The closer she got to the ranch, the more Charlie's stomach ached. She cried, tears falling on the saddle horn. That poor mama fox...
What was she going to tell anyone at home about her dress? Her hands and face she could wash, before she was seen, maybe, but her dress-that
was something else again.
She might be able to change her clothes before being seen. Well, possibly. But then, Maria or Teresa would see the state the dress was in when
they were doing the washing. She could try washing it herself...
Maybe, Charlie thought, she could talk to Scott, if she could get him alone. Maybe-just maybe, if she explained how things had happened, he
would understand. And, then again-he might not.
Charlie had just about made up her mind to go thru the front door so as to avoid Maria, and scurry upstairs to change her clothes, and then-
She heard the familiar whistle and saw Scott riding up, there, just in front of her. In the road.
Charlie felt her stomach knot even worse. If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all, she thought. Well-there was no help for it, now.
She was caught out, but good.
Charlie pulled Gurth to a halt, and waited. Before he was up to her, Scott called out, "Hey, kiddo."
He pulled Barney to a stop, just beside her, and then immediately his face was lined with concern as he took in her appearance.
"Good God," Scott said, his voice rising in panic, "What's happened?" He was off his horse before Charlie could find her voice.
His hands were on her waist, pulling her down from the horse, as Charlie managed, "I'm alright!"
With Charlie on her feet, Scott bent down, his hands on her upper arms, and his eyes raking up and down.
"Where are you hurt?" he demanded.
"I'm not-it's not my blood, Scott!"
Scott took in her bloody hands and the spots on her face, and the dress that was more blood-red than light brown at this point.
"You've got it all over you-" he crouched lower, and gave Charlie a slight shake. "What's happened?" he asked, again.
"It's from an animal!" Charlie said, in a burst.
Scott's forehead wrinkled with worried lines. "What animal?" He straightened up, and took her hands, one at a time in his own, looking
them over. Still looking for wounds. "Your horse?" he asked, looking towards Gurth now.
"No-he's fine-" Charlie said. "It's not from Gurth-"
"What, then?" Scott asked, seeming to be less frantic, and more intent on information.
Charlie hesitated, and Scott's countenance changed. He stood, his hands on his hips, and became stern.
"Tell me now what's happened," he said, in a tone that brooked no nonsense.
"There was a mother fox, caught in a trap," Charlie said.
"You touched a fox-you could have been bitten-" Scott began to panic again.
"It was dead already," Charlie hastened to answer.
Emotions were crossing Scott's face. Charlie could see. He was angry, though a controlled anger, yet he was still beside himself with
worry and puzzlement.
"Wait a minute now," Scott said, holding up one hand. "Let's take this again. Where were you?"
"On the way home from school. The teacher let us out an hour early-for everybody doing well on their spelling-so she said-"
"That's not important right now," Scott interrupted. "Where at, on the way home? Where's this trap at?"
"I'm not sure," Charlie said, lamely. "Exactly."
"How can you not be sure-" Scott began, sounding as though he was at his wits end. Then he paused, held up his hand again, and said, briskly,
"Alright. Let's get you to the house."
"What about where you were going?" Charlie asked, meekly, wishing he would go on, into town or wherever, and let her have a bit to
herself before she got more questioning. No doubt more intensive questioning.
"Get on your horse," Scott said, without answering Charlie's query.
Charlie mounted Gurth, and then watched as Scott did the same, and they began to ride towards the ranch. Less than a quarter of mile away.
Charlie couldn't bear the silence.
"Are you mad at me?" she asked, fraught with nerves.
"We've got a good lot of talking to do, Charlie."
"It's not as bad as it looks," Charlie began to excuse.
"Be still. We'll talk when you're cleaned up. Until then, I don't want to hear a word from you about it," Scott said.
Charlie closed her lips around the words sputtering to the surface.
It was the longest quarter of a mile she could imagine. And yet-it wasn't long enough.
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Once at the house, Charlie dismounted as Scott did, and began to take Gurth towards the direction of the barns and corrals to
untack him. Scott held out a hand to halt her walking, and called out to Jelly, who was ambling from around the side of the barn.
As Jelly approached, Scott said, "Will you put the horses away?"
"I can," Jelly said, and then his wizened old face looked shocked. "What have you been into?" he asked Charlie.
"She's not hurt," Scott told the old man, answering for her, and handed off he and Charlie's reins. "Thanks, Jelly."
Scott chose the front entrance to go thru, and, once inside the coolness of the foyer, Charlie could smell something resembling lemons
radiating from the kitchen area. As Scott closed the door behind them, Charlie risked a quick look at him.
"Should I go and change my clothes?" she asked, in a small voice.
Scott turned to look down at her. "Yes. You go wash and change. I'll be up in a bit to talk to you."
Charlie scurried towards the stairs, having the bad fortune to run into Teresa as well, coming down from the top of the stairs, her
arms full of folded linens.
"Is that blood?" she exclaimed, her voice rising in alarm. "Did you get thrown from your horse?"
"No. I'm alright," Charlie said, as Scott, too, appeared, and stood at the bottom of the staircase, looking up at the two of them.
"She's not hurt, Teresa," Scott said.
"Well, what in the world-" Teresa began.
"Charlie. Go," Scott said, shortly, and Charlie charged on past Teresa, and to her own room, where she gathered clean clothes, overalls and
a soft blouse, and then went to the washroom. She stripped off the likely-ruined dress and shoes and stockings. Clad in only her
chemise, Charlie scrubbed her hands and arms and face with soap and water. She dried, and then redressed in the casual clothing.
She definitely felt better, at least as far as her skin went. The blood had felt-sticky, and it seemed as though she could still smell it, even
though she'd washed. It had smelled like nothing Charlie had ever smelled before.
As far as her stomach was concerned, though, she did not feel better. It had been hours since lunch, and she felt no appetite at all. No matter
what after school snacks were down in the kitchen waiting for her, Charlie didn't want any. She picked up her dress from the floor, and began trying
to apply soap and wash in in the sink, scrubbing furiously at the blood blots. The water turned red as she scrubbed, so she stopped to rinse, and then
began scrubbing again.
There was a light tapping on the door. Certain it was Teresa, coming to check on her, Charlie answered without turning from the sink.
"Come in, Teresa," she said. "Some of it isn't coming out-" she began, as the door opened behind her.
She turned to see that it wasn't Teresa, but Scott. Charlie couldn't help the sinking feeling in her stomach. It would have been so nice if it had
been Teresa, instead. Scott came in, and walked over to the sink, looking down at the dress and the reddish water.
"Blood's one of the most difficult things to get out of clothing," he said.
"I'll keep scrubbing on it," Charlie said, thinking she would rather do that than have a discussion with him about what had taken place.
"Leave it soaking there," Scott said. "Come on to my room." He turned to walk out, and Charlie sighed, taking a couple of moments to dry her
hands on one of the towels that hung there.
She followed him, with great reluctance, her feet dragging.
Once to his bedroom, Scott ushered Charlie in, and then closed the door.
There were two chairs, one that normally was used at his desk, and another that most times sat along the wall near the window. They were
facing each other now, close together, and Scott went to sit in one of them, and gestured to the other.
"Sit down," he said, quietly.
Charlie came to sit down in the opposite chair, facing him, tremulously. She tucked her bare feet under the chair a bit.
"No nonsense, Charlie," Scott said, still quietly, but with steel in his voice. "I want to know what happened. Where-and how."
"I went to see some baby foxes, and then-there was the mother fox in a trap. So-instead of leaving her there, we took her out."
"Who is 'we'?" he asked.
Charlie hesitated, wishing she didn't have to say, and Scott's face darkened. "We can skip the talking, and go to a spanking instead, if you'd rather," he said.
Charlie swallowed painfully. "I don't rather," she said, in a small voice.
"Then answer me. Don't make me pry it out of you. Alright?"
Charlie bobbed her head. "Yes, Scott." She licked her lips, and said, "I was with Monte."
"And he took you to see baby foxes?" Scott asked, not sounding surprised to hear Monte's name. "Where?"
"Um," Charlie said, thinking hard. "It's on the way home. He likes to go exploring there-it's past the Whitehall's house a ways. You go
off into the trees there, and the babies are back a little bit."
Scott looked considering. "Past the Whitehalls place-that's Abe Harshman's land."
"I didn't know his name," Charlie said. "Is he the fat man that goes to church?"
"He goes to church," Scott said, not responding to the 'fat' part. He sat back in the chair, looking at Charlie intently. "Did Monte know there were
traps on that place when he took you to see the foxes?"
Charlie didn't want to answer that, but his threat of a moment before was still ringing in her ears. Scott was not in a mood to be
trifled with.
She nodded her head again, just barely.
Then, in Monte's defense, she said hurriedly, "But, he knows where they are. The traps, I mean. He's careful."
"Careful," Scott said, sounding as though he was going to yell. Charlie braced herself. She'd never heard him yell. Only he didn't yell. He took a deep breath,
and then leaned forward in his chair.
"Charlie, there's no way that Monte can be careful enough to guarantee his own safety, let alone yours. It's a terrible risk-it's dangerous
and foolhardy. It's a miracle that you weren't the one caught in a trap-"
"Monte always showed me where to walk," Charlie said, still wanting to defend her friend. She lowered her voice nearly to a whisper. "Please don't blame
Monte, Scott."
"I don't blame Monte. At least not entirely. You've got a mind of your own. You made the choice to go," Scott said. "Isn't that so?"
Charlie nodded again.
"You said he always showed you where to walk at. Have you been there before today?"
Too frightened to tell him a lie, Charlie nodded yet again. And was equally frightened by the fierceness of his expression.
"How much?"
"Today was three times," Charlie said, in honesty.
With a suddenness that startled Charlie, Scott pulled her up from the chair, and to stand in front of him. He had a grasp on Charlie's upper
arms that felt like steel.
"This was pure foolishness, Charlie-dangerous. I don't know how to make you understand that-"
Charlie's eyes filled with tears at his fierceness. "We just wanted to help the animals," she said, just above a whisper.
"The fox, you mean?"
"All of them. So they didn't get caught-"
The lines in Scott's forehead eased as he was thrust into understanding. "What is it you did, to help all of them?"
Realizing just what she had let slip out, Charlie swallowed hard. "Tripping the traps."
Scott would have thought he couldn't be surprised by anything else. But, he was surprised by Charlie's answer, and she could see that
he was.
"Monte showed you how to do that?" he asked, but it didn't really sound like a question.
"Yes, sir," Charlie said, barely audible. The times she'd called Scott 'sir' could be counted on one hand. He didn't require it of her, and their
conversations didn't often seem to warrant it. But, right at that moment, it came from her naturally, without prompting.
"It's not your place to do that," Scott said. "It's not your place, or your responsibility, or your right, to go on property that belongs to
someone else, and do that."
"But it hurts them, Scott, it kills them!" Charlie said, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"I know that, Charlie. And-I know that's hard for you to understand. But-trapping is not against the law. There's many people that
do it. They have their reasons for doing it."
"To sell the skins," Charlie said.
"There's other reasons besides that, too. And, we'll talk about those. But, not right yet. Right now, I'm more intent on you understanding what you've
done. The wrong of it. The danger," Scott said.
Subdued into silence by Scott's demeanor, and his words, Charlie's big eyes were fastened on his face, and still full of tears.
Scott dropped his hands from her arms, and scooted his chair back, standing up. Then, he stepped aside, and picked the chair up by the back,
moving it so that it wasn't facing the window, but instead looked toward the wall, bare except for one of Murdoch's paintings.
"Sit down in this chair," he said.
Charlie sniffled and walked over to where he stood, looking up at him, puzzled.
"Sit down," he said, again, firmly.
Charlie obeyed, sitting down on the hard oak chair, still looking at him.
"You got a good look at what that trap did to that mother fox. It wasn't anything nice to see. Was it?" Scott said.
Still sickened by what she'd seen, and the feeling of the bloody, lifeless body in her hands, Charlie shook her head back and forth, crying.
Scott stepped over to his wardrobe, opening it and taking a handkerchief from one of the shelves. and then handed it to Charlie.
"Alright. Now that you've seen that, you'll be able to picture your own foot, or Monte's, or your horse's leg, caught in a trap like that. You risked that
by going there when you knew about traps. And, going back again, Charlie. I just-" Here, Scott stopped talking, looked out towards the window, and
was silent, trying to find his words. Then, he turned to look down at her again, and he'd gathered himself, so that he was stern again.
"You sit here. And, you think. Think hard. You don't move from that chair until I come back, understood?"
Charlie bobbed her head in answer, and, with a final look, Scott went out of the bedroom, leaving the door open.
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