Читать книгу The Journey Home - Linda Ford - Страница 9

The man scrambled to his feet. Charlotte stood, as well, feeling as if every pore held a spoonful of irritating sandy dirt. Oh, for a good bath. Oh, for a quenching drink of water. For three days she’d metered out the last drops of her supply. Apart from a few swallows this morning, she’d had only the warm drink from the man’s canteen.

She swiped at her hair, scrubbed the dirty rag over her face, shook her skirts and coughed.

The man slapped his hat against his leg and filled the air with a swirl of dust. She coughed again.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I should have waited until I was outside.”

Charlotte threw open the door and choked on the thick air. The floor lay buried in several inches of dirt. The outside door must have ripped from its hinges. She closed the solid wood, blocking her only escape route. “Person can’t breathe out there yet.”

She kept her face toward the knob, thought of ushering the man out to his destiny. But his remark about the charity of a Christian woman still echoed in her head. She’d give him a few more minutes, then she’d rush him on his way. Presuming he’d allow her to rush him. If he didn’t…No point in threatening him with the rifle. Anger scalded her throat. If Harry had had the decency to leave her a bullet or two, she’d have had no trouble getting rid of the man in the first place.

Maybe she could appeal to his decency. After all, his parents were white folk and religious, so surely the man had been raised to know right from wrong. Of course the same could be said about a lot of men who nevertheless chose wrong. The thought erased every vestige of calmness.

She heard him move about the room and stiffened as he approached her bedroll. Harry and Nellie had left her bedding and enough food for a week. How very kind of them.

“Where are you headed from here, Mr. Douglas?” She hoped he’d hear the urgent suggestion in her words.

“Kody, if you please. I’m going wherever I can find work.”

She ignored his suggestion she call him Kody. Father or son, made never mind to her. He’d soon be riding the tail of the wind out of her house and out of her life. Couldn’t be too soon to suit her. “I expect you’ll have to ride some to find work. It’s mighty scarce around here. Lots of folks pulling up stakes and moving on.”

“My sentiments exactly. It’s an unfriendly country in my opinion.”

At the harshness of his voice, she turned to study him. The typical angular high cheekbones, lips pulled into a hard, unyielding line that spoke of determination. “I take it you’ve been as disappointed in life as many of the folks around here.” Harry and Nellie among them.

He faced her full on, his black eyes steady as if measuring her.

She met his gaze, knew they both had secrets bringing them to this place, this time and this house. She believed God cared for her, controlled every aspect of her life. Didn’t the Scripture say all the days of her life were written before one of them came to be? But right now she struggled to believe it. How could God have planned for the country to blow from county to county? For Harry to abandon her? For a half-breed to be in her house? But she was being overly dramatic. Harry would send for her as he’d promised. He’d taken care of her since she was ten and their mother grew too ill to manage on her own. He’d provided her with a safe home since Mother died, as he’d sworn he would—apart from that time Nellie had demanded she be sent away. Charlotte shuddered. She would never forget her subsequent ordeal at the Appleby home.

Anxious to escape the past as much as the present, she opened the door again, breathing shallowly as she picked her way over the dirt on the floor.

Mr. Douglas followed close on her heels, whistling when he saw the damage in the front room. “Looks like your brother could plant a garden in here.”

She ignored his comment. Her brother wouldn’t be planting a garden anywhere near this house. And God willing, she’d shake off the dust of the place this very afternoon and be on her way to join him. Out of habit and desperation, she went to the window to see if Mr. Henderson rode her way with the promised letter from Harry. But she saw only the changed landscape—mounds of dirt in new places, fields scraped clean in others. A desolate, angry scene.

“Lady, could you point me to your well? I’d like to wash this storm off my face and refill my canteen.”

She turned away from the hopeless view. His face looked as if he’d scrubbed in garden soil. She touched her cheeks, guessing she looked no better. “Well’s out there.” She pointed to the little shack Harry had built to store tools in.

Kody tromped into the kitchen.

Charlotte followed and screamed as she came face-to-face with a paint horse.

“This is Sam,” Kody said. “He won’t hurt you.”

“You brought your horse into my house?” She sniffed. “Phew. He’s stunk up the place like a barn.”

Kody shook his head. “Sam, I told you not to do that in here.”

The horse whinnied.

Charlotte thought the sound as unbelieving as her thoughts. “A horse answers the call of nature without regard to his surroundings.”

“I’ll clean it up.”

“You certainly will.” And she’d scoop out the dirt with the only tools Harry had left her—a tin can and a big spoon.

Kody grabbed the empty bucket from the old worktable left behind because it was nailed to the wall. He headed for the well. He had the decency to lead his horse outside with him and kick out the pile of manure as he left.

Charlotte stood at the door, praying for a miracle. God had brought water from a rock for His children in the desert. Didn’t seem like water from the well ought to be any different. And while He was providing miracles, maybe He could see fit to send a message from Harry and something to send Mr. Douglas hightailing it out of here.

Kody walked with a combination of roll and stride. He grabbed the handle and pumped up and down. The squealing protest caused Sam to sidle away and whinny. After several unproductive pumps, Kody called, “Well appears to be dry.”

Charlotte sighed. Hoping against hope proved futile yet again. She couldn’t imagine what lesson God meant for her to learn. “I know.”

He sauntered over. “Been dry long?”

She shrugged. He didn’t need to know the particulars, but they’d been going to Lother’s for water for several months.

Kody shook the bone-dry pail. “Where was your brother getting water?”

Charlotte stared across the pasture indicating a well-worn path. In the distance she could make out the chimney, the roof of the barn and the lifesaving windmill. “Lother Gross has been kind enough to let us use his well.”

Kody touched his cheek with a brown finger. “I’d like to wash and refill my canteen.” He waited, perhaps expecting her to lead the way.

Why couldn’t the man take a hint? Desperately she sought for a way to persuade him to leave. The gun was out unless she used it as a club, and she didn’t much fancy the idea of attacking him, knew she didn’t stand a chance against his size and strength. She looked about the kitchen, hoping for some solution, finding nothing but emptiness and disappointment. Feeling his patient waiting, she sighed and turned back to face him.

“You could go across to the neighbor’s and get water.” She nodded toward Lother’s place. “I’ll stay here and tidy up a bit.” If he got so much as halfway across the pasture, she’d figure out some way to bar the broken door.

Kody’s eyes narrowed.

She crossed her arms over her chest as if she hoped to protect her thoughts from his piercing gaze.

The man looked at the empty bucket, gave a long, considering study of the useless pump, then stared across the pasture. “How long you been out of water?” he asked, his voice soft but knowing.

Again she shrugged. Her problems were no concern of his.

He nodded toward the path. “Why don’t you go get some?”

Her stomach lurched toward her heart, making her swallow hard to control the way her fear mixed with nausea. She didn’t want Lother to know she was alone and had waited until dark two nights ago to slip over. She reasoned she could fill a pail and hurry away without detection. But his dog set up a din fit to wake the dead. Charlotte had tried to calm him. “It’s me. You know me.” She’d kept her voice low, but the dog wouldn’t let up. Coming around after dark was a strange occurrence, not acceptable to the dog’s sense of guard duty.

Charlotte had been forced to retreat without water in order to avoid being confronted by Lother.

“How long you been here alone?”

She pressed her lips together and jutted out her chin.

Kody adjusted his black cowboy hat and leaned back on worn cowboy boots. His gray shirt, laced at the neck, had seen better days. His pants were equally shabby. “Why ain’t you walked out of this place?” He shook his head. “I don’t get it. You’ve got the guts to face me with an empty gun, yet you hide in this derelict house without water.”

How dare he? “What gives you the right—”

“Lady, despite the color of my skin—”

Which, Charlotte thought, had nothing to do with this whole conversation.

He continued in the same vein. “And the uncertainty of my heritage—”

One certainty he’d overlooked: this was none of his business. “I don’t recall asking for your help,” she said.

“I’ve been raised to care about the welfare of others.”

That stumped her. How could she argue with something she also believed?

He continued. “You’re out of water. And you’re alone. It just plain ain’t safe for a woman to be alone with so many drifters around.”

“My brother is sending for me to join him.”

“So you’re going to sit here and wait?”

Why did he goad her? His words edged past her patience, her faith that Harry would indeed send for her, and dug cruel, angry fingers into her spine. “No, I’m not waiting.” Why had she sat here for a whole week expecting the Hendersons to deliver a message? She spun on her heel and marched back to the dusty bedroom, threw her few things into the old carpetbag Nellie had left in the closet and rolled up the little bit of bedding. She stomped from the room, paused and grabbed the rifle. Not much good to her, but she’d return it to Harry, and when she did, she’d let him feel the sharp edge of her tongue for leaving her in such a position. Of course, she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t risk making him regret opening his home to her.

Ignoring the crunch of dirt under her shoes, she hurried out the door, gave one goodbye glance over her shoulder at the interior of the house and headed down the road. There was nothing for her here and no reason to stay. Besides, surely the Hendersons had a message by now and simply hadn’t had time to deliver it.

Kody trailed after her.

She paused to glower at him. “Why are you following me?”

“Just wondering where you’re going.”

“To the neighbor. They might have a message from my brother, though I fail to see how it’s any of your concern.”

“I’ll see you to this neighbor. My ma would have my hide if I didn’t make sure you were safe.” He pushed his hat farther back on his head and nodded as if she’d agreed.

“I’m quite capable of looking after myself. I don’t need you keeping an eye on me. Go away.” She steamed down the road, dragging her bundles and the rifle.

“I’m going the same direction. Why don’t you let me put your things on Sam?”

She stubbornly plowed onward. When he sighed and fell in step with her, she paused. “Seems a shame to be wasting your time. You might find a job if you hurry to town.”

“I ain’t leaving you until I know you’re safe. Ma would have my—”

“She’d have your hide. So you said.”

“Are you always so contrary?”

“I’m the most compliant of persons.” Except right now. “Normally.”

“So it’s just me.”

“Yup. Now why don’t you get on your horse and ride away?” She had never been sharp with anyone in her life, but this man prodded her the wrong way. “Sorry for being rude,” she mumbled.

“I’m used to it.”

Although he said this in a mild way, his words stopped her in her tracks and she turned to stare at him. His dark eyes gave nothing away. Nor did his blank expression, but she understood he meant he faced unkind comments because of his race.

“Huh,” she finally said, unwilling to point out that not everyone felt the same way. She couldn’t say how she felt about the man, but it had nothing to do with his race and everything to do with the way he got under her skin like a long, unyielding sliver. She hurried on, not surprised when he walked beside her.

“How far to this neighbor?”

“The Hendersons. Three miles. Big Rock is a few miles farther.” She hoped the suggestion he might like to hurry in that direction would be clear.

“Yup.”

The weight of the bag made her shoulder ache. The bedroll kept slipping from her arms and the rifle banged against her shins, but she paid them scant attention. She was used to working hard without complaining.

Kody caught the bedroll just as it threatened to escape her grasp.

“That’s mine,” she protested.

“So it is.” He tied it to the saddle and reached for the rifle.

“That’s Harry’s and I intend to see he gets it back.”

“Harry would be your brother?”

“Of course.”

“Well, when you give it back, I suggest you do it like this.” He waved the gun as if hitting someone with it, then rubbed his head, moaning.

Despite the fact she didn’t want Kody to tie her meager belongings to the saddle, despite the fact she didn’t want him accompanying her, she laughed because his action so accurately echoed her sentiments. Though she would never do it. No. She’d hand the gun to him meekly and promise to work hard and not argue with Nellie. She’d done so over and over just to make sure Harry wouldn’t send her away. Like he’d done when she was twelve. How grateful she’d been when he took her back. Only with Harry did she have a safe place.

Remembering sucked away the last drops of anger, so when Kody reached for the carpetbag, she handed it to him without argument. And submissively followed him down the road.

A few minutes later, Charlotte pointed to the low house. “The Hendersons’.” They paused at the turnoff. She reached for her things. “Thank you for your company.”

Kody touched the brim of his hat and gave a slight nod. “My pleasure.”

She wondered if he mocked her. She shrugged. What did it matter? She marched to the door and knocked. Mr. Henderson opened. Mrs. Henderson stood at his shoulder, holding the new baby. “I’ve come to see if there’s any word from Harry.”

Two older people stood by, watching curiously. The three other children eyed Charlotte.

“No, nothing. I would have ridden over if I heard anything. Haven’t been to town for a couple of days. Not since I picked up my folks. They’ve come to help.”

“Perhaps I could wait here.” She knew as soon as she spoke it wasn’t possible. They must be crowded to the rafters already. “Never mind. I’ll go to town and see if there’s a message waiting.” Please, God, let there be some word. Her silent prayer grew urgent. What would she do if there wasn’t?