She sang as she combed and braided Sasha’s hair. Maybe if Rebecca couldn’t find someone to take Heidi, she’d talk to Wyatt when he returned with Jakob. The house was small, but the yard was big. They could add another room. Why not? Charlotte wanted a big family, and Wyatt loved children. If Jakob made a good impression on him, then maybe he’d agree. Oh, she knew it was silly to make all these plans when things were still tentative and unsettled between them...but it felt so wonderful to be silly, and happy and hopeful for the first time in years.
She pressed a hand to her lips, hardly able to bear the excitement. Soon.
Soon.
Chapter Nineteen
“Can’t say I understand,” Mason said as he stared at the deputy badge Wyatt had set on his desk. “Does this have anything to do with what Miss Ward told me?”
Wyatt narrowed his gaze. “What did she tell you?”
“About your service for the Union in the war.”
The raw taste of blood stained Wyatt’s tongue. It didn’t matter how the old woman had found out. Now everyone would know what he’d done. Everyone. “I’d take it kindly if you don’t tell Charlotte right off.”
“I figure that’s your responsibility.”
It was, but Wyatt couldn’t go back to her or he’d be tempted to stay. He set his jaw. “My responsibilities are met. I’m leaving.”
Mason’s gaze pierced through him. “Running away won’t solve anything.”
The sheriff had come too close to the truth. Wyatt was running, had been running since the war. Only in these past couple of weeks had that changed, and he’d liked it. He’d liked everything about this life, but now the past, and Baxter, were catching up to him.
He hated disappointing Mason. The man had given him his first real chance to come clean and start over. But to protect Charlotte, he had to convince everyone, including Mason, that his marriage was a sham. That meant portraying himself as the worst sort of man on the face of the earth—a man who cared for no one and nothing but money.
“You can’t say anything to change my mind.”
Mason rose to his feet. “I can’t accept that. You have the makings of a fine lawman.”
Wyatt reveled for the briefest moment in the sheriff’s vote of confidence, but for Charlotte’s sake, he had to break all ties. He took a deep breath and put his plan into motion. “Believing that would be your first mistake. The second was hiring me. I work for the highest bidder, and that’s not some lowly deputy job.”
Mason looked rightfully angry. It was working.
Wyatt moved to the next stage. “That’s why I married Widow Miller—for her money. That’s right. She paid me. Now she has the kid she wanted, and I’ve got the cash. My end of the bargain is done, and I’m leaving.”
Before Wyatt knew what was happening, the sheriff’s fist slammed into his jaw. Wyatt staggered but didn’t fall.
“Get out of here,” Mason growled.
Wyatt hated the feeling in his gut, like he’d betrayed the best man he’d ever known, but he had to do this to save Charlotte and Sasha.
“My pleasure,” he spat out, each word taking a chunk out of what was left of his soul.
He yanked open the door, strode out and plunked his Stetson back on his head. His jaw was going to swell and turn purple. Good. It would both disguise his appearance and make his sudden exit all the more believable.
* * *
“Everything will turn out perfectly,” Charlotte said to Holly as she watched the children sort themselves into groups of boys and girls.
After meeting at the schoolhouse, they’d walked to the wide-open land north of the last house on First Street. The empty fields gave the boys plenty of room to hit a baseball while the girls gathered wildflowers to press.
“Of course it will,” Holly replied. “Especially if Wyatt finds Jakob.”
“He will, but that’s not what I meant. Stop trying to change the subject. You need to let me take measurements.”
The schoolmistress frowned. “I don’t need a new dress. Besides, Mason loves me just the way I am. I don’t need a fancy dress to attract his attention. Why don’t you keep it for yourself?”
“You know I can’t wear that color with my peculiar red hair.”
Holly laughed. “Your hair is neither peculiar nor red. It’s strawberry-blond and the envy of every woman in Evans Grove. Trust me, you’d look good in any color.” She leaned close to whisper, “And Wyatt will certainly notice.”
Charlotte’s cheeks heated. She’d been bursting to tell someone that her relationship with Wyatt was moving closer to a real marriage, but she hadn’t wanted to explain what that meant in front of Rebecca. The orphan agent might not take kindly to knowing that they’d circumvented Society rules in order to keep Sasha.
After Rebecca left them to ask Heidi why she hadn’t joined the play, Charlotte had her chance. “I think he already notices.”
Holly laughed. “Of course he notices. He’s been noticing you since the day he got here.”
Before last night, Charlotte would have doubted it, but today she felt new life blossoming. Like the world around her, she’d awoken from a long winter and looked forward to a new day. By this time next year, perhaps her family would grow.
Holly stared at her. “What happened?”
Charlotte giggled like a girl. “It’s just, well, I think things will work out.” Against all reason, tears rose to her eyes, and Holly squeezed her hands.
“Of course they will. God’s in charge, after all, and all things work for good for those who love the Lord.”
Charlotte smiled at her friend’s solid faith. Charlotte did love the Lord, truly she did, but she had for as long as she could remember, and nothing had worked out. Charles wouldn’t or couldn’t love her. Then he’d suddenly died. Was God at work in that? Surely not. And yet, Wyatt’s arrival in town certainly hadn’t seemed like a blessing at first. Even the arrival of the orphans had started with a tragedy—one that the Lord had turned into a gift for the town, and especially for Charlotte.
“Holly! Charlotte!” Rebecca interrupted their conversation. “Do you smell smoke?”
Charlotte hadn’t noticed, but now that Rebecca mentioned it, she did. She scanned the horizon to see where it might be coming from, but Holly found it first.
“The schoolhouse!”
“Impossible,” Charlotte said. “Nothing seemed amiss when we left the school, and there hasn’t been any lightning. Did you light the stove this morning?”
She and Holly looked to Rebecca, who shook her head. “I haven’t lit it in days.”
Holly’s expression wound tighter than a watch spring. “It’s either the schoolhouse or my house.”
The sickening feeling hit them all at once.
“Go,” Charlotte urged. “We’ll watch the children and keep them busy.” She could see the boys had already noticed the dark column of smoke.
Rebecca agreed, though she looked just as anxious to discover if the fire was at the school. “Bring us word as soon as you know.”
“I will,” Holly shouted as she bolted toward town.
“I hope it’s an empty building.” Rebecca gnawed her lip. “Not the schoolhouse. And I hope it’s not Holly’s house. Where would she and Mason and Liam live?”
“His old place, I assume.” But Charlotte knew that a roof overhead wasn’t all Holly would lose. Her house held her beloved books, her grandmother’s teapot and her cat, Dickens.
“But what if it is the school? Everything Heidi and I brought with us is inside. What would we do? Where would we go?” Rebecca blinked back tears.
“I can manage the children if you want to go.” Though in truth, the smoke had so captivated the boys that she was beginning to doubt the two of them could keep control of the group.
Rebecca looked at the children before shaking her head. “It won’t matter if I’m there or not. Better we keep the children preoccupied.”
What a brave woman! Charlotte hugged her. “Don’t
worry. Whatever happens, we’ll take care of you and Heidi.” She offered a hopeful smile. “As Holly would say, everything will turn out for good for those who love the Lord.”
* * *
Wyatt finished the note to Charlotte and set it in the middle of the table where she would find it. The letter detailed the arrangements he’d made with Curtis Brooks. The money Charlotte had given him would be held in a special account for Sasha. The banker assured him it would earn a good rate of interest. Wyatt had also set up another account where he’d deposit money whenever he could to help support Charlotte and Sasha. Brooks had assured him Charlotte would have full access to that account.
Then he’d ended the note by telling her he’d fulfilled the terms of their agreement and was leaving for San Francisco. Better he jab the knife in deep and cut through her heart in one stroke. That way only her emotions would suffer. In time, she’d recover, for she had Sasha. That little girl meant everything to her.
His hand shook as he set Sasha’s jar of drooping geraniums on top of the note. Pinkish pollen sifted onto the paper.
“Goodbye, Charlotte. Goodbye, Sasha.”
He pressed a kiss to the paper and then gathered his saddlebags. Next he’d get Dusty from the livery and head west. By the end of the day, he’d reach Greenville, where he could start trailing Baxter.
Hope flickered for an instant as he ran his fingers one last time over Charlotte’s chair. If he discovered the truth about Baxter soon enough, he could tell Mason and have the man arrested. Maybe then, he could return.
He shook his head. Foolish hope.
She’d still know innocent women and children had died in the fires he’d set. The worst woman on earth didn’t deserve such a man.
He rubbed his sore jaw. The best thing he could do for Charlotte was stay away—and ensure that Baxter wasn’t in a position to harm her or anyone else ever again. That man was doing something terrible with the orphans that came into his care, and Wyatt would put an end to it and Baxter in one final blaze of retribution.
His gaze slipped over the bed, neatly made, the sunburst quilt vibrant in the morning light. Charlotte must have made it. He walked to it, drawn like a moth to flame. A fine, curling hair shimmered in the sunlight. He wound it into a coil and put it in his breast pocket, closest to his heart. If matters got out of hand and Baxter shot him, he’d take a part of her with him.
Then, before the pain got too much, he walked out of their lives forever.
Chapter Twenty
The fastest route to Greenville was to cross Evans Creek at the mill and then head west across open country. The train dipped to the south, and the stagecoach road meandered through the northern villages between Evans Grove and Greenville.
Wyatt rode toward the mill at a brisk pace. The livery boy had asked too many questions already, and Wyatt didn’t want anyone else to stop him. Misleading Mason had been tough enough.
Coward. The word rang in his head as he headed up Fourth Street. He should have told Mason the truth. The man deserved that much. So did Charlotte. Leaving a note was the coward’s way out, but the less she knew, the better off she’d be.
He stiffened his resolve, but he couldn’t help looking down Liberty toward his former job. To his surprise, men raced away from him. Wagons stormed in the same direction. Men shouted. Women stood on their porches, staring toward the other end of town. Something big was happening.
Wyatt halted Dusty.
“We need a bucket brigade,” someone yelled.
Then Wyatt spotted the column of smoke. Fire. A big one. He squinted into the bright morning sun. The building was located past the town hall, but on the same side of the street.
Wyatt’s heart stopped.
The school!
Charlotte and Sasha had gone to the schoolhouse to talk to Holly and Rebecca. They might be trapped inside. Visions of Atlanta flashed through his mind. The buildings a ball of flame. All civilians had been ordered out of town. Wyatt had seen the columns of people carting their life’s belongings with them. But he’d felt only anger toward them for all the death they’d caused. Sherman ordered the troops to burn anything that could aid the military, but Wyatt laid his torch to houses. That’s when he heard the screams, saw the shadows flitting across the blaze. Women, old men, children...he didn’t know. All he knew was that they’d died horribly, and he had lit the blaze.
Not again.
Wyatt spurred Dusty into a gallop and raced toward the fire. Charlotte. Sasha. He imagined them trapped inside the burning school, pounding on the window as the flames consumed them.
No, not Charlotte. Not Sasha.
No, God. If You exist, please don’t make them pay for my sins. Take me. Take me. Take me instead.
He wove Dusty around the scurrying people, but a mass of carts and wagons blocked the street near the fire. Wyatt spurred Dusty over a water trough and down a porch. Emerging on the other side, he saw what he’d feared.
The school was ablaze. Flames shot high in the air. All four walls were on fire, and the front door was still shut.
Wyatt leaped off Dusty and ran for that door.
Charlotte. Sasha. He had to save them.
Strong hands grabbed his shoulders and yanked him back. “Hold on there, Reed. You’re not going in there.”
Wyatt spun away, frantic. “Charlotte. Sasha.” Nothing would keep him away.
He raced for the door. Flames had blackened it. They licked through the hole where the knob had once been.
Men shouted, but Wyatt blocked out their words. He knew only one thing. He had to save his family.
Three more steps before he reached the door. Three little steps.
Then something hit him from behind. The impact sent him sprawling and knocked the wind from his lungs. He gasped and dug his fingers into the earth, determined to crawl into the building if he had to, but a heavy weight came down on him.
“Stop fightin’ me,” grunted a man. Mason.
“Ain’t gonna do you no good.” Bucky Wyler.
The two men tried to pin him down, but Wyatt writhed and fought.
“Now don’t make me bring you in,” the sheriff drawled. “We got more important things to do than keep your sorry behind from roasting.”
“Let me go,” Wyatt seethed. “I have to save Charlotte. I have to get Sasha.” He thought he could hear them screaming, wailing, begging for mercy. “I can’t let them die.”
“Thought you didn’t care about your wife and daughter.” Mason forced Wyatt’s face into the dirt. “Thought you only married her for the money.”
Wyatt did not want to get into a debate while the two people he loved most were dying. Summoning all his strength, he jerked to his right and kicked Bucky Wyler aside while elbowing Mason.
He scrambled to his knees but got no farther because Mason walloped him in the gut. The blow bent him over double.
“It’s too late,” Mason shouted, shaking Wyatt. “Anyone inside is already dead. You can’t save them.”
“I have to,” Wyatt choked out. Not again. It couldn’t be happening again. Charlotte dead. Sasha dead. Just like those people in Atlanta.
With a roar, something inside caught fire and flames shot into the sky. The window panes shattered.
Wyatt buried his head in his hands. Mason was right. Anyone inside was already dead. The fire was too hot. It broiled his face.
“It should have been me,” he yelled into the heavens. “Do you hear me, God? It should have been me.”
Not the innocent. Charlotte and Sasha shouldn’t have had to pay for his sins. His gut twisted into a knot, and his jaw ached. None of that mattered. He’d cast away the woman and daughter he loved. Nothing he could do could bring them back. There was only One with that power.
Closing his eyes, he bent into the dirt like the penitents of old. “Take me, God. Do anything to me that You want, but bring Charlotte and Sasha back. I’ll do anything, pay any price if they can live.”
The fire still blazed. The shou
ts and cries of those fighting the flames still continued, but Wyatt felt different. The despair had gone out of him, and a semblance of strength took its place. Maybe there really was a God. Maybe He actually answered desperate prayer. Maybe Charlotte and Sasha lived.
Wyatt opened his eyes, hoping to see his wife and daughter.
They weren’t there.
People ran every which way, but no Charlotte and no Sasha.
“Why, God? Why take them?” He dropped to the ground, crushed, and his hand landed on something hard. He pulled back to see the glint of gold. Was this all the answer he’d get? Wyatt brushed aside the dirt to reveal a pocket watch. A watch? What kind of answer was that?
Furious, he grabbed the watch and stumbled to his feet. While cocking his arm back to hurl the worthless thing into the fire, he saw the impossible.
Charlotte, with Sasha clinging to her skirts, stood next to Miss Sterling and the rest of the orphans a block away.
“Charlotte.” He gasped for air.
She was safe. And Sasha too. They’d never been in the fire at all.
Stunned by the turn of events, he absently pocketed the watch and staggered toward his wife and daughter.
Mason caught his arm. “I just saw Holly. Charlotte’s not in the school. Neither is Sasha. No one is. They’re all safe.”
Wyatt nodded, still overcome that his prayer had been answered.
“We could use your help.” Mason steered him toward the bucket brigade. “Don’t want it to take down the teacherage and half this town.”
Wyatt took halting steps toward the two lines of citizens. One threw water on the fire. The other soaked the teacherage, which hadn’t suffered any damage yet. Everyone had pitched in. Mr. Brooks took buckets from Mayor Evans who got them from Theodore Regan. Wyatt joined the line after Brooks, who took advantage of a pause to roll up his sleeves, revealing a jagged scar.
“You can take the next one from me,” Brooks said to Wyatt before reaching for the bucket that the mayor held.
Instead of handing off the bucket, Pauline Evans stared at Brooks’s arm. “Where did you get that scar?”
Christine Johnson Page 19
