He shook his head. “Not so much. Generally gets me in too much trouble.”
Emmy wadded her sandwich wrapper and shoved it inside the sack. “It may not help at all. But if there’s any truth to what I heard...” She leaned close and lowered her voice. “If Mr. Pierce feels one spark of affection for Charity, then he’s our only hope. It’s a gamble, but a gamble we must take.”
Nash’s tense hands worried the tattered hat on his lap. “You reckon they know we’s gone by now?”
“Maybe.” Emmy considered her answer for a minute and then nodded. “Most likely, in fact.” She shook her head to dislodge the thought and handed Nash a sandwich. “Eat this and don’t talk about it. What’s done is done. There’s no going back.”
Nash took the wrapped offering in one hand, shooing her words like pesky flies with the other. “Naw, missy. Ain’t nothing done yet. I could go back, all right. I could get off this contraption and walk home. Tell Miz Dane I ain’t seen hide nor hair of her wayward child.”
Burying his face in the paper, he took a huge bite of the sandwich and proceeded to talk around it. “That’s right, I sho’ could. In fact, I jus’ might.”
Emmy shrugged. “Suit yourself, but you’re in for a mighty long walk, considering we’re pulling into the station. We’re here, Nash! We’re in Houston!”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Miss Emmy, don’t you try to fool old Nash.”
She pointed out her side window. “See for yourself.”
He squirmed in his seat, trying to see through every glass at once. “No, we ain’t! That fast?” A grin spread over his face, wider than the grease on his cheeks. “Now don’t that jus’ beat all?”
Emmy stood, fighting to keep her balance as the big engine rolled to a jerky stop. She grabbed her reticule and handed Nash her leather bag. “Stop that gawking and follow me.”
She moved into the aisle and started for the exit, helped along by the surging crush of people. When she looked back and found herself alone, she stepped aside before the disorderly stampede pushed her right out the door.
Nash still hovered over her seat, trying to gather the remaining sandwiches with one hand while juggling their bags with the other.
“Leave that, Nash. It’s trash now. It won’t last in this heat. We’ll find something to eat later on.”
Nash dropped the bundle with some reluctance and pushed his hat down on his head. He pressed into the aisle and came toward her, glancing back several times at the food.
“Stop dawdling over that trifling ham,” she shouted past the scrambling passengers. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you starve.”
“But, Miss Emmy, we ain’t got us no money.”
The rush swept Emmy along. She had no choice but to step down off the train into bedlam. Gentility and manners had vanished with the coming of the oil boom, along with every trace of decency and order. Those waiting to board merged with those departing, becoming a blur of frantic people. Emmy broke free and shoved her way to the side, adjusting her hat and smoothing her rumpled skirt while she waited for Nash. He appeared on the threshold at last, holding their bags aloft.
“There’s no need to fret about money or food,” she called up to him. “I have my ways.”
A burly man pushed past Emmy in his rush to board, jostling her so rudely she would’ve toppled and been trampled underfoot had Nash not leaped to the platform to offer a steady hand. He cast a dark look at the surrounding horde. “I ain’t so sure even your wily ways gon’ help in this place.”
Emmy followed his gaze. A most curious assortment of people milled about on the boardwalk. Not even in Humble, where the boom had brought thousands of strangers to her town, had Emmy seen the likes of this lot. Work-roughened, sin-coarsened men loomed on every side. Whatever lured them, whether the promise of excitement or unbridled greed, they allowed themselves to be driven like cattle toward the train.
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.”
CHAPTER 24
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 w
hen 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.
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