity’s trail. He was a seaman, not a tracker, a lack of useful training which he now regretted.
He stiffened and waited for further sounds. None came to him. If the shooter was a local hunter, it seemed odd that he’d be out prowling the woods instead of attending the Nisqually celebration the way most folks were.
What if someone was after Charity, instead? What if they had shot her? Thorne’s gut clenched and his head pounded. He had been praying for her safety and well-being ever since he had left the others and although he was as undeserving of grace as any man, he couldn’t believe God would have ignored his plea on her behalf.
Pressing on toward the direction of the shot, he prayed even more fervently. “Father, please help her. Keep her safe. Even if she never forgives me, please let me try to explain and tell her how much I love her. Please?”
Once again he paused and listened. Nothing. Disheartened, he lowered his gaze. There were no footprints visible on the dead leaves littering the ground but a spot of brightly colored cloth did catch his eye.
He waded amongst the thorny brambles until he was close enough to see that the torn scrap of fabric was of yellow calico and bore the same tiny, flowered pattern as Charity’s skirt. Moreover, her discarded bonnet lay on the trail just beyond.
“That way.” he said aloud. “She went that way. Thank the Lord.”
Drawing a deep breath, Thorne shouted, “Charity,” with all his might.
Instead of the reply he had expected, he heard her distant, panicky scream.
“Don’t bother yelling,” Cyrus said cynically. “It won’t do you any good. It’s just you and me. And pretty soon it will be just me.”
“Did Louis Ashton send you?”
“What if he did?”
“I’m not the one you want. I’m not Mrs. Ashton,” Charity insisted. “You must know that. Look at me. Don’t you recognize me from San Francisco?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t really care. I’ve been watching you and that brat for hundreds of miles and if you’re not his mama you sure act like you are. If I have my way, he’ll be next.”
“Jacob?” she gasped. “You wouldn’t hurt an innocent child, would you?”
The assassin laughed. “I’d do in my own grandmother if it paid enough. Now, suppose you just hold still and let me get this over with.”
The notion of standing there, as meek as a lamb, and letting him kill her was ridiculous. She didn’t know what she was going to do or how she was going to escape but she did know she was not going to succumb without fighting back.
She cast around for a weapon. Anything would do. But other than a few fallen, rotten limbs there was nothing within reach that she could use for defense.
Trying to flee was also futile. Not only was she hampered by her voluminous skirts, she could already feel the creeping return of fatigue from the aftermath of her fever. She had spent—had wasted—what little strength she’d had in reserve and was now paying for her folly.
Backing away slowly, she decided to at least try to put a substantial tree or two between her and the evil man. That was when she noticed that he had propped his empty rifle against a rock instead of reloading it after he’d shot and missed. He was presently fiddling with an arrow though he had no bow that she could see. Surely, he didn’t think he could seriously harm her if he couldn’t fire that arrow.
Charity saw him open a pouch at his waist and stick the tip of the arrow into it with a stirring motion. Suddenly, she knew what he was planning. She’d heard tales of poisoned arrows from Leschi as they had traveled together and had felt sorry for the hapless game those arrows had brought down. Now, she feared she was about to find out exactly how the animals had felt as they had breathed their last.
No! her heart screamed. I cannot die like this. Thorne will be devastated.
The pure truth of that thought cleared her mind and forced her to see what her pride had made her keep denying. She did still love Thorne, deeply and irrevocably. In spite of his past, in spite of his deception, and in spite of, or perhaps because of, Jacob, she loved that stubborn, wonderful man with all her heart and soul and every ounce of her being.
“Get away from me. I told you, I’m not Naomi Ashton,” she shouted at her attacker. “I’m Charity Beal. All I’ve been doing is helping take care of her and her little boy.”
“That’s really too bad. You see my problem, don’t you? You know too much. I have no choice but to start with you and then go after the real Naomi, assuming you’re not lying about who you are.”
“I know who you are,” Charity said, stalling for time. “You were a lodger at the Montgomery House hotel when the Ashtons were there.”
“Now that you mention it, you do look a lot like that girl who worked at the hotel. She was paler and not nearly as able as you seem to be but I suppose it is possible.”
“Of course it’s possible, you dunderhead. I’ve been traveling with Naomi. We’re both blond and blue-eyed and you’ve gotten us mixed up.”
“Doesn’t change anything,” Cyrus drawled, displaying the arrow. “You hold still now and this will be over before you know it.”
Charity fisted her hands of her hips. “I’ll do nothing of the kind.”
“Have it your way.” With that he grasped the arrow as if it were a spear and started to close the short distance between them.
The gulp of air that filled her lungs was quickly expelled in a piercing shriek.
She turned at the same instant, hiked her skirt
s and ran for all she was worth.
Thorne heard Charity’s scream. It made his hair stand on end. He braced, listened and heard more ruckus just ahead.
He shouted her name as he tore through the brush. If anything bad happened to her, he didn’t know how he could go on, let alone find happiness again. She was everything to him. And she didn’t even know it.
He broke through to a small clearing in time to see flashes of bright yellow moving in and out through the trees. Thank God. That was Charity’s dress. He had almost overtaken her.
A man’s coarse shout and muttered curses echoed back to him and chilled his soul. As he had feared, Charity wasn’t alone. Someone was pursuing her.
Thorne doubled his efforts, moving so swiftly he felt as if his boots barely touched the ground. He traveled on pure instinct, without thought, without plan, without the least concern for himself.
Low-hanging branches slapped and scraped his face. He felt nothing, cared about nothing except reaching the woman he loved.
He shouted, “Charity,” at the top of his lungs.
On the returning breeze he heard the sweetest sound of all. She called back, “Thorne.”
If his name had not been so heavily tinged with panic, he would have rejoiced.
Spent and gasping, Charity nevertheless managed to answer Thorne’s summons. She knew then that if she did not yield to the painful stitch in her side, she would soon collapse into a helpless mound of vulnerability. She could not go on like this. She had to rest, if only for a moment. And now that she knew Thorne was close by, she took the chance that he’d arrive in time.
Whirling and holding up her hands to fend off her attacker, she hoped and prayed he wouldn’t prick her skin with the poisoned point of the arrow.
Wilderness Courtship Page 19
