Joanne Bischof

by The Lady

  “But do you think you might write that part down for me? That you read on Sunday. The one about being weary?” She tucked her hands in her lap. “I’d like to read it again.”

  His throat was so tight, the answer would scarcely come out. “I’d be happy to.” There seemed no more space for words, so he simply pulled her close and she leaned into him, the side of her face to his shoulder, him holding the back of her head.

  Charlie closed his eyes, knowing he needed to say one more thing. A first for him, and it would be nothing but the truth. “I love you, Ella,” he whispered.

  With her hip in the grass beside his, she curled against his chest, suddenly seeming very small. He sensed he had overwhelmed her, so he just held her, not even caring for an answer. He really didn’t want one, for it would make what he had to do tomorrow all that much harder.

  He would take her home. And he would leave her there.

  C H A P T E R 2 8

  __________

  Standing in the red wagon, Ella looked over to see that Angelina was as downcast as she. The morning had flown by, it seemed, and now with the dinner hour almost over and Charlie’s maps declaring that it was time for the pair of them to turn northeast, it was time to say goodbye.

  “You will be in our prayers.” Angelina’s eyes were wet.

  Ella nodded fiercely. “Thank you.” She swiped at her own cheeks. “I wish I could write you. This place Charlie mentioned where you stay in the winter?”

  “I will give you the address.” Angelina took a scrap of paper and jotted it down. “If you tell me where I can send you letters, I’ll do that too. It would be a joy. Perhaps I can send you a photo of my husband and I one day.”

  The thought was so bittersweet that another tear slid down Ella’s cheek. Combined with the joy of knowing Angelina would one day have her sweetheart, was that of Charlie. And what the time ahead might hold for him.

  She hugged Danielle and then Evangeline, unable to believe that she was truly leaving. But she’d known this day would come. It was time to go home. It was time. She’d told herself that over and over last night while the sound of exotic animals flooded the night air. The knowledge that Charlie was but steps away.

  And that he loved her.

  Feeling more tears coming, Ella wiped at her eyes and glanced around the cozy wagon once more. Took in the lace, the fringe, and the faces of the three sisters she’d come to care for. So very much. Knowing she had another goodbye to say, Ella sucked in a deep breath and forced herself down the wagon steps.

  Earlier, she’d bid farewell to Little Joe and the other people she had come to know. Now, she looked across the way to see Charlie loading another saddlebag onto his black and white horse. He’d borrowed another horse to pull his wagon, and while he hadn’t told her as much, she sensed he’d paid one of the laborers to see Holland and Regina and his wagon safely along in his absence. Charlie was to be gone only two days. She’d heard that soon, the caravan would pull into Charlottesville and the matinee would need its showman.

  She drew closer as he slid a pistol into one of the saddlebags, followed by a box of bullets. Inside he’d already placed her things, including the hair wrap Angelina had given her as a gift. One Ella would treasure always.

  Charlie finished strapping another blanket in place when Regina called him over to the wagon. He spoke with the small woman, then carried over a crate which seemed to hold food. With practiced movements, he tucked a few jars and little bundles into the saddlebags, followed by a knotted sack. Sensing Charlie was close to finished, Ella went to stand by Regina. She reached down and took the woman’s warm hands.

  “Thank you for everything,” Ella whispered.

  Regina waited for Ella to bend down then touched the side of Ella’s face. “A joy to know you, mia cara. A joy.” Her thumb slid back and forth with motherly affection.

  Ella soaked in the sight of her face, knowing how she would miss this spunky woman. Charlie asked for the matches and as Regina stepped away, a different voice had Ella turning.

  “Knock, knock.” Madame Broussard came toward them, her black hair pulled back tight, a cameo at the throat of her dark green blouse. She looked at Ella so coolly that Ella felt it wise to step away.

  “So the time has come,” the woman said.

  Charlie yanked a strap tight and tucked the loose end in. “What do you want?”

  “A warm welcome for starts.” With a flick of her wrist, the Madame lifted up a scrap of paper, silencing him. To Ella it was so small pinched between two fingers, but at the way Charlie suddenly went mute, a shiver of fear slipped through her.

  “This is the best yet.”

  Ignoring her, he moved around to the other side of the horse. The Madame followed him and spoke in quiet tones. Charlie shook his head, his voice low and controlled, but Ella heard anger there.

  The woman said something sharp and glared at Ella. Charlie’s gaze lifted as well—for the briefest of seconds—before answering the Madame. Now he was really angry.

  He walked around the horse and she followed, still speaking. Finally his hands stilled in their work. Charlie rested them on the saddle. The woman watched him several moments, then she slipped the paper in his shirt pocket and strode away. Charlie didn’t move. Head bowed, he stared at the ground.

  Ella came to his side. His eyes were closed. As if sensing she was there, he looked over at her. “We need to be going. You should say goodbye to Holland.”

  __________

  Ella knelt beside the carved bed and looked down at the girl that had been swept into her arms one snowy day. Lying on her side, hands clutching a worn blanket, Holland was asleep. Pink lips puckered. Black lashes fanning her pale skin. Ella brushed her mouth against the silky, round cheek and whispered a prayer for her.

  Then another for the man who was more papa than her father had ever been.

  At the side of the wooden bed was a basket, and Ella pulled out Holland’s blue knit cap, turning it in her hands. Charlie stood quiet in the doorway as Ella felt the wool then reached for the tiny sweater, cradling both to her chest—remembering. She looked down at Holland and slid her hand along her warm back. “I love you,” Ella whispered.

  Tears blurred Ella’s vision, and blinking them back, she let her finger trace the carvings in the side of the petite bed. Moons and stars and little doves. Her thumb grazed over the hand-hewn letters of Holland Lionheart.

  Leaning forward, Ella pressed her lips to those golden curls—feeling the warmth of the baby’s skin. Hearing her gentle exhales. The lump in her throat was nearly more than she could bear. “You take care of your papa, all right?”

  From her side vision, she saw Charlie run a hand down his face. He stepped from the wagon and crossed away, both hands in his hair.

  Ella pressed a kiss to Holland’s silken neck and slammed her eyes closed. Her arms trembled as she gently held the baby close for one more heartbeat.

  Then she rose.

  Let Charlie help her down from the wagon.

  And barely remembered him leading her toward the horse.

  “I’d like to walk,” Ella said. “Which way?”

  Charlie pointed northwest, and using her palms to wipe her eyes, Ella started in that direction. She couldn’t stop to think. Couldn’t do anything but walk because she had to. And to stop and think too hard about it, would change her mind.

  So she walked…and walked…and suddenly Charlie was beside her, leading the horse.

  He didn’t speak and she was glad. It was all she could do to keep breathing. The meadow rose, and above loomed hills and trees which grew darker as the land neared the sky. Ella swiped her sleeve over her eyes. She told herself to keep walking, lasting but a few minutes, until she was sinking to the ground.

  Charlie knelt beside her, his hand warm and strong to the side of her head, pulling her to his chest.

  “I don’t know how to do this,” she whispered.

  She shouldn’t have spoken the words, not with the posi
tion she was putting him in. It felt so selfish. He was taking time to bring her home—all which that entailed—and here she was, on the ground.

  His hand slid to her shoulder and squeezed it. “Let’s get you on the horse,” he said softly.

  She knew he needed to hurry, so she let him help her up. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry.”

  When she placed her shoe in the stirrup, he gripped her waist and lifted her toward the pommel. Ella pulled herself into the saddle and sat, arranging her skirts as best she could. Her gaze fell to Charlie as he moved around to the other side of the horse, took up the reins, and silently led them on.

  C H A P T E R 2 9

  __________

  The land slowly mounting, Charlie led Siebel across another knoll, so thick and lush he’d have thought it had swallowed them up if it weren’t for the trees in the distance telling him they would soon climb higher. Ella rode a ways, silent and sniffing, that sleeve of hers continually dabbing at her eyes. This was killing him. He slowed the horse, dug around in his pack, and handed her a handkerchief.

  After the horse bobbed along a few more steps, she recovered some and asked him to let her down. Charlie gripped her waist and lowered her. She walked at his side, not so near that he might think her his, but near enough…

  “That should be the road,” he said as the land rose into the looming mountains. It didn’t really look like more than a rabbit trail, but this had to be the spot. Ella walked on ahead and crouched in front of a small, crooked sign. Weatherworn and time beaten, she ran her fingers over the name of the pass that Charlie couldn’t read until he drew closer.

  “This is the one,” she said.

  They walked on, the trail firm and grassy as if few had passed on it since the last snow. The air was warm, heavy. Spring flowers budded on both sides of the trail with nary a stone underfoot. Charlie sensed that as they climbed, that would change, but for now the horse had an easy way of it. Though Siebel’s shoe was repaired, that lingering limp made each clomp-clomp-clomp slower than usual. Proved more so as the day wore on.

  The trail continued to narrow. Saplings grew tall on each side, nudging him and Ella together, and Charlie minded not one bit. The breeze whistled through leafless branches, rattled budding blossoms.

  Over his life, he’d grown adept at gauging miles. An awareness for time and distance; it was nothing but miles that had always separated them from one town to the other. Each traveled on foot. As a boy, he knew how far to run, how heavy he needed to pant, before he’d reach another mile marker on certain roads. He knew now that he and Ella had gone about four on the steepening path. Confirmed further by the way everything was changing. Dark green shrubs draped along both sides of the road, and some kind of mist was settling around them, cooling his skin, coiling the ends of Ella’s hair.

  “What is this place?” he asked.

  “Just a hollow.” She held out a hand, letting the mist weave through her fingers.

  “But this is a cloud,” he said matter of factly.

  A little light in her eye made him think she was trying to replace tears with smiles. “It happens sometimes as you rise.”

  “Oh. I don’t often go into the mountains much.” Really not ever, but he felt like an idiot to confess that.

  She turned back around. A leaf in her fingertips, she twirled it one way, then the other before dropping it. “There’s a name for that.”

  He waited until he caught up with her and searched for his cheeriest voice. “Is it better than rube?”

  She smiled gently and told him that it was ‘flatlander.’

  When her shoulder brushed his, her hand feeling too right beside his, he stepped away, reaching for Siebel’s line instead. “Yeah.” He examined the area. “I suppose I am.”

  They crossed into a high meadow, the grass spring green and soft underfoot. A homestead loomed in the distance, the garden dark and plowed, seeds no doubt waiting just underground. Siebel was slowing, so Charlie mentioned stopping for a rest. They walked on a while and then Ella motioned toward a pocket of an oak grove where a fallen log would make an easy perch. Following her, Charlie led the horse to where he could roam, then poked around in the saddlebags for something to eat.

  Along with two red apples, he brought over peanuts in a striped paper bag that actually coaxed a small laugh out of Ella.

  “Circus food,” she said, a play of brightness in her cheeks as she took the crinkling bag. “In the woods.”

  Charlie cracked a peanut and tossed the shells at his feet. “Another first. I should have brought some lemonade too.”

  Her faint smile warmed him.

  Nearby, Siebel munched acorns, which was all right, but Charlie knew they would need to be moving on before he ate too many. He gave Ella and the horse a few more minutes of rest then brushed bits of peanut shells from his pants and stood. “We better be going or Siebel’s gonna give himself a stomachache.”

  Ella swiped her hands together and tucked the peanuts into the saddlebag. He assumed she was content walking, and it was just as well for he liked having her near. As the trail climbed into their next mile, the soil darkened. Trees became more and more spindly, stretching skyward in thick groves, all reaching for the sun. Moss grew on the shaded sides of rocks. Squirrels scampered loudly along branches. The path here was rutted with gnarled roots weaving this way and that, so their steps were slow as Charlie led Siebel up the winding trail. The horse kept favoring that front leg. A fact which had Charlie wary.

  Afternoon was passing and the first nip of coolness tinged the air. Then the quiet was interrupted by footsteps and voices. Charlie listened a moment as they walked, wondering if Ella did too. Seconds later, she lifted her head in that direction and Charlie spotted two men striding toward them. With guns slung over their shoulders and a pair of pheasants in a meaty grip, their business was clear.

  “Do you know those people?” Charlie asked, more for curiosity sake. He didn’t know how it worked for country folk.

  “Possibly.”

  The distance closed between them and he could sense Ella scrutinizing the strangers. It was just as well since they were doing the same. Having drawn nearer, the hunters slowed. Charlie pressed a hand to Siebel’s side, bringing him to a stop.

  “Good afternoon,” Charlie said when Ella was silent.

  “Evenin’.”

  The man had a point, but Charlie had been trying to ignore that fact.

  One of the men looked from him then to Ella where he lingered. His gaze skimmed her blonde hair, her face. He doffed his floppy hat. “Might you be one of the Beckley girls?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said.

  His air was friendly. “Ya look just like your mama.”

  Her surprised catch of breath held a pocketful of meanings.

  The man looked from Ella’s bare ring finger to Charlie. Not really wanting to explain the tale, Charlie reached out a hand. “Charlie Lionheart.” They shook and the man seemed to size him up. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  With a dip of his head, the man spoke. “Headin’ home, Miss Beckley?”

  “Yes, sir. How many miles would you say it is from here?”

  The man scratched his balding pate and glanced back. “’Bout seven.”

  Not good. Charlie did a few calculations as the pair made small talk about the area, the people. Suddenly feeling fidgety, Charlie was glad when the men bid their farewells.

  “You rubes are strange creatures,” he finally said. “I thought those men were gonna stay and talk forever.”

  “We are not strange. They were just being friendly.” She gave him a small nudge with her elbow. “And it’s not very nice to call people rubes.”

  The side of his mouth lifting, he paused. Then he scratched the back of his head and wondered if she was waiting for a response. Unable to walk away from the challenge, he thought a moment, then spoke in Ciazarn. Knowing she wouldn’t understand, he asked her if she knew how beautiful she was in that yellow dres
s of hers.

  Her eyebrows tugged together in clear confusion and he laughed.

  “If you had a drop of circus blood in you, you’d have known what I just said. So that would make you a rube.” He paced closer, cupping her face in his hands. “But, my dear,” he said softly, soaking in the sight of her stunned face for he was taking himself by surprise as well. He whispered as quiet as he could, “You called me a flatlander, so you started it.”

  He felt her smile form beneath his hands, saw it, bright like the sun. Mercy, he wanted to kiss her, so he pulled away and clicked his tongue, nudging Siebel onward.

  They passed several more farms and outcroppings as the sun drooped below the tree line. Here and there a dogwood was giving up its blooms. Charlie asked about her family and she told him of her parents, Milly and Holden. And while they stopped by a creek to water the horse once more, she described brothers and sisters.

  Charlie leaned against a tall, spindly tree, and as Ella rinsed her hands in the gurgling water, she explained that she was the eldest, and then there was Elizabeth and James, the twins, two years younger than her, who had both married and had homes of their own. Next was Connor, who was fifteen. Danny was coming up on ten, and young Beth would soon be eight.

  Having learned long ago how to sort strangers, he paired the names and numbers together, then filed them away in the back of his mind. He moved to the creek’s edge and filled a water skin, fastened it to the saddle, then took up the horse’s reins and motioned for them to walk on.

  “Are you doing okay?” he asked.

  She gave what seemed like a forced smile. “It’s good to be going home.”

  “I’d imagine so.”

  “But I will miss you.” Her blue eyes followed his movements as he walked.

  He wanted to tell her that he missed her too. Already. More than she could possibly know, but he held his tongue, because God help him he was trying to retain some shred of sanity. But he didn’t want her words to hang there, so he bent toward her and pressed a kiss to her warm hair, cupping the back of her head ever so gently. He hoped that said what he couldn’t.