Chasing Charity

by Marcia Gruver

  Magda sighed and settled again onto her pillows. “I just can’t figure it. How did Charity leave if Nash didn’t drive her, and where did she go?”

  Bertha’s heart lurched, but she kept her peace.

  Magda cast an accusing glance. “You reckon she knows about the house?”

  “She’s bound to by now.”

  “Then where could she be, Bert? And in this storm? She’s been gone an awful long time.”

  Bertha let go of the checker. “Hush and play. It’s your turn.”

  Outside, what started as a heavy patter on the porch became a ruckus of hard-driving rain. Magda heaved herself up and rushed to close the window. “Honey, I think that’s hail. I sure hope we don’t get us a tornado.”

  “Me, too, but I wouldn’t be surprised. A good twister’s long overdue.”

  Magda released the tasseled shade and spun around to face her. “Charity’s out in this! Aren’t you the least bit worried?”

  Bertha shrugged. “She’ll turn up by suppertime.” Magda’s hard stare from across the room weighed her down, but she kept her attention on the game.

  “Sometimes you’re too harsh with that girl.”

  She looked up. “I don’t go to be. Life is cruel. I want her fit to handle it.”

  Magda bent close to the window and took one more peek at the weather. “There’s a limit to what a person can take.” She turned and held up one finger in a cautionary gesture. “Mark my words—keep it up and she’ll turn on you.”

  Bertha struggled to keep her voice even. “She already has.”

  “Tommyrot. That child loves you more than life. She’s a good girl, to boot. Count your blessings, Bertie. Suppose you had to contend with my—”

  “Emmy!”

  Magda froze at Bertha’s cry then followed her nod to the head of the stairs where Emmy reclined against the newel post. “Well, well. So you decided to come out of hiding. How long you been standing there?”

  The girl didn’t answer. Hand in front of her face, she studied her tapered nails as though they held the answers to all of life’s questions.

  “Emily, I’m talking to you.” Magda walked to the lower landing and stared up. “You may as well come on down. You can’t eavesdrop on folks once they know you’re there.”

  With an angry swish of her skirts, Emmy flounced down the stairs. On the bottom step, she turned a surly face to her mama. “I’m hungry. Were you planning to let me perish?”

  Magda snorted. “There was no danger of that.”

  Sucking in her middle, Emmy looked down and wrapped her hands around her tiny waist. “Whatever do you mean? Why, look at me wasting away. I haven’t eaten a bite for days.”

  Her mama raised an eyebrow. “Stolen provisions don’t count? What about the food you’ve pilfered from my kitchen every night?”

  “Mama, take that back! I never did.”

  “Emily, gnawed drumsticks don’t naturally sprout from hedges, nor do lamb chops spring up in front yards. You’ve littered the place with your leavings. Did you think no one would notice?”

  Emmy raised her chin and turned away. “Why blame me? There’s no telling what’s subject to spring up around this house.” She flashed a pointed glance at Bertha. “Or who.”

  Not one to be trifled with, Magda advanced on Emmy, her voice a threatening growl. “After the shenanigans you’ve pulled, young lady, it would serve you best to lower that nose and act civil.” She pointed. “Get over there and apologize to Bertha; then march into that kitchen and fetch yourself some food. No one will be serving you today.”

  Emmy dashed over and curtsied. “Sorry, Aunt Bert.” Skirts rustling, she scuttled into the kitchen.

  Watching her go, Bertha grinned. “Them rosebushes sure tore up that pretty face.”

  “Looks like she hit every one. The very idea, skulking about the windows of her own home trying to break in. She scared the dickens out of me. Served her right to meet the business end of a thorn or two.”

  Bertha leaned against the chaise and chuckled. “Now who’s being harsh? Still, I bet it’ll be quite a spell before she tries it again.”

  Magda grunted and picked up her cup. “It better be.” Thunder shook the house as she settled on the divan to finish their game.

  Bertha stole a casual glance at the window, her heart crowding her throat.

  Magda moved as if to play her turn, but her hand crossed the checkerboard instead and gripped Bertha’s fingers.

  Startled, Bertha looked up into caring brown eyes ... and felt her armor slide. “Oh, Magda! Where could she be?”

  ***

  Emmy found a fresh loaf in the bread box and cut thick, crusty slices from the end. The corner pantry behind her yielded a jar of muscadine jelly. She scooped fat globs onto buttered bread and spread it clear to the edges. Her mouth watered before she could close the sandwich and get it to her lips. Grateful for something besides fried meat, she took a huge bite and rolled her eyes toward heaven. After pouring a tall glass of milk, she leaned against the counter and stared out the window at the storm, her thoughts turning to Daniel.

  Her need for Daniel Clark rivaled her need to breathe. She wondered where he was at that moment. Did he think of her even now, yearn for her as she did for him? No one had ever made her feel the way he did. One glance from him and all was lost—her upbringing, her morals, her family ... even her best friend.

  Remembering Charity, the next bite of sandwich stuck in her throat. She gulped her milk to try to coax it down then lay the food aside. Lightning struck and thunder pealed with a crash that rattled the kitchen window. Emmy leaped away from it, and her stomach lurched. She’d heard them say Charity had gone missing, might be out somewhere in the storm.

  Well, I won’t think of it! I just won’t!

  Emmy turned from the window and picked up the sandwich and milk. She’d finish them later, up in her room. Though she was loath to go back inside her dungeon, anything was better than spending the day with those cackling hens in the parlor.

  She paused at the door. To get upstairs, she had to pass them one more time. After that, she’d hole up in her room until nightfall. Under cover of darkness, she’d sneak back down to the kitchen and pillage for more rations. After all, a girl had to keep up her strength.

  CHAPTER 7

  Charity clung to Buddy’s steadying arm as the wagon raced up the street, spewing muddy water in its wake. The heavy rainfall had emptied the boardwalk in front of the hotel, making it easy to pull close to the door.

  Buddy hauled back on the reins, took one look at the quagmire on his side, and then crawled over Charity to descend, dragging her and her bag off behind him. They ran into the lobby, laughing so hard they had to hold on to each other to stay upright, their sodden clothes leaving puddles on the polished wood floor.

  From behind the desk, Sam stared with an open mouth before loudly clearing his throat. “Say, there ... Miss Bloom ... are you all right?”

  Charity stopped giggling long enough to look over Buddy’s shoulder at Sam then fell into more laughter at the astonished look on his face.

  Before she could regain her composure, Buddy answered for her. “No, Sam, she’s not all right. Can’t you see she’s soaked clean through?” He took her arm and led her to the counter. “The lady’s in dire need of dry clothes. As a matter of fact, so am I.” He held out his hand to Sam, his soaked sleeve dripping rivulets on the counter. “The key to Mr. Allen’s room, if you please.”

  Sam recoiled as if Buddy’s hand was a snake. “I’ll do no such thing. How dare you attempt to besmirch this girl’s reputation. Sir, I won’t allow it.”

  Buddy’s earnest face relaxed into a slow grin. “Pick up your jaw, Sam. I have no lascivious notions toward our Miss Bloom.” He extended his other palm. “That’s why I also need Mr. Ritter’s key. For myself.”

  He gestured at the guest book. “While you’re at it, scratch Lee Allen’s name from your registry and replace it with the lady’s. Mr. Allen has surrende
red his reservation to her, effective immediately.”

  Sam leaned into the counter. “On whose authority?”

  Buddy’s eyes twinkled, but his jaw was set. “Just the man who pays the tab. You see, the current occupants of those two rooms work for me, and I foot the bill for their housing. We’ll find a corner of Mr. Ritter’s room to lay another bedroll. I’ll continue to pay for the other room as long as Miss Bloom needs it.”

  Charity whirled to face him. “Oh, Mr. Pierce, I couldn’t.”

  He pointed at the register where Sam had drawn a line through Mr. Allen’s name. “The deed is done, ma’am. Your protests won’t change it.”

  “B–but I simply won’t t–take his bed from under him and leave the three of you to one room.” Yet even while she objected, she shivered so violently her words came out through chattering teeth.

  Buddy smiled. “Rest easy. The three of us have bunked in closer quarters, I assure you.” He nodded at Sam. “Have someone show the lady to her room while I tend to the buckboard.” With that, he gave her a saucy wink, laced his thumbs behind blue suspenders, and strutted to the door.

  “Buddy,” Charity called after him. One glance at Sam’s frowning face and she amended. “Mr. Pierce ... I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

  Buddy tipped his soggy hat then turned and dashed outside.

  ***

  Daniel Clark huddled in a corner of the hotel lobby among a group of men who had ducked in out of the rain. Feeling a mixture of disbelief and something else, an unsettling, uncomfortable emotion he couldn’t shake, he watched the exchange between Charity and the strange man.

  He’d never witnessed this Charity before—her delicate face framed by damp ringlets of coal and her wide eyes flashing, her head thrown back and her soft lips drawn in a smile full of gleaming white teeth. In all the time he’d known her, she’d never laughed so freely in his presence or clung to him weak-kneed with glee. Seeing her that way stirred something inside him that quickened his breath.

  And then she was gone. Vanished from the top of the stairs, still laughing and chattering like a schoolgirl. Her absence left him as hollow as a gourd.

  The fog in Daniel’s head cleared enough to realize that the men crowded around him were staring, amusement dancing in their eyes. Clearing his throat, he pushed through his mockers, feigning interest in the weather past the front window. “Well, gentlemen, looks like it’s beginning to clear.”

  Their snickers and whispers were lost on him as he hurried to the door and slipped out. Casting a glance at the offending stranger who had run into the hotel alongside Charity, he lowered the brim of his hat to block the persistent light sprinkle and hurried down the boardwalk toward home.

  ***

  Charity released the bottom hook of her skirt and let the drenched fabric fall in a soggy heap at her feet. She stepped free and ran to the corner where she had tossed the wet satchel. Wrinkling her nose at the musty smell the rain had coaxed from the heavy canvas, she slid the bag over the floor then lifted it to the dressing table. Rummaging inside, she pulled out dry undergarments and her last clean dress. Shivers shook her from the draft blowing in around the window frame and under the door, and her teeth chattered until she could hear them.

  There were clean towels and soap beside the basin of hot water Sam had sent upstairs. She freshened up and dressed as fast as she could. The water warmed her some, but her teeth still rattled. Jerking the blanket from the bed, she draped the soft folds over her shoulders.

  The boar-bristle brush in her bag came from Mama’s vanity set, an expensive gift she’d received as a girl in Jefferson and brought with her to Humble. Charity ran it through her hair, feeling guilty for having taken so precious an item without permission.

  With her curls pinned up, the mirror over the basin reflected the image of her old self. So why didn’t she feel like herself?

  Charity leaned to study her face, so clean her nose reflected the light coming in under the shade. A fire she couldn’t name lit her eyes from within and colored her burning cheeks. She put a hand to her trembling mouth to quench the smile she saw there and pushed the truth from her mind.

  She turned from the mirror to look around, and her heart swelled in gratitude to Buddy. The room was small but cozy. From the blanket that covered her to the crisp sheets, the embroidered pillowcases, and the lace curtains at the window, everything smelled fresh and new.

  The gleaming floors were of the same polished wood as the door, windowsill, and corner table that held the basin. Floral paper in shades of blue and green adorned the walls, and a rag rug beside the bed cushioned her feet.

  Noise from the street below drew her to the window. A light rain still fell, but clustered strangers milled about the boardwalk again. She shook her head. A far cry from the days when she recognized every face in town. She feared the discovery of oil would cause Humble to become as bustling and sprawling as nearby Houston. Why couldn’t the confounded oil companies pack it in and leave for good? She wished they’d all hop the first train out and go back to where they came from.

  All ... except Buddy Pierce.

  Charity fell onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. Just who was he anyway, this bull of a man who met her at every turn, the handsome stranger who rescued her and knew all of her secrets? Remembering his teasing and spirited laughter, she hugged herself and smiled.

  Had she ever seen such eyes? Green as a bitter apple and rimmed in brown, they looked right through her. And the size of him! When Buddy pulled her to his chest, she felt small and safe. His arms wrapped around her stirred a peculiar sensation in her middle, pleasant and unpleasant in equal measure. Warm butterflies tumbled in her stomach now just thinking of him.

  She lurched upright. How could she possibly entertain such scandalous musings when only days ago Daniel had stood at her side, Daniel had held her?

  Perched on the edge of the bed, staring at her troubled reflection in the frosty windowpane, she admitted that it hadn’t been the same. She’d never once thrilled to Daniel’s touch or come to life in his presence the way she had with Buddy.

  How can that be? I almost married Daniel Clark.

  Yet she hadn’t once grieved for him the way she had for Emmy. Hadn’t they both betrayed her?

  Charity remembered Emmy’s mournful face turned to the light, pining for Daniel while she grieved over shattered trust. She pictured Daniel emerging from the shadows, saw Emmy embracing him in the moonlight.

  How could I have ever loved that wicked girl?

  Yet her heart was her undoing. Whatever the cost, whatever the fool her devotion made her, she loved Emily Dane more than herself. The faithless girl was the sister she’d never had, and one never stopped loving a sister.

  “Oh drat!” In her angst, Charity had twisted her dress until the thin fabric ripped. Fingering the ragged edges, she wondered if she could fix it. She had only one other outfit not too worn or frayed to wear. Juggling between three dresses made her weary.

  Washing them every week became a challenge. Scrubbing wore down the nap more each time. Every washday there were buttons to replace and tears to mend. If only Mama could afford more material. They had tucked away money for that purpose, but the infernal wedding gown had sapped every penny and then some. She toyed with converting the gown into something suitable, but the idea wasn’t practical. The fabric proved too fine for everyday use.

  Amy Jane Pike’s offer to buy the dress struck Charity’s mind like a thunderclap. She could afford material for three, maybe four dresses with that kind of money.

  As fast as she remembered Amy Jane, she realized something else. She was on her own now. In order to survive, she would need every penny that fell into her hands for necessities. Nothing more. The thought filled her with regret ... and fear.

  “Young Mr. Pierce said you and Bertha may come by some money.” Mother Dane’s words came to her unbidden.

  If oil truly lay under their land, buying clothes would never be a problem again. S
he could buy a trunk full. And Mama would never need to scrub another floor. She could replace her straggly teeth with a store-bought pair and afford fancy combs like Mother Dane’s for her hair. Charity imagined her mama gussied up like Mother Dane, and the picture made her laugh out loud.

  Having money could do all those things and more, but she pushed the temptation from her mind. Such thoughts opposed how she felt about the oil boom in her town, not to mention her convictions about the evils of too much wealth.

  A moan from deep within Charity’s stomach reminded her she hadn’t had breakfast, though the hour was well past noon. Her immediate fortune lay in selling her wedding gown. She would go see Amy Jane and then find some food ... as soon as she warmed up a bit.

  She lay back and snuggled deeper into the feather mattress. Drawing the soft blue blanket against her face, she breathed in the fresh, new smell. Clouds darkened the sky outside the window, casting the small room into shadows, while overhead the light patter of rain on the roof pounded out a muted lullaby.

  CHAPTER 8

  Two minutes of high wind and scattered hail and the tempest was spent. Thunder and lightning in a pitch-black sky had been the worst of it. One of those storms that make empty threats.

  By the time Buddy drew near the stable, he had made up his mind. A light drizzle still fell, but what of it? He was already wet, and Charity’s mama would be worried sick if he didn’t set her mind at ease.

  The horse had the smell of the stall in his nostrils and showed reluctance when Buddy made him turn.

  “Giddap, you lazy beast. You ain’t worth your weight in sour oats. Cut dirt, or I’ll trade you for a gasoline engine.”

  The horse laid back his ears but plodded past the livery door. In no hurry to part with his feed bag, he shivered with irritation while Buddy shivered from the cold. A damp chill had penetrated his bones, and he ached all over. Scraping his knuckles and picking up a splinter on the jagged wood, he groped beneath the seat and found a spare saddle blanket. The stale covering would cause him to smell like the stockyard but might save him from the grippe.