Chapter 11
Charlotte divided the last of the porridge between them, her emotions in tumult.
The injustice of ill, starving children sickened her.
Charlotte’s dresses were old and her amusements few, but she’d never been truly hungry.
The doctors hadn’t been able to save Mama, but at least she’d had the comfort of knowing they’d done all they could.
Then there was the uncomfortable realization that they were eating their last meal and she’d given away Joshua’s food for the winter.
Like a na?ve girl, she’d thought she was Robin Hood, providing for the poor.
But Joshua Robertson was no rich Sheriff of Nottingham who wouldn’t feel the loss.
No matter how dire the children’s situation, she’d had no right to do what she did.
Joshua ate quickly, then moved to the musket he’d propped in the corner.
Charlotte had grown up around her father’s weapons, and a musket was a common sight.
So why did the long, gleaming muzzle fill her with dread?
Joshua cleaned the gun and stocked his sack with powder and bullets.
She was afraid to ask why, but in the end, curiosity won out.
“Where are you going?” she ventured once he’d put on his boots.
“Need to hunt.” He looked at her with slightly raised eyebrows, as if to remind her whose fault it was that they had nothing left to eat.
“I’ll come along.” She bit her lip. She’d offered on impulse, and judging by the incredulous look on his face, she was about to be rejected.
“It’s not a stroll in the woods, Miss Fulton. Hunting requires skill and concentration.”
And in his eyes, she was capable of neither. Silencing her outrage at his assumption, she focused on the most important question. “Do you . . . do you think we’ll be able to leave soon?”
He jerked his coat on. “We’ll leave as soon as it’s safe to do so,” he growled. “Remember. You’re not the only one who needs to get somewhere. Stay here.” He put his hands in front of him, indicating that she shouldn’t move.
The gesture got under her skin in a way his words hadn’t. “Just where do you think I’ll go?”
“With you, I’m learning to expect the unexpected.” Joshua snatched his musket with a final, withering glance, and left.
The door closed behind him, leaving Charlotte to tidy up the cabin as best she could.
After half an hour, she was out of tasks and sat in front of the fire with only her thoughts as company.
And her thoughts were no solace. Expect the unexpected.
Her anger faded, leaving behind the uncomfortable knowledge that he was probably in the right.
She’d all but forced the man to bring her on a trip he said would end in disaster. Now they were trapped between two marshes in the middle of nowhere. And she’d traded away his food for the winter.
You are impetuous, my love, just as I was. A shadow had passed over Mama’s face. You don’t want to do something you’ll regret for the rest of your life. Remember the virtuous woman. “Her candle goeth not out by night.”
In the years since, Charlotte thought she’d mastered her impulsive actions.
Saving Edenbrook from Papa’s creditors had taken careful planning and hours of work.
She’d rented out arable fields, raised their own food, and even built up a small flock of sheep.
Fulton took eggs, wool, and anything else she could scrape together to market. She’d kept records. Made progress.
Yet since she’d climbed into the wagon seat next to Joshua Robertson, she’d been demanding, expecting him to take her where she needed to go with little effort on her part.
No wonder he looked at her with that blend of disdain and irritation that made her blood boil. She’d been nothing but a nuisance.
Charlotte stood with sudden determination.
Fulton had taught her how to hunt, or rather, she’d pestered him until he relented and brought her along on his weekly forays for a rabbit or wild turkey to supplement their meals.
Game had grown scarce around the city, but these woods ought to be teeming with food.
She flew to her sack, digging around until she pulled out the pistol Fulton had pressed into her hands before she left.
It wasn’t a hunting weapon, but she knew how to use it.
She donned Simon’s trousers and the fur cap Joshua had given her.
Her boots were dry, thank God. Banking the fire, she took one last look around the cabin.
With any luck, she’d be back before Joshua and have something roasting over the fire when he returned.
She’d prove she was no useless damsel in distress.
It was midafternoon by the time she set out, determined to use her head and note her surroundings, just as Fulton had taught her.
She broke off low branches to mark her trail and scanned the woods for signs of prey.
After half an hour of walking, her efforts were rewarded.
A clearing under a large ash tree yielded piles of scat and feathers.
A turkey roost. The birds couldn’t be too far off.
Positioning herself downwind, she knelt behind a low bush, primed her pistol, and settled in for the wait. This was always the worst part of the hunt for her. Her head would spin with tasks, bills and profits, no matter how Fulton admonished her to focus and still her mind.
“But aren’t you bored?” she’d asked him. “Just sitting here for hours, waiting for nothing?”
“Lass, someday you’ll learn the wisdom in being still.” He’d chuckled. “You’re too young for that now, but it’s in the quiet you’ll hear what’s truly important.” He’d looked up for a moment, chewing his lip. “God can’t speak to you unless you’re still enough to listen.”
She’d tossed aside Fulton’s words as the ruminations of an old man, but now she wasn’t so sure.
Inhaling deep, she let the peace of the woods assuage her spirit.
There was something about the quiet that made her feel .
. . better. Calmer. Like she didn’t have to have everything under control.
Simon, Edenbrook, Papa, and even critical Joshua Robertson faded into the background.
The day was still and overcast, the forest a mass of bare branches entwined with a dark web of evergreens, but the stark landscape held a beauty all its own. An hour passed. She relaxed, the near panic she’d felt for the past three days loosening.
Finally, as afternoon sunk into evening, she sensed movement and readied her pistol.
A flock of turkeys strutted into the clearing, and she set her sights on a young tom.
The sound of the pistol would scare away everything for miles around.
She’d have only one chance to get this right.
The tom turned slightly, presenting her with a clear shot.
She took a deep breath, steadied her aim, and fired.
The flock scattered in a flurry of feathers and squawks as the sound reverberated through the forest. She rose from her crouch and rushed to the tom, noting with relief that the shot was clean and he’d died instantly.
She picked him up by the feet. He was heavier than she’d thought.
Good. She’d show Joshua Robertson she could look after herself.
The shot was close to the cabin. Too close. Joshua hurried down from the tree where he’d waited for likely prey, his heart pounding. He’d thought the cabin’s isolated location would keep her safe from harm, but he hadn’t anticipated their morning visitors. Could he be wrong again?
He thought of the rebel thieves at Mrs. Norris’s yesterday. Montgomery’s Tavern was only a day’s ride from here. It was possible the meeting had disbanded, and men were on the roads, heading home. Unlikely anyone would follow this path and make it through the marsh. Unlikely, but not impossible.
Joshua sprinted through the forest, skidding to a stop as he reached the cabin. No smoke coming from the chimney. No signs of an intruder, either.
“Charlotte?” he called, pushing open the door without knocking. The cabin was empty. He took a breath to still his racing heart and forced himself to observe.
The fire was banked. Her belongings were still in a neat stack on the chair. No signs of a scuffle. He rushed to the barn next, but Bess dozed in her makeshift stall, perking up to snort in outrage when Joshua left without giving her an armful of fresh hay.
Standing in the yard, he raked a hand through his hair.
Where was she? And who on earth fired that shot?
He turned his attention to the ground. One set of footprints in a patch of mud, heading to the forest. She’d left alone, then.
He breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t been taken or attacked.
She’d simply gone for a stroll, even though he’d asked her to stay put.
He ground his teeth, remembering the gunshot. Was she armed? He hadn’t thought of that possibility, but he had no idea what she stored in her sack. Her trail was easy to follow, for she’d marked the path with broken branches. More foresight than he’d given her credit for.
As the light faded and the temperature dropped, worry swamped him anew.
What if she was lost? Hurt? He didn’t bother to ask himself why her well-being was so important to him.
It was obvious, wasn’t it? She’d employed him to get her safe to her brother.
So far, he’d failed her at every turn. No surprise there.
Failing the people he cared about seemed to be a specialty of his.
The thought brought him up short. People he cared about?
Miss Charlotte Fulton certainly did not qualify.
This was business. He’d take her to her brother.
She’d pay him the money to rescue Henry. There was nothing more to it.
“Miss Fulton?” He stopped to listen. No response. “Charlotte!” Panic surged anew. Where was she?
A rustling ahead caught his attention, and he paused. One set of footsteps. He quickened his pace. “Charlotte? Is that you?”
She appeared just as he rounded the next turn. The sight of her, spattered with mud and—heavens, was that blood?—had him rushing to her side. “What happened? Are you all right?”
With a visible effort, she raised her hand, and he noticed the turkey she held upside down. Despite the exhaustion in her sagging shoulders, her face was alight with excitement.
“Look,” she said with a grin. “I caught our dinner.”