Annabelle got undressed, sank into the tub, and slowly, pensively washed herself. She was so deep in thought that she was only vaguely aware of Chang opening her door just far enough to set a plate of food on her dresser before slipping quietly back out again. Her nerves felt like bits of frayed yarn.
She felt guilty for what she’d done to her father and Kenneth Earnshaw, but she wouldn’t have had to reject young Earnshaw—as well as her father’s wishes—if both men had taken the time to listen to and heed her previous, more discreet objections to their plans.
Instead, they acted as though they’d made her mind up for her, and there was nothing she could do about it. As though they were refusing her all say in the matter of her own life, her own love and happiness. As if they, being men, knew what was best for her, and she, being a silly young woman, did not.
Finally, Anna’s emotions overwhelmed her. She sank back in the tub, resting her elbows on its sides and leaning her head forward against the palms of her hands. She sobbed, her shoulders quivering.
She was still sitting there, naked in the tub, sobbing into her hands, when footsteps thudded loudly on the stairs. They grew louder, approaching her room. Anna turned her head to stare at her door and then gave a startled scream, crossing her arms on her bare breasts when her father burst into her room, face swollen to the size of a bright red pumpkin with fury.
“Pa!” she cried.
“How dare you humiliate me like that!” Graham Ludlow roared, pointing an outraged finger at the end of his extended arm, leaning slightly forward at his thick waist.
“Pa!” Annabelle cried again, drawing her knees up closer, trying to make her naked body as small as possible in the copper tub.
“And I don’t mean just about young Earnshaw either!”
“Pa, I’m bathing!”
“I know where you were earlier, young lady. And I know who you were with. You were seen in town . . . and riding out of town . . . with the ex-Confederate ne’erdo-well who butchered my business partner’s son!”
“Luke ambushed Hunter! Hunter was unarm—!”
“And you know who I heard it from? Max Chaney himself! By now, the whole town likely knows that the daughter of Graham Ludlow is the . . . the . . . the . . . whore of Hunter Buchanon!”
“I’m not a whore!”
“A whore of that Union-killing Rebel!”
Enraged now herself, Annabelle twisted around in the tub to face her father. She slapped her hand down hard against the side of the tub. “I don’t care what side Hunter fought in during the war! I don’t give a damn about that horrible war! It’s over. I love Hunter and we’re going to ride to Cheyenne and be married whether you like it or not!”
“How dare you tell me you don’t give a damn about the war! You lost a brother in that war!”
“It’s over, Pa!” Annabelle was fairly screaming, her fury a wild thing inside her. “Hunter and I are going to be married, and you just have to accept it or you’ll never see me again!”
Ludlow stared down at his daughter, his own emotion burning in his eyes. His nostrils expanded and contracted. Bulging veins throbbed in his forehead.
Slowly, he shook his head, hardening his jaws and gritting his teeth. “No daughter of mine will marry any man who fought for the Confederacy. Who killed Union soldiers, like your brother, for the Confederacy! I forbid it. You think you can turn your back on me—the man who raised you in the lap of luxury, bought you every damn horse you wanted, educated you in the finest schools in the country. But you can’t.”
“Pa, I appreciate all you’ve given me.” Annabelle sobbed, tears rolling down her cheeks. “It’s true, I’ve had a wonderful life. But that doesn’t mean—”
“It means exactly what I say it means. It means that you will marry the man I tell you to marry. The man you will marry, whether you like it or not, is Kenneth Earnshaw!”
“No, Pa! Why can’t I get through to—?”
Ludlow threw his hand up, silencing her.
He shook his head slowly, his eyes now bleak and dark with menace as he gazed down at her. “You may be strong, Annabelle. You may be stubborn. But you’re also spoiled. Spoiled and foolhardy. Keep in mind that what I do I not only do for myself but I do for you as well.”
Annabelle studied him, foreboding weighing heavy in her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ludlow sniffed, swallowed, seemed to compose himself. He jerked down the bottom of his cowhide vest and lifted his chin. “Now . . . I sent Kenneth to town. Obviously, he’s upset. But he promised to return tomorrow night. I assured him that things will go far differently . . . far better for both of you . . . tomorrow night.”
He paused, filled his broad, lumpy chest with air, let it out through his nose. “You think I don’t, Annabelle. But I know what is best for you. I know what the world consists of. You don’t. You’ve been sheltered from it. But I know what is best. You remember that.”
Ludlow swung around and left the room, leaving the door standing wide behind him.
“You only know what is best for you!” Annabelle screamed behind him.
Her only response was Ludlow’s heavy, resolute tread descending the stairs.
She lowered her head to the side of the tub and cried.
CHAPTER 12
Annabelle finally washed the tears from her face, then climbed out of the tub, grabbed a towel off a chair, and, holding the towel, walked over and closed the door. She toweled her hair and brushed it and then dropped a nightgown over her head.
For a long time, she paced the room, moving from one end to the other, her mind swirling. This wasn’t exactly how she’d expected the time leading up to her wedding day would be.
But there was no point in feeling sorry for herself. She was about to marry the most wonderful man she’d ever known.
Her father didn’t want her to marry Hunter Buchanon. But, while Annabelle appreciated the more-than-comfortable childhood Graham Ludlow had provided, she was not going to allow him to force her into marriage with a man she didn’t love. Providing Annabelle with a luxurious home and a happy childhood despite the premature death of her mother from a heart ailment did not mean her father had bought and paid for her entire life.
He could not dictate how she lived her adult life, or with whom she would live it.
It was wrong of Annabelle’s father to forbid her to marry the man she loved and to compel her to marry a man she did not love merely to boost his business relationship. Wrong, plain and simple.
While guilt still nibbled at the edge of her consciousness, Annabelle felt resolute. By the light of a single, guttering lantern, she packed traveling clothes as well as her mother’s wedding dress into two carpetbags. She set the bags by the door, ready to go at first light. She’d get an early start in the morning, before her father rose. She didn’t want them to get into another row like the one they’d had last night.
Having made up her mind that she was doing the right thing, and deciding that eventually her father would see it that way, too, and might even come to accept Hunter Buchanon as his son-in-law, Annabelle’s anxiety eased. The calming of her nerves allowed hunger to rise in her. She carried the plate of now-cold supper over to the bed, tucked her bare legs under her, Indian-style, and ate Chang’s delicious food with relish. She finished the entire plate of roast beef, mashed potatoes, and garden-raised green beans, and swabbed the last of the gravy with one of Chang’s buttery biscuits.
Sated, buoyed now by a warm optimism and eagerness to be in the arms of her lover once again, to finally start a life with Hunter on a ranch of their own, she climbed into bed and drew up the covers. For a long time, she lay awake, pressing away the persistent fears and doubts with fantasies of what her and Hunter’s life would be like. She imagined all the little ones they would have running around their ranch house, and watching her boys growing tall and strong like their father, riding off with Hunter on dewy summer mornings to tend their range.
Annabelle chuckled delightedl
y into the palm of her hand. Imagine Hunter panning for gold these last two years, building a stake so they could marry! And without mentioning a word!
Knowing she had to sleep, she stopped indulging the voices and images washing through her head. She focused on emptying her mind. She needed to sleep. She had a big day ahead. She took several deep, slow breaths.
Try as she might, it seemed to take forever to quiet herself down. She wasn’t even aware of having slept before she realized that she must have nodded off at least for a time. Suddenly, it was nearly dawn. She could tell by the faint milky light brushing the night outside her window, and the piping of morning birds.
She tossed the covers aside, rose, and started dressing. If she left now, she’d likely arrive at the cabin well ahead of Hunter, but she couldn’t wait. She was too anxious and excited to start her new, married life. Also, she didn’t want to wait around here at the Broken Heart. She wouldn’t put it past her father to physically impede her from leaving.
She stepped into her boots, donned a fringed buckskin jacket and her crisp felt Stetson. She picked up her carpetbags and reached for the door. The knob wouldn’t turn. She looked at the lock. The key was gone.
Annabelle tried the knob again.
Locked.
During the night, someone—who else but her father?—must have stolen into her room, removed the key from the inside lock, and locked the door from the outside. Damn him!
Why hadn’t she heard? Maybe she’d slept longer and more deeply than she’d realized.
Anger burned inside her. She stepped back from the door and turned to the window on the opposite side of her bed.
“Don’t worry, Pa,” Annabelle said cunningly, under her breath. “I’m every bit as much Ludlow as you are.”
As a young girl, when she couldn’t sleep, she used to sneak out that window, climb to the ground, and take long, dreamy walks along the creek, imagining that she were Lady Rowena awaiting her very own Ivanhoe to save her from Cedric of Rotherwood’s plans to marry her off to the vile Lord Athelstane.
She hadn’t realized how prophetic such imaginings had been! She’d used the window because her father, who’d lived out here when the Sioux had been a constant threat, had forbidden her to leave the house alone between sunset and sunrise. She didn’t think her father had ever discovered her secret escapes—if he had, there surely would have been hell to pay—and that should work in her favor this morning.
Quickly, she hauled her bags around the bed to the window. She set them on the bed, quietly opened the window, and looked out.
All clear. Nothing moved but the flickering shadows of birds on the wing.
The faint periwinkle wash of the pre-dawn shone over the eastern hills. Annabelle could smell the smoke from the cook’s breakfast fire emanating from the bunkhouse, but the hands didn’t usually head to the barns and corrals until after they’d eaten, which wouldn’t be for another half hour. Anna hoped the cook’s dog, Farley, was off hunting rabbits in the hills, or her goose might be cooked . . .
Quickly, she tossed her bags onto the kitchen roof slanting six feet beneath her window. Fortunately, Chang and her father wouldn’t rise for another hour, and both their rooms were a good distance from Annabelle’s. Cass’s room was right down the hall from hers, but if the young firebrand hadn’t gone to town to slumber with the percentage girl of his choice, he was likely three sheets to the wind and wouldn’t rise until mid-morning.
Graham Ludlow had long ago ceased trying to get Cass to do an honest day’s work. He’d not banished him from the ranch because he’d already lost one son in the war. One useless son was better than no son at all.
With customary agility, Anna slithered through the window and dropped lightly onto the kitchen roof. She tossed the carpetbags to the ground, on the far side of Chang’s pile of split and stacked cordwood, then dropped herself to the woodpile. From there, she leaped to the ground, gathered her bags, and jogged around to the front of the house and then down the hill toward where the barns and corrals were slowly taking shape in the dawn’s misty shadows.
She could see a light at the near end of the bunkhouse, but that would only be the cook brewing coffee and preparing breakfast. The hands were likely sound asleep. They usually stayed up late playing cards.
Anna slipped into the stock barn, finding it so dark that she lit a lamp hanging from a ceiling support post. Quickly, she went into the adjoining corral and roped Ivan, the buckskin. She led the horse into the barn, saddled it, hooked the handles of her carpetbags over the horn, and strapped her bedroll and her saddlebags containing a few trail supplies behind the cantle. She also strapped her saddle scabbard, containing her Winchester saddle ring carbine, over her right stirrup. She used the long gun for hunting and for protection, if needed.
She led the horse outside and was about to step into the saddle when she remembered she’d left the lamp burning inside. You never left an unattended flame in a barn full of hay. She led the buckskin over to the corral, tied it to a rail, then walked back into the barn. She moved to the lamp and was about to turn down the wick when she heard the sound of boots crunching hay and straw down the alley ahead of her.
Looking in that direction, she saw a man-shaped silhouette moving toward her, staggering slightly.
Annabelle’s heart thudded.
Cass stepped into the watery sphere of lantern-light. He wasn’t wearing a hat, and his hair was mussed. Hay and straw clung to it. Obviously, he’d slept in one of the empty barn stalls, as he often did when he wanted to drink beyond the prying eyes of their father, or when he’d gotten home late from town and was too drunk to negotiate the path to the house.
Cass studied her, squinting his eyes at first, as though having trouble making her out in the weak light. Suddenly, his mouth shaped a grin, dimpling his cheeks. “Oh-oh!” he said. “Oh-oh! Oh-oh! Does Pa know you’re out here?” His words were badly slurred. He must have been drinking most of the night, and he was still pie-eyed.
“Be quiet, Cass!”
He dragged his boot toes around his sister to peer out the two open doors behind her, turning toward where she’d tied the buckskin.
“Oh-oh!” he cried again, swinging back around to face her, grinning delightedly. “You got your bags packed, li’l sister!”
Anna gritted her teeth and looked beyond him toward the house. “Cass, be quiet! Please don’t say anything. Just go back into your stall and lay down before you fall down!”
She tried to walk past him, but he grabbed her arm and turned her sharply toward him.
“D-don’t think I can do that, li’l sister.”
“Let me go, Cass!”
She jerked her arm out of his grip, but he lunged toward her, grabbed it again. He shoved his face up close to hers. His breath was warm and fetid with liquor, appalling her.
“What do you think you’re gonna do? You really think you’re gonna marry that Grayback . . . that Johnny Reb? You really think you’re gonna marry up an’ raise a family with that no-account Southern hillbilly?”
Annabelle looked at his hand on her arm. “Let me go, Cass.”
“Tell me somethin’, li’l sister,” Cass said, leaning even closer to her. “You been shackin’ up with that big Grayback, ain’t ya?” He grinned lewdly.
“That’s none of your business. Let me go!” Anna pried her brother’s fingers from around her right arm, but he quickly grabbed her left one with his other hand.
“You got a baby in your belly?” Cass pressed his free hand to her stomach. “That the problem? Huh? That why you feel like you gotta run off with that Confederate privy rat?”
“Cass!” She slapped his hand away and looked at him in horror. She’d never seen him like this. This angry. This enraged. Crazy with fury.
Cass stepped back, pulled a bullwhip down off a ceiling support post from which it hung by a nail. “Maybe Pa’s right. Maybe you are a whore.”
Cass made a circular motion with his hand, uncoiling the whip, the brai
ded black leather growing longer and longer as it turned through the air beside him, whistling malevolently. Gritting his teeth, Cass snapped the snake in the air beside Anna’s head. She felt the air curl against her cheek, like a demon’s kiss. The popper at the whip’s end snapped sharply, loudly, causing her ears to ring.
Anna screamed and jerked back, horrified.
“Cass! Stop this! You’re drunk!”
Cass popped the blacksnake again, stumbling toward her, his eyes strange and dark—as menacing as those of any nightmare specter.
“Cass!”
“I’m gonna whip you like the traitorous whore you are, Anna! Somethin’ Pa should’ve done a long time ago!”
“Cass, stop!” Anna screamed as she stumbled back against the ceiling support post from which the lantern hung from a nail.
“Traitorous whores get whipped ’til there ain’t a stitch of clothes left on ’em!” Cass laughed maniacally, then flung the whip handle back behind his shoulder, the deadly blacksnake uncoiling in the air behind him. As he snapped his arm forward, gritting his teeth, Anna flung her hand up, grabbed the bail of the lantern, and ripped it off the nail.
“Nooo!”
At the same time that blacksnake lashed into her left arm, biting painfully through her coat, she flung the lantern forward. It smashed against Cass’s left temple. Burning coal oil spewed like a dragon’s breath, dancing across the side of Cass’s head and spreading onto the floor beyond him. The carpet of fresh straw instantly caught fire.
Cass bellowed as he dropped the whip and fell to his hands and knees, swatting at the flames smoking on the left side of his head, burning his hair.
Anna fell back against the support post, gasping. The flames were building around her and Cass, who lay belly-down now before her, folding his arms around his head and writhing. Soon, he’d be engulfed.
“Cass!” Anna cried, crouching over him, tugging on his arm. “We have to get out of here!”
He pushed up onto his knees, howling, making no effort to flee the flames.
Anna ran forward, tugging harder on his arm. Finally, Cass complied, crawling forward on hands and knees. She half dragged him out into the yard, away from the smoke now roiling out the front doors. Inside, flames danced thickly, crackling and roaring.
The Black Hills Page 9
