Her Cherokee Groom

by Valerie Hansen

  The only thing he wished was that he could see as far as the house where Annabelle and Johnny were staying.

  * * *

  Slipping in through the kitchen, Annabelle left the basket and hurried the boy upstairs with her.

  “Remember, you must never breathe a word of what we did today or who we were with.”

  Nodding sagely, Johnny pulled crumbling bread from his pocket, dropping crumbs on the carpet in the hallway by his room.

  “What are you doing?” She tried to catch tiny pieces as they fell. “Why did you keep that?”

  “To eat on the trail. When we go home.”

  “It’s way too soon to be worrying about that.” Carrying a palmful of crumbs and broken crusts, she went to the nearest window and tossed them out. “There, food for the birds. Now go get washed up so you don’t look as if you spent the afternoon outside.”

  Although he was muttering and making faces, the boy complied. Were all small boys so obstinate? she wondered, as she followed him into his room and poured water from the ewer into the washbasin.

  “I’m hungry,” Johnny said as soon as he had finished scrubbing and dried his hands.

  “I suppose Lucy can find something for you if you ask her nicely.”

  To Annabelle’s surprise he grasped her hand. “You come, too.”

  “I was planning to do a bit of needlework. Mrs. Eaton asked me to embroider some handkerchiefs for her.” And it was not the time to vex her, Annabelle added to herself.

  “Can’t you do that downstairs?”

  His logic was inescapable. She picked up her wicker sewing basket and followed him down, pausing at the doorway to the kitchen.

  “I will sit right out here while you eat so I don’t accidentally soil this linen,” Annabelle said kindly. “Go ahead.” She stuck her head through the opening and smiled. “We have a hungry young man here. I told him you could help fill him up.”

  “Mercy, yes,” jovial Lucy said. “Come in, come in. Sit you right down at the table and I’ll get you a big glass of milk to start with. Do you like biscuits and gravy?”

  Grinning broadly at Lucy’s predictable reaction, Annabelle backed around the corner and seated herself in a small side chair. The light there wasn’t ideal but it would do until Johnny finished eating.

  She had just fitted another handkerchief into her embroidery hoop when she heard the back door slam. Fear that it might be Margaret took her breath away until she heard the familiar voice of one of the stable hands. If it had been the same man who had recently warned her she might have gone to thank him. Instead, she went back to her needle and floss, bristling when she heard the man ask, “That the Injun kid?”

  Lucy answered, “Yes. And a sweet young’n he is, so you mind your manners, Caleb.”

  “Long as I can have some of your biscuits and gravy and be on my way, I’ll be as mild as a lamb.” A chair scraped the floor.

  “Take your cap off. Where do you think you are, the barn?”

  “Yes’m. Sorry. Boy looks a bit puny if you ask me. But I suppose he’ll fill out as soon as he gets more of your fine cookin’.”

  Lucy set crockery bowls on the table with heavy clunks. Cutlery tinkled. “What’s your hurry?”

  “I got a reward to claim.”

  Annabelle’s ears perked up. She rose slowly and approached the open door, taking care to remain hidden as she peeked around the edge of the opening.

  She could tell that Johnny had spotted her but he continued to devote his full attention to buttering his biscuit while acting as if he didn’t comprehend what was being said.

  “Reward?” Lucy asked. “You meaning to find Mrs. Eaton’s missing pretties?”

  “Naw. I’ll leave the woman stuff to you and the house maids. I’m off to collect me a bounty on a murderer.”

  Lucy leaned closer to the man but Annabelle’s keen hearing picked up enough.

  “A bounty on who? The law come for Miss Annabelle last night but Mr. Eaton, he got her out of jail already.”

  “Not her, one of them fancy Indians. I’ve got me a cousin at the arsenal. He says the word is out. There’s a big reward for the Cherokee what brought the boy here, dead or alive.”

  A flash of understanding almost caused Annabelle to gasp aloud. She chanced a second look. The cook’s eyes met hers and held a warning as Lucy edged her substantial body between Caleb and the doorway, blocking his view.

  “More, please?” Johnny asked with an innocence that belied the fright Annabelle knew he must be feeling.

  “’Course. How ’bout some jam to go with it?”

  “For my room?”

  “Sure enough,” Lucy said. “I’ll wrap some food in a cloth for you. Just be careful you don’t spill anything, you hear? And don’t eat so much you spoil your supper.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Annabelle stepped back and flattened herself against the wall, her sewing forgotten. They had learned far more than anyone had expected. The problem was, she didn’t know where Charles had gone or how to warn him.

  If he wasn’t made aware of the new danger, he would be a sitting duck. If he was told, however, he would probably flee, and then what would become of her dream to go back to Tennessee or Johnny’s desire to return to Georgia?

  The dark-haired child stepped out of the kitchen carrying a checkered cloth bundle. Although he never looked over at her, Annabelle knew he was aware of her presence.

  “I am going up to my room now,” he called back to the cook. “Thank you for the biscuits.”

  Without another word he began to climb the stairs, getting halfway up before the back door slammed and he froze in place to look back. “You heard?”

  She hurried to join him. “Yes. Everything.”

  “Now we will leave?”

  “We can’t. Suppose it’s a false rumor and we run for nothing?”

  “Suppose it is true.”

  “There is that.” She hustled him the rest of the way to his room and shut the door behind them, then began to pace and wring her hands. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Then leave with me. We will find my uncle and warn him.”

  “I guess you didn’t hear everything we discussed this afternoon,” Annabelle told him. “Charles didn’t go back to Plunkett’s. He said he was going to find another place to stay. A place where he wasn’t known. Washington is a big city. I wouldn’t know where to even start looking for him.”

  “How will his hunters know, then?”

  “They won’t. But there are a lot more of them than there are of us. And they’re men, so they can go places that are forbidden to me—and to children.”

  The boy seemed to be considering their dilemma. Finally he began to smile at her. “You will ask John Eaton.”

  “He won’t know, either.”

  “What if he is the one who ordered the hunt?”

  “He can’t be. He wouldn’t.” Yet even as she was offering excuses, she knew she could be wrong.

  Dead wrong.

  Chapter Seven

  Approaching the Eaton house via the kitchen garden as he had before, Charles moved silently from shadow to shadow. Clouds drifted across the moon at irregular intervals, making cautious progress essential.

  He’d overheard enough gossip in the hotel dining room and several saloons to know that sympathies had turned against him even more. And since his standing had changed, there was a good chance that Annabelle’s had, too. Because he could no longer safely wait in public for her to notice him, he was going to do the next best thing. He was going to enter the Eaton estate and seek her out.

  A guttural shout from inside the house stopped him cold. Instead of approaching Annabelle’s window he circled, following the sound. John Eaton was in the dining room, arguing with Ma
rgaret, who was screaming at him like a demented old crone. “Do you see now? Do you, John? What have I been telling you?”

  Charles closed the distance and used the edge of the velvet draperies to hide a discrete peek inside. The two people he had expected to see were present. So were Annabelle and Johnny. The boy had stepped forward as if to shield her instead of hiding behind her full skirts. Annabelle appeared stalwart and in control but a slight trembling of her clasped hands gave her away.

  John Eaton spoke. “How could you accuse me of such an evil deed? Do you think so little of me?”

  Although Annabelle opened her mouth, Margaret gave her no chance to reply. “She just accused you of setting bounty hunters on her beau. What do you think?” the older woman yelled.

  “I think it is time you let the girl speak for herself,” John countered, his face reddening in anger. He faced Annabelle. “Well? Explain yourself.”

  “Yes, sir. There is word about that someone has placed a bounty on the head of one of the Cherokees and I could not think of anyone else to ask about it.”

  “You mean Charles McDonald, I take it.”

  She nodded. “Yes. I—I—as you know, I was at the park with him the night the man was tied up with strips torn from my cape. I promise you, the thug was alive when we left him. He and another man had beset Charles, and...”

  Interrupting, Margaret said, “You and that Indian are on a first-name basis? I should have known.”

  “We are friends, that’s all.” Annabelle knew she spoke the truth even if she wished there could be more to their relationship someday.

  “Friends, ha!”

  John intervened. “Please, Peggy. Let me think.”

  “There is nothing to think about,” the matron countered. “Your precious ward has chosen sides and made herself quite clear. She cares nothing for your position in the president’s cabinet or your reputation in Washington. It’s time she left. Even you must be able to see that now.”

  “Where would she go? How would she manage? She’s never been on her own for even a day.”

  At this juncture, Charles wanted to show himself and offer to look after Annabelle but thought better of it. There was no reason to inform the Eatons of his plans, or of the conversation he’d had with Annabelle during lunch. Once John Eaton released her she should be free to travel as long as he explained the situation to the proper authorities and personally vouched for her innocence. The question was, would he do so?

  “I will give you traveling money if you choose to go,” John said. “I think it’s for the best that you leave Washington. I don’t know who placed the bounty on McDonald but it’s possible there may be one on you, too. If that happens I may not be able to shield you.”

  As Charles watched, Annabelle straightened and nodded. “I would like a chance to bid Lucy and Adams goodbye before I leave.”

  “Why should John grant you anything?” Margaret said, her voice once again raised. “You and your Indian friend probably made off with my jewelry and the silver service.”

  “Denial doesn’t seem to do me any good but I will try one more time.” Annabelle faced John rather than Margaret. “I have done nothing wrong in any way, nor would I, given the opportunity. I may not understand politics but I do know right from wrong.” She began to back toward the hallway. “If you will excuse me, I will begin packing.”

  “It’s best, for all of us,” John called after her as she and the boy left the room.

  Charles was easing away from the window when he overheard Margaret say, “See? I told you she was in league with those crafty Indians. You should thank me.”

  “For what?”

  “For—for seeing to it that she showed her true colors, of course.”

  Though Charles was no longer watching the Eatons he saw shadows join in the room, heard a woman’s gasp and suspected that John had accosted his wife. “What have you done? Tell me.”

  “What any honest citizen would do. See that the law is upheld and the guilty punished. You should be on your knees, thanking me and begging my forgiveness,” Margaret told him.

  Had she just confessed? Charles suspected so. Given what he had learned about her from Annabelle and others, there was a very good chance that she had had something to do with offering the bounty for his capture or death.

  Was Margaret acting on behalf of her husband as she claimed? Charles doubted it. Assuming she had figured out a way to rid herself of Annabelle by bringing about her banishment, he could see how his continued interest had played right into her hands.

  Starting back around the house he smiled to himself. Margaret might think she had arranged for Annabelle to suffer when the opposite was true.

  All they had to do was get out of the city before bounty hunters caught up to him. To the three of them. Given what he had just overheard, there was no way he was going to leave his nephew behind.

  * * *

  Annabelle ducked into her room while the boy went to his to pack. She leaned against the door after quietly closing it.

  This small area and the furnishings she’d brought to Washington from Tennessee were her sanctuary. Now she stood in the middle of the bedroom and prepared to part with the familiar. There was a small, thin, quilted comforter on the bed. Propped against a pillow was Rosie, the only doll she’d ever had. Rosie’s porcelain cheeks were shiny pink but her fingers and toes showed chipping and cracks. Beneath a yellow bonnet was a dark, curly wig that had been combed so much—by Annabelle—the poor doll was nearly bald.

  The thought of leaving little Rosie behind caused such a pang of sorrow she decided to stuff the toy into the bottom of her traveling bag. Then she would have one item from her childhood. Myra had repaired the doll and even embroidered her name on its cloth tummy to remind her of happier times.

  Annabelle pulled her bag from beneath the bed and opened it just as someone rapped on her door.

  She froze. The soft sound of her name being called from the other side of the closed door was so familiar and such an intense relief she called, “Come in,” without thinking.

  Charles eased the door open and stuck his head through to tell her, “Nobody saw me. We need to go.”

  “I know. John just...”

  He crossed the space in two strides and took her hand. “I was listening outside the window. I heard everything. The faster we leave, the better.”

  “A lot of men are looking for you. I wanted to warn you but I didn’t know where you’d gone.”

  “I understand. I’m sure they still are.” He eyed the sparse contents of her armoire, reached in and withdrew a long, heavy, woolen coat. “You’d better take this, too.”

  “Why?”

  “The mountains can get cold at night, even in summer.”

  “Mountains?”

  “Yes,” Charles said flatly. “I am going to give you a letter of introduction to my family and put you on the next stage going south to the Blue Ridge.”

  “I beg your pardon? I never agreed to any such thing.”

  Charles pointed to the half-filled case. “Stop arguing and pack. We’re running out of time.”

  * * *

  Cautiously opening the door leading into the upstairs hallway, Charles peered both ways. “So far, so good.” He hefted Annabelle’s bulging valise and motioned to her. “Come. Quickly. And bring that coat.”

  She took one last, longing look around the room, then sidled past him. “I’ll get Johnny.”

  In seconds she was back. Alone. “He’s not there.”

  “Where could he be?”

  “I don’t know. I told him to pack his clothes. Surely he understood that I wasn’t going to leave him behind.”

  “Where would he hide? Did you search his room?” Charles pushed past her to do the same.

  “Yes. I even looked under th
e bed. He’s not here.”

  “His clothes are gone. All of them.”

  That was a relief but left unanswered questions. “Maybe he went to the stable.” Annabelle led the way back into the hall and went directly to a white-painted door in an alcove at the far end of the corridor. “This is the only way out that will give us an advantage. It’s a servant’s passage.”

  She turned the knob. Hinges squeaked just enough to make them both stand very still. Listening. Waiting to be discovered.

  When no one else appeared, Annabelle finished opening the door and started down the steep stairway while Charles secured the door behind them.

  Pressure of his hand on her shoulder startled her, causing her to glance back. “What?”

  “Hush.”

  “Why? Is someone coming?”

  He had turned, put down the suitcase and was looking up the stairway, past the entrance they had just used. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  The man was exasperating. Let him go? Not on her life. If he thought she was just going to stand there and blindly follow his orders while he went off without her, he was sadly mistaken.

  A faint peeping sound echoed. Ahead, Charles paused, giving her time to catch up. “Why are you bothering with a bird when a posse is out to get you?” she asked in a near whisper.

  The Cherokee’s hand swept back toward her, his unspoken instruction clear. He wanted her to keep still and wait. Fine. Silence she would grant him. Forward progress without her was altogether different.

  A riser creaked beneath his weight.

  She saw him lift his boot and reposition it. The action was carried out so quietly she was amazed. How could such a big man move so noiselessly?

  Annabelle stuck as close as she could without crowding him. What she wanted most was to grab his hand, to feel the strength and warmth that had previously imparted such comfort.

  That was unfortunately impossible because Charles had just raised both hands in front of him as if preparing to snatch a darting firefly out of a summer night’s sky.