Chasing Charity

by Marcia Gruver

  Her lips curled. She tilted her head and laughed, but not the way he remembered. “You think you can smooth things over just by holding me?” Her dark brows lifted—in contempt, not happy surprise. “I guess I should be grateful you got my name right. It must get rather confusing dangling two women on the same line.” One brow rose higher. “Assuming there are just two of us.”

  “Now, honey, you know better.”

  “Do I?”

  He dashed his hat against his leg. “Yes! I ain’t never loved nobody but you.”

  “What about Emmy, Daniel? Can’t you make up your mind which one of us you want?”

  This was all wrong. She should be in his arms by now. Angry at himself, frustrated with Charity, Daniel raised his voice. “Can’t you see I made a mistake? I don’t care nothing about Emmy. It’s you I want. Emmy don’t even matter no more.”

  Charity cringed and covered her face. “How can you say such a cruel thing?” She hurled the question, the accusation, at him in a low moan. “Emmy does, too, matter. She matters to me.”

  It was his turn to raise a brow. “Why? Lord knows she don’t deserve it. That girl’s not fit to kiss your feet. Shoot, she’s not fit to pour out your chamber pot.”

  Charity lifted her face, her features set in stone. “Get out of my way.”

  “Just wait a minute. We’re not done talking.”

  “Yes, we are.” She tried to shove past, but he grabbed her shoulders.

  “No, now! Please listen. I can’t eat. Can’t sleep. You’re all I think about. All I care about. Don’t go like this.”

  The dog advanced, hackles raised. The warning growl he gave was no bluff, so Daniel turned her loose. She lurched away from him and called off the dog.

  Daniel gripped his head with his arms. He had to think, had to find the right thing to say. At the sound of hurried footsteps, he looked up to find that Charity had run up the trail, well away from him.

  He cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted after her. “You just need time to ponder what I said. You’ll come around, and when you do, I’ll be waiting.”

  She didn’t answer or even look behind her. Instead, she picked up her pace, stumbling along the rutted trail as if he were chasing her. Daniel followed, but not too closely, because every so often the old dog stopped and checked over his shoulder, making sure he kept his distance.

  ***

  Emmy knelt in the brush, watching Daniel’s broad back until he reached the far end of the trail. When he made the turn toward town, she gave in to trembling legs and dropped to the ground on her behind.

  A large dung beetle attached to the side of her knee and walked the length of her bare leg, coming to rest at her thigh.

  Emmy stared down at it, smiling at the irony, and accepted the reproach. She shivered at the feel of its barbed legs against her flesh but couldn’t summon the will to brush it away.

  She wished the numbness she felt extended to knees pressed too long against the cold, hard ground. She noted the indention of a pinecone etched into one, leaving a blue-black imprint in her flesh. It hurt, but not like the ache crowding her chest. An intolerable throbbing had started down deep and pushed up her throat in waves that kept time with her heartbeat.

  “Emmy don’t even matter no more.”

  “Emmy does too matter. She matters to me.”

  Emmy fell against the hard ground and surrendered to the pain. She lay in a hollow, a spot wallowed out in the tall brush by hogs. Certain she deserved the sharp sticks and knobby roots biting into her flesh, and the stale, fetid stink left by the last pig to sleep on the dead grass, she started to cry. As she stared up at the cloudless blue sky through a canopy of soaring pine and a blur of hot tears, something Aunt Bert had said years before echoed in her mind—words that had come to her more than once of late, but she’d pushed them away.

  “Don’t live your life for the devil, Emmy. Old Slue Foot plies his wares like they’re treasures. Then when you least expect it, he trips you up and leaves you flat on your back.”

  She’d laughed when she heard it. The words had conjured a picture of the vendor carts at the St. Louis World’s Fair, only Aunt Bert’s peddler hawked his goods wearing horns and a forked tail.

  “Don’t live your life for the devil.”

  She mulled the words over again, feeling as if God Himself had bent to whisper in her ear.

  Yet how unlikely that a holy God would stoop to where she’d fallen or speak to someone sprawled on the ground, laid worthless and bare.

  Would You, God?

  The swaying branches overhead swam into a cluster. Emmy felt, more than heard, a low moan starting in her throat, becoming a high-pitched wail as she cried out her shame. Clutching her face, she rolled over, drawn into a tight ball of misery.

  The sensation that someone knelt beside her persisted. Emmy didn’t understand one thing about it, but she knew in her heart that she wasn’t alone. Something powerful swept over her, carrying her high above the rebuke of pain and the stench of swine, leaving ease and sweet release in its wake.

  When she sat up, she couldn’t tell how much time had passed. She thought she must’ve slept a bit. What else but sleep, though she’d never slept so well or found such peace at rest.

  The sound of an approaching wagon roused her, striking fear in her fragile heart. It had to be coming from home. Theirs was the only house this far down the trail. Maybe only Nash, headed into town on an errand.

  “Emily Bertha Dane! Where are you?”

  Mama!

  Emmy pressed close to the ground and willed herself small. The rig had pulled alongside her now, and she prayed the brush was thick enough to conceal her white nightgown.

  “Where could she be, Bertha? I’ve seen that girl pull some high jinks in her day, but even I can’t believe this one.”

  “That makes two of us. You sure he said she was in a nightdress?”

  Nash, you no-’count scoundrel.

  “Yes, and in broad daylight! I’m going to put her in a convent, Bert, I swear it.”

  “You ain’t Catholic, honey.”

  The rig rattled past, drawing the voices out of earshot. Keeping low, Emmy rolled to her sore knees and parted the high grass to peer out. Well beyond her now, they headed in the direction of town. Nash wasn’t with them, so Mama held the reins, and Aunt Bertha rode beside her. The women sat tall on the seat, the motion of the wheels on the rutted trail tossing them to and fro.

  Emmy watched them, Mama’s head turned to the left, Aunt Bert’s to the right, searching the woods on both sides of the trail. Low in the distance she heard Mama call out to her again. “Emmy? Emily Dane! Land sakes, child, answer me!”

  Her eyes fixed on the distant wagon, Emmy backed out of her hiding place and slipped into the woods. She would have to make it home through the trees without being seen, even by that traitor Nash. Once safely there, she’d figure a story to tell them they’d believe.

  At the edge of the clearing, she crouched behind an overgrowth of honeysuckle vine and watched for Nash. Seeing no sign of him, she dashed across the field to the yard. Reaching the trellis, she scrambled up like a hounded cat and tumbled over the windowsill, landing on the floor with a crash.

  “Why you ain’t jus’ took the door, little miss?”

  Whirling, she came face-to-face with a haughty, indignant Nash.

  “No call to sneak no mo’. They’s onto you.”

  She struggled to her feet and grabbed a quilt from the bed to wrap herself. “What are you doing in my room?”

  Nash, who towered over tall men and loomed over her, filled the room with his presence. His bulk intimidated most people, but Emmy knew him to be as meek as a lamb. He jabbed his chest with his thumb. “What am I doing in here? What I’m s’posed to be doing. Waiting for you, like I’s told.” He gestured at the quilt. “Ain’t no sense hiding what you done showed the whole world. That’d be like tying up the gunnysack after the kittens crawl out.”

  “Why’d you tell
on me?”

  He lowered his gaze. “Didn’t want to. Didn’t when I first seen you shimmy down that trellis in your altogethers. I jus’ shook my head and mind my own business. I guess I be used to your shenanigans by now. But then I heard you squealing like you being skint.”

  Emmy gasped. “Did you tell that to Mama?”

  “No, missy. Didn’t want to scare her no more than I had to. But I was beholden to tell her something in case you was in trouble.”

  She flung herself back on the bed. “Oh, Nash! I am in trouble now. Mama will skin me herself.”

  He nodded. “Yep. When she find out you ain’t dead, she jus’ might kill you. That be a murdering even old Nash can’t spare you.”

  Emmy bolted upright, her fingers clasped under her chin. “But you can spare me. In fact, you’re the only person who can.”

  Eyes wary, Nash eased toward the door. “Naw, now. Uh-uh. Don’t you start in on me. I tol’ you if you didn’t quit flying out that window, you’d lose some of them fancy tail feathers. Now your behind’s showing, and jus’ like always, you expect me to help you cover it.” He held up a restraining hand. “You may as well turn aside them bewitchin’ blue eyes. They ain’t doin’ you no good this time.”

  “I wasn’t doing anything bad, Nash. You believe me. I know you do. Help me think of something to tell Mama.”

  His brown eyes widened. “Miss Emmy, I loves you like one of my own. You know I do. Only I got to make myself scarce on this one.”

  “You can’t! Not this time. Please, I need your help.”

  Doubt flickered in his eyes. He wagged his head, but his voice wavered. “You gon’ lose me my job, Miss Emmy. I got mouths to feed.”

  She had him. Lowering her long lashes, she let her shoulders slump and her arms go slack. “Of course. I understand. Don’t you worry about me none. I’ll be fine.” Trudging to the side of her bed, she plopped back down on the mattress. “I’ve grown accustomed to living in this room.”

  Like a convicted man offered a reprieve, Nash jerked open the door and started out ... then paused on the threshold and sighed. “I reckon if you was to tell your mama she heard me wrong ’bout you running for the woods ... if you was to tell her I found you in the barn tending old Rebel ... I wouldn’t say you was lying.”

  Emmy wanted to run and wrap her arms around him but remembered her state of undress and stayed put. She tried to convey the depth of her gratitude in the fervor of her quiet response. “Thank you, Nash.”

  He glanced at her with hooded eyes. “I’m plain weary of breaking commandments for you, girl. You’ve kept me sorrowful before the Almighty till my drawers be worn at the knees. Try and behave yourself for a spell.”

  She gave a dutiful nod. “I will. I promise.”

  He waved a bony finger in her face. “If you really want to thank me, stay on this side of that window from now on, leastwise while wearing your scanties.” Looking around, he added one last thought. “If your mama don’t nail it shut, that is.” His scowl disappeared, replaced by a wide grin. He closed the door behind him, still chuckling as he made his way down the hall.

  Emmy dropped the quilt and spun in a circle, then fell across her bed. She’d done it again—worked Nash with the skill of a puppeteer and had him prancing to her will. With the aid of her reluctant marionette, Mama would believe her. Oh, she’d call Emmy reckless, lecture her on modesty, and that would be that.

  As she lay staring at the ceiling, an unfamiliar sensation wormed its way into her chest, not unlike the feel of the dung beetle on her thigh. The usually sweet victory bittered in her mouth like an underripe persimmon. She wasn’t herself somehow and wondered if it showed. Curious, she scooted to the edge of the bed and leaned to stare hard at the mirror.

  Her familiar image peered back at her, just the same as before, save a few sticks and leaves in her matted hair. Exactly the same ... except for the eyes. Eyes that gazed back, guilty and troubled, in a way they’d never done before.

  “Oh, pooh!” she told her reflection. “I’m being silly. Nothing has changed.” She’d plied her tricks like always and managed to save her hide.

  She picked up her brush and worked it through her tousled hair, pushing aside the scattered emotions that made this time feel different. Because the difference was, if Emmy admitted the truth, her game had lost its pleasure ... and made her feel like she’d wallowed with the hogs.

  CHAPTER 14

  Charity didn’t slow down until the trail opened out onto town. With a frightened glance at Daniel, still following in the distance, she dashed through a rain-soaked clearing, slip-sliding through the mud in her haste.

  Sensitive to her fear, Red trotted stiff-legged beside her, the hair along the ridge of his back flared like porcupine quills.

  Her dread of Daniel seemed unreasonable. Yet the chill she’d felt while staring into his brown, soulless eyes had oozed around her, encasing her in fright the way sap envelops a bug. His effect on Red didn’t help.

  Before they made the turn alongside Rogers & Grossman’s Dry Goods Store, Red stopped for one last throaty growl aimed in their pursuer’s direction.

  In her heart, Charity knew it wasn’t the first time she’d noticed Daniel’s callous behavior toward others. The confusion came from his ability to turn it off in an instant while his winsome ways and aching good looks lulled her into believing she’d imagined the whole thing. Indiscretions too blatant to overlook, she’d explained away as a onetime occurrence, a momentary weakness. Until today.

  “Charity, wait. What’s got into you, girl?”

  Her heart lurched. Daniel’s long-legged stride had nearly closed the distance between them.

  Red’s growl deepened to a vicious snarl. Charity tapped his head and sped up. “Let’s go, boy.” Wheeling too sharply around the corner of Rogers & Grossman’s, she drove straight into the middle of Jerry Ritter, one of Buddy’s men.

  The poor man shouted, “Whoa!” then grabbed her and spun around to keep her from falling.

  Buddy stood behind him on the boardwalk wearing a surprised grin.

  Mr. Ritter beamed down, aglow with delighted surprise. “Well, shucks. Hello there, Miss Bloom. Are you all right?” He held her wrist and helped her gain her footing. “Best be more careful, ma’am. You’re liable to get yourself hurt.”

  Buddy took the two steps down to the ground. “I thought you reserved that manner of greeting for me. Looks like running folks down in the street is just your little way of saying howdy.” He chuckled. “I have to admit, I’m a mite disappointed.” He sobered, his brows knitting together. “Say, aren’t you supposed to be resting?”

  She shot an anxious glance behind her. “I’m sorry, gentlemen. I’m in a terrible hurry.”

  Buddy drew near and pulled her close, his gaze following hers to the corner. “What’s wrong? You look like the devil’s chasing you.”

  Daniel rounded the building. Red whipped in front of her and crouched, baring his teeth. He cut loose with frenzied barking, his deep bray piercing Charity’s ears. Daniel froze, but the dog didn’t seem to be the thing holding him this time. In fact, despite the fuss Red was making, Daniel appeared not to notice him. His gaze seemed fixed on Buddy’s hands resting on Charity’s shoulders.

  A curse spilled from his sneering mouth and he spun in the opposite direction, his frantic gait from earlier slowed to a cocky swagger.

  Charity released her breath. The muscles in her legs, tensed so long in flight, relaxed in a rush of warmth. It left them trembling so hard Buddy’s hands, still on her arms, were the only things holding her up.

  Lee Allen, whom she hadn’t noticed before, bounded down to stand beside Jerry, his attention on Daniel’s back. “Was that fellow giving you trouble, ma’am?”

  Embarrassed to admit how much, she shook her head.

  Bristling as much as Red, Jerry puffed like rising dough and glowered after Daniel. “If he does, we’ll sort him out for you.” He sniffed and hitched up his britches. “Shouldn’t ta
ke but a minute.”

  “It’s nothing I can’t handle myself,” she protested, not sure whether she told the truth.

  Buddy pinned her with a no-nonsense look. “Did he hurt you?”

  She glanced away. “Of course not.”

  “Threaten you in some way?”

  Squirming, she raised pleading eyes to Buddy’s.

  He gave an answering nod. “You boys go ahead without me. I’ll catch up later.”

  Mr. Allen hooked his finger in Jerry’s suspenders and hauled him around. “Let’s go, Jim Jeffries. You retired from the ring this year, remember?”

  A blank expression wiped the scowl from Jerry’s forehead. “The champ’s retired? Who told you so?” Meek as a baby bird, he followed Mr. Allen up to the boardwalk, still pecking for information. “Huh, Lee? Jim Jeffries quit boxing? Why didn’t anybody tell me?”

  Buddy stared over Charity’s shoulder until their banter and heavy footsteps faded. His chin hovered so near, she noted wisps of whiskers too fine to shave at the edges of his mouth. They were golden brown like the hair curling from under his hat, only several shades lighter. The longer ones curved around his top lip, and she wondered if they tickled.

  His gaze swept back and caught her looking, his soft green eyes turning her heart to pudding pie. He smiled. “Want to talk about it now?”

  The compassion in his voice made mush of her insides.

  Oh no! I’m going to cry.

  She covered her face ... too late. Buddy sheltered her under his arm and gently guided her ... somewhere. When they stopped, he turned her against the front of his shirt and let her weep.

  Though it felt so nice to be there, Charity composed herself as fast as possible and pushed free from his tender embrace. Wiping her eyes on the handkerchief he offered, she stole a quick glance at him. “I can’t imagine what you must think of me. All I do is pout and squall.” She blew her nose, mortified that it honked like a prodded goose. “I hope you’ll believe me when I tell you this is the most I’ve cried since Papa died. Things are so awful now, no matter which way I turn.” She sighed. “I guess I’m finding it hard to cope.”