Chasing Charity (23 page)

At the door to Emily’s room, she reached to touch Buddy’s arm. “Mr. Pierce, you won’t leave without me tomorrow, will you?”

Buddy met her haunting blue eyes. “I don’t mind you stringing along, Miss Dane, but I won’t wait for you. I suggest you arrive at the station on time if you plan on riding into Humble with me.” He tipped his hat. “Good night now.”

He left her staring after him and made his way down the hall to his room.

A single moonbeam, slipping through a broken slat in the shade, bored behind Daniel’s eyelids. He pitched and tossed on the wide bed, trying in vain to escape the pesky glow. Not that the amount of light in his room had changed. He’d lost his talent for sleeping through a hurricane. The air was heavy and hot, insufferably so, but he dozed at last, until sweat trickled past his ear, tickling him awake. Stirring, he cursed and punched the lumpy pillow into submission before flopping over onto his stomach.

Charity came to him then. She hovered over the bed and whispered through pouting red lips, so close her soft breath in his ear raised gooseflesh on his neck. He rolled onto his back and her long dark hair fell over him, caressing his face, his chest. He could smell her skin, taste her breath as she drew closer. Ecstatic, he reached to encircle her waist with his arms, convinced she was there.

His pounding heart jerked him awake and Charity was gone, her vivid presence replaced by deep loneliness, his faithful companion for much of the night.

Why had he excused himself and gone up to bed early? So far sleep had eluded him, and now, after the dream, there was no hope of rest.

He sat up on the side of the bed. When his bare toes hit the floor, it gave him a shock to realize the room he thought stifling hot was in fact quite nippy. Straining to reach it with his heel, he dragged a sock beneath his feet. Only his feet were cold. In the predawn chill, his stirring blood continued to warm his body and torture his mind.

He would have to get up. There was no help for it, though it made him frustrated and angry with himself. He needed sleep. The day that lay before him would be taxing enough with a rested body.

He had decided to tell his parents about the wedding, but only at the last minute on his way out the door. If they were willing to accept Charity, if they wanted to witness the marriage of their only son, they would be welcome to ride with him to the church. That prospect warmed his heart.

The other possibility scared him witless. His parents could very likely disown him today, shun him, and strip him of his inheritance. If so, it would be his mama’s doing, but Papa would go along with her to keep the peace.

Daniel grimaced. If that’s how things went, then blast them both! He didn’t need them. He’d proven that. And Charity was worth it. He would lose anything to gain her. Why hadn’t he realized that before? At any rate, he would face heaven and earth—worse, his mama’s wrath—to take a stand for her today.

He shivered. Whether chilled by his thoughts or the icy floor he couldn’t tell, but the cold had started to penetrate his body. He turned up the lamp in order to locate his other sock and smiled when he discovered he’d slept with it wadded among the covers. He reached for the one under his feet, pulled them both on, and then crossed the room to stand before the tall, mirrored wardrobe.

Peering closer, he rubbed his stubbled chin. “Funny, you don’t look like a groom,” he muttered to his rumpled reflection. “Look sharp, old boy. Today’s your wedding day.”

The words broke the spell. The bleak mood that had hovered through the night lifted, and Daniel had to laugh at the simpleton grinning at him from the mirror.

He would hurry and dress, then pack the rest of his clothes and hide them with the other belongings he’d stashed in the buckboard. After that, he would get started on his chores. It was too early yet to feed the stock, but there were things he could do, tasks done so many times he could manage them in the dark.

Stunned, Daniel realized it was the last time the responsibility would be his. Overseeing his father’s property would fall to someone else tomorrow because Daniel would have chores of his own. From now on, the affairs of his house, his and Charity’s, would occupy his time. The thought brought a thrill that shot right through him and roared in his ears.

He eased from his room, pausing to peer down the hall toward his parents’ bedroom. No light shone from beneath the door and no sound came from within. He tiptoed past, mindful of the squeaky boards, and headed for the landing.

A hearty yawn watered his eyes as he descended the stairs, sleepy at last. Smiling, he shook it off. Too late now. Any rest he got would have to come later, after Charity became his bride.

“Come on, Miss Emmy, this ain’t no Sunday stroll. You best hurry now or you gon’ be chasing that train down the track.”

“For pity’s sake, Nash, I’m coming.” Out of breath, Emmy strained to close the gap between them. “No one in God’s creation can keep up with your gait, much less a body saddled with my short legs. I’m doing the best I can.”

Despite the weight of both their bags, Nash breezed along ahead of her, still a good distance away until he stopped short to stare. “You best hush all that fussing and save your breath for running. That train’s coming now. I can see it.”

The sun glinted off a speck of metal in the distance, and a thin plume of smoke spiraled into the air. Emmy picked up her pace, turning her attention to the station platform. “Do you see Mr. Pierce and Mr. Ritter?”

“Not yet, I don’t. Ain’t likely to, neither, what with all these folks flocking around. I reckon we won’t see them two men again ’til after we’s boarded. Maybe not even ’til we get home.”

Emmy’s eyes lit on a rumpled head of brightly colored hair. “Oh, but you’re wrong.” She pointed toward the far edge of the platform. “There’s Mr. Ritter now.”

They pushed through to where the young man stood craning his neck at the crowd. When he saw them, he flushed with pleasure and waved frantically until they reached his side.

“Where’s Buddy?” Emmy asked, only to hear her question parroted back. She stared up at him. “What do you mean where’s Buddy? Isn’t he with you?”

Mr. Ritter gaped at her, his face a picture of her own confusion. “I thought he was with you.”

The first flicker of panic flashed in Emmy’s chest. Heart racing, she studied the melee around them. “Well, he must be here somewhere.”

Mr. Ritter shook his head. “I was one of the first men on the platform this morning. I’ve watched every person come and go since.”

“You must be mistaken. He was so determined to catch this train.”

The words were hardly free of her mouth when the big engine roared into the station, belching black smoke in rhythmic blasts. The mob surged toward it in one massive heave, bumping and jostling Emmy as they shoved past. She sought Buddy in the swirling sea of faces and then remembered Nash, who stood head and shoulders above the rest. She tugged at his sleeve. “Do you see him, Nash?”

“No, Miss Emmy. I don’t see hide nor hair of Mistah Pierce.”

“Oh, do look harder. He must be here. If he’s not, then...”

“Something’s wrong,” Mr. Ritter finished for her. “Come on, let’s go.”

Emmy fell in behind the men as they raced down the near-empty boardwalk, headed for the hotel. Despite the early hour, Mr. Ritter paused to peer into the saloon. From what Emmy could see, there wasn’t much going on in the shadows behind the swinging doors, and Buddy was nowhere in sight.

The long-legged rascals ran ahead of Emmy, leaving her trailing behind. Inside the shabby hotel lobby, she saw Mr. Ritter already on the stairs with Nash right behind him. She glanced at the clerk, prepared to hear him raise a fuss about Nash going upstairs, but some matter in the other direction held his attention. Emmy heaved a sigh of relief before raising the hem of her skirt and barreling after the two men. She caught up with them just outside Buddy’s room.

“Why did you leave without him in the first place?” she demanded of Mr. Ritter, who stood pounding with the palm of his hand.

He gave another hard whack. “I knocked this morning, but he didn’t answer. I figured he left without me.”

“You really believed he wouldn’t wait for you?”

Mr. Ritter glanced over his shoulder. “You heard him last night, same as I did. He wasn’t planning to wait for nobody.”

Nash doubled his massive fist and hit the door several times, so hard the frame rattled, then pressed his ear against the polished wood. Stepping back, he shook his head. “He ain’t in this room, that’s for sure. We could’ve raised the dead with all this ruckus.”

Several occupants along the hall stuck out their heads and glared their way. Nash jumped behind Emmy and Mr. Ritter in a feeble attempt to hide his bulk. “We best get on out of here,” he whispered. “ ’Fore we winds up in a mess.”

Emmy shook her head and rattled the doorknob. “I won’t leave without Buddy. He’s the reason we came. Help me get this open.”

Mr. Ritter placed his hand over hers on the knob. Compassion had softened his gentle eyes. “Buddy’s not here, ma’am. Come along now. Maybe he’s made it to the station by now.”

Nash shook his head. “If’n he did finally make it to the station, we’ll never know it. He’ll be somewhere on that big old train.”

Emmy spun around to face him. “And we won’t know whether to board or not!” She moaned, pressing her knuckles to her throbbing temples. “Oh my goodness, we’re just too addlepated for words. One of us should’ve waited on the platform. Now what are we going to do?”

She cast around in her mind for a solution. There had to be something sensible. If she could just get one moment to catch her breath, she knew it would come to her. Trouble was, they were fresh out of moments. That train wouldn’t wait.

Jerry started for the stairs, waving them on with his hand. “Let’s go,” he called. “There’s nothing more to do here.”

With some reluctance, Emmy moved to follow. Just as she gave in and turned away, just as her hand released the knob, she heard a sound from inside. It was a man’s voice, weak and faint, yet desperate in tone. She whirled toward the stairs. “Mr. Ritter, come back! He’s in there. Buddy’s in this room.”

Jerry stopped and stared at her. He hooked his long thumbs in the waistband of his trousers and let his shoulders slouch in defeat. “Ma’am, I understand your frustration—I really do. But I’m growing a mite impatient with you now.”

Emmy stomped her foot. “I tell you he’s in there and he’s in trouble. Get over here right now. Both of you.”

Like boys responding to their mama’s no-nonsense voice, the men dashed to her side and pressed their ears to the door.

“You right, Miss Emmy,” Nash whispered. “Somebody’s in there.”

Jerry nodded. “I hear it, too.” He stood up and rapped hard twice, then placed his mouth next to the jamb. “Buddy, is that you? Open up.”

Emmy felt her panic growing. “Nash, you’re going to have to break it down.”

Always ready to oblige, Nash backed up and prepared to charge. Before he could make his move, Jerry lunged in front of him.

“Now just hold on there. We can get inside without leveling the wall. I can’t afford to replace it. You two wait here and don’t move. I’m going after a key.” He wagged a finger at Nash as he jogged by. “Don’t get any more ideas about busting down doors.”

Emmy pressed her face to the inlaid panel. “Hang on, Mr. Pierce. We’re here to help you. Mr. Ritter’s bringing the key.”

She heard a loud groan in answer and thought to have Nash proceed with the original plan, but Mr. Ritter appeared at the top of the landing with a brass key dangling from his hand. He ran the last few steps toward them, and Emmy backed out of his way.

“I’m here, Buddy. Hang on,” he called as he worked the key in the lock.

When the door swung open, the three of them burst inside the room. An unbearable stench met them first, and Emmy covered her nose with her sleeve. Buddy sprawled across the mattress, on top of the covers, dressed in the same clothes he’d worn the day before.

“What in the world? Why, he’s not even made it to bed properly.” Mr. Ritter approached his friend and peered down. “What’s up, old man? What happened to you?”

Buddy’s eyes were bloodshot and glazed, his face the same shade of green as the blanket on which he lay. Nash nodded at the gruesome washbasin on the floor beside the bed and backed toward the exit. “He sick, that’s what. Powerful sick. Something done turned his stomach inside out.”

Tears flooded Emmy’s eyes. How could Buddy be sick? He was the one person in the world with any hope of saving Charity, but he had to be in Humble to do it.

Buddy raised a trembling hand toward Jerry. “Get me to the station,” he whispered.

Jerry shook his head. “Sorry, my friend. You’re in no condition for a train ride. You’ve taken ill.”

He motioned Jerry closer. “Not ill. Just a little weak in my gut. Too much sarsaparilla on an empty stomach.”

Jerry stared hard at him then doubled over and roared with laughter. “Are you telling me you got this way from drinking sarsaparilla?” He hooted and slapped his leg. “I never met a feller who couldn’t hold his sarsaparilla before. Maybe you should’ve stuck with whiskey.”

Grabbing the front of Jerry’s shirt, Buddy pulled him down against his chest and ground out a threat. “Ritter, you’d best get me down to that station right now, or I’ll...” He fell against his pillow, too weak to finish.

Jerry paled. Whether from Buddy’s anger or his foul breath, Emmy couldn’t tell, but the man had his attention.

“Have you lost your senses?” he wailed. “How am I supposed to get you anywhere when you can’t even stand up?”

“Carry me,” Buddy gasped. “Hog-tie me with a rope and drag me—I don’t care. Do what you have to do to get me on that train.”

Backing out of Buddy’s reach, Jerry crossed his arms. “I won’t do it. You’re far too sick to be moved.”

Buddy lunged at him. “Get me on that train, Jerry! I tell you I can make it.”

“No, sir. I’m sorry. You can’t.”

“Oh yes, he can!”

Buddy’s determination had lit a fire in Emmy. She pushed Jerry out of the way. “Nash, come over here and help Mr. Pierce out of this bed. Hurry. This man has a train to catch.”