Chasing Charity (16 page)

Mama glanced down at Red and smiled. “Oh, I reckon I know why.”

Her words, spoken with quiet assurance, surprised Charity. “You do?”

“Don’t you?”

“No, ma’am. Enlighten me, please. Then maybe I can put a stop to it.”

“That ain’t likely.” She ducked low and leaned in like a little girl sharing a secret. “He senses your daddy in you.”

Charity frowned. “Papa?”

Softness settled over her mama’s face the way it always did when she spoke of him. Like a magic wand, it blurred the faint lines around her eyes and lit a dreamy glow within their depths. “Red worshipped the ground he trod. You have his same spirit, Charity. All the good residing in Thad he left here with you when he passed.” She faltered and pressed a hand to still her quivering lips. “You’re so much like him, daughter. Did you know when you sit with me in a darkened room I feel he’s there instead?”

Charity’s eyes stung. “I’m really that much like him?”

“The breath and soul of him. You even love the Almighty the same. Thad worshipped the Lord free and joyful, like King David himself.”

How could such beautiful words hurt so much? Charity swallowed hard against the tight knot in her throat and nodded. “I can still hear Papa’s voice in my head: ‘Let God do His work, honey. Confess your sins and let ’em go. Don’t cling to your guilt. Enjoy the gift of freedom Jesus gave you. After all, it cost Him all He had.’”

Mama nodded. “You took them words to heart.”

The tears flowed then, running down Charity’s face and splashing onto the crisp green fabric of her dress. “I did, Mama. I pinned all my hope on them.”

They embraced again. Since he barked the last time they hugged, Charity remembered Red. He wasn’t on either side of the wagon, so she turned in her seat to look. He still followed, straggling a good way behind them. His panting had worsened, to boot.

“Stop the wagon, Mama.”

“Why?”

“I want to put Red in the back.”

“What for?”

Mama sounded doubtful, but she pulled on the reins nonetheless. Charity jumped to the ground and waited for Red to catch up. When he did, she lowered the tailgate and ordered him inside. Too tired to jump, he only managed to plant his two front paws on the rig. She stooped and wrapped her arms around the dog’s body to give him a boost. Red scrambled inside, squirming with pleasure.

Mama threw up her hands. “Charity Bloom! Now you’ll smell like that old rascal, and after you promised not to soil that new dress.”

To show his gratitude, the drooling dog licked Charity from chin to eyebrows before she ever saw it coming.

“Heavens!” Mama shrieked. “Now you’ll stink of dog breath, too. What on earth were you thinking?”

Charity closed the tailgate and dusted her hands. “I’m thinking a creature with Red’s brand of devotion deserves to ride.”

Mama cast a warning glance. “Don’t lose sight of the facts, honey. That ain’t our dog no more.”

Scratching Red’s wrinkled snout, Charity smiled. “Try telling that to him.” She sauntered to the front of the wagon, the swish of new petticoats adding to her pleasure. Seated beside Mama once more, she nodded toward the horse. “Let’s go. I’m anxious to get this over and done.”

“That makes two of us.”

Red groaned and fell to his side before stretching the length of the wagon bed and closing his eyes. Mama laughed and nodded. “I stand corrected, dog. I guess that makes three.”

She shook the reins and clucked at the horse, setting him in motion. Pulling her foot up to rest the sole of her boot on the rail, she looked about her with a big smile. “The good Lord sure gave us a fine day for it, didn’t He?”

“That He did.”

“I reckon your sweetheart will be right disappointed in us when we get there.”

Charity hadn’t considered that possibility. She flashed her mama a worried look. “You think so?”

Mama nodded. “He sure wanted to find oil on our land. I expect he’d drill clear to China if we didn’t stop him.”

“You don’t think he’ll be mad at us, do you?”

Mama opened her mouth to answer, but if she said anything, Charity never heard it. A deafening explosion rocked the area, sending shock waves through the ground so violent they rattled the wagon. The horse reared and got set to bolt, but Mama held the reins, shouting at him to hold steady.

Over the treetops a column of mud blasted to the sky and then spewed in every direction. There followed a greenish-black surge that rushed into the air for eighty feet before raining down over the surrounding pine. Black ooze fell straight down, pelting them and bombarding the trail in giant globs, spooking the crazed horse even more. He threw himself back on his haunches again, his front legs pawing the air.

“Get off, Charity!” Mama cried. “I cain’t hold him!”

Charity’s feet hit the side rail, and she was on the ground, running for the horse’s head. She clutched his harness, holding on for all she was worth. “Get down, Mama! Jump!”

Mama dropped the reins and shot to her feet. One leap and she was clear ... and just in time. A wet wad of mud landed on the horse’s back, and no power on earth could have held him. With glazed eyes and foaming mouth, he bucked just as Charity fell back and turned him loose. Then he burned up the trail, blindly running in the direction of the very thing he feared. As the wagon thundered by, Red, stiff-legged with fright, stood staring at them from behind the tailgate.

Mama lay on the ground where she’d landed then rolled. Propped on both elbows, she stared at the roaring apparition overhead.

Charity rushed to her side. “Are you all right?”

She lay slack-jawed with dread. “What’s happening, Charity? What is that thing?”

Before Charity could answer, a lone horseman cut around the runaway rig, elbows high and flailing as he urged his mount. He didn’t bother to stop the wagon but headed straight for them, riding hard.

Her mama still gazed at the sky. “Is it Armageddon, daughter?”

Charity pointed at the rider. “I don’t know, but look.”

Mama gaped as the man bore down on them whooping and hollering, covered head to toe in muck. He reined in his horse so fast the animal spun to the side, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Mama looked him over then turned to Charity. “Is that a man?”

She nodded. “I think so.”

“Who is it, then?”

Charity leaned down and pulled her to her feet. “I’m not sure, but I think it’s Buddy.”

The dark figure leapt to the ground and came at them, laughing so hard he ran in a crooked line. “We did it!” He grabbed Mama in a bear hug and whirled her off her feet. “We got us a gusher!”

Charity gaped at the mess he’d made of her mama’s clothes and backed away. He set Mama on the ground and smeared a sloppy kiss on her cheek. “No more cooking and scrubbing floors, little Bertha. You can hire your own help now.”

Catching his mood, Mama started to laugh. She turned and pointed at the sky. “So that’s what that thing is? Oil?”

“Oil, Mrs. Bloom, and plenty of it. Enough so you’ll rest easy all your days. Charity, too, and her children’s children.”

At the mention of her name, he came at Charity, ready to grab her, too, but she screamed and darted away.

“Buddy Pierce, don’t you dare touch me!”

He halted in his tracks, his arms still reaching for her. “And why not?”

She pointed. “Look at what you’ve done to Mama. She’s covered in that stuff.”

“Covered in gold, sugar. Come and get you some.” He leered jokingly and came at her again.

She screeched and lit out for the trees, finding a big one to put between them.

He chased her around it laughing like a madman while Mama hooted from the trail.

“You stop right now—I mean it. This is my new dress, and I promised Mama I’d stay clean.”

He paused long enough to nod at her arm, his grin crazy-white against the sludge on his face. “I hate to be the one to tell you, Miss Bloom, but it’s too late for that now.”

Charity followed his gaze to the greasy spatter on her sleeve, made worse every second by the shower of oil falling around them. “Oh no! Just look at that. It’s ruined.”

No longer smiling, Buddy stared at her around the tree trunk. She clutched the cool, rough bark and stared back.

“You still don’t get it, do you, sweetheart? You’re rich, Charity. You can buy a new dress every day of the week if you want. The whole shop, if you’ve a mind to.”

And there it was. The thing in his eyes she had set out to find. Love offered up from the deep green depths, there for the whole world to see. Her knees grew weak. She had no choice but to allow Buddy to catch her before she hit the ground. With both arms clutching his neck, she watched over his shoulder with wide eyes as the roaring black spout rocked the sky.

“Which one are you looking at now?”

Charity sat at the dressing table, pinning her hair and watching her mama through the big looking glass. Mama sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, bent low over the catalog in her lap. At the question, her head came up, one finger held steady on the page to mark her place. Her eyes met Charity’s in the mirror.

“It’s the Henke-Pillot.”

Charity pointed to the toppling stack wedged against her side. “And those?”

Mama picked up the topmost book. “This here’s the Sears Roebuck.” She pointed down at the pile. “That one’s John Deere. The rest are old Harper’s Weeklies. I’m studying on the adverts.”

“John Deere? I thought you were set on raising cattle, not crops.”

Her attention divided between her daughter and the catalog, she turned another page. “Ain’t looking for me. Widow Sheffield’s plow is held together by prayer and a wad of spit. I reckoned I might fetch her a new one when our money comes in.”

Charity smiled at Mama’s reflection. “I might’ve guessed. You haven’t a greedy bone in your body.”

Mama shook her head. “It ain’t that. If God intends to bless me when I don’t deserve it, how can I do less than bless others? I’ve always said money in the right hands does more good than harm. Now I aim to prove it.”

Instead of returning to her browsing, Mama watched while Charity fussed with her hair, peering so intently that Charity started to squirm. She put down the brush and squinted back at the brooding image. “What now? You’re staring.”

Mama frowned. “You’re mighty flushed, sugar. You ain’t taking sick, are you?” Tossing the catalog aside, she wiggled to the edge of the bed and hurried over to press her palm against Charity’s forehead. “Gracious, I reckon you’re a mite warm, too.”

Cheeks flaming, Charity caught the groping hand and pulled it away from her face. “I’m fine. It’s a warm day, that’s all.”

Mama slid both arms around Charity’s neck, resting her chin on top of her head. Their gazes locked in the glass. “Don’t you get sick on me, you hear? Not now, when everything’s about to change for the better.”

Charity patted her hand. “I won’t. I promise.”

Relieved when her mama crawled to the center of the bed and took up her books again, Charity returned to taming her hair. She dared not confess the little meddler had caught her mooning over Buddy, an activity that warmed her cheeks quite often lately. He’d been gone for two whole days now, and Charity missed him something fierce.

They’d never made it home that day. Charity had begun making peace with the possibility they never would. Back in the hotel, Mama overflowed with plans to build a new house every bit as grand as Mother Dane’s, with a stove like hers and a balcony attached to each of their bedrooms.

Buddy’s lesson on the eagle had come to Charity on wings of mercy. She’d spent a lot of time pondering her death grip on the past and decided not to let it steal her future. Papa had been an immovable rock in her young life. When the floodwaters washed him downriver, they’d swept her sense of security along with him. Thanks to Buddy, she understood she’d been clinging to all the wrong things. The only constant in anyone’s life was God. As long as He hovered nearby, she could soar above a few sticks and straws.

After the gusher blew in, Buddy commandeered every available freighter then hired men eager for work to drive wagons loaded with oil to Port Arthur. He said a refinery there would pay top dollar for every barrel they could haul.

The morning the makeshift caravan departed, Buddy had leaned down and pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth before swinging up on the lead wagon. That quick, stolen kiss consumed her thoughts far more than his parting words—the promise to return with so much money Mama couldn’t spend it in a year.

Mama had spent the last few days trying. She haunted Rogers & Grossman’s Dry Goods Store, bent on seeing, touching, and smelling every item for sale. Back in their room, she pored over catalogs for hours, making endless lists. Charity teased her about it but had to admit she’d jotted down a few notes of her own.

Buddy planned to take them to Houston when he got back, to the Kennedy Trading Post and Market Square. Mama had journeyed to Houston once when Papa was alive, but not by rail. Charity had never left Humble, much less set foot on a train. She and Mama awaited Buddy’s return like children counting down to Christmas.

It amazed Charity to realize she’d known him for only a short time, yet it seemed she’d soon perish without him. His absence caused an ache deep inside that grew worse every day. Thinking of him was like scratching an itch—to do so made the problem worse, but she couldn’t stop.

She glanced at the mirror to find her face bright red again. She looked away and struggled to compose herself before Mama noticed. Thankfully, a loud knock jarred them both, jerking Mama’s attention to the door.

Charity’s heart pitched. Had Buddy returned early?

Evidently the same thought had come to Mama. She cleared the bed in half the time it took her to root off of it before and crossed the room a split second ahead of Charity. She yanked at the door and slung it wide, her giddy grin saying she expected Buddy to be on the other side.

Shamus Pike stood in the hall clutching a scruffy hat. His hesitant smile revealed he hadn’t expected the elaborate reception. “Afternoon, Bertha. Miss Charity.”

“What in tarnation are you doing here?” Mama had never perfected the fine art of polite banter and wasn’t one for beating around the bush.

Shamus’s smile disappeared. “I come to discuss important business, Bert.” He nodded into the room. “Can I come in?”

Mama waved him through but surprisingly left the door propped open. Concerning herself with the rules of respectability was not her usual behavior.

“This about the land lease money? It ain’t due for two weeks yet, but I’ll take it if you insist.” She held out her hand and chuckled at her own wit.

Shamus shook his head, and color flooded his face. He wouldn’t meet Mama’s eyes, and his Adam’s apple bobbed several times. Finally, he cleared his throat and got to the point of his visit. “Now, Bertha, don’t think what I come to tell you means you won’t be taken care of, you and Charity. I owe a debt of friendship to old Thad, God rest him, so I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Mama dropped her head to the side the way Red cocked his and stared while getting scolded.

Charity didn’t understand Shamus’s words either, but the anxious way he blurted them flipped her stomach.

Mama motioned to the chair in front of the dressing table. “I reckon you’re trying to tell me something, but I guess you’d better sit down and start over, because I ain’t understood a word so far.”

Hat still wadded in both hands, Shamus sidestepped to the chair and sat. A thick-middled, broad-shouldered man, he looked out of place seated on the delicate furniture. Mama and Charity perched together at the edge of the bed and waited for him to continue.

“What I come to say is hard for me.” Shamus stared at the bare stretch of floor between them while he talked, his big hands working the old hat like dough. “I got no wish to hurt you, wouldn’t do that for the world, but sometimes the dealings between men bring pain to their families. It’s the way life is.”

Mama scooted closer to Charity and took hold of her hand. “I’ll thank you kindly to get to the point, then.”

Shamus squirmed in the chair until Charity feared it would collapse. Finally, he looked up and rushed ahead as if he needed to get it said. “It’s about your land, Bertha. Fact is, it ain’t your land no more. At least it won’t be soon enough.”

Mama sat up straighter and stared him down. “What are you saying to me, Shamus Pike?”

He dropped his gaze again but kept on talking. “You know yourself old Thaddeus had a gambling problem once. A right reckless problem.”

Mama tensed. “I ain’t denying it, but that was a long time ago.”

Charity’s head jerked around.

Her mama shrank five inches under her searching gaze. “Sorry you had to hear it like this, baby. I’m afraid it’s true. Games of chance always had a strong pull on your poor papa. He kept his weakness in check by teaching me and Magda how to play poker for fun. ’Course, we never bet nothing serious. Just harmless things like buttons, matches, hard candies sometimes.”

Charity had always wondered how their weekly poker game came to be.

“After you was born, he changed,” she continued. “Promised he’d never place another bet—a promise he kept as far as I know.”

Shamus snorted. “He made one last wager. Thad gambled away your property before he died. To me.”

Mama’s fingernails dug into Charity’s hand. “How so?”

Shamus leaned over and considered her with probing eyes. “You want the details?”

“I sure do.”

He sat up again, watching them. “All right, then.” He rubbed his palms down his trouser legs and swallowed hard. “Six months before he passed, Thad and me was in town together of a night, both feeling our oats, me liquored up and him just feeling spry. The bet was Thad’s idea.” His bloodshot eyes fixed on Charity. “Somehow it come to him to gamble on whose daughter would marry first, Amy Jane or Charity there. The stakes we put up were our homesteads.”

Charity couldn’t tell if the trembling in their clasped hands was Mama’s or her own.

“Thad wouldn’t do a thing like that. He told me he was finished with gambling.” Though her voice quivered, Mama’s words were forceful.

Shamus glared her way. “He not only done it; he goaded me into it whilst I was drunk!”

His expression softened when Mama drew back. He ducked his head and cleared his throat then continued in a quieter voice. “Later on Thad’s conscience got the best of him. He tried to get out of it, but I wouldn’t allow him to welsh on a bet. I’d sobered up by then and had some time to think. Old Thad thought he had a sure thing, what with Amy Jane so big and plain and Charity so fetching. But I reckoned I might be able to turn things around on him. I figured I had a fair enough chance, considering men around these parts need a good sturdy woman—one who can bear lots of babies and help shoulder the load. As pretty as Charity is, I figured Amy Jane stacked up better in that respect.”

He glanced Charity’s way again. “No insult intended.”

She nodded, speechless.

“When Daniel Clark started up courting Charity, I got real nervous. Took a gun to my head when he proposed.” He sat back and exhaled. “Good thing I didn’t pull the trigger.”

Mama grunted. “Good for who?”

His eyebrow spiked. “Say again?”

She waved him off. “I wouldn’t have come after your land even if Charity had got married to Daniel. First off, I never heard any of this before now.” She lifted her chin at him. “And second, only a heartless reprobate would snatch a person’s home right out from under them.”

Shamus sputtered. His ears turned purple, and his chest heaved. “That’s because you’re a woman, and women are weak. You can’t understand the ways of a man. Sometimes we got to do things we don’t like to make our way in this life. That includes taking risks.”

He opened his mouth to say more, but Mama stopped him. “No, sir. That don’t apply to Thad. He was a good man. Better than most. I can boast about him in this company, because we all know it’s true.” She shifted toward him, prepared to do battle. “You’ll never convince me he risked our home. He wouldn’t do that to us.”

Shamus leaned forward and met her charge. “He would on a sure bet.”

Charity couldn’t stay still. “If such a bet existed, Papa’s death canceled it out.”

Shamus wagged his graying head. “ ’Taint so, Charity. In the weeks leading up to your wedding, I figured I’d lost it all and I was bound to give it. When Amy Jane steps to the altar, I’ll accept no less from you.” He slouched in the chair and folded his arms, his eyes hard on Mama’s face. “Bertha Bloom, I expect you to honor your dead husband’s word.”

Charity didn’t wait for Mama’s answer. She pointed at Shamus. “That’s why you pushed Amy Jane’s marriage to Isaac Young, even against Elsa’s wishes.” She knew it was true, but it felt odd to say it. In other circumstances, she’d never speak so boldly.

Shamus glared at her finger through narrowing eyes. “I’ll thank you to pull in that claw and mind your tongue, little cat. This here’s betwixt me and your ma.”

Mama stared at Shamus like he’d turned green. “You’re telling me if Charity had married Daniel, I’d own your whole place right now? Shamus, that’s crazy talk.”

“It might be crazy, but in a few days I’ll hold your deed.”

Mama jumped to her feet. “I don’t believe it! You got no proof.”

“Oh yes, ma’am, I do.” Shamus stood. As if he’d been waiting for the chance to do so, he reached into the hip pocket of his overalls. Producing a square of paper, he waved it in her face. “The proof is right here.” He undid the folds and crossed the small room to stand before Mama, his thumb pressed to the bottom of the page. “Ain’t that your Thad’s writing?” He looked from Mama to the paper then to Charity, his eyes bulging, his voice shrill with emotion. “And that’s his very own John Hancock signed in ink right there at the bottom. Now you can’t deny that.”

Mama trembled as she took the paper. She handled the scrawled signature with a reverent touch, and tears sprang to her eyes. “Them’s his marks, all right. I’d know them anywhere.” She handed the paper to Charity and slumped back onto the bed. “Read it to me, daughter. Real slow.”

The tears in Charity’s own eyes blurred the page. She swiped at them with the back of her hand and tried to focus on the words. “It says, ‘I, Thaddeus Horatio Bloom, square of mind and in possession of my good sense, do hereby enter into a bound agreement with one Shamus P. Pike—’”

“No, Thad!”

Charity jumped at the tortured cry that tore from her mama’s throat, her plea directed at Papa as if he were right in the room uttering the terrible words himself. Mama fell onto the bed with her hands over her ears and wailed. “Don’t read me no more. I cain’t stand to hear it!” She reached for a pillow and buried her face in it. “Read it to yourself, daughter; then tell me it’s not true. Please say my Thad didn’t do this to me.”