Chapter 8
Charlotte ran the brush across Scarlett’s back in long soothing strokes, the action calming her as much as the horse.
In her mind, she saw the spade raised over Joshua’s head.
Her stomach clenched and a cold sweat broke out on her brow.
He’d rushed out to save her horse and nearly been killed.
By rebels. Good heavens. What kind of danger was she riding into?
“I hope your horse is unharmed.”
The voice made her jump. Charlotte peeked over Scarlett’s back to see Mr. Ogden’s friendly face at the door of the stall. “She is.”
“I hear you’re headed west. To Nassagaweya.”
Charlotte nodded, resuming her work on Scarlett’s coat. “I am.”
“It’s a dangerous trip, any way you look at it.”
Could Mr. Ogden see the telltale tremble of her hand as she brushed Scarlett? She’d just witnessed the danger firsthand, and the image wasn’t likely to fade anytime soon.
“Josh, now, he’s a good man. And he’s headed that way.”
Charlotte looked up at the name. Josh. Mrs. Norris had called him that, too. It seemed too gentle for such a rugged man.
Mr. Ogden jerked his chin in the direction of the inn.
“He knows this bush inside and out. Best ask him to take you. Leave your mare here to rest.” He reached over the stall door to scratch Scarlett behind the ear.
“My offer still stands, too. She’s just the kind of mare I’ve been looking for. I’d buy her in a heartbeat.”
“I’m afraid that’s not an option.” How could she part with her best friend, the horse she’d raised and trained from birth?
Ogden looked Charlotte up and down with a slow shake of his head. “I wish you’d reconsider, miss. Bad weather, unfamiliar roads, unshod horse, unpredictable rebels. Dash it all, seems like a recipe for disaster. I’d head home if I were you.”
She wasn’t sure how the man had so succinctly summed up her every fear, but his warning was one Charlotte couldn’t shake off.
Twining vines of doubt spread from her core through her limbs, making her shoulders sag.
As much as she wanted to discount the man’s warnings, she sensed they came from a place of real concern, and she felt the truth behind them.
This was only her second day and already she’d narrowly escaped capture and the theft of her horse.
Both times the same man had come to her aid.
Joshua Robertson.
Charlotte swallowed. “This trip is of vital importance to my family. I have no choice but to continue.”
Ogden gave a single, sharp nod. “Very well. But you’re wrong about one thing, child. There’s always a choice. You don’t have to go alone.”
“Do you . . . do you think Mr. Robertson would take me?” Charlotte couldn’t believe she was asking, but in light of her troubles, it seemed the only option.
Mr. Ogden tilted his head. “He’s a good lad. He’ll do what’s right.”
Not exactly a ringing affirmation. Ogden nodded farewell and moved to saddle his gelding, leaving Charlotte in turmoil.
It was one thing to be independent, quite another to be foolish.
The prudent man looketh well to his going.
Fulton was fond of quoting proverbs. Charlotte didn’t have to think long to know his advice in this situation.
Joshua Robertson was her best hope of reaching Simon safely.
Pride goeth before destruction. Another of Fulton’s favorites. She’d only have to swallow her pride and admit perhaps Joshua Robertson had been right all along.
Decision made, she left Scarlett’s stall. Just before she reached the stable door, the sound of Joshua’s gruff voice made her pause.
“Absolutely not.”
“She can’t go up there alone.” Mrs. Norris’s strident tones all but commanded obedience.
They were talking about her. She should turn away, but curiosity held her motionless.
“I need to get going.” Joshua Robertson sounded as though he were trying to convince himself.
Charlotte wondered at his hesitation. He was a man grown and could make his way without a thought for anyone.
She envied him. “And I refuse to play nursemaid to a foolish, spoiled girl who’s decided she wants a little adventure. ”
Spoiled. Foolish. The words stung. So that’s what he thought of her. Charlotte leaned back against the barn door, her mind spinning. Joshua Robertson had been her last hope.
“That girl won’t make it on her own,” Mrs. Norris insisted. “We have to help her.”
“Since when have you been a ministering angel?” His tone was biting. “It’s no bread and butter of mine. Isn’t that what you always said?”
Through the crack in the door, Charlotte saw Mrs. Norris rest her hand on Joshua’s shoulder. Tentatively, as though it wasn’t something she’d done before. “I wasn’t always as good as I could be. I know that.” Mrs. Norris glanced away. “Maybe I want to do better now.”
Joshua seemed surprised into silence. He sighed and shook his head. “I don’t have time. There’s a chance for me to earn a few pounds, and . . . I’m going to need it.”
“Now, Josh, if you’re really up against it, you know you can come to me. I’ve some money put by.”
He ran a weary hand across his face. “I thank you for it, but this is my responsibility. Besides, I doubt you’ve twenty pounds to spare.” He attempted a laugh, but it did little to mask the desperation in his voice.
“Twenty pounds.” Mrs. Norris was silent a moment, seeming to ponder the enormity of the sum. “How will you manage that?”
“I’ll clear more land. I’ll find a way. I promised Henry. I can’t let him down.”
Joshua Robertson needed money. Desperately, if his voice was anything to go by.
She had little money and nothing of value.
Unless . . . she looked over her shoulder to where Ogden led his gelding from the stall.
The older man stopped a moment to check the girth.
He knew how to care for a horse, if his own was any indication.
Charlotte swallowed, the sinking loss already threatening to swamp her. But she didn’t have time for sorrow.
“Mr. Ogden.” The man paused, his scraggly brow lifting in question. Charlotte inhaled and forced her feet to move in his direction. Joshua Robertson would soon leave and with him her best chance of finding Simon. “I’ve changed my mind.”
It was time to go and put this mess behind him.
Focus on Henry. Joshua led Bess to the wagon, his hands going through the motions of hitching her, his mind still on Miss Fulton.
Last he’d seen her, she was in close discussion with Ogden.
Thank goodness she’d decided to head back to the city.
He’d be glad to be rid of the worry. Wouldn’t he?
It didn’t dawn on him that he was procrastinating until Bess shook her head impatiently, and he realized he’d straightened the traces for the third time. This was nonsense. There was nothing more for him to do. He needed to leave.
Joshua climbed in the wagon and slapped the reins as a voice called his name.
“Mr. Robertson. Wait.”
He pulled sharply on the reins and turned about with an alacrity that he’d have to examine later.
For now, his thoughts were consumed by the woman hurrying toward him.
She stopped at his side. Despite a day on horseback and a night in a dark, smoky inn, a hint of something fresh lingered about her.
Floral. Lavender, perhaps? He was too unacquainted with flowers and finery to know for sure, but it drew him nonetheless, pulling him in her direction until he stepped down from the wagon and turned to face her like a flower to the sun.
What was happening to him? He didn’t recognize the turmoil of longing, fear, worry, but he knew instinctively it was dangerous. He had a job to do and a promise to fulfill. Everything about this woman only confirmed she’d be the worst kind of distraction.
She held something aloft and he forced his attention to the coin sack in her hand. His gaze swung back to her face, his eyebrows raised in question. Now what was she about?
“I’d like to hire you,” she said between breaths. “To take me to my brother.”
“Hire me?” he repeated. Didn’t she know what was good for her? “You need to go back to Toronto where you belong.”
The fire returned to her eyes, and it lifted his spirits.
Far easier to stomach than the fear he’d seen on her face earlier.
She met his eyes for what seemed like the first time that day.
He expected a cool nod, but they were wide.
Uncertain. As though there was something she wanted to say but couldn’t find the words.
His hand twitched, and he tightened his fingers into a fist at his side before he did something foolish, like push back the stubborn strand of burnished hair that had escaped the thick knot atop her head and curved along her cheek.
Even dressed in an old shapeless gown that he was convinced once belonged to Mrs. Norris, she was beautiful.
“Get it through your thick head—I am not going home.” Miss Fulton drew in a breath as though calming herself.
“I will go with or without you, but I’d rather go with you.
” She looked up and despite the harsh words they’d exchanged, he could see, somehow, he’d gained her grudging trust. The thought warmed him even as he saw its danger. “How much would you charge?”
“Twenty pounds.” He landed on the most outrageous amount he could imagine, certain that would send her packing.
“Done,” she replied, sticking out her hand.
“What? You’d pay twenty pounds?” She must be rich. One of those Toronto heiresses.
“I don’t have it all with me. Only . . .” She opened the sack as though she were counting the money. “Ten pounds. I’ll give you the rest when we reach my destination.”
Twenty pounds. He’d have nearly enough to pay off the indenture. Not by the spring or next year. By next week. Two nights ago he’d sent up a desperate prayer for help. Was this his answer?