Chapter Eleven
"I guess we only know what we know."
Charlotte always thought if she were ever in a situation where her life was threatened, she'd be able to fight her way out of it. Maybe not easily, but with a modicum of determination. She'd been proven terribly wrong and it was a wound to her pride. That man hadn't been that large and he'd stunk of whiskey, but as much as she'd scratched and pulled to get away, he'd hauled her all the way down the hill and nearly onto his horse.
Charlotte had learned the hard way that owning a gun and knowing how to use it wasn't a guarantee for her protection. Despite her original shock at Arthur's suggestion to teach her some self-defense techniques, she might have to take him up on it.
She hardly had the words to express her gratitude towards Arthur. He'd had no fear, no hesitation and he'd come out of nowhere. And afterwards, he hadn't seemed troubled by anything that had happened. Arthur took things as they came and she wished she could be as unruffled. Instead, she'd spent her night tossing and turning, reliving the scenario and what she could have done differently.
Charlotte sighed and exited her bedroom, only to find Arthur where she'd left him last night. He was writing in his journal and hadn't looked up. She studied him a moment while he was distracted. The flannel he wore today was rolled up to his elbow and tight on his arms. Arthur hadn't raised one complaint about the clothes she'd given him. Of course they had been Cal's, but outfits he hadn't had a chance to wear. He'd bought specific attire, fancying himself an outdoorsman. But one didn't gain experience by only dressing the part.
She shook her head to stave off the memories before they drew her into woeful musings. What she should take from it was that Arthur needed his own wardrobe. She supposed she should make a supply list so they could start the trip to Saint Denis tomorrow.
She stepped further in the room and greeted, "What are you jotting down so furiously this morning?"
Arthur snapped the journal shut and passed her a guilty look. "Nothin' important."
She raised a brow. He hadn't noticed her enter the room because he'd been so concentrated on it. She teased, "Nothing unwarranted about me I hope?"
Instead of answering, he directed a question at her, "What are you wearing?"
She looked down at herself. She'd modified an old skirt by cutting it in half and sewing two separate legs. It made for wide-legged pants and clung to her waist a bit immodestly (in that her mother would have a conniption if she saw her), but it was a pleasant fit. "I'm assuming I won't be riding sidesaddle and I wanted to be comfortable."
He grunted, but only asked, "You wanna eat something before we head out?"
She pressed a hand to the tightening in her midriff and grimaced. "Actually, it's probably best if I try this endeavor on an empty stomach."
"If you say so."
She wasn't about to tell him about the last time she'd attempted to get on a horse after her initial fall. She'd been ill all over the hostler and too embarrassed to face him for weeks afterward.
She followed Arthur out the door. The mare was standing hitched to the shed. She was already saddled so Arthur must have been up for some time this morning.
The queasiness reared its head. Charlotte stopped and couldn't make herself to step forward any further. "I don't know if I can do this, Arthur."
"You ride enough, you get thrown enough. You just gotta get back on," he said reasonably as he gestured her closer.
Nervously, she made her way beside him. "You know, the few times I have ridden, it was only sidesaddle."
"There's your problem. You're not sitting sturdy enough." He patted the horse's neck and commented, "This girl's not so big anyways."
He was right. The mare wasn't so large as some of the horses she'd ever seen. Charlotte asked uneasily, "Should I just...get on?"
"Firstly, you afraid of the horse or afraid of the fall?"
"Oh, well." She blinked, a bit surprised as she actually took his question into consideration. She didn't fear horses by any means, but the thought of plummeting off of one certainly petrified her. "I suppose, the fall."
"That'll make it easier." He patted the mare and beckoned to Charlotte. "C'mon. We'll start with introducing yourself."
Charlotte reached up slowly and pet the mare, some of her anxiety lowering. There was no denying the beauty in such a creature.
"Now, put your foot in the stirrup here and grab hold of the horn to lift yourself up. Throw your leg over top. If you can't do it yourself, I'll give you a push."
Her heart rate spiked again, but she did what he said. She managed to swing her leg up and over with only minimal struggling.
"You did good," Arthur said approvingly. "Now grab hold the reins, but don't tug on 'em."
She did so, feeling panic well up. She was awfully high. She was distracted briefly when his hand skimmed over her thigh. He must have felt her trembling because he said, "Jesus. You weren't kiddin' around 'bout being afraid of the saddle. You're shakin' more than a rattler. "
Tensely, she let out, "I may have understated the trauma I endured."
"You ain't got nothin' to worry about here." Arthur patted her leg in a similar reassuring manner as he had the horse. "Take a breath in and out now. You're doing fine."
"You won't let go, right?"
"Nah. I'll walk her with the lead until you feel comfortable enough to go on by yourself."
"I don't think that'll be part of today's goals." Truthfully, it was enough for her to have gotten this far. Now that she was here, she had doubts she could have ever done this on her own.
"You hold to those reins now and sit up." He waited for her to do so as he said, "We're not gonna do anything today except get used to what it feels like, goin' slow. You just sit there and don't press your heels into her. I'm going to start walking."
She sucked in a breath. "Okay."
"We won't go far. Just 'round the yard for now."
As they started walking, Charlotte concentrated on executing all the advice he'd given her. Sit up, don't clench, don't pull the reins. It helped her to focus on Arthur, who walked ahead of her, calm and steady. She completely trusted he knew what he was doing and he'd keep her safe. She exhaled, some of her tension releasing.
Once she got used to the height and the horse's gait, she found it wasn't as frightening as she remembered. Either the mare wasn't tall or Charlotte had grown up enough to realize that even if she did fall, it wasn't such a great distance.
"How you doin' back there?"
She admitted, "Surprisingly, much better than I thought I would."
"We'll go one more time 'round and then you can get down."
Knowing she was nearly done, she relaxed enough to ask, "Does this mare have a name?"
Arthur shrugged. "She's yours. Reckon you can call her what you want."
"Will she respond to it?"
"After awhile, she'll come to recognize it."
Charlotte fell silent, giving it some serious thought. She didn't want to give her an unexceptional name like Honey or Lucky, but neither did she want something flashy. She wanted purpose behind it. The mare was reliable and not glamorous or unique in relation to other horses she'd seen. Small, plain, but dependable and even-tempered. There was a heroine in a book she admired who also held those qualities.
"I think I'll call her Jane."
Arthur turned to her with a raised brow. "After Calamity Jane?"
Charlotte laughed lightly. "I was thinking more along the lines of Jane Eyre, but perhaps for her pride, she can be nicknamed Calamity."
"Works for me." Arthur pointed behind the house. "And you can keep her in that stall back there. I reckon she's small enough to fit and we can build on it if we need to, so she'll stay dry."
We can build on, Arthur said. Like he planned on sticking around longer than what he'd told her yesterday. She shook her head. He was using the collective 'we'. Don't read into it, Charlotte.
"What about food and water?"
"A bucket will serve for now or you can ride her down to the river. Maybe pick up a trough next time you're in town. As for food, I see there's already a sizable stack of hay behind the shelter. Otherwise, there are carrots growing near. You can add some to your garden."
He led the newly dubbed Jane back to the front of the shed.
Charlotte said, "I have to warn you. I'm not as confident of my dismount."
"Alright. I'll help you down." He instructed, "You'll follow the same movements, but in reverse. Hold the horn, swing your leg back and drop to the ground."
She prepared her pride for a spectacular tumble even as Jane held obediently still. Charlotte followed Arthur's instruction, but slightly underestimated the height from the ground so when she landed, she did stumble on her feet. Arthur steadied her, clutching her elbow.
She turned to him, relief and excitement coursing through her. "I did it! I really did it!"
She threw her arms around Arthur and he chuckled in her ear. "Never seen a lady so excited to get off a horse."
"I honestly wasn't sure if I was going to make it this far today," she confessed.
"You did good," he told her as she leaned back.
She smiled up at him. "You'll make an equestrian of me yet."
He said encouragingly, "I reckon you could manage a short ride on your own later today."
As her elation over her accomplishment faded, Charlotte realized, for all intents and purposes, they were in a similar position as the other night, but now there was no inconvenient thunderstorm nearby to disturb them. The sky was cloudless and bright. As she gazed at him, held in his arms, she was ready to see what would have happened next.
Her heart hammering, she leaned up and brushed her lips briefly over his before dropping back and watching his reaction. Did he feel the same as her?
Arthur rested his forehead on hers. He closed his eyes and told her gruffly, "This is a bad idea."
However, he didn't release her, as if unable to move out of this web of temptation she was spinning. Maybe she had turned into a witch, she mused. But, couldn't he tell she was just as caught in it?
"Why?" she asked curiously, moving her fingertips up the base of his neck and into his hair.
Arthur sucked in a breath and released it breezily over her skin. He didn't give her a reason, but opened his eyes once more to gaze at her fervently.
He had such beautiful, soulful eyes. But, sad, as if he didn't believe he was deserving of something as simple as her touch. The last time he'd got that look in his eyes, he'd run away from her. She didn't want him to do that again.
He told her quietly, "Charlotte, I don't know if I can be what you want me to be."
And what was that? she wondered. Before she could ask, an attention-seeking horse was butting her head on them. Jane bumped Arthur's shoulder and it broke their embrace.
Charlotte laughed and patted her neck. "I do believe she's jealous. Have you ever heard of such a thing?"
Arthur looked away, running a hand down her muzzle. "You'd be surprised. These animals are smart."
More than anything, she wanted to pursue their conversation, but Arthur didn't seem inclined to continue and she wasn't about to push him. Besides, Charlotte didn't miss the way his eyes roved the horse as he patted her, a yearning in his gaze.
So, she said, "You know, Arthur, I sincerely doubt that our girl Jane had enough exercise for the day."
He glanced at her, lifting a quizzical brow. "You want back on?"
Charlotte shook her head. "Oh, no. I'm much too inexperienced a rider to give her the proper workout."
He frowned. "What are you sayin'?"
She poked him. "I'm trying to suggest you should take her for a ride."
He looked at her with surprise and rubbed his chest. "Do you think I can?"
Clearly, it was an ever present fear on his mind. She smiled at him. "As long as you don't gallop around for hours on end, you'll be alright. If you feel any pain, slow down, okay?"
A boyish grin took over his face, sending her heart fluttering. "Yes, ma'am."
Arthur swung up onto the mare in a much smoother motion than she had managed. Hands on the reins, he hesitated and told her, "I won't be long."
"Take as long as you want, Arthur," she told him. "I'm ready to sit for a meal anyway."
He nodded and directed Jane into a trot down the hill. Charlotte watched them go, feeling a combination of content at Arthur's eagerness and emptiness at his absence.
Charlotte retreated back into the cabin and scrounged together some food. She was mentally preparing a supply list and stoking a fire when there was a knock on the door. She stilled and glanced at Arthur's room, even though she knew he wasn't here, wouldn't be back for awhile yet and he wouldn't knock when he did return. She set the poker down and plucked up her rifle.
She opened the door to reveal a stranger. A broad-shouldered man with copper skin and black hair. Wary from her last encounter with a stranger, she raised her rifle and asked without ceremony, "Who are you?"
He took a step back and lifted his hands as a neutral gesture, but she'd been bamboozled by the gesture before. She wouldn't be taken for a fool again.
"I'm sorry to disturb you, ma'am." He had a soothing, smoky voice, one she wanted to trust. But she didn't lower her gun. "I just have a couple of questions and I'll be on my way."
She nodded. "Go on."
"Do you mind putting down your gun? I don't mean you any harm."
"You aren't the first man to tell me that and you likely won't be the last, but I'm not setting down this rifle, sir."
"Fair enough," he said agreeably. "I won't waste your time. A few weeks back, there was a shoot out at Beaver Hollow..."
She felt her heart go still. "If you work for that Pinkerton Agency, then I can't help you. I wasn't there."
He blinked and his face broke into an unexpected grin, as if it were a ridiculous notion. "I'm the farthest thing from a Pinkerton, ma'am."
She narrowed her eyes. "What is it you want?"
"There was a man who perished on a cliff over yonder. A farm boy from down the road told me you brought that man back here."
Darn it, Johnny. She should have made it clear he shouldn't tell anyone. "Maybe I did."
"I only want to know where he's buried."
"Buried?" Surprised, Charlotte wavered. This man didn't know Arthur had survived.
"Perhaps the farmhand was mistaken."
Beyond the stranger, Charlotte caught sight of Arthur trotting back up the hill and nearly dropped her shoulders in relief. He straightened when he saw her and spurred the mare on. She only had to distract this man for a moment longer and Arthur would be here.
She remembered what Arthur had said about it being for the best if everyone thought he was dead. She asked, "Pray tell, what is your connection to the man you're looking for?"
He answered earnestly, "He was a good friend and a good man. One I want to honor with a proper grave site."
Charlotte studied him. Maybe she hadn't shaken all of her naivety because she believed him. At that point, Arthur had dismounted and was striding over. Hearing the horse, the stranger turned and his brown eyes grew wide with shock.
Charlotte didn't know what to expect, but it wasn't Arthur clapping the stranger on the back and exclaiming, "Charles!"