Chasing Charity

by Marcia Gruver

  Emmy forced herself to look at her mama’s face. “No, ma’am,” she whispered.

  Mama nodded. “As long as we understand each other. Now git.”

  Even more than having Papa find out, Emmy dreaded telling Nash. She could already imagine the look on his face. He had tended Rebel since the horse was a colt.

  She found him and delivered the message, careful to avoid his eyes. Then she trudged to the house, feeling like she’d sooner face a noose. Not that she minded going back inside her rose-covered prison. Her actions merited worse. The part she couldn’t bear was being shut in with the memory of what had just happened between her and Daniel.

  CHAPTER 11

  The morning dawned clear and milder than days past. The sun, bright and hot outside the window of the Lone Star Hotel, arched warm, hazy rays through the open shade, chasing the chill from the room.

  Not ready to leave the soft cotton mattress, Charity lay on the bed and watched the sky, enjoying the heat of the sunshine on her feet. A pleasant day in the middle of January was common for Texas and a welcome change from the one before.

  Buddy never took her to see Amy Jane like he’d promised. After the wolf encounter, he hustled her to town instead and delivered her straight to her room. Then he ordered a bath brought up and made her promise to take to her bed right after. She found the special treatment downright silly, since she’d only sustained a few bruises and muddy knees, but he insisted. She didn’t argue long. Buddy’s determination and size made him a formidable opponent. Satisfied he had her settled in for the night, he headed back out to her place, and she hadn’t seen him since.

  Wide awake now, Charity stretched then winced at the pain.

  I guess we can add rattled bones to bruises and muddy knees.

  It seemed Buddy was right after all. She had hit the ground harder than she thought. With great care, she rolled to the side of the bed and sat up.

  Patting her hollow stomach, she felt more than heard the familiar growl. Buddy had paid for her breakfast the day before. She wouldn’t allow him to do it again. Today she became mistress of her own fate.

  Amy Jane Pike had expressed interest in her wedding dress. Charity intended to find her first thing and speak to her about buying it. If things went the way she hoped, she could soon afford to pay for her own breakfast.

  Aware of every sore muscle, she stood and hobbled to the basin of water. Cold, but it would have to do; she couldn’t wait for more. She tended to her toiletries, pinned up her hair, and pulled on a faded day dress. The comfortable jeans had beckoned, but they were a mess. Besides, she wouldn’t be traveling on horseback today. She’d have to rely on her feet instead.

  When all was in order, Charity limped into the hall. On impulse, she knocked at Buddy’s door. He didn’t answer. Up and gone before daylight most likely.

  She shuffled past his room and made her way to the stairs. Halfway down, she noted that each step came easier than the last. Moving and using her taut muscles warmed and relaxed them, bringing some relief.

  Sam looked up as she tottered past the front desk. “Miss Bloom, will you come here, please?”

  Too late, she realized Buddy had likely set the old clerk to watch out for her. If so, she might never get out the door.

  Balderdash! Let him try to stop me.

  She steeled herself and turned on her brightest smile. “Morning, Sam. Lovely day, is it not?”

  He glanced toward the window. “Yes, I reckon it is.”

  She approached the desk, determined to move with grace. It wouldn’t do for him to notice her stiffness. “Did you wish to speak to me?”

  “Surely you’re not going out?” He posed it as a question. Implied it as a fact.

  “But I am.” She raised her brows. “Is that a problem?”

  He gestured toward the dining hall with a palsied hand. “You haven’t had breakfast, miss. Mr. Buddy says I’m to make sure you eat. Said to put it on his tab.”

  Mr.... who?

  She focused on Sam’s face. If she allowed her gaze to follow where he pointed, she’d be undone. Her nose would take over and chase the wafting aroma of biscuits and crisp bacon down the hall to the dining room.

  “I’m not”—to say she wasn’t hungry would be false—“ready to eat just yet.” A contradiction rumbled in her inward parts, but at least she’d spoken the truth. She would be ready to eat when her own money lay in her hand.

  Sam grew agitated. “Mr. Buddy will be cross with me if you don’t eat something.”

  There. He’d said it again. Her brows rose higher than before. “Mr. Buddy?”

  “Yes, miss. That nice Mr. Pierce.”

  “Two days ago you were ready to string him up. Now he’s nice Mr. Buddy?”

  Sam grinned so wide his mustache fanned out above his mouth. “Well, you see, that was before.”

  “Before what?”

  “Before I came to know what a fine young man he is. He’s taken right good care of you during your”—he cleared his throat—“financial inconvenience.”

  That much was true. Buddy had tended to everything out of his own pocket, all for a woman he’d met only days before. It reminded Charity of a Bible story, the tale of the Good Samaritan. Except this battered traveler was all better now and ready to make her own way.

  “Mr. Pierce has been more than kind.” She leaned in and furrowed her brow. “I’m grateful. Don’t think I’m not. I just can’t let him do it any longer. It’s not fitting. I won’t eat another meal I haven’t provided for myself.”

  “But, Miss Charity, breakfast is included in the cost of your lodging.”

  “And thereby you’ve made my point, Sam. I’m not exactly paying for my lodging, am I?”

  His wide eyes challenged her over the top of wire-rimmed glasses. “Mr. Buddy won’t like it.”

  “Then don’t tell him.” She pressed a gloved finger to his mouth. “Sam, I mean it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to be about looking after my own needs for a change.” She left him there, still scowling his disapproval, and sauntered outside to the boardwalk.

  The sun seemed bent on drying up the mud. Except for a few shaded puddles, only the deepest holes still held water. Charity gathered her shawl about her, ducked into the noisy, milling crowd, and allowed herself to be swept eastward in the general direction of Moonshine Hill. Where the walkway ended just past the hardware store, she took the two steps down to the ground and set out for the Pikes’ place. She breathed a sigh of relief when the drier streets and thinning crowd made her walk to the edge of town easier than she’d anticipated.

  Moonshine Hill, a thriving community two miles east of Humble, sprang up overnight amid the clamor for oil and the clatter of drilling rigs. It had fast become bigger than Humble, the town that spawned it. Shamus and Elsa Pike owned a fair-sized patch of land northwest of there. Not as far from town as her own place, but still a good long stretch.

  The midmorning sun warmed Charity’s face. If not for a brisk north wind, she could have removed her shawl. The day felt crisp and clean with no hint of the oppressive Gulf moisture that often saturated the air. She found herself enjoying the walk.

  Where the path leveled out for a good distance, Charity lifted her face to the sky and closed her eyes. She followed the sun blindly, until the bright light turned the backs of her eyelids white. When she opened them again, for fear of veering off course, shadowy squiggles darted about in her field of vision. She smiled and blinked them away.

  Turning north, she found the trail leading to the Pikes’ house suitably dry as well, so long as she dodged the deeper ruts in the dark, crumbling clay. Overhead a woodpecker knocked on a tree trunk, while a frenzied crow swooped by with a meal in his beak, a contender for the prize hot on his tail. She stopped to watch, curious about the outcome.

  A buck stepped into the clearing a mere thirty feet in front of her and checked the air for danger, his nose tossed to the sky. Charity was still and stood downwind of him, so he took no notice of her. Wh
en he crouched and lunged from the brush then sprang into the forest on the opposite side of the trail, it had nothing to do with her. Something had startled him and sent him darting for cover—something already chasing him.

  The thicket from where the buck had first emerged began to shudder and sway, pulling her attention from the quivering undergrowth that had swallowed him on the other side. With a jolt, she realized another creature had taken the deer’s place. A piteous whine, unmistakably canine, arose from the scrub, followed by a mournful growl. Charity stared hard at the bushes, her heart hammering apace with the woodpecker’s beak.

  Don’t be silly. The wolf is dead. Daniel shot it. You saw it yourself.

  Charity reversed her steps, determined not to turn her back on the devil that lurked in the brush.

  Then what? A second wolf? Something worse?

  She cast around in her mind for a way to protect herself. Could she outrun it? Not likely in a dress. Should she climb a tree? The tall straight pines nearby afforded no low branches. Would the Pikes hear if she called out? She filled her lungs and opened her mouth to scream. By golly, she’d make sure they heard.

  The bushes rustled then parted to reveal the long velvet ears and wrinkled snout of the Pikes’ bloodhound. Red pushed onto the trail, still dragging his ears, his frantic nose snuffling and sweeping the ground. He sensed or smelled Charity and jerked up, eyes alert, body tense. When he recognized her, he wriggled from head to tail. Torn between tracking the deer and greeting his guest, he finally ambled in her direction, grinning up at her through droopy folds.

  Charity released the breath burning in her lungs, and weakness flooded her limbs. “Red, you old scoundrel. You scared me half to death.”

  The big hound wagged his tail and pushed his muzzle into her hand. Red was one of Papa’s, or had been. Six years ago when Doozy birthed nine pups, Shamus Pike set his cap for the pick of the litter. Or, as Mama liked to say, he downright coveted Red. But Papa loved the little whelp from the moment he was born and wouldn’t turn him loose. A year later Papa died, and Mama couldn’t afford to keep the dogs. She sold the rest but gave Red to Shamus in memory of their longstanding friendship. Shamus had cried openly.

  Charity knelt on the trail and pulled Red’s big head close to give him a good scratching behind the ears. “Truth be told, darlin’, I’ve never been more glad to see you.”

  Red accompanied Charity the rest of the way. He marched her through the yard and delivered her to the house, circling and collapsing in a panting heap as soon as they stepped on the porch.

  Charity raised the brass door knocker and let it fall. It struck her as odd, considering Shamus and Papa’s close ties, that she had seldom visited the Pikes’ home.

  In fact, despite Papa’s friendship with Shamus, Mrs. Pike had always regarded Charity and her mama with an upturned nose, due in part to Mama’s scandalous behavior but mostly because she envied Mama’s relationship with Mother Dane. Elsa considered Magdalena Dane’s influence in Humble society to be a prized feather for her cap, so she had sought Mother Dane’s favor for years. Mama she could do without, and she had never found Charity worthy either before her betrothal to Eunice Clark’s son.

  Biting her bottom lip, Charity knocked again. She hadn’t considered that they might not be home, which would mean the long walk was for naught ... and her stomach would remain empty.

  While she waited, she looked around the place. Fronted by trees and bordered by acres of plowed ground, the house was smaller than Mother Dane’s but somewhat larger than her own. The Pikes farmed cotton. Shamus, with the help of hired men, planted every spare inch of his ground and leased more from other landowners, including Charity’s mama. If not for the money he paid to farm their best ten acres, they wouldn’t have survived after Papa died.

  In three directions, the fields were plowed under in preparation for spring planting, with the exception of a patch of winter vegetables behind the barn. The bare, harrowed ground butted up against the tree line, with no other homes in sight. It seemed a lonely existence.

  She raised her fist and knocked again, sure now she’d come all the way to the Pikes’ for nothing.

  “One moment, please.”

  The muted voice behind the door would be Mrs. Pike, because in the distance Amy Jane stepped out of the barn and headed up the path leading to the back door. She carried a galvanized bucket and moseyed along like someone in no kind of hurry. The pail contained milk that sloshed with every careless step, soaking her dress and leaving frothy white puddles on the ground.

  Her attention on Amy Jane, Charity jumped when the door jerked open with a flourish.

  Elsa stood with both hands clasped to her chest and a huge smile on her face. “Charity, dear! How grand.”

  She suppressed a smile. One would think royalty had come to call. Quite curious that Elsa Pike, who claimed to be descended from nobility herself, still seemed to consider Charity of social importance, despite her breakup with Daniel. Perhaps she thought it wise to hedge her bets, in case they reconciled.

  Charity gave in to the smile and extended her hand. “Good morning. I apologize for the early hour.”

  “Nonsense. We’ve been up since dawn.” Elsa stepped back and widened the opening. “Come right in.” She wrinkled her nose and cast a disparaging glance at the ever-optimistic Red. He had risen halfway when she appeared, his droopy eyes hopeful. She shooed him with the hem of her dress. “Scat! Scat, you filthy beast! Charity, don’t let him near you, honey. He stinks to high heaven.”

  Charity had to admit an impressive stench emanated from Red. She sidestepped the fleeing dog and crossed the threshold. “You’re very kind to receive me without notice.”

  “We’re glad to have you. Right this way, dear.”

  Charity followed Mrs. Pike along a dim, narrow hall adorned on both sides with framed tintypes of Elsa’s supposedly blue-blooded ancestors. Staid men trussed up in dark suits and sporting handlebar mustaches scowled at her from the wall. Demure women with upswept hair and high-buttoned collars censured her as she passed. Charity made faces at them before turning her attention to Elsa’s back.

  She had dressed in a gown fit for a party, yet it gaped where she’d left two buttons unfastened. It appeared the crooked sash at her waist, inside out and mismatched, had been snatched up and tied on at the last minute. The state of her explained why she’d left Charity standing so long on the stoop.

  They came to an arched doorway on the left, and Elsa waved Charity inside. “Have a seat in the drawing room, dear. Make yourself easy while I pour you some tea.”

  “Please don’t trouble yourself, Mrs. Pike. I can’t stay long.”

  “No trouble at all. There’s a pot left from our morning repast, along with fresh blueberry scones. Would you care for one with your tea?”

  Charity’s mouth watered. A buttered scone! Such a casual offer of so dear a morsel. The only thing better would be manna served by the hand of God.

  She gave a slight nod. “I might nibble at one if you don’t mind, while I wait for Amy Jane.”

  Elsa clasped her hands again. “You’ve come to see Amy Jane? She’ll be so pleased.” She pointed behind them. “She’s just outside in the ... in the garden resting, poor lamb. She didn’t sleep well last night. As you know, my Amy’s quite delicate. Her aristocratic bloodlines, you see. The slightest thing throws her right off kilter.”

  Charity couldn’t judge her thrown-off kilter, but the six-foot tall, big-boned Amy Jane was anything but delicate. She covered her mouth and feigned a small cough to hide her laugh. Mrs. Pike seemed not to notice.

  “Make yourself at home, dear. I’ll run out and get her then fetch your tea.” With that, she spun and scurried from the room, slamming the back door on her way out.

  Still smiling, Charity stepped inside the parlor. The room hadn’t changed a whit since the last time she’d been inside, and that was a couple of years before Papa died. The same long divan dominated the small space. Across from it, the
same low table and high-backed chairs. Curtains of yellow lace, a wedding gift from the old country, still graced the windows. Behind the divan, the colorful braided rug in front of the stone fireplace gave the room a warm, cheery glow.

  She bypassed the chairs and walked to the window. By her calculations, Amy Jane and her bucket could’ve made it to the house three times by now. Charity was curious about where she’d gotten off to. She lifted the edge of the heavy shade and took a peek.

  Amy Jane stood near the garden fence, staring out across the field, the bucket of milk at her feet forgotten. Her body gently swayed, as if to music, while her long hair kept tempo behind her. Mrs. Pike came into sight, bearing down on her with a vengeance. The serenity on the girl’s face changed to shocked annoyance as her mama descended.

  Elsa plucked at her—untying her apron, straightening her skirts, fussing with her hair—as though she had ten hands, all the while chattering like a frenzied squirrel. Charity couldn’t hear her words, but the bossy tone was clear. She heard perfectly, however, when Amy Jane shouted, “Stop it, Mama!” and slapped her hands away.

  Elsa took up the pail and herded the girl through the gate. When they disappeared behind the house, Charity whirled and bolted for the divan, feeling guilty for having spied.

  In her haste she upset a small worktable and overturned it. The drawer slid out, spilling folded papers and a writing set onto the rug. Charity righted the spindly-legged piece, shoving the items deep inside the dovetailed drawer. She returned Shamus’s pipe stand and tobacco box to the bottom shelf, sending up a prayer of thanksgiving they weren’t broken. Scrambling to the divan, she sat down just as the back door opened.

  After a whispered squabble in the kitchen, mother and daughter appeared on the threshold. Amy Jane sported fresh-pinned hair and a bonnet. Elsa carried a tray laden with a silver tea service, a platter of deep-fried scones, and a collection of jams and spreads. Pushing Amy Jane into the room ahead of her, she placed the tray on the table in front of Charity. After surveying her bountiful spread, Elsa gave a contented sigh and settled into one of the ornately carved chairs. Amy Jane dropped without ceremony into the opposite chair.