Page 99 of Charlotte's Reckoning
While sipping her coffee, Charlotte weighed whether to set out for town for seeds, a shovel, and trowel to start her vegetable garden—a six-mile round trip—or simply return to bed. The appearance of a rider in the lane solved her dilemma. Wisteria had returned as promised.
She greeted her on the porch as she reined in her chestnut quarter horse and dismounted. “You’re out early.”
“I have a two-year-old who wakes with the chickens and live on a ranch. I know early. Besides, I had to deliver these.” Holding up a basket, she announced, “Fresh-baked blueberry muffins, and don’t worry, they’re safe. Letty made them, not me.”
“You’re not a baker, I take it.”
“Or much of a cook. My husband doesn’t seem to mind,” she added with a glint in her eye. “He says my talents lie elsewhere.”
Charlotte smiled, despite feeling a pang of envy. She extended her hand to greet the mare, admiring her glossy black mane. “She’s beautiful. My father raised horses. I miss being around them.”
“This is Willow,” Wisteria said, gently stroking her horse’s neck. “She’s yours.”
Charlotte froze, looking at her as if she hadn’t heard her correctly, but there was nothing wrong with her ears. “You must be joking. You can’t give me a horse. It’s too much.”
“If you hadn’t shared your suspicions with Luke, I wouldn’t have made it out of Madam Josephine’s opium den, Micah wouldn’t have a mother, and my husband would be devastated. So, it’s the least I can do,” she insisted.
“You don’t owe me anything for doing what’s right.”
“I understand that. But I want to help you. Besides, the Jacksons breed horses and won’t notice one less mare.”
“You...told them you were giving her away, right?” The last thing she wanted was to be accused of horse theft.
“Of course, silly. I just meant they have almost as many horses as cattle and can spare one, believe me.”
“But...”
“No ‘buts.’ I insist. And so does Luke.”
She gripped Wisteria’s hand and squeezed, hoping to convey how much this meant to her because she didn’t have the words. “I don’t know what to say except thank you.”
“That’s good enough for me. The saddle is yours, too, and Jack is bringing a bale of hay and oats when he comes to pick me up in an hour. I noticed a lean-to on the side of the cabin, so she should be all set.”
Charlotte twisted and looked at the cabin. “A lean-to? Really?”
Wisteria laughed. “You didn’t notice?”
“No, I’ve been rather busy, and it has been a hectic few days.”
“Understood. Speaking of busy, grab your shotgun. We’d better get started on your lesson. Jack will be here before we know it.”
Wisteria had endless patience, unlike Fen. And she didn’t grumble, curse, or threaten. By the time she packed up to go, Charlotte’s aim had vastly improved. She could hit both the inside of a barn, its broadside, and most of the targets Wisteria set up on a fallen tree at thirty yards.
She also brought four different pistols to see which Charlotte would handle best. In that, she didn’t fare as well. What was more, every muscle in her body ached. The pistols all had a recoil, but the shotgun kicked like a mule. They spent an hour at target practice before Wisteria called it quits and packed up.
Still holding the Remington derringer, she handed it to her grip first—she didn’t have to be taught that at least.
“That’s yours, too,” Wisteria said. “You got six out of ten on the last round with it.”
“You’ve already given me too much.”
“It will only collect dust if I keep it. I’m partial to my Peacemakers.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. Luke won’t touch it. Because it’s small enough to fit in a purse, he says it’s for pus— Uh…” She stopped, color rising to her cheeks, then quickly finished, “For women.”
When she passed her a whole box of bullets, she took them, once again murmuring, “Thank you,” and hoping she wouldn’t ever have to use them.
