Her Cherokee Groom

by Valerie Hansen

  “Do tell.” Annabelle was laughing with him.

  “Are you ready to go faster?”

  She nodded. “I hope so.”

  “Then give her a little kick. Not hard or we’ll take off too fast.”

  “You mean like the way I left the boat?”

  That seemed to amuse the boy even more because she could feel his shoulders and back shaking with barely stifled mirth.

  Taking care to move slowly and deliberately, she tightened the grip of her knees, swung her feet in and nudged the mare with her heels. Soon, they were cantering smoothly, in tune with the animal’s fluid movements.

  “How far is it to the inn you said we should stop at?” Annabelle asked.

  The Cherokee child looked to the sky. “We will be there soon.”

  * * *

  The small boat Charles had boarded was home to a family that was preparing to leave the city for the Chesapeake. Although they had not planned a landing across the river, they were easily persuaded to put ashore by the dollar coin Charles had offered.

  His landing was downstream from the place where he’d assumed Annabelle and Johnny had disembarked, yet he was satisfied he’d still be able to track them. He had to. There was no way a woman and a boy could be certain to safely make their way to Tennessee or Georgia even via the Wilderness Road forged by Daniel Boone, or later along the Federal Road. The Appalachian Mountains were rugged, the stops for weary travelers few and far between. And if they were forced to leave the marked trails there was no telling what fate might befall them.

  The only horse Charles could find whose owner was willing to part with him was an animal that could very well have belonged to his grandfather—when the old man was a boy. However, its feet were sound and its temperament even, meaning it would do until he was able to trade for a better mount.

  He paid the former owner, secured the bags behind the worn saddle and swung aboard. An empty rifle scabbard hung at the front.

  “Where’s the gun that goes in this?” Charles asked.

  “Got her in my cabin,” the old man said, spitting aside to punctuate his sentence.

  “How much for the gun and some powder and ball?”

  “How much you willin’ to pay?”

  In the end, the bargain was not to Charles’s liking but at least he was armed again. The old muzzle-loader was ready to fire—he hoped—and he was on his way.

  There was no comparison between the fine, blooded horse of Eaton’s and this one, yet Charles was soon riding comfortably and making steady progress.

  He looked ahead on the wide trail, wishing he could really see Annabelle instead of merely picturing her. The thought of rejoining her, and the boy, was paramount. Nothing else mattered. Not even his own safety as long as he could insure hers.

  And what then? he asked himself, remembering her beautiful blue eyes, her silky hair, the way she’d smiled at him despite their peril. Perhaps such an extraordinary woman deserved more than a Cherokee diplomat whose mother ran a Georgia plantation.

  Until circumstances changed and proved to him that was so, Charles vowed to continue as Annabelle’s protector and guide.

  He prayed that he would not be found wanting.

  Chapter Eleven

  If anyone other than Johnny had advised her to stop at that rustic log cabin, Annabelle would have refused. The porch sagged, the stone chimney behind the building was leaking smoke at nearly every joint and the dwelling was so tiny she wondered if there would be room for more than a few travelers.

  “Are you positive this is the right place?”

  “Yes. We stayed the night when we were going up to Washington.”

  “All of you? Even that big man?”

  “Major Ridge? Yes. He slept in the bed because he is our elder. The others put blankets on the floor.”

  “All right.” She let Johnny slide off first to give herself more room, then leaned over the saddle and carefully swung her right leg free before kicking the left foot loose and dropping to the ground beside the mare.

  “We’ll need to have her fed and watered before we take care of ourselves,” Annabelle said.

  Johnny gave a whistle. A boy about his age, barefoot and wearing ragged clothing, ran around the cabin and took control of the horse, leading it away. He was thin and dark as Lucy, yet his eyes shone and his grin was white as snow.

  “Don’t we need to pay him?” Annabelle asked.

  “No. He works for the innkeeper. The horse will be well cared for.” The child started up the steps onto the wooden porch. “Come.”

  Annabelle was still put off. When Johnny pushed open the door she was more than merely hesitant, she was appalled. A single room, perhaps thirty feet long and half as wide, was already full. Men were seated on benches around a bare, plank table and stuffing themselves with what looked like lard gravy, fried back fat and biscuits, while serving girls in grimy aprons bustled around tending to their needs.

  The smell of food, cheroots being smoked and the overall uncleanliness of the dwelling almost made Annabelle gag.

  She froze in the doorway and stared. “No. I cannot.”

  Jeers and suggestive hoots from the rowdies inside were the final straw. She backed out the open door and dashed around the cabin, following the path the mare had taken.

  What had she done to deserve this? Between the foul odors and lack of gentility, she may as well have been banished back to the jail. Despondent, she sank to her knees at the edge of a pile of fresh hay.

  Tears dripped onto her folded hands as she prayed, “Father, why am I here? Please, please, help me.”

  A gentle tap on her shoulder caused her to startle and look up. Standing beside her was the painfully thin, unkempt child who had taken charge of the mare.

  And the little hands were offering Annabelle a bright, red apple.

  She blinked to be sure she wasn’t imagining things.

  The stable hand grinned. “They gets ’em for the horses but I eats ’em all the time. They’re real good. Here.”

  Annabelle sniffled and returned the boy’s smile.

  Wondering if the Lord had sent this sweet albeit grimy answer to her prayers, all she could manage was a simple, heartfelt “Bless you.”

  * * *

  The pounding of a dozen shod hooves behind him caused Charles to guide his horse off the trail into the woods. “Whoa, boy. Easy.”

  He waited. Listened. Heard little other than the cadence of rapidly moving horses. They were headed southwest. Groups of riders were not unusual and he would not have been bothered by their number if he weren’t expecting continued pursuit.

  The familiar resting place was but a short way ahead. Assuming that Annabelle and the boy had gotten this far they might soon be in added peril. There was only one thing to do. He maneuvered the horse through the thick brush and back onto the main trail, then galloped after the others.

  Three lathered horses were tied to a hitching rail when Charles slowed his horse and walked it into the clearing around the so-called inn.

  Dressed as he was he had no concern about being recognized—unless he was forced to speak or make eye contact with someone who might have met him before.

  The old horse plodded past the others and headed for the barn, drawing no undue notice.

  So far, so good, Charles thought.

  He was about to dismount when he saw a familiar mare. Annabelle was here! And if those other men were a posse, as he feared, she could be in desperate trouble.

  * * *

  Annabelle had retreated into the barn and hidden herself when she’d heard the approach of more travelers. The apple was gone, her hunger was sated, and all she wanted to do was rest where no one would bother her.

  If Charles did arrive, she knew the Cherokee child in the inn
would alert him to her presence. Other than those two—and the kind slave boy who had given her sustenance—she had no desire to speak with anyone. Truth to tell, she wasn’t sure she could manage to carry on a normal conversation if her life depended upon it. All she wanted to do was curl up on the fresh hay, hug herself for warmth, and sleep for days and days.

  Heavy footfalls and the snort of a horse drew her attention. Other animals in the stable began to act agitated. She knew that the stable boy had gone to fetch the mounts of newly arrived visitors but this disturbance was different. Closer. Threatening.

  She cast about for a weapon, finding none until her eyes came to rest on the pitchfork the boy had been using.

  “It worked for Caleb,” she muttered, ruing the necessity for violence yet ready to act in her own defense if cornered.

  Slowly, silently, she lifted the iron-tined tool and turned it to point upward. The notion of harming another human being was abhorrent. Standing there and letting herself be slaughtered like a sheep, however, didn’t strike her as a suitable alternative.

  She braced herself.

  A shadowy figure darkened the doorway to the barn.

  Annabelle was trembling, steeling herself for what she knew she must do and praying she wouldn’t have to.

  Turn around. Go back, she kept thinking, as if that, alone, would make whoever it was decide to go away.

  The man-size shadow kept coming. Not only was he walking on silent feet, he seemed to be tensed like a predator ready to pounce.

  He was almost there. Almost within range of the metal tines.

  Her hands clamped around the wooden shaft and she felt the grain of the weathered wood. Smelled fear.

  Pausing, the man seemed to be listening. Could he hear the hammering of her heart, feel the shaking of her entire body through the ground at his feet?

  Tensing, crouching out of sight, she felt her muscles begin to quaver before she had held that stiff pose for more than a few seconds.

  A dirty-brown hat brim masked the stranger’s face, yet there was something about him that gave her pause. Made her question her decision to defend herself.

  Was it the way he moved? The way his shoulders filled his coat? Or was it something else; something intangible that nevertheless drew her like a moth to a candle flame.

  Annabelle waited. Prayed for wisdom. Hoped he would not spy her.

  And then he turned.

  “Annabelle,” he whispered, and she knew.

  “Charles?”

  He quickly swept the hat off his head and turned toward the sound of her voice. “Yes. Are you all right?”

  Instead of giving a verbal answer, she dashed into his arms and clung to him like a needy, lonely child. To his amazement she was not weeping this time, although when he slipped a finger under her chin to lift her face and gaze into her wide, blue eyes, he did see them glistening.

  She was gawking as if trying to accept what her eyes were telling her. “Those clothes. Where did you get them? I almost took a pitchfork to you.”

  With a smile and soft laugh he stepped back and turned to display his new outfit. “Good. If you didn’t recognize me, no one else will, either.”

  “It is something of a shock.” To his relief, Annabelle was grinning. “But I guess it’s for the best.” She glanced down at the burgundy day dress and brushed straw off her skirt. “I don’t suppose you brought my bag?”

  “Ah, but I did,” he reported with a nod. “I managed to rescue your valise before I sent Eaton’s horse back home on his own, as you wanted.”

  She clapped her hands and pressed the palms together in obvious delight. “Wonderful!”

  “Where’s the boy?”

  Annabelle sobered and peered past him toward the rear of the inn. “He went to get something to eat. I could not bear the place so I came out here.”

  “He let you out of his sight?”

  “Don’t be angry. I was supposed to be inside with him but the odor and the press of the crowd was too much for me.”

  “All right. You stay here.” Replacing his hat he gestured with an outstretched arm. “When the stable boy comes back, have him feed and water the big old plow horse that’s tied over there.”

  Annabelle made a grab for his sleeve. “Wait. Where are you going?”

  “To scout out the inn and rescue a certain headstrong Cherokee.”

  “Rescue? What do you mean?”

  Although Charles would have preferred to not tell her everything, he saw no realistic alternative. If he wanted her total cooperation he’d have to provide a good enough reason.

  “A group of men passed me on the trail a few minutes ago. Their horses were tied out front when I came back here and found you. I can’t be positive but I think one of them looked like that stable hand you and I tied up at Eaton’s.”

  “Caleb? Oh, no. He’ll surely recognize Johnny.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “But—” she lunged for him and grasped his arm “—you can’t go in there. They’ll kill you.”

  “Only if my disguise fails. You had trouble figuring out who I was. I have high hopes those men will be none the wiser.”

  “And if they do notice you? Are you armed?”

  “I bought a rifle when I changed horses.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful,” she said cynically, rolling her eyes for emphasis. “A lot of good one shot will do you against three men.”

  “Then you should pray I won’t need to fight my way out,” Charles said, hoping to distract her before she became any more overwrought.

  “Prayer is always helpful,” Annabelle agreed. “But God also expects us to use the good sense He gave us.”

  “You have a better idea?”

  Her countenance fell. “No. Not yet. But I soon will. I just need a moment to think.”

  “We’ve wasted too much time already,” Charles countered as he turned his back on her. “I’m going in.”

  * * *

  For Annabelle, waiting and not knowing was worse than being involved in direct conflict. At least if she were facing their adversaries she would know, from moment to moment, that Charles and Johnny were unharmed.

  When the dark-skinned stable boy returned leading three weary, lathered horses, she asked him to also care for Charles’s mount.

  “Yes’m. You gonna want him bedded down for the night?”

  “I sincerely hope not,” she said with a sigh. “Just see that he’s fed soon in case we have to leave.”

  A seed of an idea was beginning to take root and grow. Suppose she sent this lad into the inn to fetch Johnny? No one would take notice of two children quietly leaving together—and then Charles wouldn’t have to do a thing.

  She gently touched the boy’s arm, noting his surprise when she did so. “Please,” she said. “Listen to me. I need a favor.”

  “Ma’am?”

  The sack in her pocket rattled as she pulled it out, withdrew a coin and offered it to the child. “I know this is unusual but could you help me?”

  “I don’t wanna get in no trouble.”

  “You won’t. All you have to do is go into the inn and find the boy who is traveling with me. Speak to him quietly, so no one else can hear, and tell him to come out here right away. Can you do that?” Placing the coin in his palm she folded his thin fingers around it and held them there.

  “Yes, ma’am. Soon’s I see to these here horses.”

  “No. Now. You have to go now.” She reached for the bunched reins in his other hand. “I know how to feed. I’ll do it for you while you’re fetching my...son.”

  “I couldn’t. This is my job, not yours.”

  “Then think of your errand as a new job, one for me. And while you’re gone, if I happen to lead a horse or two to
water, it won’t hurt a thing, will it?”

  “Guess not.”

  “Fine. Then go.”

  Shaking his head in obvious confusion the boy started toward the inn. Annabelle would have liked to shout at him to hurry but figured she was fortunate that he was doing her bidding at all.

  As soon as she’d led the first three horses to the watering trough she fetched the one Charles had been riding and gave it a drink, too.

  If she had not recognized her bag tied behind the saddle she would not have dreamed he had chosen such an unattractive animal. It had splayed hooves the size of dinner plates and a ratty mane and tail that looked as if they hadn’t been combed out in years.

  Nevertheless, the horse did have kind eyes and a sweet disposition, allowing her to effortlessly lead it. The moment she presented hay it began to eat hungrily.

  Keeping one eye on the cabin and the other on her tasks, Annabelle realized she had inadvertently gained another advantage. If she hid Caleb’s and the other men’s horses, the stable boy would surely get in trouble. If she merely unsaddled them, however, it would look as if the child had simply been doing his job to make the animals comfortable. Not only would that delay their adversaries’ departure when and if she, Charles and Johnny fled, it would cause confusion and provide more of a head start.

  “Thank You, Jesus,” she whispered, setting to work to implement her plan.

  First, she would pull all the tack off the other horses, then try to bridle the gray mare. Even if she didn’t succeed in saddling her it wouldn’t take Charles long to do so. And then they would be on their way.

  Closing her eyes for a few moments she took the time for a more formal prayer of deliverance.

  Then she lifted the left stirrup on the closest horse and began to loosen the cinch.

  * * *

  As Charles entered the single main room of the rustic inn he was struck by the same pungent odors that had repelled Annabelle.

  Not only was the place more crowded than it had been when his party had first availed themselves of its meager accommodations, the landlord had apparently found a different cook because the food was definitely less palatable this time. Not that it had been to his liking before.