Chapter Nine

"You gotta hold steady and firm. You just focus, breathe slowly and always pull the trigger on empty lungs."

It wasn't in Charlotte's nature to waste a perfectly good morning by sitting around and doing nothing. However, that didn't stop her from lingering in the house over her coffee, wanting Arthur to emerge from his room. She itched to talk with him as she'd been worried since his abrupt departure last night.

Her patience paid off because she was rinsing her cup when the doorknob to Arthur's room turned and the door creaked open.

"Good morning, Arthur." Relieved at his appearance, Charlotte greeted him with a smile. "Do you want some breakfast? The food isn't as marvelous as anything you could make, but palatable, I promise."

"I ain't feelin' up to eatin'."

Charlotte took a moment to study him, noting his unhealthy pallor, his red-rimmed eyelids and the dark circles under his eyes. Whiskers were already growing across his jaw, though he'd shaved only yesterday. She offered, "Perhaps, lighter meals today. A half bowl of porridge should do to start with when your appetite returns."

He said nothing and that had her senses on alert for what he wasn't saying. She stepped closer to him. "What's the matter, Arthur?"

He rubbed the back of his neck and wouldn't meet her eyes. "I'm thinkin', once I get around better on my own...I should be on my way. "

"Oh." Of anything she thought he'd say, it wasn't that. She eyed him, confusion rising. "Have I done something wrong?"

He looked at her like she'd grown an extra head. "You ain't done nothing wrong."

Something still didn't feel right to her, but she didn't know how to pinpoint it. She guessed, "Clark said something offensive to you, didn't he?"

He blinked, surprised. "No—"

"Whatever he said to you, it's just bluster. He's always had quite the knack for annoying people and I won't have you feeling inadequate over his indelicate accusations."

"Charlotte, it ain't 'bout nothing he said."

He made that statement, but Arthur hadn't been this ill at ease before her family showed up. She frowned. "You're sure?"

"I just...I got to move on, is all."

It didn't sit well with her that he'd suddenly made this decision without a hint of it beforehand. Last night, he hadn't mentioned a word...

Then it dawned on her. It wasn't her brother's fault. It was hers, after all. She'd been the one to pry into his personal life, to push him to talk about things that had clearly made him uncomfortable.

She bowed her head. "If I've offended you in any way, Arthur, I'm truly sorry."

That seemed to baffle him. "Huh?"

"If keeping your past to yourself is that important, I promise not to inquire anything further about your gang."

"It weren't my gang—" He shook his head. "But, that ain't the point."

"I never meant to be intrusive." She winced. "That isn't to say my curiosity hasn't been known to get away from me. I'm just not usually so inept when it comes to recognizing discomfort in someone's body language."

"Charlotte," Arthur stopped her apologies by cutting the distance between them and placing his hands on her upper arms. "You didn't ask nothing that offended me. Got it?"

She nodded reluctantly and he released her, saying. "I just don't wanna take advantage of your hospitality no more."

Her brow furrowed. "Arthur, you can't take advantage of what I offer freely."

He continued, "It ain't right for me to intrude on you like I am."

She placed a hand on his forearm, reassuring him, "In no way is your presence an intrusion. In fact, I've really enjoyed your company."

He looked down at her hand, covered it briefly with his own before gently removing it from his person. "Even so, I ought to get on soon."

Arthur was withdrawing from her and she didn't understand why. What was he leaving left unsaid? Hesitantly, she told him, "Alright then. If that's what you want."

A silence stretched, Charlotte becoming aware of how closely they stood together. When he met her gaze, it was with an intensity she couldn't make sense of. What did he want to say to her? What did he want her to say?

"Well." She cleared her throat. "I have some chores to tend. Rest up longer, if you need it. If you want me to make you that porridge, call me in. Otherwise, I'll check up on you in an hour or so."

Charlotte turned from him, picked up a bucket and her rifle and headed out the front door. She walked down to the rock ledge where they'd left everything last night. It was all in the same place, but the basket had toppled over, and a moment later she spotted little Puck snooping for scraps. At her approach, he skittered off before she could try and coax him to her.

She placed a hand on the rock ledge, her mind drifting to when Arthur had helped her down. He'd been struggling with an inner turmoil and gotten stuck in some memory. Of what, she could only imagine. He had needed comfort and she'd been willing to give it.

Now, Charlotte found her cheeks burning at the memory. Him standing before her, closing his eyes and holding her palm to his face as if it were his salvation. She wasn't entirely sure what would have happened without the start of that storm. But, it did have her questioning what had changed from that moment to his reactions this morning.

She scolded herself, Quit your wool-gathering, Charlotte, and set to work.

She carried the table up first, returning it to the shed. She went back for the chairs, setting those on the porch for now. When she picked up the overturned basket, her mind persistently strayed back to the lovely evening Arthur had created for her. They'd had a pleasant time of it, hadn't they? She'd thought so, but why had he been so cross at the end of it?

Perhaps it was related to the reason he'd woken up this morning and decided he wanted to leave. She knew it was bound to happen, but for some reason she hadn't expected it so soon. She truly liked having him around as a companion.

Charlotte made her way to the well and sent the bucket down. One would think they'd have little to nothing to discuss. She used to know nothing about surviving in the country and he wasn't familiar with foreign languages, philosophy or famous literature, topics in which she was well-learned.

She cast her eyes to the house. That wasn't to say he knew nothing of importance. Far from it. Arthur was more intelligent than he liked to let on. He was smart where it counted, in a way she strove to imitate. She liked his wit and his patience. She shook her head and smiled. That boyish gleam in his eyes when he was up to something...

She nearly dropped the full bucket of water she'd brought up when she realized the direction of her thoughts. Good lord, was she...

Her head started spinning. How? How could she have feelings like that manifesting again? After Cal, she wasn't supposed to be able to fall for another man.

She set the bucket of water down, the notion steering her feet down the hill as guilt worked its way through her. She stopped when she reached Cal's grave.

She plucked a few flowers nearby and laid them on the mound before kneeling in the damp grass. It'd been a nearly a month since she'd taken time out of her day to mourn Cal down here. That thought compounded her guilt. It wasn't as if she never thought about him, she'd just been busy, figuring out her day to day. Which wasn't an excuse, by any measure.

She exhaled. She was terrible at being a mourning widow. Cal still had a place in her heart, but now...It was funny, in its own way. When once she believed she could never go on without Cal, now she feared it had already happened without her realizing it. She supposed the old adage was true then, that time healed all wounds.

Was she a horrible person? She felt awful now that she was aware of her growing affection for Arthur. But there was no getting past it. All she could do was live each day to her best ability, to push on. Cal wouldn't have wanted her to remain in a melancholy for the rest of her life. She knew that, but it still felt like a betrayal.

She missed his infectious laugh, his unending positivity no matter the situation. What would he say to her now?

"Buck up, Char. There's always tomorrow."

He was always saying that. 'There's always tomorrow'. As if everything could change for the better overnight. It wouldn't, but maybe some of his optimism had rubbed off on her after all because there was a growing determination in her to make it so.

"I loved you, Cal," she said quietly. "That will never change."

She stood and started her walk back to the well. When she reached it, she hefted her water bucket up. As much as she enjoyed reading drama in books, she found she did not like it in her normal life. Her and Arthur were going to have a frank discussion about this. She would hear his reasoning for wanting to leave soon when yesterday he seemed content. If it was actually something she'd done or said, then she wanted to know exactly what. If it was because he wanted something more...well. Charlotte's thoughts stumbled a bit. Well, then they'd figure that out too.

As she made her way up the hill, she heard rustling in the bushes. She looked around and saw nothing. No movement.

"Puck?" she called out. "What are you up to, you silly cat?"

If he startled her, and made her spill this water, she might reconsider putting some food out once she got back to the house. She shook her head. Who was she kidding? Her heart wouldn't allow the poor creature to starve no matter his mischief.

She heard louder rustling now, but this time a voice accompanied it. "I've been waiting for you to come out, missy."

Startled, she spun around. A man was walking out from the trees, in a stained yellow vest, ill-fitting brown pants and a muddy gray trench coat. Shoulder-length brown hair fell flatly from a bald scalp. His face was pock-marked with a slim mustache over a sweaty upper lip. He raised his hands to indicate peace.

Her brow furrowed when she realized he was familiar. She'd seen him the day after she'd buried Cal and before she'd met Arthur. He'd started out talking nice enough, but she'd gotten a queasy feeling from his presence and had warned him off her property. The same uneasiness was rising in her again.

She wasn't fully unprepared to face something down anytime she left the house. She'd brought the rifle, but she'd slung the strap over her shoulder so she could carry the filled bucket of water with two hands.

Charlotte hadn't answered and the man stared at her as if he were waiting for her to make the first move. He wanted her to run, she realized. But he was too close. If she decided to run, he'd be on her faster than a snake. Not only that, but if she wanted to defend herself, she wouldn't have enough time to throw the bucket, lift the gun and aim it at him. She wasn't far from the house. Could Arthur hear her yell from this distance?

"Just be calm, lady. I don't wanna hurt—"

Charlotte dropped the bucket, slid the gun off her shoulder, but didn't go for the aim. Instead, she had just enough time to ring out a shot into the sky before he was on her, wrenching the gun out of her grip and tossing it aside. She made an attempt to run, but as expected, the stranger snapped a hand around her wrist and whipped her back.

She stomped on his foot and tried to yell, "ARTH—" before he backhanded her across the cheek. Embarrassingly, the action shocked her enough to give her pause. She'd never in her life had a hand laid against her. It was...it was barbaric and it stung. Before she could regain her faculties, he slapped a greasy palm over her mouth.

She struggled against him, trying to elbow him, but his grip on her was tight, unyielding. She attempted to bite his hand, but he pressed it against her mouth so forcefully, tears sprang into her eyes from the pain. She cried out, but the noise was muffled.

"I didn't wanna do this the hard way, miss, but now you've left me no choice."

He started pulling her, away from the house, away from safety. She dragged her ankles in the dirt, but it was hardly slowing him down. True fear coursed through her.

Arthur, she pleaded in a panic, come for me...