Chasing Charity (21 page)

Three women elbowed past, shouting and laughing, holding their own with the men. By the look of them, they were headed to find work in the saloon at Moonshine Hill, or perhaps to ply a different trade on the outskirts of Tent City. The stale odor of toilet water, whiskey, and bad breath hung in the air behind them. Emmy’s stomach lurched. Sudden panic washed over her, and she groped for Nash’s arm.

Next to her, a drunken man in a cleric’s collar clung possessively to the sort of woman Aunt Bert called a “painted lady.” The woman stared at them in a brazen way, her bloodshot eyes going to Emmy’s hand on Nash’s sleeve. Then she leered, as if they shared a secret, her loose crimson mouth vulgar against her yellow teeth. Emmy shuddered and turned away.

“Come along, Miss Emmy,” Nash said. “Let me take you out of this mess.”

He tucked her behind his back, using his body as a shield as he pushed through the rush of people. Along the tracks, men heaved burlap bags of feed, crates filled with sacks of pinto beans, and boxed canned goods onto the cars, supplies bound for Humble. These days everything from heavy equipment to sewing needles found its way there by train. Provision for the boomers.

Rail bosses hurled orders laced with vile curses in loud, angry voices. Emmy covered her ears as Nash guided her past the men. Those who noticed her with him cast angry glares at Nash or looked her over in such a way that she yearned for her quilt from home to wrap up in.

Nash pulled her along in zigzag fashion until they reached the far end of the platform. Here the mob thinned out a bit, though the laughter and cries of the jostling crowd, mingling with the din near the railcar, stirred a rush in Emmy’s chest that made her head spin. She found it unsettling but exhilarating at the same time.

She guessed Nash felt it, too. Despite his nervous darting eyes, a smile stretched over his face. “Whoo-ee!” he cried. “These the most folks I ever seen in one place.”

“In one place? Oh, Nash, it’s the most I’ve seen in my life.”

He flashed his grin her way. “Me, too. Reckon they all live in Houston?”

Emmy barely heard. Near the spot they’d just left, a man on the swarming platform caught her attention.

“Nash, look!”

“Look where?”

She pointed. “Right there. There’s something familiar about that gentleman. I know him from somewhere.”

Nash shaded his eyes and stared. “Which one? There’s a whole mess of gentlemen over there.”

Emmy’s head bobbed as she strained to get a better look at the long-legged fellow.

Behind her Nash grunted. “Miss Emmy, you got me looking for a boll weevil in tall cotton. I don’t see nothing but a whole mess of bodies.”

For the space of two seconds, she had an unobstructed view of a handsome young face. Her mind scrambled to place him. “Oh my! I think...”

Emmy gripped Nash’s arm. “Yes, by golly, it’s him!” She pointed a trembling finger. “That man works with Mr. Pierce.” She craned her neck to search the milling throng. “That means he must be here somewhere.” Joy filled her heart, so full she could taste the sweetness. “See the goodness of God? He’s led us straight to Buddy Pierce.”

Glancing up, Emmy found Nash watching her. She squirmed under his searching gaze but steeled herself and met his eyes. “What are you gawking at?”

He shoved his hat aside and scratched his curly head. “If I didn’t know different, I’d think I’s gawking at Miss Charity. Them words sound like they come right out of her mouth.”

Feeling petulant, Emmy raised her brows. “Stop your meddling and get yourself over there before Mr. Pierce gets away. Now hurry! Find him and bring him back here.”

Nash squinted hard, shaking his head. “I can’t bring what ain’t there. I reckon you seeing things. You said yourself Mistah Pierce was alone when he left on that train.”

Emmy longed to thrash him. “That man over there knows where he is now. And look! He’s leaving!”

“Miss Emmy, stop all that bouncing. Ain’t ladylike. Show me what face you know in all them faces, and I’ll fetch him for you.”

She aimed her finger again, so excited she barely held it straight. “There. The tall, thin man with bushy hair. Hurry, he’s getting away.”

Mumbling under his breath, Nash scurried in the general direction she’d pointed. Emmy gathered her skirts and lit out after him. She lagged a few steps behind when he reached the young man’s side.

“Suh? Excuse me, suh. I don’t mean to trouble you none, but the little lady over there...” He turned to point at Emmy, then frowned and adjusted his words when he found her on his heels. “This young lady right here sho’ hankering to have a word with you.”

The gentleman took off his hat and turned a shy smile her way. Confusion mingled with admiration in his warm brown eyes. He bowed slightly. “Yes, ma’am? What can I do for you?”

Emmy turned on her brightest smile. She knew the power wielded by her full lips and deep dimples. She’d learned at an early age how to use them to gain advantage over men. “Good afternoon, sir.” She tilted her chin up at him. “Forgive my boldness, but I need your help.”

Confusion won over admiration. “
My
help? I’m afraid I—”

“Don’t trouble yourself trying to remember. We haven’t been introduced. Still, I know who you are. You work with Buddy Pierce, isn’t that so?” She expected the mention of Buddy’s name to reassure him. He stiffened instead.

“Yes, ma’am, I sure do, but—”

In her excitement, Emmy cut him off again. “I need to speak to Mr. Pierce right away. Will you take me to him?”

A glimmer of suspicion crept into his eyes.

Emmy pressed closer and turned up her smile. “Heavens, where are my manners?” She extended a gloved hand. “I’m Emily Dane, daughter of Willem and Magdalena Dane of Humble. This is our man, Nash.”

The young man offered a hesitant smile and accepted her hand. She watched him try to work it out in his mind. “Name’s Jerry Ritter. It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss.”

“Mr. Ritter, you were a guest in my home awhile back. You came there with Mr. Pierce.”

His frown deepened.

Emmy felt her smile fade a bit. “We didn’t meet that day. I was ... feeling poorly, so I never joined you. But I saw you from the landing. You were there on behalf of Bertha and Charity Bloom.”

A flicker of recognition shimmered in his eyes. When he smiled, she rushed ahead. “Mr. Ritter, I must find Buddy Pierce. It’s a matter of extreme urgency.”

His young face grew serious. “Well now, it looks like we’ve got that much in common. I’m trying to locate him myself.”

Emmy’s heart lurched. “You mean he’s not traveling with you?”

“Well, he was. Then he took off for Humble on his own, carrying a saddlebag stuffed with money. Me and Lee—that’s our partner—we got worried about Buddy traveling alone with so much currency, so I lit out after him. Never did catch him though. When I got to Humble, Buddy had already come and gone. One of our roughnecks claimed he saw him leaving town, so I hopped the first train bound for Houston, and here I am.”

Understanding dawned on Emmy. “You were on the same train we rode in on, weren’t you?”

“If you pulled in just now, then I guess I was.”

Desperation weighted Emmy’s heart. “Do you know where in Houston Mr. Pierce might go?”

“Not exactly. I just know it ain’t like him to be so unpredictable.” He looked away, but not before concern flickered in his brown eyes. “That man’s as honest and God-fearing as the day is long, but there was an awful lot of money in that bag. It’s got me right anxious.”

Emmy decided to show her cards. “Mr. Ritter, I know exactly why your friend took an unscheduled trip to Houston, and it had nothing whatever to do with money.”

He shifted his weight toward her. “Keep talking.”

“Mr. Pierce found out Charity Bloom is set to get married tomorrow, to Daniel Clark.”

He winced and nodded. “That explains a lot. Buddy was carrying a ring in his pocket that he hoped to slip on her finger.”

Emmy felt a rush of excitement. “That can still happen. Charity doesn’t love Daniel. The truth is, she’s in love with Mr. Pierce. It’s him she wants to wed.”

His eyes widened. “Then why is she getting hitched to someone else?”

“There’s no time to explain right now. Just know Charity’s being forced to marry in haste for her mama’s sake. She’s tried to wait for your Mr. Pierce, but she’s running out of time.”

Mr. Ritter’s eyes twinkled and his cheeks flushed red. He’d caught her enthusiasm. “Miss Dane, are you sure about all of this?”

“Yes, that’s why we’re here. We have to find Buddy before it’s too late for both of them. Oh, please! Can’t you help us?”

He pressed a finger to his chin and nodded. “Maybe I can.”

“Then you know where Buddy is?”

“I have a few ideas. Grab your bags and follow me.”

Charity stood before Mother Dane’s stove pouring hot water into a skillet of golden-brown flour. When the liquid hit the smoking pan, it sizzled and steam rose to the ceiling. Elbows waving, Charity clutched the heavy black handle and went at the mixture in a stirring frenzy. Still, the bubbling gravy inched toward the top, until Mama stepped beside her and lowered the gas.

Waving her hand to dissipate the billowing moisture, Charity glanced over her shoulder. “Thanks, Mama. I’m not used to this newfangled cooker. I’m beginning to appreciate Mother Dane’s attitude toward it.”

“Keep your eyes on that fire, or you’ll see another side to her attitude. If’n that blue flame turns red and yellow, this whole place will fill up with smoke.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Leaves a black mess on everything it touches.”

Charity regarded the stove with newfound respect, her eyes trained on the dancing blue blaze. The cast-iron behemoth stood a foot taller than her and took up one whole corner of the kitchen. She still marveled that it was fueled by gas, the first such contraption of its kind in Humble. Uncle Willem had borne it home along with a good supply of fuel after a trip to the Midwest. He claimed he had a close call somewhere in Kansas, where he averted a mishap just in time to avoid blasting a hole in the earth the size of the Grand Canyon, sending him on an untimely journey to meet his Maker.

He bought the stove as a birthday surprise for Mother Dane, who despised the thing. She cursed it often, using words that burned Charity’s ears. She lamented her old box stove with the same fervor and swore to make Uncle Willem’s life wretched until he brought it home.

Charity gave the gravy another stir and lowered the burner still more, easing the heavy lid onto the skillet. “Mercy, all they do around this house is eat. It’s a wonder you stay so slim.”

Mama scraped a pot of buttered mashed potatoes into a serving bowl before she answered. “The Danes do love their vittles, daughter. When they ain’t eating, they’re talking about it. I reckon when folks can hire their work done, there ain’t much left to do but sit about and eat. Besides, Magda always did like her grub. Even as a girl, they had to shoo her away from the table.”

Charity peered out the window over the sink. “Speaking of Mother Dane, where do you suppose she’s gone off to? It’s getting dark out there.”

Heavy boots hit the porch with a thud, and Mother Dane muttered to herself while she scraped them on the rug. When she opened the door, her ashen face gave Charity such a start that she dropped her ladle on the stove with a clatter and rushed to her aid. “Oh my! You’re pale as paste. Are you all right?”

Winded, Mother Dane leaned against the doorpost, wiping her glistening face with her apron. “I’ll be fine, sugar. Just need to rest a spell. Tending that horse sure takes it out of me.” She drew a deep, shaky breath and took Charity’s arm for help over the threshold. “I guess this old body’s seen better days.”

Mama turned from mixing salt into the potatoes. “You need to shed that weight, Magda, and you know it. You cain’t carry it like when you was young.”

Mother Dane gave her the eye. “Now I’m fat
and
old. Thank you, Bert.”

Chuckling, Mama went on stirring. “Did you tend them squawking chickens?”

Mother Dane shook her head. “I fed Rebel and that’s about it. The rest of those critters can fend for themselves for one night. I got no tending left in me.”

Handing off the bowl to Charity, Mama led her friend to the table. “Come take a load off them feet. Me and Charity can ramble out and finish up later. Still no sign of Nash?”

Moaning, Mother Dane sank into a kitchen chair. “Not a peep. I guess he’s gone for good this time, though I can’t imagine why. We treated that man like family.” She sniffed, and her bottom lip trembled. “He let me down bad this time. With Willem gone and Emmy too frail to help out, I’m left with the whole thing in my lap. He sure picked a bad time to skedaddle.”

Charity hurried over to set the gravy boat on the table then rested a silver spoon at its side. “Nash isn’t gone for good. He’ll be back. You can count on it.”

Mama turned from the stove. “You reckon so, baby?”

“Yes, ma’am, I do.”

“Then where’s he at?”

“I couldn’t venture to guess. I’m certain he’ll have a lively excuse when he shows up.”

Mother Dane drew herself up in the chair. “This time he’ll tell it to the wind whilst I sweep his sorry hide off the porch.”

Charity smiled at Mama, and Mama winked. The Dane household would soon founder without strong, capable Nash, and they all knew it.

From the cupboard as familiar as her own, Charity pulled down a heavy mason jar filled with the green beans she’d helped Emmy put up last summer—not that Emmy had weighed in on the task. She spent most of the morning sitting cross-legged on the table singing silly ditties and telling stories. In short, trying to do all she could to keep Charity too entertained to notice she hadn’t lifted a finger to help with the canning.

Charity wrapped a cup towel around the mouth of the jar and pried the lid off with a satisfying pop, then drained the beans and poured them into a warming pan. She tossed in a strip of salted fat and put on the lid. Mama took up the golden-brown pork chops that Charity had just fried and layered them on a cloth-covered platter to soak up the grease. Snuffing the fire under the skillet, Charity turned to the table to take inventory.

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 lose 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.”