Chasing Charity

by Marcia Gruver

  “It’s no good,” Mr. Ritter hollered from where he sat. “If that was the axle, this thing won’t hold together. We have to stop.”

  “He’s right,” Mr. Pierce called, his eyes fixed on Nash. “We can’t outrun those riders. We’ll have to face them sooner or later.”

  Fear clawed Nash’s throat. He had to make these fool men understand. “Easy for you to say, Mistah Pierce. They ain’t aimin’ to hurt none of you white folk.”

  “I won’t let them hurt you, Nash.”

  “Then they gon’ hang you, too.”

  Mr. Pierce had the audacious brash to smile. “Those men won’t be hanging anyone. They’re just trying to scare us a little.”

  “You ain’t from the South, is you, mistah? We already scared, and they know it. No, suh. If they catch us, they’s gon’ kill us.”

  A bullet whizzed through the back of the buckboard, narrowly missing Mr. Pierce and wiping the grin clean off his face.

  Before Nash could recover from the shock, a hooded rider on a fast horse caught up and pulled alongside. Nash braced for a bullet, but the man passed them by without a glance. To his horror, the rider swung from his mount onto the back of the lead horse and struggled to rein him in.

  Benjamin stood up and lashed at the intruder with his whip, showing courage Nash knew he didn’t have—courage or the foolishness of youth. Nash had lived longer than young Benjamin, long enough to learn how harsh the penalty for such an act, and how cruelly delivered.

  No matter how hard Benjamin struck, the man held on and eventually stopped the horse. The wagon pulled up with a shudder.

  Amid the mad laughter and shouting of the veiled gang, Nash thought he heard Miss Lucille let go an agonized whimper. He wondered if the dread in her heart matched his own, wondered if Benjamin knew enough to be afraid.

  Mr. Pierce lurched to his feet and faced the riders. “Whatever you men are looking for, you won’t find it here.”

  One of them spurred his mount forward. “I ain’t so sure about that, mister.”

  “You’ve made a mistake. We’re carrying nothing of value.”

  Through holes cut in the makeshift hood, the man aimed a hard stare at Nash. Nash dropped from his knees to his backside and willed himself small, thinking it better to pose no threat.

  “Ain’t no mistake,” the flinty-eyed devil sneered. “I’m looking at what we’re after. But you’re right about one thing. It ain’t worth much.”

  The other men hooted and catcalled, and all of them edged closer to the wagon.

  Mr. Ritter stood up beside Mr. Pierce and turned his pockets inside out. “We got no money. See?”

  The man cocked his gun and leveled it at him. “You just keep those hands still.”

  Mr. Ritter frowned and answered boldly, but Nash heard the tremor in his voice. “We don’t want any trouble. We’re nothing but a band of travelers headed for Humble to look for work.”

  The stone-cold eyes swung to Nash again. “Well, you see, that there’s your problem. Me and the boys don’t much care for your choice of traveling companions.”

  The lone rider who had stopped them jumped down from Benjamin’s horse and sauntered back to where Benjamin still stood with the whip in his hand. Violence and hatred marked his haughty stride. “That’s right,” he said. “We don’t care for them at all. Especially this one.”

  “This” spewed out like a curse as his hands closed around the boy’s leg and pulled, jerking him off his feet. Benjamin fell down hard, crying out in pain when his back struck the buckboard seat.

  Miss Lucille screamed, a mix of fear and rage in her voice. The hateful man jerked off his hood and hopped onto the side of the wagon, a loathsome grin on his face. “Well now, what we got here?”

  Nash saw he was no more than an overgrown boy, which explained his reckless manner.

  The lead rider growled in frustration. “What are you doing, Jackie? Put that back on.”

  “Why? It don’t matter none if they see me. They won’t be around long enough to talk about it.” He pushed dirty blond hair from his eyes and leered at Nash. “Ain’t that right, boy?”

  Nash hung his head and tried to come up with the answer they wanted. A hard kick against the side rails rattled the rig and brought him to quick attention. “Yes, suh, that’s right.”

  “You best pay attention when I’m talking to you, boy.”

  Nash raised his head, but it was hard to bear the contempt on the smug young face.

  The brash fool looked over his shoulder. “See there, fellers? He knows I’m right. I can see it in them big eyes of his. He knows he won’t be around to tell any tales.”

  His cruel laugh chilled Nash on the inside. When he turned again, his face had changed, and Nash wished the hatred and cruelty would come back. In its place he saw dark mischief and the glint of evil desire.

  His smile widened. “Now then, Big Eyes, let’s see what you got stashed under that seat.”

  The boy swung aboard the wagon and pulled the burlap off the women in one quick jerk.

  Miss Lucille screamed again. Dread whitewashed Miss Emmy’s face.

  “Well, I’ll be!” he shouted then winked at Mr. Pierce. “And you said you weren’t carrying nothing of value.”

  He grabbed Miss Emmy’s arm, so hard she yelped, and dragged her from under the seat. As he pulled her past Miss Lucille, she glanced at Nash, her eyes pleading for help. It was the last thing he saw before his world faded into white-hot rage and swinging fists.

  CHAPTER 31

  Charity looked around the small chapel. The room hadn’t changed, though it held less people than the last time she’d been there. Her gown was the same, but this time, instead of feeling like a bride, she could hardly stand to look at the dress—a sentiment that extended to the ecstatic groom at her side.

  A smiling country preacher stood ready to sign the marriage license, the same diminutive man who had gazed at her with pity on that other wedding day. Charity knew by the way he beamed at her now, he considered the impending ceremony to be reconciliation, the righting of a terrible wrong. Well, it was true, wasn’t it? Marrying Daniel would make things right, but in a way the preacher might never suspect.

  He lowered his pen to the document with a flourish, oblivious to Charity’s misery. Desperate, foolish thoughts filled her mind as she watched him sign her doom.

  Why couldn’t he sign in pencil the way Papa always had? Then I could erase the signature legalizing this union ... and use the same eraser to rub the smile off Daniel’s face and the misery from Mama’s eyes. After that I would use it on my mind to obliterate all memory of this wretched day.

  Maybe that’s why Papa preferred a pencil. Ink was so final, so permanent. It left no room for changing your mind.

  Daniel nudged her alert with his elbow. She struggled free of her musings to find both men gazing expectantly at her.

  The preacher cleared his throat. “Would you like for me to repeat that?”

  She warmed clear to her toes. “I guess you’d better.”

  He adjusted his glasses and glanced at his notes. “Very well, then. Charity Bloom, will you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold...”

  Despite herself, she lost focus again. Something niggled at her from just beneath the surface. A matter of great importance, to be sure, but she couldn’t quite get a bead on it.

  This time Daniel buried his elbow with some force, hard enough to make her gasp. “Wake up, sugar. You’re supposed to say something here.”

  She stared up at him but couldn’t see his face for the vivid image that, until that moment, had lurked in the dark recesses of her mind. A picture that loomed before her now, bathed in white light.

  “Daniel, I—”

  “Just say, ‘I will,’ Charity. That’s all you have to say, and then it’ll be my turn.” His eyes begged her to speak.

  She spun on her heels instead and sought her mama’s face.

  Mama stood as if pulled by an ov
erhead string.

  Charity stepped off the platform and swept up the aisle, her eyes locked on her mama’s as she passed. She had a second to wonder if the gaping mouth and raised brows signaled panic or relief.

  When she bolted for the door, Daniel followed. He caught up with her there and latched onto her arm, pulling her up short. “Why are you doing this? You want to hurt me, is that it?” He whirled her around to face him. “That’s it, right? You’re taking your revenge for what I’ve done.”

  “That’s not it at all. I just need some time.”

  His expression turned pleading. “Honey, please don’t do this. I said I was sorry for hurting you. I’ll do anything to make it up.”

  Charity narrowed her eyes. “If that’s so, then turn me loose. There’s something I have to do first. I’ll be back within the hour. I promise.”

  Hope washed over his face. “And then you’ll marry me?”

  She lowered her voice and told the truth. “I don’t know yet.”

  The words sharpened his tone and fanned a blaze in his eyes. “Hold up there, little girl.” His fingers dug into her arm. “I gave up everything for you—my parents, my inheritance, my whole life. What do you mean you don’t know?”

  Charity winced and tried to pull away. “Stop it, Daniel. You’re hurting me.”

  “Turn her loose, boy,” Mama growled behind them, “if’n you value your life.” Her tiny body trembled with rage, and her mottled face held a warning. Mother Dane stood with her, adding weight to the threat.

  The preacher stepped around the women and glared at Daniel’s grip on Charity’s wrist. “I don’t know what’s going on here,” he said in a low voice, “but, son, you’d be well advised to let go of her arm.”

  One by one, Daniel’s fingers lifted, revealing white marks on Charity’s skin.

  She spun and raced for the chapel entrance. Before her hand fully closed around the knob, someone jerked the door open from the other side. She gasped and heard the sound repeated in unison behind her by Mama and Mother Dane.

  Frantically swiping the tears that prevented a clear view of his dear face, Charity tried to say his name. It came out an incredulous whispered question. “Buddy?”

  His eager eyes looked everywhere at once, taking in her dress, the chapel, and those gathered behind her. When they finally settled on her face, they held a mixture of panic and pain. “Tell me I’m not too late, Charity. Please tell me you didn’t go through with it.”

  In two steps she met him on the threshold. Her gaze locked on his, and she touched his battered cheek. “What happened to your face?”

  He pressed her hand to his bruised flesh then pulled her palm to his lips for a soft kiss. In his eyes blazed the same emotion she’d witnessed that day on the trail when the well blew in. This time fear mingled with his passion, so the fire raged even hotter.

  Charity started to speak, but a shrill voice, as recognizable as her own, broke the spell. “Wait, Charity! Don’t do it!”

  From across the churchyard, a peculiar apparition staggered in their general direction, twice weaving off course before correcting itself. Charity watched in fascination as the figure stumbled up the steps and lunged for Buddy, using his body to prevent falling headlong through the door.

  The creature clung to Buddy and peered around him from the threshold. It spoke again, Emmy’s unmistakably familiar voice emanating from a decidedly unfamiliar form. “Don’t tell me we’re too late!”

  Unable to believe her ears, Charity gasped. “Emmy?”

  The pale, gaunt face, scratched and dirt-streaked, with one eye swollen shut, hardly resembled her. Bits of hay and woody debris tangled her hair, the blond locks half pinned, half flowing free. Her frock fared worse, the skirt so filthy it made the color uncertain, the bodice stained by a substance that resembled dried blood. The dress was torn in several places, and muddy water darkened six inches of the hem.

  Full of questions, Charity drew a deep breath and opened her mouth. An unspeakable stench snaked around her like a fog, so dense it seemed tangible. With every breath it grew stronger, more caustic. Incredibly, it seemed to emanate from Emmy and Buddy, so awful Charity couldn’t imagine the source. Whatever the cause, the horrid smell threatened to turn her stomach.

  Mother Dane stepped forward and squinted. “Why, Emily Dane. It is you. Have you been tipping the bottle?”

  Mama took a step back and pinched her nose shut with two fingers. “Pee-yew. What have you two wallowed in to take on a stink like that? Emmy, this rivals your recent trip to the henhouse.”

  Mother Dane rested her hands on her hips. “What have you been up to, little miss? And how did you get in this condition? When I left you an hour ago, you were still in bed.”

  Charity jerked her gaze to Emmy. It didn’t seem possible to wind up in such a state between the Danes’ house and the church. She recalled the night she had slipped into Emmy’s room, ready to bare her soul to a carefully arranged pile of pillows.

  You little trickster! You were never in your room. You weren’t even in the house!

  Her head reeled. Emmy had somehow gone after Buddy and brought him back.

  “Pierce!” In the midst of Charity’s revelation, a strident voice bellowed at her back. “I might’ve known you had something to do with this.”

  Daniel! Charity had forgotten him in the commotion. He stormed from the center aisle to stand at her elbow, his face a furious mask.

  Buddy took a step forward. “You’re right, Clark. I have everything to do with it.” His blazing eyes swept toward Charity and instantly softened. He took her shoulders in his hands and pulled her close in a protective gesture. Unlike Daniel’s harsh hands, Charity found Buddy’s touch gentle, his fingers a light caress on her skin.

  His earnest gaze searched her face. “Emmy told me everything, honey. You don’t have to marry Daniel. I’ll marry you right now, if you’ll have me. And not just to save your land. I love you, Charity. More than I can say.”

  Daniel swelled like a blowfish and lunged, his fingers clamping down on Buddy’s arm. “Get your filthy paws off my bride.”

  Buddy froze, his gaze locked on Daniel’s hand. “Is that so, Charity? Are you this man’s wife?”

  The preacher stepped from behind Mama and Mother Dane and cleared his throat. “There have been no vows exchanged here today.” He spoke the words with authority, in a tone that contradicted his small stature. The pronouncement made Charity’s heart soar.

  Daniel wailed like a wild thing. He whirled and jerked up a nearby chair, then rushed Buddy with it.

  Distracted by Charity, Buddy never saw him coming. She screamed, but it came too late for him to move.

  A shadow loomed behind them and a long arm shot out, catching hold of the chair just before it came down on Buddy’s head. Jerked from Daniel’s grasp, the makeshift weapon rose over their heads and sailed past Daniel, where it shattered to kindling against the wall.

  Chest heaving, Nash jutted his chin at Daniel. “You jus’ step on back now, Mistah Clark. I done walloped me one mess of fools today. I got no qualms ’bout adding you to the pile.” Behind Nash stood Jerry Ritter. Two people Charity had never seen before hovered just outside the door.

  Charity marveled at the change in docile, mild-mannered Nash. He stood with fists clenched at his waist, his feet planted in a determined stance. His big hands were cut and swollen, but from the look in his eyes, that wouldn’t deter him from using them again.

  Daniel seemed to make the same assessment. His eyes traveled from Nash’s hands to his somber face and back again. For all his bravado, it was clear Daniel wasn’t ready to take on big Nash, but the ugly snarl and menacing look he shot him made Charity queasy.

  “You’ll live just long enough to regret this day, boy,” was all he said before he shoved past them and out the door.

  Nash watched him, his expression grave. “He prob’ly right about that,” he whispered. “They gon’ hang me now for sure.”

  “Nobody
will hang you for defending a man,” Buddy said. “That’s all you were doing. I’ll make sure no one lays a hand on you.”

  Mama elbowed her way closer. “You reckon we’re finally shed of that varmint?”

  Buddy glanced toward the door. “I doubt it, Mrs. Bloom. We’ll face that trial when it comes.” He held out his hand to Nash. “Meanwhile, sir, I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

  Nash grinned and stood taller. “Call us even, Mistah Pierce. I wouldn’t be here now if’n you hadn’t waded in and helped me back yonder.” He nodded at Jerry and the younger man. “Same goes for you two.”

  A huge smile overcame Buddy’s grave expression. He pulled Emmy to stand among them. “Don’t leave out our Miss Dane, here. She darted in and delivered a fair lick or two of her own.”

  The little band of misfits exchanged wide, knowing grins. Charity burned with curiosity, but another more pressing matter consumed her. She touched Buddy’s arm. “Though I would dearly love to stay and hear more of this adventure, I desperately need to get somewhere, and fast. Mother Dane, may I take your buggy?”

  “Sure you can, sugar. It’s right outside. Nash can drive you.” She glowered at him with flashing eyes. “If he’s still working for me, that is.”

  Nash looked like she’d caught him with an empty pie tin. His shoulders, so broad and proud just seconds ago, rounded to a slump. “Yes’m, if you’ll have me.”

  “All right, then. Take Miss Charity where she needs to go. Mind you, I have a few things I need to say to you, but I guess they can simmer a mite longer.” She aimed raised brows at Emmy, who wilted before her searching gaze. “And don’t think you’ve gotten away with anything. There’s too many unanswered questions to suit me. We’ll have a set-to, the lot of us, when the smoke clears.”

  “Yes’m, Miz Dane,” Nash said and backed out the door.

  Charity smiled. Facing an angry fist, even a charging bull, was a whole different matter for a man than standing up to Magdalena Dane.

  “Wait just a second now.” Buddy touched Charity’s shoulder. “I hate to be a pest, honey, but I just proposed marriage to you. You haven’t said yes, though I don’t recall you saying no, either.” He gestured around him. “I mean, we are standing in a chapel.” He nodded toward the reverend. “And this fine gentleman came ready to perform a ceremony. The way I see it, there’s no sense wasting a perfect arrangement.”