Johnny appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and ran up to them. Charles scowled at him. “Where have you been?”
“Exploring. I found another garden. Much better than here.” He started to tug on his uncle’s hand. “Come see.”
Giving Annabelle a questioning glance he resisted. “Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?”
“I think so. I’m told an old retainer and his wife used to live in an apartment of sorts at the rear of the carriage house. When the Eatons moved in, they filled it with stored possessions. The yard is not much to look at but you can tell they enjoyed their privacy.”
“Privacy? Can it be seen from the street?”
Annabelle shook her head. “I don’t think so. I really didn’t pay much attention when I first looked.”
He bowed slightly and swept an arm in the direction the boy was going. “After you.”
Raising her skirts above her shoe tops, she circled the far end of the carriage house and stable, pushing aside bushes as she went. She paused in a tiny garden surrounded by overgrown foliage and pointed to the remains of a small corral beyond. “I had forgotten this was even here.”
She could tell he was thinking because he was half frowning, half smiling. “It can’t be seen from the street. Do you realize what this means?”
“Not really.”
“We could meet here later for the picnic we dare not have in a park.” He hesitated. “That is, if you are willing.”
“With Johnny, of course,” she added, blushing.
“Of course. I would not have suggested otherwise. The boy will chaperone us and we will be meeting in broad daylight. Nothing could be more socially acceptable.” He grinned. “At least in our peculiar circumstances.”
“All right. I’ll ask Lucy to pack us a basket lunch. She does not have to know where Johnny and I have gone or who else will share our meal.”
“When shall I return?”
“Margaret meets with a sewing circle for tea today and John will be leaving for the Capitol earlier than that.” Annabelle grinned. “Will you wait until Margaret’s gone?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
He tipped his hat and gave another bow. On most men such actions might have looked effeminate, but not when Charles McDonald made them. The strength and power of his physique were impressive indeed, enough to warm her cheeks all the more.
Annabelle rested her hand beneath her throat and felt her heartbeat accelerating. And this time it was not due to trepidation. It was definitely a result of watching the Cherokee emissary walking away.
The only thing better was going to be his return.
* * *
Charles knew that every additional hour he spent in the city after the departure of his kinsmen increased his risk. Nevertheless, he was not going to just ride off and leave Annabelle. Nor Johnny. If what Eaton had told her was true, the boy’s days of good care in that household were numbered. In that case, it might behoove him to allow the child to flee as he’d wanted all along.
Unfortunately, the timing was off. If Johnny stayed until the treaty disagreements were settled, one way or the other, many months could pass. By then, chances were good that Annabelle would have been tried and probably wrongly convicted due to outside influences.
Charles grimaced. She wasn’t the only one who could end up in prison. He was in the same boat. With Ridge and the rest of the diplomats gone, there was no one to assure Washington authorities that Cherokee justice would be carried out. Charles had lost his primary defense.
He saw to the needs of his rented horse, loosening the saddle girth and watering the animal at one of the livestock troughs shaded by poplars along Connecticut Avenue. Grass there was thick and kept trimmed by sheep. Too bad he couldn’t bring Annabelle here for a picnic instead of lurking in an overgrown, abandoned garden, but he could see the problem of being seen together in public. Word would surely get back to Margaret Eaton, one way or another, and she was a force to be reckoned with.
It was not hard for Charles to accept that a woman could be in charge because that was the way his tribe functioned. His own mother ran a successful plantation. Inheritance and authority passed down through women and so did clanship. It was because of her that he was numbered among the Wolf clan.
Rows of soldiers marched by in the street, rifles on their shoulders. Uneasy, Charles tightened the saddle girth, mounted up and headed back toward New York Avenue. He didn’t know why he kept imagining that he and Annabelle Lang belonged together, he simply did, and mental arguments against such feelings failed repeatedly. Truth to tell, the closer he got to the secret garden, the more anxious he was to see her again.
He left his horse hitched to a rear portion of the wrought-iron railings that surrounded the entire property rather than bring it through one of the distant gates. As soon as no one was watching, he vaulted over the fence and ducked into thick shrubbery. It was debasing to have to skulk around. His pride would not have allowed it under other circumstances. But this time? This time was different.
Pushing through the leafy branches, he spied her. Ringlets of her hair reflected the sun’s glow as they peeked from beneath a small bonnet and she was waving boldly, a far cry from the shy way she had behaved when they had first met.
“I am so glad you didn’t change your mind,” she said as soon as he was closer.
“Never. Margaret’s gone?”
“Yes.”
“You had no problems?”
“None worth mentioning.” She tugged Johnny out from behind her. “I did have difficulty convincing this little man that we weren’t going to get into trouble by doing this.”
“I pray you are right.” Charles laughed and tousled the boy’s dark hair.
“Where did you leave your horse?”
“I tied him out behind. It’s a lot easier to hide myself than a full grown mount.” He eyed the basket. “The servants didn’t suspect anything?”
“No. Lucy has been the family cook for longer than I can remember and nobody else saw me leaving.”
“Good. Where shall we set the food?”
“I brought a cloth and swept the ground a little while I was waiting for you,” Annabelle said. “There is a lovely place over there beneath the honeysuckle.”
“Perfect.” Charles helped her lay the cloth, then recruited the boy to keep watch for a bit, just in case.
Johnny pouted. “I’m hungry.”
“We will call you when it’s time to eat. I know Miss Annabelle will not let you starve.”
As soon as the child walked away she began to speak quietly to Charles. “I tried to listen in as John was discussing Indian affairs with Margaret this morning but I’m afraid I wasn’t able to learn anything new. It is clear the president and his cabinet do not value treaties. Especially not since gold has been discovered in Georgia.”
“We have known about the gold for many generations. It is unfortunate that word has gotten out,” Charles said.
“Is that why the powers that be want the Cherokees to move west?”
He nodded. “That, and coveting the land. It’s not just us. Have you ever heard of the Five Civilized Tribes? We are the Cherokee, Choctaw, Chickasaw, Creek and Seminole.”
“I think so. It seems unfair to expect you to uproot and leave the farms that you have worked for so many generations.”
He managed a smile for her benefit even though his heart was hardened. “It is more than unfair. It is criminal. And unless we can solve our tribal differences and learn to work and stand together, we will lose.”
Turning her sky-blue eyes to him and growing somber, she offered, “Sadly, I believe the same can be said of you and me, Mr. McDonald.”
* * *
Spreading her skirts gracefully, Annabelle settled at the edge of the cloth and
began to take food from the basket. There was fresh bread and cold meat and Lucy’s delicious sweet pickles, plus part of a pound cake for dessert. A clay jug held lemonade which she poured into small tin cups.
Yet she hardly tasted the meal. Ideas kept whirling through her mind and being rejected by the logical side of her personality. She felt she would burst if she did not share her concerns, so the moment Johnny finished stuffing himself and resumed his guard post she opened a fresh conversation. “I need to ask you a question.”
“Fine.” Charles was seated with his back against a poplar trunk and looked far more relaxed than she felt.
“You wanted to know about my dreams? Well, I have given that a lot of thought and I know what I want.”
He sat forward, legs crossed, and studied her. “Go ahead.”
“I want to find my family, whatever is left of it. I have no idea where to start or how to proceed but I think, if I could just learn who I am and where I come from, I’d be happy.”
“Even if the story is a sad one?”
“Yes. Even then.”
She could tell he was weighing his words carefully. Finally, he spoke. “What if there is Indian blood in your line? How will you feel then?”
“Oh!” Taking a moment to think it over, Annabelle said, “Probably the same way you felt when you were old enough to realize your last name came from a Scot.” She began to smile at him. “We are what we are. God made us in His image. Who are we to complain?”
“Nevertheless, it will change the way you are viewed and accepted. It will make you someone else.”
She disagreed. “No. It will change nothing other than the perceptions of others. I will still be Annabelle Lang. I will still be a foundling without roots or history. If you could choose, which would you prefer, knowing the truth or wondering for the rest of your life?”
Charles stood, approached and offered a hand to help her up. “I would take you to Tennessee tomorrow if not for the damage it would do to your reputation. You would not only be branded a loose woman, everyone would think we were running away because we killed that man.”
“I know. I haven’t worked out any details yet.” She glanced in the direction the boy had gone. “Or decided what we should do about him.” Lowering her voice further she added, “We can’t leave him behind.”
The lack of a definitive reply from her companion bothered her so much she said, “I am far more worried about Johnny than I am about myself.”
Charles bent to help her gather their leftovers and put them back into the basket. “Then you must understand why my concern is more for the both of you than for my personal safety.”
It did not surprise her to hear him add, “That is why I stayed in Washington.”
At that moment she knew she should try to dissuade him, to make him leave for his own sake. Instead, she disappointed herself by remaining silent.
Chapter Six
They refreshed themselves with the clean water from a pump used to refill the horse troughs, then prepared to part. It was not an easy parting. “I think you and the boy should go back to the house and act as normal as possible,” Charles said firmly.
“But...”
He shushed her. “Hear me out. While you’re there you will be in a perfect position to glean information that may help my people. I’ll continue to pose as a gentleman and listen to rumors as I move around town.”
“You are a gentleman,” Annabelle insisted.
“Thank you. As I was saying, there is no way a stranger would know who or what I am. I’ll take lodging in a different boardinghouse each night and try to lose myself in the city until we know more about Eaton’s plans.” Pausing to observe her reaction he continued, “Keep in mind that you have no assurance the secretary will continue to provide legal counsel or even speak up for you if asked. Consider his position in the White House and the murdered man’s army allegiances.”
“Do you really believe he would be that cruel?”
“I think he already told you as much.”
“That is so unfair.”
“And very human,” Charles countered. “Eaton rose to power early in life. He was a younger senator than most and he will want to continue to be important to President Jackson, as he is now.”
Annabelle sighed. “You are probably right.”
“Tell me more about Margaret,” Charles urged. “Does she have no Achilles’ heel?”
“I don’t think so. She has withstood alienation from some of the most powerful people in Washington, even Floride Calhoun, the vice president’s wife. They call Margaret and John Eaton’s marriage the ‘Petticoat Affair.’ I overheard the servants talking about it.”
“Very well. Put all that out of your mind for the time being and concentrate on learning what we need to know before taking any action.”
“Where should I begin?”
“With Adams, I think, since he knew you as a child. Perhaps, now that he knows you are in serious trouble, he will speak more openly. But you must take care to engage him where your conversation will remain private.”
“What about John Eaton? Should I inquire about his plans for me?”
“Only if he broaches the subject,” Charles warned. “We need to face one lion at a time, not take on a whole den of them at once.”
Dancing along in front of them like a spring lamb enjoying life in a lush pasture, the Cherokee boy whirled and grinned back at the adults as they pushed through to the usual yard and stood together for a moment rather than part.
“I shot a bear once!” Johnny spread his short arms. “It was this big.”
“It was also already made into a lap robe,” Charles told Annabelle, laughing.
She shared in the merriment. “That’s the best kind.”
Annabelle felt an odd sensation standing there looking at the Eaton house. It was as if she were a stranger, not a resident, and she said so. “It is very odd, is it not, that since my incarceration I have felt like an outcast?”
“Not really. A lot has changed for you recently.”
“And for you.” The expression on his face revealed no secrets, yet she sensed enough to know he agreed.
“Yes.”
Resting her hands on his broad shoulders despite their visibility in front of the carriage house, she said, “I wonder if I will ever belong here again.”
“Would it pain you if you did not?”
“It already does,” she confessed, stepping back with more difficulty than expected. “I don’t want to go inside.”
Johnny echoed, “I don’t want to go inside.”
“Well, you’d both better change your minds because we need more information before we can make any plans. As tempting as it may be to just mount up and ride off, we’d be considered criminals if we left the city and be pursued relentlessly. When we do go, it has to be done sensibly.”
“Yes, sir,” Annabelle told him. It pleased her to hear faint agreement from the child. She held out her hand to him and he grasped it.
“You carry the picnic basket.” Charles offered it to Johnny, scowling when the boy merely scuffed the toe of his shoe in the dirt and avoided eye contact. “Take it.”
It seemed best to redirect everyone’s attention, so Annabelle smiled at Charles and gave a little curtsy. “Thank you for a lovely afternoon. It was the best I have had in longer than I can recall.”
He tipped his hat. “My pleasure, Miss Annabelle.”
A wiry groom appeared at the door to the carriage house. “Sorry. I heard voices and thought you was Mrs. Eaton come home.”
Annabelle’s pulse sped. “Oh, dear, is it that late?”
The groom nodded and cast a furtive glance toward the street, perhaps in an effort to warn her.
She clasped Charles’s warm hand and was insta
ntly reminded of the way she had clung to him when he had reached through the bars into her cell. “You must go. Hurry. If Margaret sees you here, there is no telling what she may do.”
Nodding, he leaped the side fence easily and strode away, heading for his waiting horse. The sight of him stalking off made Annabelle light-headed.
Truth to tell, watching that man do anything had the same effect and she relished its repetition.
* * *
Washington City was, as usual, busy as a beehive in a honey tree. Charles reined in as soon as he’d ridden a fair distance from the estate.
It distressed him that he and Annabelle had not thought to make plans for future contact while they were together. Yes, she was used to looking for him lurking across the street. Unfortunately, she might not be the only one who had noticed his repeated presence and he wasn’t positive they had a reliable ally in the groom. One warning was not sufficient proof of fidelity. He might have mentioned expecting Mrs. Eaton’s arrival without realizing how important it was to Annabelle to avoid her.
Charles slowed his horse to a walk and dismounted at Fourteenth Street and Pennsylvania Avenue. Several frame houses there had apparently been joined to form a hotel that looked large enough to afford anonymity. The bed roll tied to his saddle was hardly the kind of luggage a well-dressed man would be expected to carry but he made the best of it.
“The rest of my bags are to arrive soon,” he told the disinterested young clerk. “I wish a room and a meal.”
“We got a place to eat next door,” the younger man said. “No shootin’, no drinkin’ in the room, and use the chamber pot and the spittoon or my ma’ll have your guts fer garters.”
“Agreed.” Charles signed the register and accepted his room key. Given the rules of the house he could tell he’d chosen well. “Do you have any famous folk staying here?”
“Such as?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Senators or judges, maybe?”
“Not if we can help it. They’re the worst.”
Laughing to himself, Charles shouldered his blanket roll and climbed the stairs. The room left a lot to be desired but it did have one invaluable feature. It looked down on the street corner. If he needed to keep an eye out for unusual activity, he could not have chosen a better vantage point.
Her Cherokee Groom Page 6
