The front door burst open. Emmy tottered on the threshold, fully dressed this time, but covered in feathery tufts from head to toe, her indigo day dress dotted with splotches of white. Red face swollen from crying, she seemed past caring what they thought.
The sight of her struck Bertha dumb. She reckoned Magda, still holding the needle aloft and staring at Emmy, suffered the same. Without a word, Emmy flew past them and up the stairs. The stench that lingered in her wake left no doubt about the nature of the white splotches. They had come from the same place as the feathers.
The two women gawked until Emmy passed out of sight and her bedroom door slammed shut. After a brief silence, the sound of hysterical crying reached their ears.
Magda broke the spell. “Well, if that don’t beat all. Where the devil has she been this time of the morning?”
Bertha’s disbelieving gaze swung her friend’s way. Magda couldn’t be that dumb. “Where you think she’s been?”
Poor Magda aimed vacant eyes at her. “She looked like she just came from tending the chickens, but why would she get all gussied up for that?”
Maybe she was that dumb. “Honey, Emmy ain’t been tending chickens—she’s been wallowing with them. She ain’t just come in from the henhouse. She came home through the henhouse. There’s the difference. She’s been hiding.”
Magda blinked once, twice. “From what?”
“From us. She seen us on the porch and tried to wait us out in the coop.”
To Bertha’s great relief, despite the crushing and pinching of her body it caused, Magda struggled up from the chair. She faced Bertha with her hands on her hips. “What are you telling me?”
Bertha stretched to work the kinks from her side and lowered her tingling legs to the floor. “She’s been with Daniel.”
After a stunned silence, tiny wrinkles formed between Magda’s brows. “Come now. You don’t really think that, do you?”
“Think it? I know it.”
Fire blazed in Magda’s eyes. “Bert, I’ll skin her. I mean it.”
Bertha shook her head. “Leave her be. What’s done is done. By the look of her, I’d guess Daniel didn’t say what she wanted to hear, though I almost wish he had. Whatever passed betwixt them two, I reckon come tomorrow we’ll still be having us a wedding.”
Magda spun and glared up the stairs. “I can’t believe the unmitigated brash of that girl. And after we warned her...” She looked back at Bertha and shook her head. “No, sir. I’ve had all I can take. I’m going up there to reckon with my wayward child. By the time I finish with Emmy, she’ll swear she’s seen the wrath of God.”
“You’ll do no such thing.”
“She gave us her word!”
Bertha curled her legs into the cushioned seat and patted the space in front of her. “Get over here now. I need you to pluck out this here thorn. After all, it’s your fault I got it.”
Magda pressed the heels of her hands to her forehead. “What am I to do with my daughter, Bertha? Lord knows I can’t control her no more. Should I send her up north to stay with her pa?”
“It ain’t too late to turn Catholic.”
“This ain’t funny, Bert. I’ve reached my wit’s end.”
Bertha smiled. “And that was a trip hardly worth packing for.” She patted the chair again. “Come sit, honey, and let’s talk. That’s right. Come on now.”
Magda ambled over and slumped beside her so heavily Bertha feared her prediction about broken legs would come to pass. She bit back her fear and wrapped her arms around Magda instead. “Give her some time, honey. We been so het up about Charity’s happiness that we plumb forgot about Emmy’s. That girl’s in love, whether she has the right to be or not. Right now she’s hurting.”
Magda sighed. “It’s hard to feel sorry for her. Her own willful nature got her into this mess. What will become of her, Bert?”
“Oh, she’ll be fine.”
“What do you base that on?”
“She’s your daughter, ain’t she? Besides, we gave our girls to God a long time ago. Don’t go taking Emmy out of His hands just when she needs Him the most. Leave God room to work.”
Magda released her breath in a ragged sigh. “I pray for her, Bert. All the time. I actually thought I saw her beginning to change. She’s been different lately. I can’t explain how exactly, but it seemed a change for the good. Did I imagine it?”
Bertha shook her head. “No, I seen it, too.”
Magda’s eyes filled with tears. “I felt so good when she broke down and cried over what she’d done to you and Charity. Before that day, I wondered if the girl had a conscience.”
Bertha nodded and rocked her gently. “Do you recollect how pretty Emmy was as a baby? I never seen a more beautiful child, before or since.”
Magda smiled, a faraway look in her eyes. “She was a delightful child. So precocious.” She shook her head and the smile left. “I reckon we encouraged that for our own amusement ... and look where it got us.”
Bertha leaned to hug her tight. “Oh, honey, she’s still that same sweet little gal. Under that vinegar and sass, she’s still our very own Emmy. We just need to find some way to coax her back to the surface.”
Magda let slip the slightest of grins. “How do you propose to do that? With a bull whip?”
Bertha roared with laughter. “I wouldn’t tote no bull whip into that room tonight! Not with Emmy in need of some way to ease her frustrations.”
Magda laughed along with her then sobered straightaway, her gaze fixed on the landing. “Do you think I should go to her?”
“I wouldn’t. If she don’t come down by suppertime, maybe you could duck in. You’ll just upset each other now.”
Magda nodded.
A commotion in the kitchen caught their attention.
Bertha pushed against Magda with her feet. “Let me up. That’s Nash coming in the back door. I reckon he’s got me some eggs to scramble. I’m so hungry I could eat a bushel.”
As they struggled to rise, the truth crept up on Bertha. A tickle in the back of her mind at first, then clear in a sudden rush. Magda stilled, too. From the look on her face, the same thought had dawned on her. Emmy had been hiding in the chicken house—and Nash had just come from there.
“Reckon he knows anything?”
Magda set her jaw. “If he did, he wouldn’t tell. Them two are in cahoots. That blasted disloyal Nash takes her side over mine every time. I should fire him and be done with it.”
“Fine. Then Emmy would have nobody. You leave Nash to me. If there’s something to be pulled out of that man, I can do it with my cooking.”
Magda grinned. “That might do it. Nash goes weak in the knees at the mention of your biscuits.”
“Go on, then. Move your mountain so I can get up. After I get us fed, Nash can take me back to town. I need to see how Charity’s faring.”
Halfway to the kitchen with Magda close on her heels, she stopped midstride and almost fell when Magda bumped into her from behind. She spun and gripped her friend’s arms, peering up into her eyes. “Magda, you know what I just realized?”
“What’s that, sugar?”
“This is my last day to look after Charity.”
Magda gave her a tender smile and pulled her close. “I doubt that. You’ll be trying to look after Charity for the rest of your life whether she’s married or not.”
Though Bertha suspected the words were true, they brought her no comfort. “Oh, Magda, hurry. Help me get breakfast over and done. I want to spend time with my baby whilst she’s still mine.”
The swinging door opened behind them. When Nash saw them embracing, he lowered his head and started back out again, but Magda’s deep voice stopped him cold. “Get that wheel finished while we cook breakfast. After we eat, I need you to drive us into town.”
Nash’s head whipped around. He stared like Magda had spoken Chinese, then shuffled his feet and worried his shirttail before he answered. “Um ... yes’m, Miz Dane. Only that old wheel be
plumb shot. I was about to ask could I run it on in to the blacksmith. It needs a good patchin’.”
“You saying it won’t take us into town?”
He took a step forward, avoiding their eyes. “No, ma’am, that ain’t what I’m saying. It’ll get us to town, all right. But whilst we there, I s’pose I needs to haul it over to the smithy. See if he can do something to make it las’ longer.” He brightened a bit, as if he liked what he’d just said. “Yes’m, that’s right. It jus’ need to las’ longer this time.”
With one glance, Bertha saw he didn’t fool Magda either. They followed him into the kitchen, Magda eyeballing him all the way. She stopped him before he got to the back door.
“Nash?”
He turned, his smile too bright. “Yes’m, Miz Dane?”
“You feeling all right?”
“Oh yes, ma’am. Fine and dandy. Be a sight better when I’m chomping on Miz Bertha’s biscuits and gravy.”
Magda cocked her head, watching him.
His smile floundered and died. “All right, then. I’ll go see to that busted wheel now.”
“You do that, Nash.”
“Yes’m. I’ll do that right now.”
When the door banged shut behind him, Magda hiked her brows at Bertha. “He’s up to something.”
Bertha pulled the heavy iron skillet off a hook on the wall. The weight of it pulled her close to the floor before she hefted it up onto the stove. “That he is.”
“What you reckon?”
She lit the gas burner and poured bacon fat into the skillet from an earthen jar. “He’s a man, ain’t he? No telling what he’s up to. And don’t waste your time trying to find out. It’ll come to light soon enough. It always does. Men ain’t worth spit at covering their tracks.”
***
Daniel sat tall on the buckboard seat, his gaze sweeping the wide expanse of open field in front of him. So much land. His land. He had bought the property, cleared it, even built the house himself with the help of a few hired hands. The knowledge warmed his insides.
He paid cash for it, every cent his own, earned with sunbaked flesh and a busted back. Raising cattle wasn’t the easiest way to earn a dollar. He refused to let the old man put a nickel toward building the house and was mighty glad of it now. He’d never bucked his folks before, so he couldn’t predict their reaction. One thing was sure as sunrise—marrying Charity without his mama’s blessing spelled trouble. But even if they disowned him, stripped him of his inheritance, they could never take his ranch.
Daniel turned his attention to the house. He took particular pride in the tall structure, two stories high and fronted with brick shipped from up north. Whitewashed columns graced the front entrance, beams as thick as a man’s waist, supporting a gabled overhang. The portico extended to a wraparound porch, which led to an attached gazebo in the rear garden.
He had cleared the surrounding pine, leaving the house nestled in an oak grove. Crafted big and fine, the dwelling bore enough modern trappings to make any woman happy, yet he’d furnished it with the simple things Charity grew up with, things to please a country girl’s heart.
Daniel had built the house for Charity, and tomorrow she would live here. A thrill shot through him at the thought. Followed by a chill at how close he’d come to losing her.
And for what?
He leaned and spat on the ground then wiped his chin on his sleeve. What on earth attracted him to Emmy Dane in the first place? He’d never chased her in school, fawning over her, panting for her attention like the other boys. Oh, she was pretty, all right. Always had been, but only on the outside. Unlike Charity, Emmy’s insides stank like rotting flesh.
Despite Charity’s pure heart, he’d seen another side of her lately, a fiery depth she’d never revealed before. Now that he’d noticed, her innocence coupled with this smoldering fire had nearly driven him mad. He wondered at the source of the mysterious flame. Had it always been there? How had he missed it before now? He pushed from his mind the fact that he’d only glimpsed it while she was in the company of that spineless Buddy Pierce.
Well, no matter. Fate had granted him a second chance. Tomorrow Charity would be his. He’d have a lifetime to find out all there was to know about her.
He heaved a sigh of relief and looked back at the contents of the wagon. He had hauled in the furniture weeks ago; it was time now to lay in supplies. Tools for her garden, staples for her pantry, sheets for her bed. All the things necessary to turn Charity’s house into a home.
***
Charity reached deep into the wardrobe and pulled out her wedding gown. Stepping in front of the mirror, she held it against her body and turned from side to side in order to see it from every angle. Such a lovely dress, the prettiest she’d ever seen. Even more precious given the sweet hands that made it.
She clutched the fabric to her face and breathed in the smell. A mixture of sweet magnolia, infused there from spending so much time in Mama’s room, mingled with the scent of pine picked up from weeks of hanging in her closet at home.
Home. The word conjured a picture of the big house she loved, fronted by the very magnolias she smelled on the dress and flanked by the towering pine from which Papa had cut wood for the closet. But it was her home no longer and would never be again. Even if she and Mama moved in today, Charity couldn’t stay long enough to take off her shoes.
Tomorrow she would go to live with Daniel, and the thought made her feel lost. His was a lovely house, built just for her. She’d walked through it with him, laughing and planning the day they would share it. There’d been a time she thought that day would never come.
When she understood about Daniel and Emmy, she had grieved for the house, mourned the fact that it would be Emmy’s things adorning the rooms, her clothes in the closets, her children playing in the yard.
Now the fickle house had changed mistresses again, only this time Charity couldn’t imagine herself living there. Her vision of blue-eyed children running over those grounds had gone, replaced by a ruddy-cheeked, sandy-haired brood that scampered among sweet magnolia and pine, gazing up at her through smoky green eyes. Her mind couldn’t conceive of any other way.
She groaned and lifted her face to God. I’ve never asked You for anything this important before. Can You? Will You?
A shrill voice in the hall interrupted her tortured prayer. “Charity! Where are you, baby?” Mama burst through the door and flew at her, her breath coming in labored gasps. She wrapped Charity, dress and all, in her arms and squeezed her so tightly it hurt.
“Mama, for heaven’s sake! I’m right here where you left me. What on earth?”
Mama didn’t answer, just held her, rocking back and forth. Mother Dane lumbered in, more breathless than Mama, and shut the door behind her. “Pay her no mind, sugar. She’s just being Bertha.”
Charity smiled over the little woman’s head. “Well, that explains a lot, but not nearly enough. Why is she breathing like this? Has she been running?”
“Up the stairs. I tried to stop her, but I couldn’t catch her.”
Mama, her swollen eyes squeezed shut, still grasped at her, straining to get a better hold.
Charity pulled her loose and held her at arm’s length. “Stop it now. What’s ailing you?”
Mother Dane sprawled on the bed, her chest heaving. “When I catch my breath, I’ll give you the long version. The short of it is, it finally dawned on her that you’re getting married tomorrow.”
“Oh, mercy. Come here.” Charity pulled her weeping mama close and held her while she cried, fighting hard to push aside her own bitter tears.
CHAPTER 22
Charity stretched out on a knotted rag rug across from her mama and Mother Dane. Mama sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the bed chattering like a schoolgirl while Mother Dane wound her long mane into a proper bun. Charity smiled each time Mama mindlessly held up a hairpin when Mother Dane wiggled her fingers, never missing a beat in her story. Yet Charity’s mind was on anythin
g but hair and idle babble.
Every footstep on the stairs was Buddy, every word in the hall his voice. She watched the door until her eyes hurt, ears straining for the sound of a knock that never came.
“That reminds me, Magda,” Mama said, “did you check on Emmy before we left?”
Mother Dane scrunched her lips and sniffed. “A lot of good it did me. She just curled up and moaned. Didn’t even bother to answer.”
Charity sat up straight. Their conversation had taken an interesting turn. “What’s ailing Emmy?”
It took too long for them to answer. Mama caught Mother Dane’s finger and pinched it before she let go of the next hairpin. Mother Dane gave an answering tug on her hair.
Mama winced then smiled up at Charity. “She ain’t herself today, baby. That’s all.”
“What’s the matter? Is she sick?”
“No, not sick, really. More like a bit out of sorts.”
Charity crossed her arms and looked from one to the other. “What are you two keeping from me?”
Mama’s shoulders drooped. “All right, then. Emmy found it out, and she’s grieving.”
“Found what out?”
“That you’re marrying up with Daniel.” Mama’s eyes widened. “We didn’t tell her though. She snookered us.”
The words sent Charity’s mind reeling. Emmy grieving? Over Daniel?
“She loves him, then?” It eased her heart to know it. It meant Emmy hadn’t toyed with their lives just to ease her boredom.
Mother Dane turned kind eyes her way. “Don’t you fret over Emmy, pet. The Good Book says we reap what we sow. If Emmy’s heart is heavy today, it’s because it’s harvesttime and she’s finding her crop hard to swallow.” She went back to pinning Mama’s hair. “You have enough grief to bear, Charity. Don’t throw Emmy’s weight on your shoulders.” She heaved a deep sigh. “Anyway, I reckon she’s my load to carry. Speaking of which, I need to head on back and see about her. What time of the day is it getting to be?”
Charity pushed off the floor and opened the shade. “The boardwalk’s thinned out and it sounds like the dining crowd has waned. That would make it well past one.”
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