Chasing Charity

by Marcia Gruver

  Rocking back on his heels, Buddy shot her a piercing look. “You didn’t lock your friend outside again, did you?”

  She gasped. “Absolutely not! Don’t talk foolish.”

  He grinned. “Sorry. Just trying to make you smile. I’ve decided I don’t like seeing you cry.”

  Charity returned his smile. “I’ve given you plenty of chances to come to that conclusion, haven’t I? You must be sick of me.”

  Buddy cupped her chin in his double-portioned palm and pulled her head up, snaring her with the intensity in his eyes. “Sick of you? Oh no, ma’am. Not by a long shot.”

  A peculiar weakness, accompanied by the same warm sensation that afflicted her whenever she thought of him lately, nearly buckled her knees. Except this time the power of her feelings nearly swept her away. When the sky tilted, she refocused to find that the world consisted of little beyond the brim of Buddy’s hat. Shocked by a bold urge to caress the fuzz on his lip, she lowered her eyes and backed away.

  Determined to shake off his spell, Charity raised her head and looked around. He had led her around by the rear door of the dry goods store behind a mountainous pile of empty crates. The stack formed a half circle that butted up against the woods, creating a private, cozy den of sorts. The pine boxes held the mixed odor of whatever wares they’d last held. Some smelled strongly of coffee, some tobacco, and a few reeked with the pungent, clingy tang of onion. Red worked his way along the line, busily sniffing out any odors she had missed.

  By the look of the cigar butts and empty liquor bottles littering the ground, they weren’t the first inhabitants, but the secluded nook was nice.

  Buddy pulled down several crates, testing them with his weight until he found two he trusted. He placed them next to the stack, facing each other, then bowed at the waist and motioned for her to sit. “Milady?”

  Laughing despite her unease, she gingerly sat, straightening her skirt around her legs. Red trotted over and curled up at her feet, while Buddy pulled his seat a little closer and perched on the edge, watching her without saying a word.

  Just as the silence grew heavy, he spoke. “I think the reason you get teary-eyed so often is because you haven’t let it out.”

  Charity jerked her gaze to his earnest face.

  He blushed, but his eyes held steady. “I’m serious. Maybe you just need to have yourself a good cry. A stomp-your-feet, pound-on-something, bawl-for-all-you’re-worth sort of cry.”

  “Very well, if you insist.”

  He held up both hands. “Whoa, now. I didn’t mean right here and now.”

  His panic amused her, and she grinned. A twinkle lit his eyes as a slow smile replaced the fear. She started to laugh, and he laughed with her.

  When they were quiet again, she gave him a shy glance. “I suppose you want to know about Daniel.”

  He eased back a bit. “It’s none of my business really.”

  She scooted forward, bothered by the distance he’d put between them. “That’s not so. After all, you have quite a stake in me by now. One I’m bound to repay.”

  His head swung from side to side. “Nonsense. You don’t owe me a thing. I only hope I’ve earned your friendship.”

  She tilted her chin. “Oh, Buddy, you’ve earned more than that. You have my eternal gratitude.”

  Brows drawn in concentration, he mulled over her words. As if he’d made up his mind, he suddenly leaned across the dog and took hold of her hand. “If that’s so, I hope I’ve gained your trust as well.”

  Surprised at the direction he’d taken, she squeezed his hand. “You know you have.”

  He squeezed back, sending a jolt along her spine. “Will you answer one question for me, then? I’ve no right to ask, but it concerns a matter that’s hounded me since we met.”

  Hesitant, because she had no idea what he might be about to say, she steeled herself and nodded. “Go ahead and ask.”

  “Why were you so angry the day we found oil on your land? It wasn’t just about leaving your house, was it?”

  He had noticed. She knew it that day. Scattered emotions crowded to the surface, all struggling for release.

  What’s wrong with me? I will not cry again!

  She swallowed hard. “I don’t want the oil.”

  He scrunched his brow and lifted his chin.

  “Well, not the oil itself,” she hurriedly explained. “I mean the money, I guess.”

  From the deeper scowl lines on his face, she reckoned Buddy was truly puzzled now.

  He cleared his throat. “Most folks are right happy to get their hands on more dough. Especially that much.”

  She drew up her shoulders and pulled her hand free. “No amount is worth what it’s doing to our town. I detest the sight of those derricks. Especially Mr. Beatty’s number two well—the way it stretches to the sky, belching smoke and steam. It’s an ugly old eyesore.”

  Doing a poor job of stifling a grin, Buddy slumped over and braced his arms on his knees. “Ma’am, that well pumps over eight thousand barrels a day from a depth of seven hundred feet. I hate to contradict, but she’s considered quite a beauty around these parts.”

  “I don’t care. I hate her.” With a forceful swipe of her arm, Charity brushed at her skirt as if dashing Mr. Beatty and his well to the ground. If only she could so easily rid her lap of all the problems clustered there lately—all caused, directly or indirectly, by the oil boom.

  Buddy angled his head. “That’s a harsh tone from such a pretty little mouth.”

  “It’s true. I hate her. And let’s not insult my gender—that hulking stack of iron is no lady. I don’t want to add to the unsightly display in Humble by erecting one like it in my own backyard.”

  Buddy patted her clenched fists. “Dear girl, don’t you understand yet? The boom is here. There will be oil derricks stretched across this land as far as the eye can see. In a year or less, they’ll be so thick you can jump from one to the other and make it clear across town without ever touching the ground. What’s one more going to hurt?”

  She stared at him a moment then pressed her knuckles against her temples. “Oh, Buddy, I hope not. And I sure don’t want Mama to have any part in it.”

  He curled his finger under her chin and lifted her face. “It’s going to happen, Charity. With or without your mama’s well. You can’t stop it, so you may as well reap something from it to make a better life for the two of you.”

  She pulled away. “Why do people keep saying that? We’ve always been poor. It’s all we’ve ever known. But we were happy with the life we shared, at least before Papa—” She cut off a ragged sob just in time. Only an odd little hiccup escaped to give her away.

  Buddy stood, pulling her up with him. He nudged Red’s flank with his boot, startling him awake and sending him scurrying aside. Then his arms went around her again, and she melted against him.

  “You miss him, don’t you?”

  She nodded against his chest. “He was a wonderful man,” she said when she could speak. “I don’t say that because time has sweetened the memories. He really was special.”

  “Why don’t you tell me about him?”

  She searched his eyes. “Really?”

  “Yes, I’d like to hear.”

  Before she realized it might not be proper, she traced circles around the top button on his shirt with her index finger while memories flooded to the surface. Suddenly self-conscious, she jerked her finger away. “Papa was funny. Always teasing. When he came into a room, he brought life through the door. Back then our house seemed fit to burst at the seams with love, joy, and laughter”—she grinned up at him—“and long-eared dogs. Papa bred the finest bloodhounds in the state. They were his passion.” She tipped her head toward Red, falling asleep again beside her crate. “He was one of them. Papa’s favorite. He belongs to Shamus Pike now.”

  “How’d you wind up with him?”

  She grimaced. “It’s a story you don’t have time for. Suffice it to say, I can’t get shed of the old rascal.
”

  Buddy grinned. “He’s a fine specimen, all right. I heard about him in town. A lot of folks still boast about Thaddeus Bloom’s prized hunting dogs. What happened to the rest?”

  Her finger wandered to the button again. “Mama sold them. Every last one.” Aware she sounded like a resentful child, she softened her tone. “I told her I would take care of them, but she said we could barely afford to feed ourselves, much less a pack of hungry hounds.”

  “And you were sorry to see them go.”

  She sighed. “It felt like losing Papa all over again.”

  “It may have been for the best, though, don’t you think? It would’ve been a lot of hard work for a—”

  Her hand came up. “Don’t dare finish that sentence. I’ll have you know I stood toe to toe with Papa from the time I could walk. There was nothing girlie about me growing up.”

  He gave her a skeptical look.

  “It’s true! Papa always wanted a son. When he wound up with me instead, he taught me to hunt, fish, and tend the hounds. I was a scandalous tomboy.” She smiled, remembering. “He even called me Charlie.”

  “Charlie?”

  “Sort of a play on Charity, I guess. But he did have a best friend named Charlie back home in Jefferson, so who knows.”

  “I think I like it. It suits you.”

  Her cheeks warmed, so she changed the subject. “Papa loved to fish most of all, and no man in the county was better at it. He always took me with him ... except on that last day.”

  Buddy cleared his throat. “The day he died?”

  She nodded. “He didn’t wake me that morning. I’ve always wondered why. If I’d been with him, I could’ve done something.”

  “Weren’t you still just a child?”

  “Almost fifteen. Hardly a child.”

  Gentle fingers caressed the base of her neck, smoothing circles of comfort into her skin. “There was nothing you could do. You know that, right? If you’d gone with him that day, you’d likely be lost to us, too. Sounds to me like God intervened because it wasn’t your time.”

  His words tumbled into her head and ricocheted. When they settled, a light flickered somewhere in her mind. Charity had never considered such a possibility. It held the promise of absolution but conflicted with the guilt she’d carried since Papa’s death. She’d need more time to sort it out. “I just know that the day he died, everything changed, and it’s never stopped changing since.” She ground tears from her eye with the heel of her hand. “I feel like I can’t catch my breath.”

  Buddy lifted his head and stared over her shoulder into the woods behind them. “As an eagle stirs up her nest, flutters over her young, bears them on her wings...”

  Her gaze jerked to his. “Excuse me?”

  He took her arm and helped her to settle down on the crate. “I’ve felt the way you describe. I didn’t quote it right just now, but I didn’t find peace until I found that scripture.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “I didn’t understand either until someone taught me about eagles.” He puffed his cheeks and released a long breath. “Let me see if I can explain.” He pressed closer and played with her fingertips while he talked. “You see, a mother eagle works hard to build a good nest for her young. She makes it nice and thick, pads it real good. It’s so comfortable, in fact, that her young would never venture out of it without her help.”

  Charity made a face. “Don’t tell me. She pushes them.”

  “She doesn’t have to.” He grinned. “Old mama eagle’s smarter than that. She flaps her big wings over that nice cozy nest, stirring up all the soft padding until the sticks and straw are exposed. Before long, sticks and straw is all that’s left of the nest, and it doesn’t take much convincing to coax those little fellows over the edge.”

  “Why would she do such a cruel thing to her own children?”

  Buddy quit playing with her cold fingers and enveloped them in his warm hands. “Well, because”—he lifted tender, caring eyes—“it’s the only way they’ll ever learn to fly.”

  Unsettled by his comparison, she stood to her feet. “It’s getting late, and I still have a long walk ahead. I have a pressing errand east of town.”

  He stood, too, bouncing the heel of his hand off his forehead. “That’s right, your errand. I promised to help, remember?”

  “Don’t fret. I can manage.”

  “How will you get there?”

  “The same way I got here—on foot.”

  “Now, Charity, there’s no need for that. Let me take you, or hire you a buggy at least.”

  “Don’t you think you’ve done enough? I appreciate the offer, but there’s still plenty of daylight and...” She paused then continued. “Like I told you before, my errand is of a personal nature, so if you don’t mind...”

  He blushed and took a step back. “Of course.”

  As she brushed past him, Red came up from a sound sleep and loped toward her.

  Buddy reached for her arm. “Charity, wait. About the drilling ... you’re not angry with me, are you?”

  “Angry?” She gave him a warm smile. “No, not anymore.”

  He took off his hat and gave her a wry look. “But you were.”

  She dropped her gaze. “How did you know?”

  “Wasn’t hard to figure. That first day out at your place you were cross about something. Then after that old wolf got after you, you apologized for being mad at me. Didn’t know why at the time and never dared to ask. Knowing how you feel about the well, I’m just putting two and two together.”

  Took you long enough.

  “All right, I confess. I blamed you at first. You know ... because you found the oil in the bog.”

  “Fair enough. How about now? Do you blame me still?”

  Charity shook her head and gave him a warm smile. “Not very much.” Laughing at his grimace, she placed her hand on his arm. “I don’t blame you at all. And I could never be mad at you again.”

  He gave the top of his head an absentminded scratch. “Well, at the risk of changing that, I have one last question.”

  She groaned inside. Buddy Pierce was one truly exasperating man. “Which is?”

  “Don’t you want to see your mama’s financial burden lifted? Wouldn’t your papa want that, too?”

  The air between them crackled.

  Charity sucked in a breath through her nose and held it, but it didn’t seem to meet her need to breathe. She’d have to be more careful in the future what she claimed she could never do again. “I really must be going. I’ll see you back in town.”

  “I’m sorry, Charity. I didn’t mean...”

  After a few paces she turned, nearly tripping over Red. “To answer your question, I wish more than anything I could ease my mama’s burden. I hate watching how hard she works, and I intend to help her just as soon as I find a way to earn some money. However, there’s simply nothing I can do for her now, considering I’m left to provide for myself without a penny to polish.”

  She whirled to leave. As she passed the pile of crates, the corner of her pocket caught on a nail and tore away. Coins and commissary tokens tumbled in a sparkling shower, spilling over the ground. Charity spun, clutching at her ripped dress and staring at her secret scattered in plain sight between them.

  Confusion masked Buddy’s face. He bent to pick up a bright silver piece and held it out to her. “I think I see your point, Miss Bloom. Why fritter away time polishing pennies when your pockets are filled with these nice, shiny dollars?”

  CHAPTER 15

  The coin in Buddy’s outstretched hand glinted in the sun like a circle of quartz. Beyond it, Charity stood like the statue of St. Louis of France—only pretty.

  “It’s not mine,” she finally said, her wide eyes shifting like she’d been caught at something. “At least, not anymore.” She flapped both hands in frustration. “I mean, it never really was.” She pointed behind her. “In fact, that’s my pressing errand. I’m going to return that money to its r
ightful owner.”

  Buddy didn’t speak. She made so little sense he didn’t know how to respond. Even worse, his eyebrows hovered somewhere in the vicinity of his hairline, and he couldn’t coax them down.

  She balled her fists and jammed them onto her hips. “Don’t look at me like that, Buddy Pierce. I can assure you I didn’t steal it.”

  When he couldn’t answer, she stalked past and perched once more on her recently vacated seat. “I may as well tell you. You know every other humiliation I’ve endured—why not this?” She leaned to pat the opposite wooden box. “What are you waiting for? Sit down. I don’t have all day.”

  Wordlessly, he pointed behind him at the coins on the ground.

  She waved her gloved hand. “Leave them. They’re not going anywhere.”

  He forced his brows to relax then sidestepped the dog, who sat with his head tilted toward Charity, looking as confused as Buddy felt. Squeezing between her full skirt and his crate, Buddy sat down. Red trotted over and settled at Charity’s feet with a groan of resignation.

  She drew a breath and dove in. “The money belongs to Elsa Pike.”

  Buddy frowned and rubbed his chin. “Now where have I heard that name before?” Before she could answer, he held up his finger. “Oh, right. The duchess.”

  This earned him a smile. “She’s not really a duchess. Folks call her that in jest. She claims she descended from royalty.”

  “And she really didn’t?”

  Charity shrugged. “No one knows for sure. Her husband acts embarrassed when anyone mentions it. Mama thinks Elsa made it up.”

  Buddy chuckled at the mention of Charity’s feisty mama. “She could be right.”

  “So anyway, about the money...” She began to fidget. “I arranged a little business transaction with Mrs. Pike that fell through.” Her tiny frown became a scowl. “Actually, it was run through by Mama’s sharp tongue. That ornery woman can’t abide to see me happy.”

  He laughed. Her head jerked up, so he traded his tickled grin for a sympathetic smile. “Sorry. You were saying?”

  “It’s my dress, after all. Oh, she made it, true enough, but she made it for me. I should have the right to do with it whatever I please.” She glanced up and sought his eyes. “Don’t you agree?”