Wilderness Courtship (19 page)

Charity started to argue with herself, then realized that her conclusion was correct. She would have reacted in exactly the same way she was now, cut to the quick and blinded by tears.

Why weep for someone who was unworthy? Because, in her deepest heart and in spite of everything he may have done in the past, she was afraid she loved him still.

Gasping, she leaned against the trunk of a sturdy pine while trying to catch her breath. Why was she such a poor judge of men? She had idolized her father and he had abandoned her twice; once to go west in search of gold and again when he had as much as told her she wasn’t important in his new life with Annabelle.

No thoughts of prior disappointments would be complete without considering Ramsey Tucker, too. He had taken advantage of her youth and inexperience to gain her trust and had abused her both physically and mentally while he was alive.

“But Thorne isn’t like that,” she argued, weeping and drawing in jerky breaths between sobs. “He isn’t.” He had always treated her kindly and fairly and with reserve, as a gentleman should. Even when she was half out of her mind with fever he had not done one thing that was out of line or could be construed as taking advantage of her.

If he’s so perfect, why did he lie with Naomi?
her broken heart asked. And why had he not made a clean break of his past?

That question brought her full circle to her original conclusion. When she barely knew him, such a confession would have kept her from agreeing to make the trip and care for the needy child. Later, when she had grown fond of Thorne, she would have been even less likely to accept his explanation no matter how fervently he had presented it.

Drawing another and another shuddering breath, Charity wiped her eyes on her sleeve and fought to calm herself. Other than a broken heart, a torn frock and a few scratches from her flight into the forest, she was physically unhurt. She would survive this trauma just as she had survived others. She would return to the Whites and act as if their news about Naomi and Thorne had not truly bothered her.

Will I be able to control my emotions when I look at him?
she wondered. She doubted it but that did not negate her need to try to hold herself together, for her own sake as much as for that of Naomi’s parents.

Oh, how she wished Nancy had not been so blunt. All the woman’s words were awhirl in her mind, not making sense the way she wished they would. Nancy had said something about a plan and the necessity of revealing all, but for the life of her, Charity couldn’t put those words into their original context.

Sniffling, she straightened, preparing to return to the wedding feast and face her disappointment. Turning in circles, she assessed the trees and blossoming blackberry thickets. It was impossible to tell which way she had come or even in which direction the fort lay.

Peering through the dense vegetation, she hoped to glimpse the snowcapped Cascade range and thereby get her bearings but the surrounding leaves and branches blotted out both the sun and the distant mountains. Worse, her headlong flight through the brush had not left enough damage to the vegetation to indicate her prior path.

Out of earthly options, she closed her eyes and laced her fingers together to pray for guidance. “Dear Heavenly Father, I’ve certainly gotten myself into a fine pickle, haven’t I?” Her sigh punctuated the informal plea. “Please? I know You must be tired of rescuing me but I really need some help? Which way should I go?”

When she opened her eyes and spotted a man coming toward her through the woods she was instantly relieved and deeply grateful.

“Thank you, God,” she whispered, starting toward her rescuer with a wave of her arm.

In response, the man raised a rifle and pointed it directly at her.

She froze, incredulous. Surely he couldn’t be planning to
shoot
her.

The click of the hammer being cocked echoed in the silence. He fitted the stock against his shoulder.

The muzzle flashed.

At that very instant, Charity ducked.

Chapter Nineteen

T
horne heard the resounding echo of the gunshot. He’d entered the forest where Nancy had told him to but had soon lost Charity’s trail. He was a seaman, not a tracker, a lack of useful training which he now regretted.

He stiffened and waited for further sounds. None came to him. If the shooter was a local hunter, it seemed odd that he’d be out prowling the woods instead of attending the Nisqually celebration the way most folks were.

What if someone was after Charity, instead? What if they had shot her? Thorne’s gut clenched and his head pounded. He had been praying for her safety and well-being ever since he had left the others and although he was as undeserving of grace as any man, he couldn’t believe God would have ignored his plea on her behalf.

Pressing on toward the direction of the shot, he prayed even more fervently. “Father, please help her. Keep her safe. Even if she never forgives me, please let me try to explain and tell her how much I love her. Please?”

Once again he paused and listened. Nothing. Disheartened, he lowered his gaze. There were no footprints visible on the dead leaves littering the ground but a spot of brightly colored cloth did catch his eye.

He waded amongst the thorny brambles until he was close enough to see that the torn scrap of fabric was of yellow calico and bore the same tiny, flowered pattern as Charity’s skirt. Moreover, her discarded bonnet lay on the trail just beyond.

“That way.” he said aloud. “She went that way. Thank the Lord.”

Drawing a deep breath, Thorne shouted, “Charity,” with all his might.

Instead of the reply he had expected, he heard her distant, panicky scream.

“Don’t bother yelling,” Cyrus said cynically. “It won’t do you any good. It’s just you and me. And pretty soon it will be just me.”

“Did Louis Ashton send you?”

“What if he did?”

“I’m not the one you want. I’m not Mrs. Ashton,” Charity insisted. “You must know that. Look at me. Don’t you recognize me from San Francisco?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t really care. I’ve been watching you and that brat for hundreds of miles and if you’re not his mama you sure act like you are. If I have my way, he’ll be next.”

“Jacob?” she gasped. “You wouldn’t hurt an innocent child, would you?”

The assassin laughed. “I’d do in my own grandmother if it paid enough. Now, suppose you just hold still and let me get this over with.”

The notion of standing there, as meek as a lamb, and letting him kill her was ridiculous. She didn’t know what she was going to do or how she was going to escape but she did know she was not going to succumb without fighting back.

She cast around for a weapon. Anything would do. But other than a few fallen, rotten limbs there was nothing within reach that she could use for defense.

Trying to flee was also futile. Not only was she hampered by her voluminous skirts, she could already feel the creeping return of fatigue from the aftermath of her fever. She had spent—had wasted—what little strength she’d had in reserve and was now paying for her folly.

Backing away slowly, she decided to at least try to put a substantial tree or two between her and the evil man. That was when she noticed that he had propped his empty rifle against a rock instead of reloading it after he’d shot and missed. He was presently fiddling with an arrow though he had no bow that she could see. Surely, he didn’t think he could seriously harm her if he couldn’t fire that arrow.

Charity saw him open a pouch at his waist and stick the tip of the arrow into it with a stirring motion. Suddenly, she knew what he was planning. She’d heard tales of poisoned arrows from Leschi as they had traveled together and had felt sorry for the hapless game those arrows had brought down. Now, she feared she was about to find out exactly how the animals had felt as they had breathed their last.

No!
her heart screamed.
I cannot die like this. Thorne will be devastated.

The pure truth of that thought cleared her mind and forced her to see what her pride had made her keep denying. She
did
still love Thorne, deeply and irrevocably. In spite of his past, in spite of his deception, and in spite of, or perhaps because of, Jacob, she loved that stubborn, wonderful man with all her heart and soul and every ounce of her being.

“Get away from me. I told you, I’m not Naomi Ashton,” she shouted at her attacker. “I’m Charity Beal. All I’ve been doing is helping take care of her and her little boy.”

“That’s really too bad. You see my problem, don’t you? You know too much. I have no choice but to start with you and then go after the real Naomi, assuming you’re not lying about who you are.”

“I know who
you
are,” Charity said, stalling for time. “You were a lodger at the Montgomery House hotel when the Ashtons were there.”

“Now that you mention it, you do look a lot like that girl who worked at the hotel. She was paler and not nearly as able as you seem to be but I suppose it is possible.”

“Of course it’s possible, you dunderhead. I’ve been traveling with Naomi. We’re both blond and blue-eyed and you’ve gotten us mixed up.”

“Doesn’t change anything,” Cyrus drawled, displaying the arrow. “You hold still now and this will be over before you know it.”

Charity fisted her hands of her hips. “I’ll do nothing of the kind.”

“Have it your way.” With that he grasped the arrow as if it were a spear and started to close the short distance between them.

The gulp of air that filled her lungs was quickly expelled in a piercing shriek.

She turned at the same instant, hiked her skirts and ran for all she was worth.

Thorne heard Charity’s scream. It made his hair stand on end. He braced, listened and heard more ruckus just ahead.

He shouted her name as he tore through the brush. If anything bad happened to her, he didn’t know how he could go on, let alone find happiness again. She was everything to him. And she didn’t even know it.

He broke through to a small clearing in time to see flashes of bright yellow moving in and out through the trees.
Thank God.
That was Charity’s dress. He had almost overtaken her.

A man’s coarse shout and muttered curses echoed back to him and chilled his soul. As he had feared, Charity wasn’t alone. Someone was pursuing her.

Thorne doubled his efforts, moving so swiftly he felt as if his boots barely touched the ground. He traveled on pure instinct, without thought, without plan, without the least concern for himself.

Low-hanging branches slapped and scraped his face. He felt nothing, cared about nothing except reaching the woman he loved.

He shouted, “Charity,” at the top of his lungs.

On the returning breeze he heard the sweetest sound of all. She called back, “Thorne.”

If his name had not been so heavily tinged with panic, he would have rejoiced.

Spent and gasping, Charity nevertheless managed to answer Thorne’s summons. She knew then that if she did not yield to the painful stitch in her side, she would soon collapse into a helpless mound of vulnerability. She could not go on like this. She had to rest, if only for a moment. And now that she knew Thorne was close by, she took the chance that he’d arrive in time.

Whirling and holding up her hands to fend off her attacker, she hoped and prayed he wouldn’t prick her skin with the poisoned point of the arrow.

Now that she’d looked back, however, she could tell that the heavyset man was as winded as she was. Maybe more so. His round face was ruddy and flushed and his breathing was ragged. Staggering, he halted, still brandishing the lethal arrow.

“It’s not too late to walk away,” Charity managed to say. Her sides were heaving as she bent forward at the waist. The taste of bile filled her throat and she feared she was about to lose all the food she had recently eaten.

“I’m not going nowhere, lady. I came all this way to do a job and I intend to finish it.”

“How much did Louis Ashton pay you? We’ll double it.”

“We? We who? I don’t see nobody else.”

Charity glimpsed a flash of movement in the woods directly behind him and her heart leaped. She straightened and smiled as she said, “You will. Praise the Lord, you soon will.”

Thorne hit the other man a solid body blow and knocked him facedown on the ground before he had a chance to turn around and fight back.

“Watch out for the arrow,” Charity shouted. “It’s poisoned.”

Forewarned, Thorne grasped the feathered end and whipped the shaft from Satterfield’s fist. The sharp blade passed across the assassin’s palm, slicing into the meaty flesh.

With a yelp of pain and shock the man grabbed his wrist and rolled onto his back as Thorne jumped away. The portly man ended up lying against the gnarled roots of a tree where he began moaning and thrashing.

Thorne hesitated only a few seconds, waiting to be certain Cyrus wouldn’t recover and renew his attack, then threw the arrow aside and went quickly to Charity.

Neither of them spoke. She stepped willingly into Thorne’s strong embrace, slipped her arms around his waist and clung to him as if nothing on heaven or earth would ever separate them again.

He held her close, his cheek pressed against her silky hair, then guided her away from their now-helpless nemesis.

“Are you all right?” Thorne asked.

Charity nodded and looked up at him, unashamed of the fresh tears in her eyes. “I am now. That man said he wanted to kill me. And Jacob. All of us.”

Tightening his hold on her, Thorne swallowed hard. “What did he have on that arrow?”

“Some kind of poison. I think he must have gotten it from the Indians.”

“Dear God,” Thorne said prayerfully. “That could be you lying back there.”

“Or you. But it isn’t.” She was teetering between the shock of her narrow escape and the joy of being reunited with Thorne. Her knees were wobbly and her vision misty. “Once again, I have you to thank for coming to my rescue.”

“No. We both have God to thank,” he said, his voice choked with emotion. “I never stopped praying for you. All the time I was searching, I never stopped praying.”

He placed one finger lightly beneath her chin and tilted her face up. “I know what Nancy told you. I was afraid I might never get the chance to say how sorry I was for keeping secrets when I should have spoken up.”

“Is that all?” She was starting to smile.

“All? Isn’t that enough?”

“No,” she said tenderly as a solitary tear slid silently down her cheek. “You haven’t told me you love me.” Seeing his astonishment, she added, “I love
you,
you know.”

“You do? Truly?”

“Truly. I didn’t realize it until I’d nearly been sent to meet my Maker, but I finally figured it out. It doesn’t matter to me what you did or didn’t do in the past. If you’ve asked for the good Lord’s forgiveness, that will be sufficient.”

“I have. Many times over,” Thorne said.

“Then I cannot deny you mine.”

“Will you marry me?”

Charity was so overcome with happiness she was nearly unable to answer. The stricken look on Thorne’s dear face as a result of her silence was what made her speak quickly and with assurance. “Yes. Oh, yes.”

“When? Where?”

“Soon. Perhaps Rev. White will agree to perform the ceremony before we leave for California. I will be delighted to be able to inform my new Indian friends that I will not be tempted to sin.”

She could tell by the strange way Thorne was looking at her that he was thoroughly confused.

Reaching up to pat his cheek, she grinned. “I have been instructed in the teachings of holy scripture by some caring Nisqually women. They also said they were praying for me because you and I were going to be traveling together and they were afraid I would be unable to resist your considerable charms.”

To her delight, Thorne’s face reddened and he began to give her his trademark, lopsided grin. “My charms?”

“Yes. In case you haven’t noticed, I find you very appealing, Mr. Blackwell.”

“Do you?” He arched an eyebrow. “In that case, perhaps we had best marry quickly, while you are still smitten.”

“I suspect I will always be in love with you, sir.”

Sobering, Thorne placed a tender kiss on her forehead before he said, “I know you were hurt before. I promise I will never harm you or frighten you. I would rather die than see you sad the way you used to be.”

“It is a wonderment, but I don’t fear you in the slightest,” Charity said as she gazed into the depths of his dark eyes and saw all the love reflected there. “When we first met, I was not able to tolerate any man’s touch without cringing, not even the innocent pat of my father’s hand on mine.”

Wrapping her arms around him once again and stepping into his embrace, she couldn’t help smiling. “And now look at me.”

“I am looking. And I think it would be best if we hurried back to the wedding feast,” Thorne said, continuing to gaze at her with all the love he was feeling. “I made one big mistake in my life and I’m not about to make another.”

“Did you love Naomi?” Charity felt his muscles tense beneath her touch.

“No. Never. I was acting the fool and I knew it, but I didn’t have God’s help resisting temptation the way you and I do now.”

“I am resisting, truly I am. But it is not easy,” she admitted with a blush. “If you will point me in the right direction, I will gladly rejoin the party. I can’t wait to see the look on Nancy’s and William’s faces when we tell them we want to get married.”

“Do you think they will be as surprised by it as you and I are?”

“I don’t know about you,” she said, taking his hand and letting him lead her away from the scene of mayhem. “But as Annabelle would say, I’m plum flabbergasted.”

“Is that a good thing?”

Charity laughed again, positive she would never be happier no matter how long she lived. “It’s a wonderment,” she said. “A pure wonderment.”

Their return to the wedding-feast grounds might have gone unnoticed if William had not insisted that some of the men from the fort form a search party. It was assembling and preparing to leave when Thorne and Charity stepped out of the woods together.