Ten Thousand Charms Read online

  “Ten Thousand Charms is a moving story of love and redemption as its diamond-in-the-rough characters struggle with faith to leave behind a dark past for a brighter future.”

  LINDA WINDSOR,

  author of Blue Moon, #3 in her Moonstruck Romance series

  “Ten Thousand Charms is a terrific debut for writer Allison Pittman, a tale of love and redemption that grabs you and won’t let go. It will leave you like it left me, anxious to see this author’s future work.”

  JAMES SCOTT BELL, bestselling author of Presumed Guilty

  “Once I started my Ten Thousand Charms journey, I couldn’t turn the pages fast enough. Pittman’s literary eloquence provides a sidesaddle perspective into one woman’s life journey, love struggle, and eternal conflict. ‘Gloria’ is so real you not only cringe along side her pain, you writhe with emotion as her internal struggle to find a love worth holding on to is companioned with a desperate desire for the eternal love promised through Christ. Definitely a keeper! This will be a suggested read for all of my listening audiences.”

  LINDA GOLDFARB,

  syndicated talk-radio host, speaker, and writer

  “If you took Francine River’s classic Redeeming Love and merged it with Janette Oke’s quaint prairie style, you could almost envision the masterpiece Allison Pittman has created with her poignant tale of God’s redemptive power. If you’re in need of a fresh touch of God’s grace, Ten Thousand Charms is the story for you.”

  JANICE THOMPSON, author of Hurricane

  “Are you thirsty, weary, or heavy laden? Come—rest and let Allison Pittman take you to another place and time where you will find joy resting in the arms of Jesus.”

  LAUREN L. BRIGGS, author of The Art of Helping,

  What to Say and Do When Someone is Hurting,

  Making the Blue Plate Special, and The Joy of Family Legacies

  This is a work of fiction. The characters,

  incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are

  not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events

  or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  TEN THOUSAND CHARMS

  published by Multnomah Publishers, Inc.

  © 2006 by Allison Pittman

  www.shootpw.com

  Interior design Katherine Lloyd, The DESK

  Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture quotations are from:

  The Holy Bible, King James Version (KJV)

  Other Scripture quotations are from:

  The Holy Bible, New International Version (NIV)

  © 1973, 1984 by International Bible Society,

  used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House

  Multnomah is a trademark of Multnomah Publishers, Inc.,

  and is registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.

  The colophon is a trademark of Multnomah Publishers, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,

  or transmitted, in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical,

  photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission.

  For information:

  MULTNOMAH PUBLISHERS, INC.

  601 NORTH LARCH STREET

  SISTERS, OREGON 97759

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Pittman, Allison.

  Ten thousand charms : a novel / Allison Pittman.

  p. cm. -- (Crossroads of grace; bk. 1)

  eISBN: 978-0-307-56260-9

  1. Prostitutes--West (U.S.)--Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3616.I885T46 2006

  813′.6–dc22

  2005035675

  v3.1

  For my brother, Chris,

  who knows better than anyone

  the joy of resting in the arms of Christ.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Reader’s Guide

  Excerpt from Give to the Wind

  Acknowledgments

  I praise God for His wisdom, mercy, and grace. He gave me answers before I could formulate questions; He guided my steps when I didn’t know I was on a journey; He lit my path when I thought I had found my resting place.

  I thank God for the amazing family He has seen fit to give me. For my husband, Mike, and my sons, Ryan, Jack, and Charlie—thanks guys for all the camping trips! For my parents who have been such an example of strength in Christ. For my sisters who make me feel so special. And for Martha, who made my brother’s life complete.

  Finally, I must give thanks for all of those people who made this book possible. Thank you, Rod, for being such an amazing editor. Only you could make me feel at peace in blue socks and black shoes. Thank you, Monday night group—you read every page of this and gave such great advice about trees and talking heads. Most of all, my sweet sister in Christ, Brenda, for never letting me forget Who I know, and Who knows me.

  COME, YE SINNERS, POOR AND NEEDY

  Joseph Hart (1759)

  Come, ye sinners, poor and needy,

  Weak and wounded, sick and sore;

  Jesus ready stands to save you,

  Full of pity, love and power.

  Refrain:

  I will arise and go to Jesus,

  He will embrace me in His arms;

  In the arms of my dear Saviour,

  O there are ten thousand charms.

  Come, ye thirsty, come and welcome,

  God’s free bounty glorify;

  True belief and true repentance,

  Every grace that brings you nigh.

  Come, ye weary, heavy laden,

  Lost and ruined by the fall;

  If you tarry till you’re better,

  You will never come at all.

  Let not conscience make you linger,

  Nor of fitness fondly dream;

  All the fitness He requireth

  Is to feel your need of Him.

  Come, ye weary, heavy laden,

  Lost and ruined by the fall;

  If you tarry till you’re better,

  You will never come at all.

  1

  Wyoming Territory

  Gloria forced herself to take another step. Then another. And another. For most of the journey, she’d been lucky enough—and pretty enough—to ride along with supply wagons and men migrating to another promised land. But her luck ran out at the opening of this narrow, winding pass.

  “Ain’t nothin’ up there to go to,” her latest anonymous benefactor had said. “There’s a little camp called Silver Peak, but it don’t have no future. Prob’ly gonna close down next year.”

  “I have friends there,” Gloria said.

  “I just bet you do.” His leer gave Gloria a momentary hope that he would take her up the pass, but he insisted that the journey was too dangerous for his rig.

  “Ain’t but about seven miles,” he said, dismissing her from his wagon seat. “Get s
tarted now and you might make it before dark.”

  For once, a man’s promise turned out to be true, because it was nearing dusk as Gloria rounded the last bend. In fact, there was just enough light for her to get a glimpse of something red.

  “Jewell.”

  The red-shingled roof was the trademark of any Jewell Gunn fancy house, and the closest reference Gloria had to a home. Now it served as a beacon, guiding Gloria’s steps until the entire establishment—huge and gaudy compared to its rough-hewn neighbors—came into view.

  As she approached, the closest thing Gloria had to a friend, Jewell herself, leaned out a second-story window. Dressed in a silk robe wrapped haphazardly at the waist, Jewell planted her elbows firmly on the sill.

  Gloria shifted her bag to a fresh hand, straightened her shoulders, and forced a spring into her final steps as she set her eyes firmly on the door.

  She needs to be the one to call to me.

  Within minutes, Jewell’s distinctive whiskey voice filled the yard.

  “Well, Glory-be it’s Glori-A!” It was the phrase Jewell coined whenever she paraded the young Gloria through a crowded parlor. “Lord, girl, if I hadn’t seen your feet movin’, I’da swore you was the mangled mess of a bobcat snack.”

  “Is that right?” Gloria set her case down, planted her hands on her hips, and tried to keep the quaver out of her voice. “And if I didn’t know you were the richest woman in Wyoming Territory, I’d swear you were some old whore seein’ the first light of day.”

  There was a beat during which Gloria wondered if she had gone too far, but then Jewell leaned further out the window and said, as if shouting a secret, “All us rich women are whores, honey. I’m just not one who needs to hide it.”

  The first thing Gloria did upon entering the house was drop her bag in the hall.

  “Would you like to sit down, miss?”

  It was an impossibly small voice, one Gloria might have missed altogether if there had been a breeze to rustle the curtains.

  “Some water, please, would be nice,” Gloria said. She sank gratefully into overstuffed cushions, feeling guilty for asking this little person to fetch anything. The girl was every bit as slight as her voice.

  “Nothing to eat? Some bread? Cheese? An apple? One of the men shot a goose. We’re roasting it, but it won’t be ready for hours.”

  Gloria ignored the now familiar rumble in her stomach. “Just water, thanks.”

  The little one turned to leave, and in her haste ran headlong into a newly dressed and coiffed Jewell.

  “Fetch a light supper for our guest, Biddy,” Jewell said once she’d set the reeling girl straight on her feet again.

  “She says she just wants some water, ma’am.” Biddy’s voice grew smaller with each syllable.

  “Nonsense,” Jewell’s voice addressed Biddy while her eyes remained fixed on Gloria. “Boil some tea. Toast some bread and open that last jar of marmalade.”

  Biddy scuttled out of the room.

  “Sorry we don’t have a fatted calf,” Jewell said, “but then you’re not exactly the prodigal son, are you?”

  “The what?”

  “Darlin’, you are ignorant.”

  Gloria nodded in the direction of Biddy’s exit. “So is this a whorehouse or an orphanage?”

  “You tell me,” Jewell said, wedging herself into a chair just opposite of Gloria.

  “I’m not exactly an orphan.”

  “When’d your ma die?”

  “It’s been a few years.”

  “She held on a long time.”

  “Too long.”

  Gloria ran a fingernail along the edge of the dried mud on her boots sending crumbs of her journey onto Jewell’s braided rug. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jewell’s reaching hand and stopped.

  “You coulda stayed with me,” Jewell said. “I could have made you something special.”

  “As special as Mama?” Gloria looked up at Jewell.

  “It’s not my fault she got sick.”

  “She got sicker after you kicked us out.”

  Just then the door opened and Biddy made her way into the room, carefully balancing a tray, which she set on a small table in front of the parlor’s sofa.

  “We can talk some more later,” Jewell said. “Right now, eat.”

  She woke up naked and nestled underneath a heavy down coverlet. Her mind struggled through fog to capture memories from the previous night. She ate toast. She drank tea. And then black.

  “Your little journey must have wore you out.” Jewell was sitting once again at her open window; the early morning chilled the room. Jewell closed the window, crossed the room, and sat on the corner of the bed.

  “I tried shakin’ you, callin’ you, but you’d have none of that. I figured freezin’ would be the gentlest way.”

  Gloria tried to croak out a response, maybe an apology, but her tongue was like cotton in her mouth. No noise.

  Jewell took a glass of water from the nightstand and watched Gloria struggle to one elbow before handing it to her.

  “We had a slow one last night,” Jewell said while Gloria forced the water down her throat. “I actually had a chance to get some rest.” She leaned toward Gloria in a gesture of conspiracy. Her breath reeked of coffee and sleep. “I hope you don’t mind sharin’ a bed with some old whore.”

  “That depends,” Gloria rasped, testing the taste of words. “Who else was invited?”

  Jewell snorted and snatched the glass away. “I’ve got a house full of healthy girls. Why would I waste my reputation on a half-dead path rat like you?”

  “Sorry.” Gloria turned her back and drew the coverlet over her shoulders.

  “Especially one in your condition. How far gone are you?”

  Gloria turned back to face Jewell, clutched the coverlet to her chin.

  “Is that why you’re here? Did you expect me to get rid of it for you?”

  “Can you?”

  “Not until you start tellin’ me the truth,” Jewell said. “How far gone did you say?”

  “Four months.”

  “That’s what I figured. You’re stick-thin except for that little bump. Ain’t you been eatin’?”

  “I’ve been traveling.” Gloria sat up again and reached for the water. “I thought you might, well, help me with it.”

  “You mean get rid of it.”

  “You did it for Mama once.”

  “Yes, I did. And for others, too. Some lived, some died. But none were as far gone as you, at least not that I knew goin’ into it. So, now that that’s off the table, what’s your next plan?”

  “I don’t have a next plan. I was counting on—”

  “Well stop countin’ on that. So who is he?”

  “Who?”

  “The King of France,” Jewell said. “Who do you think? Who’s the father?”

  Gloria chuckled. “The King of France.”

  Jewell did not chuckle back.

  “I could pay you. I have money, nearly—”

  Jewell brought up a hand. “Biddy checked your bag last night. You don’t have a dime. I checked your clothes while you were asleep. Couldn’t find a dollar.”

  “It’s sewn up in the hem of my dress. Some of it, anyway.”

  “So that’s how you trust me?”

  “No,” Gloria said. With each sentence her voice became stronger. “That’s how I trust the world. I came here on foot remember? You think I’m going to walk from camp to camp toting my money like a picnic lunch?”

  A slight shrug granted that point to Gloria, but the next breath brought back the voice of accusation.

  “So I ask you again, who’s the father? Better yet, what makes you think he’s here?”

  “I didn’t come here looking for any man,” Gloria said. “I came here looking for you.”

  Now Jewell did laugh. “Listen, missy. A girl like you could pull in five hundred a night in Virginia City. Why would anyone walk away from that to hide out in the woods? You’re runnin’ aw
ay from somethin’.”

  Jewell got up from the bed and crossed the room. A brocade dressing gown was strewn across a chair. She picked it up and held it out to Gloria, who took it and shrugged her arms into the sleeves before emerging from the bed.

  “Leaving’s not the same as running,” she said, wrapping the warm material around her and cinching the belt with a determined knot.

  “I ain’t so sure of that,” Jewell said, heading for the door. “Let’s go downstairs and get some breakfast and we’ll see which it is.”

  A fire was already burning in the large cookstove that dominated one wall of the kitchen. Along a second wall, a washbasin overflowed with dirty dishes. The odor of the previous night’s roasted goose lingered, the smell of it colliding with the early morning nausea somewhere near the top of Gloria’s throat.

  Jewell walked over to the stove and lifted a burner to stir the embers within.

  “Eggs? Coffee?”

  “Sounds fine,” Gloria said. Her hunger was nearly unbearable by now.

  “I’ll cook, you talk,” Jewell said.

  Gloria took a deep breath and began the story she’d rehearsed with every step up this mountain.

  “Just after Mama died, I left California. Went straight to Virginia City. I walked right up to the biggest, fanciest house in the district and said, ‘My name’s Gloria. I’ll have them lined up at the door.’ The first two places turned me down, then spent the next two years fighting to get me back.”

  “Who’d you work for?”

  “Ellie Dennison.”

  “Cat House Ellie? She’s a tough one.”

  “Not if you’re bringing in money.”

  “Is it true what I hear about the money in Virginia City? I heard some gals could bring in a thousand a night.”

  Gloria flashed her perfected sly smile. “It’s true.”

  Jewell stopped in mid-whisk and gave Gloria a look full of suspicion and resentment.

  “What can I say?” Gloria assumed a dramatic pose. “I inherited my mother’s charm and it paid off handsomely.”

  “Knowin’ Ellie, she was the one gettin’ paid. She always took more of a cut than I ever thought was fair.”

  “That’s if she knew how much a girl was bringing in.”