Still slumped in her chair, Mother Dane pressed a hand to her back and groaned, her face a tight grimace. “I’m bushed, girls. Let’s eat quick so I can turn in and get an early start on tomorrow.”
Mama crossed to the table, her arms loaded with the platter of breaded chops. “You cain’t turn in yet, Magda. I had my heart set on a round of cards.”
Mother Dane frowned her disapproval. “At this hour? Honey, it’s too late.”
Concern pinched Mama’s face. “Since when did you ever think it was too late to play cards? Are you feeling all right?”
“No, I’m not. I’m right fizzled out, if you really care to know.”
“Aw, come on,” Mama wheedled. “You got enough steam left for one or two hands.”
Mother Dane picked up a piece of meat, then winced and tossed it at her plate.
“Careful, they’re hot,” Charity called from the stove.
Shoving her finger and thumb inside her mouth, Mother Dane spoke around them. “Blast it, Bert, I’m tired. Why do you suddenly want to play cards so all-fired bad?”
Mama cut mournful eyes at Charity before she answered. “I ain’t in any hurry to get to bed, that’s why. Tomorrow will come soon enough as it is.”
Watching Mama’s face, Mother Dane nodded. “Sure thing, sugar. I guess I can make it for a hand or two.”
“You’ll join us, won’t you, daughter?”
Charity looked at them through a blur of tears. “Of course I will. I’m not all that anxious myself to see this day end.”
Mama wiped her hands on her apron. “It’s settled, then. What say we serve up this food and get it ate?”
Charity joined them at the table, her eyes still damp. “Won’t Emmy be starved by now, Mother Dane? I can fix a nice plate for her, and you can take it up before we sit down.”
Mother Dane and Mama stared until Charity’s cheeks began to warm. She didn’t know how to explain it, but the idea that Emmy loved Daniel had patched her wounded heart and replaced her anger with pity. After all, she found herself in much the same state—devoted to a man she couldn’t have.
Mother Dane motioned her closer for a hug. “The Creator ran short on love after making you, Charity. Your mama named you right, that’s for certain.” She patted Charity’s hand. “Don’t trouble yourself. I’ll take something up in a while.”
Mama slumped into a chair, piled her plate high with mashed potatoes, and passed the bowl. “That child ain’t sat down to a decent meal in days. Don’t that worry you none?”
Mother Dane’s eyes bulged. “Are you forgetting the ham, Bert? She’s been eating better than we have. Didn’t even throw food in the yard this time.”
Mama chuckled. “She could’ve thrown something out, Magda. Don’t forget, Red’s out there somewhere. He’d make quick work of ham scraps.”
Charity gasped and laid down her fork. “I forgot to feed that worrisome old dog.” She looked around at the scraps on their plates and brightened. “I’ll toss him these pork chop bones after dinner. He’ll be glad to see them.”
“Tomorrow early, I’ll tie him in the wagon and cart him home,” Mother Dane said. “Shamus may have to pen him for a spell to keep him there.”
Mama grinned and nodded. “If they don’t pen or tie him, he’ll be waiting for you on the porch when you get back.”
They finished the meal amid laughter and light chatter. Afterward, they rose together to clear the table. Even Mother Dane stayed in the kitchen to help, as if reluctant to leave their company. With everything covered and put away, the big stove scrubbed clean of greasy splatters, and Red offered his feast of bones, Charity followed the older women into the parlor.
While Mother Dane set up the game table, Charity and Mama brought in three chairs from the dining room. Charity pushed hers into place then took a step back and squinted. “What happened to this one?”
Mama winked at Mother Dane as if Charity wasn’t looking right at her. “Something wrong with that chair, you say?” She perused the item in question with one hand on her hip and the other rubbing her chin. “I don’t know. It appears just fine to me. Don’t you think so, Magda?”
“It sure does.”
Charity frowned and held one hand over the backrest of each seat to gauge the height. “No, look. This one’s much shorter than the rest.”
Mother Dane chimed in. “Are you trying to convince us that chair shrunk?”
“Don’t be daft, Magda. Furniture don’t shrink. Maybe Charity growed instead.” Mama lifted the chair and studied it, her glee scarcely contained. “Wait, I see what you’ve done, daughter. You’ve hauled in the milking stool.”
“Oh, Mama!”
“Hush and behave yourself, Bertha,” Mother Dane called from the sideboard. “Old dependable Nash leveled that chair for me, Charity. I’m just glad he didn’t fix them all, or we’d be sitting with our knees around our ears.” She opened the door to the shelf where she kept her parlor games. “Now then, ladies, name your poison.”
Still grinning, Mama slung her arm around Charity’s waist. “How ’bout dominoes, girls?”
Mother Dane raised an eyebrow at Charity. “Did she say dominoes?”
Shrugging one shoulder, Mama sat down and made a show of dusting the table. “If Emmy felt better, we could play euchre. Takes four to make a good game of euchre.” She tapped a finger against her lips while she pondered then held it up in the air. “Wait, I know. We’ll take turns at cooncan. There, it’s settled. Bring out the cards, Magda.”
Mother Dane nodded at Charity. “Go over and feel her forehead. I believe she’s come down with the fever.”
Mama glared. “Leave off me, woman.” She jabbed her chest with her thumb. “This here’s the new Bertha. No more gambling. You might as well get used to it.”
Mother Dane, her eyes as wide as Charity’s felt, joined her beside the table. Speechless, they stared down at Mama, who sat rigidly in her chair.
“Pick up your jaws. It’s true,” she affirmed in a sullen voice. “I don’t know why I ever gambled in the first place. It’s brought us nothing but heartache and loss. Charity wouldn’t be in this mess if Thad hadn’t made that silly bet. I don’t know how he could do such a sorrowful thing, but at least it’s opened my eyes. I vow on his grave I’ll never lay another wager as long as I live.”
Charity dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Don’t swear, Mama. You’re not supposed to.”
“I promise, then. I promise you won’t see me gamble no more. I know it always grieved your tender conscience, and I’m sorry.”
Across the table, Mother Dane cleared her throat. When Mama’s wet-rimmed eyes swung toward her, she glanced away and pulled out her chair. She kept her head down and her attention on the table while she dealt the cards, but mirth teased the corners of her mouth.
Mama gave her an angry glare. “Don’t think I didn’t see you rolling those eyes, Magda. And wipe that grin off your face. Whether you believe it or not, I’m dead serious.”
“Don’t be silly, sugar. I never doubted you for a minute.”
Muttering under her breath, Mama directed her attention to the game. She picked up her cards, studied them, and then gave a low whistle. “I’ll be hanged if these wouldn’t make a right fine hand of poker.”
Charity met Mother Dane’s astonished eyes across the table before they both collapsed into laughter. Charity howled until she cried, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her cotton dress. Mother Dane’s deep belly laugh all but rattled the windows. Mama watched them, furious at first, until a huge grin lit her face and she fell over in a fit of giggles.
After several more outbursts, laced with Mother Dane’s side-clutching and her mama’s moans, they settled into a companionable silence. Charity couldn’t stop smiling until Mama broke the spell.
“If you don’t mind my saying so, daughter, I never expected to attend so many weddings in your honor.” She looked up from her cards and gave Charity a sweet smile. “I always reckoned one day to l
ose you to some addlepated upstart, and that would be bad enough.” She shrugged her shoulders. “But I never, ever expected things to turn out like this.”
Mother Dane frowned a warning. “You talk like tomorrow is Charity’s last day on earth. She’s not dying, for pity’s sake. She’s getting married.”
Mama bristled. “To Daniel Clark! Dying would be more tolerable, in my opinion.”
“Bertha!”
“Well?”
Charity sighed. “That’s all right, Mother Dane. I know what she means. It would be different if we were planning a real wedding.”
Mama nodded. “Like if you was set to marry Buddy, you mean.”
His name conjured the dear face Charity had pushed from her mind all day. Crushing pain struck deep in her chest like she hadn’t endured since Papa died. Mama was right. This wedding felt like a funeral.
She laid down her cards and scooted her chair back. “I think I’ll go on up now. I’m feeling tired.”
Before Charity could stand, her mama dropped to her knees beside her chair. “Baby, I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I don’t know why I spew such blether. I just don’t think.”
“You didn’t—”
“Yes, I did. I made you sad. I know you’re grieving over Buddy. I know how much you love him.” She clutched Charity’s hands. “Daughter, you don’t have to go through with this wedding. Your feller will be back soon. He’ll come riding into town looking for you. Don’t let him find you in Daniel’s house.”
Charity’s heart leapt at the words, but she pushed it back down and pulled free. “Hush now. It’s all decided.”
“But I changed my mind. I don’t want you doing this fool thing.” She swatted the air. “I don’t care about the house. We’ll get by without it. Ain’t nothing more important to me than your happiness.”
Charity took the familiar little face in her hands. “You listen to me. I’m going up those stairs to bed. I need my rest because tomorrow is my wedding day. I’m marrying Daniel, just like we planned, and you’re going to be there, happy and smiling, to give us your blessing.”
Mama seemed struck dumb by Charity’s calm, forceful words, a favor for which Charity felt grateful. She had no confidence in her own strength and didn’t know how long she could hold out.
She gave Mama’s tearstained cheek a tender kiss. “Move now. Let me out of this chair so I can go to bed. I suggest you two do the same. The hour is late.”
Mother Dane came around the table and helped lift Mama from the floor.
Charity couldn’t bear to see her mama’s stricken look, so she averted her gaze and brushed another kiss on her forehead as she passed. One foot on the bottom step, she forced a bright smile and turned. “Good night now. Get some rest. I need you fresh tomorrow.”
Mother Dane wrapped Mama in a bear hug from behind, laying her cheek against the top of her head. “Too late for that, child. This old thing ain’t been fresh for many a year.”
Though her heart was shattered, Charity couldn’t help but laugh.
The awful pain returned as she made her way up the stairs. She wanted to get to her room before she broke down and cried, but on impulse she paused near the top landing.
The two of them, still hugging, still staring up at her, hadn’t budged.
“There is one more thing.”
Mama leaned forward. “What’s that, baby?”
“Where’s Papa’s Bible? I thought I’d read a bit before I turn in.”
Mama’s eyes melted into dark pools of sorrow, as her heart swelled up and broke there.
Charity despised her own weakness. She shouldn’t have asked for the Bible. It only served to reveal the depth of her pain.
“It’s in Magda’s room. On the table by the bed. You want me to fetch it for you?”
The anguish in Mama’s voice matched the agony in her eyes. Charity longed to rush down and hug her again but knew it would only make matters worse. Instead, she turned and took the last two steps up the staircase. “Don’t trouble yourself. I’ll get it. Good night, Mama. Good night, Mother Dane.”
“Sleep tight, sugar,” they called in unison.
The worn leather book lay open beside the bed in Mother Dane’s room, just as Mama had said. Charity closed it gently and tucked it under her arm.
In the hallway, she turned to stare at Emmy’s door. A force she couldn’t understand pulled her toward it. Perhaps it was the desire to escape the present, to go back in time to simpler days, when she and Emmy were young, carefree girls. Perhaps her battered heart sought comfort from the person who knew her best, a person whose own heart was wracked with grief. Whatever the reason, Charity found herself standing outside Emmy’s room, her trembling hand clutching the knob.
The pounding in her chest seemed audible as she opened the door. The gaslight in the hall poured a shaft of light across the floor in front of her. Charity held her breath and ducked inside. Shadows etched the room. She could just make out Emmy in the center of the high, four-poster bed, the covers drawn over her face.
In that moment, everything in Charity’s life seemed caught in a ludicrous dream. Tomorrow she would marry a man on whom she’d set her cap for years, yet she’d rather be drawn and quartered. Marrying him would bring heartache to a person she loved with all her heart, a person who lay a mere six feet away, yet she dared not call her name.
It was more than Charity could bear. She clutched the Bible to her chest and fled, taking no care to be quiet. She ran down the hall with her hand pressed against her mouth to suppress a wail, knowing once she gave in to it, she’d bawl like a motherless calf.
CHAPTER 25
Buddy leaned against the bar, tracing ever-widening circles with the base of a tall, sweaty mug. He gripped the handle and took another drink, wondering again why he’d stormed into a place like this only to embarrass himself at the last minute.
Under the scrutiny of every man in the place, he had turned up the glass and taken a long, deliberate swig, as if the sticky-sweet sarsaparilla was his intention all along. He had no taste for strong liquor and wanted no part of it, despite how bad he felt.
Something about the dank, smoke-filled saloon brought Buddy a measure of comfort, even a sense of camaraderie with the men. Perhaps due to the feeling of shared hopelessness or the sight of his own pain reflected back from their hollow eyes.
None of the long faces seemed interested in conversation; Buddy reckoned the other patrons swirled in pits of their own trouble. He felt isolated and anonymous but at the same time accepted into a curious brotherhood of suffering.
A wizened old man strengthened this notion when he stopped to pat Buddy’s back on the way out the door. Buddy had never felt such misery. It seemed fitting to hole up in the most miserable place he’d ever been.
He had walked in on impulse a couple of hours past noon. Driven from his room by hunger, he left the hotel to scout out a bite to eat. Instead, he barged into the saloon. He wasn’t sure how long he’d nursed his wounds in the dimly lit room. Long enough to watch the bright square of light above the swinging doors fade to orange and then darken.
Having never been inside a saloon in his life, Buddy couldn’t believe he’d passed so much time there. He spent much of it comparing Charity to every woman he’d ever known and had been forced to admit her attributes were not his imagination. She was in fact the most wonderful woman he’d ever met, a conclusion that only added to his misery.
The rest of his confinement passed in a blur of strange faces, cigar smoke, the stench of stale liquor and unwashed bodies, and more sarsaparilla than he’d consumed in a lifetime.
“What in blue blazes...?”
The familiar voice pulled Buddy’s attention to the mirror behind the bar. Lit by the gaslight on the wall, in sharp relief against the dark opening, the reflection of a familiar face topped by an unruly shock of hair stared back at him from the door.
Buddy spun around grinning, confused but immensely glad to see Jerry Ritter. “Well,
lookie here! You’re a welcome sight, Tumbleweed. When’d you blow in?”
Jerry reluctantly left his place at the door and pushed into the room, leading a curious and unlikely parade. One of the prettiest women Buddy had ever seen followed him in like she belonged there, though she clearly didn’t. On her heels, his posture afraid and defiant at the same time, came big Nash, Magdalena Dane’s oversized handyman.
Buddy’s head reeled at the sight of them strolling in together. He couldn’t have guessed the reason for it if he’d tried.
“What’s he doing in here?” The barkeep glared hard at Nash. “Can’t y’all read?” He pointed at a sign nailed over the door. “That boy can’t come in here. No darkies allowed.”
Stepping in front of Nash with a swish of her skirts, the tiny woman tilted her chin and faced the bartender. “This man is with me, sir. We’ll only be a minute, and I’ll see he does no harm. You have my word. You can do a lady one small favor, can’t you?”
The slightest movement of her head caught the glow from the gaslight, causing pinpoints of fire to ricochet through her hair. She reached a finger to twirl one glittering curl, and the effect was mesmerizing. Every eye in the room held an answering light, and Buddy found himself falling under her spell. He stared at the lovely face, convinced her smile would sweeten day-old coffee.
The allure of plump lips and bottomless dimples weakened the barkeep’s will. It was obvious women like her seldom graced his establishment. Looking like he’d swallowed the pickle barrel, the poor man managed a nod.
By the scowl on Jerry’s face, he might’ve swallowed one himself. “Well, if this ain’t the last place I expected to find you...” His narrowed gaze fixed on Buddy’s glass.
Buddy raised the mug. “Don’t worry, partner. I’m still a teetotaler.”
Jerry leaned to smell the offending drink, his face set in a grimace. When he rose up, his countenance had brightened considerably. “Why, that’s sarsaparilla!”
Chasing Charity Page 23
