Chasing Charity (26 page)

He had to swallow first, his jutting Adam’s apple rising and falling just over her head. “Miss Emmy, we might be about to see heaven a mite sooner than we expected.” He pointed, his terrified stare fixed on something behind them.

Dread of the unknown settled in the pit of Emmy’s stomach. She tracked the line of his muscular arm to the tip of his trembling finger. At first she saw only a flurry of motion in a raised cloud of dust. As they drew nearer, she made out the silhouettes of what had to be men on horseback hastening their way, but they didn’t look quite right somehow.

“What on earth, Nash? Are those men?”

“Miss Emmy, I got me a good hunch they’s devils.” He gripped the toe of Buddy’s boot and gave it a shake. “Wake yourself, Mistah Pierce. We got company.”

Buddy came up fast, turning to look behind them to where Nash pointed. “You think they’re coming for us?”

Emmy took comfort from the strength in Buddy’s voice, but his words made her chest ache with fear. The approaching men shouted and whooped like Indians on a raid. They were near enough now to count. Six ... no, seven riders, closing fast.

Jerry, fully alert, gripped the edge of the tailgate. “We might have a delay in our trip.”

Nash scrambled to his knees and leaned forward. He rubbed his eyes hard, as if he couldn’t believe what he saw, and then rubbed them again. “Naw, suh, Mistah Ritter. We got us worse than any delay. We got a mess of pure trouble.” His voice came out strained, as if his throat had gone dry.

Buddy glanced at him. “Calm down, Nash. Probably just young bucks on a lark.”

Emmy had never seen Nash’s eyes so wide. Even the whites bulged from his face.

“Naw, Mistah Pierce, them ain’t bucks on a lark. They got sheets on they heads. We all dead men.”

Miss Lucille found her voice. Ice filled Emmy’s veins at her words, shot through with fear. “Help us,” she hissed. “Lord, help us all!”

“Lord, help us all!”

The tortured cry rang through the parlor like a pronouncement of doom. Charity’s head jerked up. Mama hovered at the head of the stairs, the picture of overstated tragedy. Still barefoot, she had at least donned the pale blue dress Mother Dane had bought for her to wear to the wedding.

Mother Dane exchanged a quick smile with Charity before she crossed to the bottom landing. “What’s the matter now, Bertha Maye?”

Charity drew up her shoulders. Mother Dane must be feeling exceptionally brave.

Mama scowled down at her. “What do you think is the matter? I declare, you must be sleepwalking half the time.” She caught their smiles and descended the stairs in a huff, fussing and muttering the whole way.

She had never looked so nice. Charity knew Mother Dane had pinned her hair, because every strand lay perfectly in place. The lace-trimmed skirt of her new dress stood out, starched and crisp. Another of Mother Dane’s interventions, since Mama never pressed her clothes.

Still frowning, she joined them in the parlor, her busy fingers pulling at her collar and plucking at her skirt. Mother Dane slapped her hands away when she reached for her hair.

“Stop fidgeting and leave that alone. You’re determined to muss it before we get out the door. Can’t you let yourself look nice for a change?”

“I cain’t help it. I’m plain miserable trussed up like this.”

“It’s a special occasion, Bert. You can let yourself fall apart again as soon as it’s over.”

“Special?” Mama hissed. “A funeral’s an occasion, too, but I wouldn’t call it special.”

Mother Dane ignored her comment, stepping in front of the hall mirror to primp. “Where’s Emmy? I thought you said you could coax her down.”

Mama patted her piled-up hair. “I tried. Didn’t get very far. She’s still curled up in bed, pouting, by the look of it. Wouldn’t even speak to me.”

“Is that a fact?” Mother Dane balled her fists and glared up the stairs. “Well, if you’ll pardon me, ladies, by golly, I think I can persuade her out of that bed.”

Mama grabbed her sleeve. “Don’t do it, Magda.”

The storm on Mother Dane’s face blew with full fury. “This here’s Charity’s wedding day. Emmy ought to be there. Charity should mean more to her than some scalawag of a man.”

“Go easy on her now. Daniel Clark is a scoundrel, but I guess our Emmy’s in love with him. Don’t you see what that means, honey? The man of her dreams is marrying her best friend today. It’d be right cruel to make her stand and watch.”

Mother Dane faltered a bit. “Well, it don’t seem right.”

Mama took Charity’s hand. “It is right, and Charity agrees. Don’t you, honey?”

Fighting back tears, Charity nodded. “Leave her be. I understand. I really do.”

But did she? She never imagined her best friend would be absent from her wedding. Who cared if Emmy found it hard to watch? It was a miserable day for everyone concerned.

Except Daniel, of course. Somehow he always got what he wanted. Right now he wanted Charity. She had to wonder how long it would last. The one thing she knew for certain, with Emmy present or not, she would get married today. Only a miracle could save her now, and no miracles were visible on the horizon.

She put her arms around Mother Dane and Mama, her gaze going from one dear face to the other. “So that’s it, then. Let’s get going, ladies. It’s time.”

Mama pulled her close. “Oh, daughter! I can hardly bear this. It feels like doomsday.”

Charity rubbed her back and kissed her cheek. “It’s the only way, Mama. It’s God’s will, I think.”

Mama sniffled. “You don’t sound too sure.”

She made a wry face. “I’m afraid it’s the best I can do.”

Staring down at Mama’s feet, Mother Dane sighed. “I thought I felt those long toes underfoot. You going to your daughter’s wedding without shoes, Bertha?”

“ ’Course not. What do you think I am, some loutish hick? My boots are on the back porch. I left them there last night after I fed the chickens.”

“Bertha!”

“Well, I couldn’t bring them in after I stomped around in the coop. They was covered in poo. I’ll slip into them on the way out the door.”

Mother Dane held her ground. “You’ll do no such thing.”

“Why? They’re dry now. A little beating and scraping should take care of the droppings.” She rubbed her chin. “Ain’t much I can do about that smell though.”

Mother Dane gaped at Mama, her jaw slack.

A giggle rippled in Charity’s chest, exploding into a laugh. She doubled over and laughed so hard she couldn’t tell if mirth or madness had taken her—and she didn’t care. First Mama, then Mother Dane caught it and howled along with her. The three of them clung together in the middle of the parlor, gasping for breath and struggling to hold each other up.

Mama straightened first, her face a broad grin. “We’d better take care now. Last time this happened we ended up bawling.”

Charity struggled to compose herself. She stood up, smiling and wiping her eyes. “Not this time, Mrs. Bloom. Only happy tears allowed on my wedding day.”

At the stricken look on both their faces, she hurriedly explained. “Listen, you two, my fate is in God’s hands. I’m all right with that. If God doesn’t want me to marry Daniel Clark, it won’t happen. Can’t you put your faith there, too?”

Mama gazed up at her and nodded, then whispered the words she had uttered from the top of the stairs, only this time they were more of a prayer. “God, help us. God, help us all.”

Mother Dane snatched Mama’s arm and turned her around. “You march up those stairs and put on the shoes I bought for you.”

“They hurt my feet.”

“Too bad. You’re not wearing smelly boots to your daughter’s wedding. Now go. We’ll wait for you in the rig.”

The mention of the wagon seemed to remind Mother Dane of another weighty cross she bore. “Blast that infernal hired man of mine. He should be here to drive us into town today. I can’t help but wonder where he could be.” She released a long, shuddering sigh. “After all these years ... well, I just don’t understand it, that’s all. I guess I’ll never forgive Nash for the way he’s let me and Emmy down.”

“Miss Emmy!” Nash shouted. “Get yourself up under that seat!”

For once the girl seemed too scared to argue. Nash would be sure to thank the good Lord just as soon as they were out of this mess. He only hoped he wouldn’t be thanking Him in person. Miss Emmy scrambled under the buckboard seat, and Nash covered her in burlap bags.

“Benjamin, hand your mama back this way so’s I can get her hid.”

Mr. Ritter shot forward to help Miss Lucille swing her legs past her son. Together, he and Nash pushed her down to lie beside Emmy.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Nash said softly before he spread a smelly bag over her face.

Mr. Pierce turned from watching the riders close the gap between them. He nodded toward the women. “I’m not sure how much good that’ll do. They’ve seen them by now.”

Ignoring him, Nash whirled toward young Benjamin “Son, you best drive this rig like you ain’t never drove before.” Though he shouted, his voice echoed in his ears like it came from the bottom of a rain barrel. He skittered up behind the boy’s tense back and yelled louder. “Don’t you stop no matter what. You hear me now?”

Benjamin answered by laying his whip across the lead horse’s flank. The animal leaped forward and strained at the harness, his hooves pounding the hard-packed trail. The other horse had no choice but to speed up, too.

They hit a rut that nearly tossed everyone over the sides, bringing a loud wail from one of the women. The next hole was worse, and the sharp crack of splitting wood came from under the bed.

“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.