“Charles, it's not a game to me and Charlie. It's our future.” He tried to pull away, but her grip on his hands tightened. “Can you imagine what Charlie's future would look like if your mama lives another five or ten years? How do we explain why he don't carry his daddy's name? What do we say when he's shunned at school because he's got no claim to you?”
He succeeded in escaping her grip and stood. “We'll face that when we need to.” An uncustomary fire lit his amber eyes as he turned to her. “You own this house. It's more than most women ever have. It's yours.” His voice took on a rumble as he neared her, towering. “And I could have just left you to fend for yourself. In fact, I had several folks suggest I do just that, but I didn't. I've accepted this responsibility.”
The words knifed through her, cold and putting her in her place.
“Why can't you just realize I'm doing what I can and all I need from you is to show some gratitude? Some understanding.”
Her eyes burned, and she hated it. The last thing she wanted to do was cry, to confirm any weakness. But she couldn't stop the sting. The wave of utter lostness. The dawning realization that the little dream she'd concocted in her head for a year was dissolving before her eyes.
They were both trapped. She was trapped in a world of outcasts and soured hopes. And her presence trapped Charles to a past he thought he wanted, but did he? Really?
Or was this all a game too?
He gave his head a shake and took her hands, drawing her up from the bed. “I'm sorry, Kizzie. I don't want us to end our morning with a fight. Let's have a little breakfast together before I go. Talk a little.” He punctuated his words with a squeeze to her hands. “Just remember, I'm doing all of this for us.”
Us.
A word that meant two or more.
Then why did she feel so alone?
He didn't stay more than fifteen minutes, talking about the farm more than anything else, before he left.
Kizzie stood on the porch with Charlie in her arms and watched Charles disappear down the road, fresh tears forming in her eyes.
The truth bled painfully clear, changing everything.
The women in the dress shop had called her a kept woman.
But Kizzie hadn't really believed it, until now.
Chapter 7
KIZZIE REFUSED TO VISIT THEChappells.
How could she? They'd taken her to their church, and on the same day she'd fallen right back into Charles’ arms.
She kept doing that, but this time, she felt like God saw her.
Her skin crawled at the very idea, because she remembered all too well exactly what He saw. And had seen. Each time she'd sinned.
Each andeverytime.
She gave her head a shake and placed Charlie down into his cradle for his nap. Why on earth would He want her if she couldn't do the right thing for one whole day, let alone years?
Because, truth be told, she'd been the rascally one of her siblings. The wanderer and mischief maker. Never in a mean-spirited sort of way, but in a way that likely kept her mama on her knees more often than for the others. Her grin spread just a little.
Well, her little brother, Isom, might best her in mischief, but he still had some years to catch up.
Maybe those childhood fooleries weren't as bad as her choices now, but they'd pointed to a mischievous, rebellious heart, hadn't they? Why would God want someone with a heart so prone to wander?
Yet her mama had always said God forgave. Kizzie had even overheard her praying for her daddy during one of his bad drunks, and instead of being angry, her mama pled for God to chase Daddy down.
It was her mama's way. To hope. Always hope.
And to pray.
Mama had even said once that nobody could outrun God.“He's faster, smarter, and can last a heap longer. If He wants you, He'll catch you.”
