Chasing Charity Read online

  Mama looked him over. “Who’s asking?”

  Buddy stepped forward, still beaming, and gestured to his companion. “Mrs. Bloom, this here’s Mr. Lee Allen.” Then he pointed at the lanky young man. “That’s Jerry Ritter. These are the gentlemen I told you about.”

  Mama nodded at each one in turn.

  Mr. Allen advanced a step so he could rest his load on the rail. He gazed up at Mama with kind blue eyes. “Ma’am, just see to it your deed is safe. There are desperate and unscrupulous men in this town. You ladies living out here alone ... well, I wouldn’t want you taken advantage of, or worse.”

  Mama looked at Buddy. “Is that this feller’s way of saying you got good news for me?”

  Buddy preened. “We can’t be certain yet, but it sure looks good. Ain’t that right, Lee?”

  Buddy’s excitement rekindled the spark in Mr. Allen, spreading a broad smile over his weathered cheeks. He nodded at Buddy then at Mama. As quick as it came, the smile disappeared. “Mrs. Bloom, is there someplace in town you all could stay?”

  Charity cut around Mr. Allen and his equipment to face him squarely. “Why can’t we stay right here?”

  “It’s ain’t safe, ma’am.” He answered Charity’s question, but his eyes searched her mama’s face.

  Mama regarded Buddy with a raised brow. “When I said you could look for oil on my land, you never said nothing about us leaving. Forget it. We ain’t going.” She snorted. “Besides, I got nothing to fear in my own home. The Winchester my man left me warrants that.”

  Buddy stepped forward. “There’s another reason besides the danger.” He glanced at Charity, his eyes pleading for support she couldn’t give. “Mrs. Bloom, you agreed that if I saw the need, you’d allow me to bring a crew onto your place. There’ll be men and equipment scattered so thick you’ll be tripping over them. It’d be best if you were out of the way.”

  “Out of the way?” Mama’s eyes blazed. “This here’s our home. We got nowhere else to go.”

  Mr. Allen smiled again, creasing the skin around his gentle eyes. “Chances are good you’ll soon afford to live wherever you choose. For now I firmly suggest you stay with family or friends. A hotel, perhaps. You can arrange a more permanent solution later.”

  Mama jutted her chin at Buddy. “What about you? Where will you stay?”

  “Don’t worry about me, ma’am. My two friends here booked rooms at the hotel. I can bunk with one of them for a few days.”

  Charity swallowed hard. “What about our house?” Her voice rang shrill in her ears. “Our things?”

  “Pack up what you need for now; then lock it up,” Buddy said. “We’ll try to keep an eye on the place for you. Later on, you’ll have plenty of help with moving your belongings.”

  Charity couldn’t speak. Speaking required an intake of air, but an elephant straddled her chest.

  For the last two years, after speculators drilled the first well near Jordan Gully, crooks and shysters had sniffed around their land like hounds on a hunt. Mama had taken the broom to all of them. Charity watched her now, waiting for her reaction.

  She won’t be pushed around by these men.

  “We’ll need time to pack,” Mama announced. “And a ride into town. I got no horse and buggy, and it’s too far to carry our things.”

  Buddy nodded. “I’ll see to it that you get settled, ma’am.”

  Charity shoved past the men and rushed onto the porch. “What are you saying, Mama? We can’t leave home. Where will we go?”

  Mama gently pushed her aside. “Come back for us in an hour, Mr. Pierce. We’ll be ready.”

  Not since Papa died had Charity felt so lost. In fact, the way he left was easier to bear—there one day and gone the next—but in a manner she understood. Mama had disappeared standing right in front of her.

  The men tipped their hats and made for the front yard. At the corner of the house, Buddy Pierce glanced back. A puckered brow had replaced his grin, and his questioning eyes stayed on her until he disappeared behind the house.

  Charity reckoned his frown was a reaction to the look on her face. Just what did her expression reveal about the goings-on inside her? She wanted to call him back and ask. Lord knew she couldn’t figure it out.

  She should be happy. She and mama would be better off, maybe even rich like Mother Dane and Emmy. Like Daniel. Why did that make her feel so strange?

  “Rangeland,” Mama said behind her. The single word made no more sense than anything else she’d said that day.

  The silence that followed stood like a wall between them. When Charity could take it no longer, she glanced over her shoulder. “What’d you say, Mama?”

  The stubborn little woman stood shading her eyes with one hand, staring at the oak tree behind the house as if she’d never seen it before. “You asked me what would happen. I’m answering your question. We’ll buy rangeland. Acres of it, and cover it with cattle. I always wanted to raise me some beef stock.” She turned without waiting for an answer and went inside.

  Charity crossed to the porch rail and gazed about, seeing the tall, paint-chipped dwelling and weed-strangled plot with new eyes. In the side yard stood a row of pens where Papa had sheltered prized bloodhounds. Except for slight weathering and the need for a coat of whitewash, the pens looked the same as they had when filled with braying dogs. She could almost see Papa bent over the long basins pouring out water for squirming red pups.

  She was here on the porch that day, five years ago, when Mama stepped out the back door and told her Papa was gone. He’d been swept off his feet by the current while fishing near the banks of the San Jacinto River. Mama sold the bloodhounds soon after because she couldn’t afford to feed them.

  Tears sprang to Charity’s eyes. She’d been born in this house, lived here all her days. Just like that, her mama had agreed to walk away from everything that held them together after Papa died.

  The screen door opened behind her, and the squeal of the springs set her teeth on edge.

  Mama stood grim-faced in the entry. “Come inside now. There’s a mess of packing to do, and we’re running short on time.”

  An urge came over her to refuse, to scream and run headlong into the woods. Instead, she lowered her gaze to the rotting boards beneath her. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be right along.”

  The door closed. Charity looked at her fingers, white from gripping the weathered rail. She fought to still her trembling lips then lifted her chin and went inside.

  Rustling noises drifted down the hall from her mama’s cluttered bedroom. Charity found her bent over a satchel, rummaging through her clothes. The dimly lit room smelled of the pressed and dried magnolia blossoms Mama kept in her dresser drawers, but the odor had never put Charity in mind of a funeral before now.

  Arms buried elbow-deep in the bag, Mama twisted around to look at her. “No time to dawdle. They’ll be back directly and expect us to be ready.”

  “But where are we going?”

  “Where do you think?” Mama averted her eyes and went back to her task. “We got no one but Magda. She’ll take us in.”

  Charity’s heart leapfrogged. “For crying in a bucket! I can’t go to Mother Dane’s house. Not after Emmy...”

  “You got a better idea, let’s hear it. Magda would front me the money, but there ain’t no rooms left in town. Remember, that’s how Mr. Pierce came to be on our place.” She stood upright, her hands filled with faded undergarments. “It’s amazing how the good Lord works His will, daughter. If you hadn’t brought Mr. Pierce around here, I would’ve run him off, just like I done all the rest.”

  Charity groaned. Why hadn’t she left Buddy Pierce right where she’d found him? “And we wouldn’t be forced out into the street. I can’t go to Emmy Dane’s house, Mama. I won’t.”

  This brought Mama around to glare at her with burning eyes. “Yes, you can and you will. Magda’s all we got in this town. There’s no place else.”

  Charity put her fists on her hips and planted her feet
. “Then I’m staying right here.”

  “You cain’t, daughter. You heard them men. It ain’t safe.”

  “I’ll get Sam to stay here with me.”

  Mama cackled. “Don’t talk foolish. Sam has a hotel to run.” She bent back down to grope in her bag. “I ain’t aiming to deal harsh with you, baby. It’s just that some things I know best. So we’ll have no more arguments out of you.”

  Charity’s legs wouldn’t hold her. She sank to the side of the rumpled cot and covered her face with her hands. “Why are you doing this?” The ragged words tore at her swelling throat.

  “Are you crying, daughter?” Mama hurried over and plopped beside Charity on the bed, gathering her up in skinny arms. “Don’t, baby. You’ll have me blubbering.” Mama rocked her, patting her hair and murmuring comfort until Charity finally sat up.

  “I don’t want things to change again, that’s all.”

  Mama nodded. “You’ve had more’n your share of unwanted change, sugar. But this is a good thing. Cain’t you see that? It’s an answer to prayer.”

  Startled, Charity looked at her. “You prayed to get rich? That’s against the Good Book.”

  Mama raised a brow at her rebuke. “No, daughter. It ain’t a sin to have money. The sin is in loving what you have more than God who gave it.” She settled back and crossed her arms. “A better life is what I prayed for. If the good Lord has chosen to send me the money to buy one, then by golly, I want it.”

  Charity wiped her nose with the back of her hand and nodded. “So you don’t have to be Mother Dane’s cook anymore.”

  Mama sat up straight and pushed Charity to arm’s length, her eyes fierce with emotion. “No, child. So you won’t wind up Emmy’s.”

  ***

  Buddy left Lee Allen and Jerry Ritter standing on the boardwalk in front of the Lone Star Hotel. They had agreed to meet there for lunch as soon as Buddy secured a rig for transporting Mrs. Bloom and her daughter into town.

  Mrs. Bloom’s daughter...

  There was something about that girl. Something besides skin like fresh cream against piled-up black hair and a waist so tiny he knew he could reach his hands around it. Something besides pond-green eyes and full lips that turned up at the corners even when she frowned. He’d seen pretty girls in his time, but Charity Bloom was different, and he planned to find out why.

  He sure didn’t know what to make of her reaction to good fortune. He’d found oil on a lot of folks’ land, but she was the first he’d ever seen scowl about it. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it made her mad.

  Dwelling on Charity Bloom caused him to pass right by the livery. He caught himself and laughed aloud, then backtracked and entered the stables, still chuckling as he passed through the wide doors.

  “Kin I help you?” A runt of a man with rowdy gray hair stepped out of the shadows wiping dirty hands on the front of his vest. An intolerable stench filled Buddy’s nostrils, growing stronger as the man approached. Buddy realized the smell of sweat, dung, and rotgut whiskey emanated from the proprietor and not from his animals.

  “Yes, sir.” Buddy shoved his hands deep into his pockets to keep from holding his nose. “I’m looking to hire a buggy for the afternoon. Oh, and three saddle horses that I’ll need for a few weeks.” In St. Louis, he had grown accustomed to the motorcar his employer provided, but it was hardly a practical conveyance for the muddy streets of Humble.

  The fellow cleared his throat and spewed a brown stream in the general direction of a spittoon in the corner. Then he leaned against a splintered rail with crossed arms, looking Buddy over. “New in town, ain’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You got kinfolk in Humble?”

  “No, sir.”

  The old man continued to examine Buddy through narrow, beady eyes. “Anybody local who can vouch for you?”

  Buddy choked back a protest. It would do him no good. “Well, let’s see. I guess that’d be Mrs. Bloom and her daughter. They’re the only townsfolk I’ve met.”

  The man’s brows shot skyward, the pull on his eyelids widening his eyes. “Crazy Bertha?” He shook his head. “Mister, I can’t give you a rig on the weight of an association with her.”

  “Who?” Buddy’s mind scrambled to understand. “You mean Bertha Bloom? Why do you call her that?”

  The old coot twisted around and fired another shot at the slimy, stained pot. “Stranger, if you have to ask, then you don’t really know Bertha. But on account of you mentioning her daughter, maybe I can oblige.” A leer distorted his wrinkled face. “Just how well acquainted are you with that pretty little gal?” He winked and grinned, exposing a gap in his teeth.

  Buddy wanted to widen it. He stood taller and stared the man down. “How much do I owe you?”

  The little man shrank under Buddy’s gaze. He lowered his eyes and rubbed his stubbled chin. “Tell you what. Let’s settle up when you come for the horses.”

  “Fine by me,” Buddy said. “Get the buggy ready. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

  At the hotel, Buddy found Lee and Jerry seated on benches in front of a long table laden with baskets of brown rolls and pitchers of frothy milk. The men waited their turns at huge platters piled high with sliced pot roast followed by steaming bowls of mashed potatoes and assorted vegetables. The smell of the room set off a fierce growl in the pit of Buddy’s stomach.

  He sidled up beside Lee on the bench, tucked a napkin into his collar, and nodded at the men. “Shovel it in fast, gentlemen. We need to get the Bloom womenfolk settled before nightfall. There’s more than a few roughs in this town.” He remembered the uncouth demeanor of the liveryman and scowled. “More than a few scoundrels, to boot.”

  Lee passed him a bowl of thick creamed corn. “Say, Buddy, what do you figure was stirring young Miss Bloom?”

  Buddy’s hand paused on the bowl. “You saw it, too?”

  “Saw what?” Jerry asked.

  Lee regarded him with one raised brow. “Son, I don’t expect you took much notice of Miss Bloom’s behavior. How could you? You were too distracted by her other attributes.”

  Jerry set down his mug with a bang. “High rickety, ain’t she a huckleberry?” The flush on his young face and the wide, milk-ringed grin told Buddy more than his words.

  “A huckleberry, is she?” Lee forked a serving of roast and smiled at Jerry. “Let’s see now. Two days ago you used that term while referring to an oil rig. The week before, I believe a newfangled motorcar earned the same accolade. I think Miss Bloom might consider herself lumped with unflattering company. Don’t you agree, Buddy?”

  “I do indeed. But what can you expect from an Oklahoman?” Buddy dropped his gaze and shoved a bite of food into his mouth to keep from smiling.

  Jerry sat up straighter. “By golly, I’m a Texan and you know it. Born and raised in Wichita Falls.”

  Buddy shrugged. “Same difference. You couldn’t slip a hummingbird feather between Wichita Falls and the Oklahoma border. They may as well claim you.”

  Jerry drew his mug and plate closer and turned away, offering them one bony shoulder. “There ain’t no call for that kind of talk.”

  Lee laughed aloud and pounded him on the back. “Aw, come on, Okie, don’t take on so. We’re just having some fun.”

  “Eat up, boys,” Buddy said. “We don’t have time for high jinks. We’re burning daylight.”

  Across the table, a thin, balding man leaned forward and cleared his throat. “Excuse me, gentlemen. Did I hear you mention getting the Bloom women settled? Something happen out at their place?”

  The three men exchanged uneasy looks. “No, sir,” Buddy said. “Nothing worth talking about.”

  Though no one sat near them, the little man looked to his left and then his right. “Does it have something to do with the wedding?” he whispered.

  “Wedding?” Buddy and his men asked together.

  “The wedding that never was, I should say.” The man’s mouth widened at their blank stares. �
�You haven’t heard, then?” He seemed thrilled by the fact.

  Lee put down his fork. “If there’s something we need to know, get on with it. Whose wedding are you referring to?”

  “Why, Miss Bloom’s, of course.”

  Troubled green eyes and a furrowed brow stole across Buddy’s mind. “Miss Charity Bloom?”

  “Yessir. One and the same. She was all set to marry Daniel Clark, the son of the richest man in town, don’t you know. Almost done it, too. Made it all the way to the altar before things turned sour.” He tried on a sad look that didn’t fit. “Poor little thing, standing up there in a pretty white dress with tears in her eyes...” Fixing them with mournful eyes, he shook his head. “I reckon a crying bride is the most pitiful sight there is.”

  Jerry leaned across the table, nose to nose with the man. “What happened?”

  He licked his narrow lips, all but smacking them over what would come next. “Miss Bloom’s intended walked right out of the church, practically on the arm of her childhood friend, Miss Emily Dane.” He raised both hands in the air. “Now there’s a lollapalooza. Young Mr. Clark might’ve cut a fat hog when he took up with her. There’s a slim chance that boy will ever tame a girl like Emmy.”

  Jerry’s brown eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you saying some featherbrain had Miss Bloom corralled then cut her loose? Who would do a fool thing like that?”

  The man shook his head. “It’s a poser, all right.”

  Surprised and a little embarrassed for Charity, Buddy felt heat crawl up his cheeks. He stood up and threw some money on the table. “We got no more time for loose talk and speculation about other folks’ business. The lady’s not present to defend herself, so I suggest we hear no more.”

  Lee stood with Buddy, hitched up his trousers, and nodded at the man. “You have a good day, sir.”

  Jerry still leaned in, about to ask another question, but Buddy hooked a finger around his suspenders and drew him up. “Let’s not keep our friend from his fine meal. Besides, we’d best get moving. We don’t want to keep the ladies waiting.”