That, Charles would not do. Nevertheless, he was not above asking his Savior for a blessing on his sham marriage. Only after the church ceremony had he realized fully that the vows they had taken were not just words.
They were holy.
And he wanted to honor them with every ounce of his being.
* * *
Annabelle remembered her foster father mentioning the place in Georgia called New Echota. As they’d neared the end of their journey, Charles had told her that they would go there first but he had not described the Cherokee town at any length. That was why, when she first glimpsed the settlement, she was astounded.
“Oh, my! This can’t be Indian.” As soon as she had blurted out her candid thoughts she was embarrassed enough to blush and apologize. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...”
“Your reaction is excusable. Most people who aren’t familiar with our culture are surprised when they see our cities and our estates.”
“No doubt.”
Awestruck, she continued to drink in the sight. New Echota was situated on level ground and laid out in a grid, with wide streets, enormous lots for homes, and stores galore. Tall, stately buildings with real glass windows lined the main avenue. One even had a facade of Grecian columns similar to structures she’d seen back in Washington.
“I told you it was an impressive place,” Charles remarked, looking proud.
“Yes, but you never said it was this big. What’s that fancy building over there?”
“That’s the council house. Next to it is the courthouse and then the printing office where The Cherokee Phoenix is published. Remember? You saw Elias Boudinot, the editor, when our diplomatic party called on John Eaton.”
“That seems like a lifetime ago,” Annabelle admitted with a sigh.
Charles readily agreed. “Yes. Another life, another time. We—you—can start over here. If that’s what you want.”
Managing a wan smile she shook her head, considering the question and offering an honest reply. “Once, I thought I knew exactly what I wanted. Now I am not at all sure.”
One of the things she had always yearned for was a home of her own and a husband who loved her. A husband, she already had. The love was another story, wasn’t it? Charles had treated her with kid gloves during their travels, taking care to anticipate her needs and see to it that she was as comfortable as possible whenever they camped.
What he had not done was speak to her as his wife. On the contrary, he seemed more standoffish and grumpy since their wedding than he had before. Was he ruing his sacrifice? Did he wish they had never taken vows before the preacher’s family and before God?
Annabelle’s biggest problem was deciding what to do about their marriage. She no longer worried as much about her past, or possible charges against her character or truthfulness, particularly since there had been no more sign of their pursuers.
All she really cared about was learning whether or not Charles wanted her. That was it. Plain and simple. Did he or did he not wish her to continue to be his wife? And if he did, why had he not given any indication that he cherished her?
To her chagrin, he seemed to be doing his best to avoid contact of any kind, causing her to miss the gentle warmth of his hand or the simple assistance in mounting a horse that he had previously volunteered so blithely.
Annabelle urged her mare forward to closely accompany Charles into town while Johnny followed aboard the pack mule. Their arrival was creating quite a stir and she wanted to make it plain that they were together.
Heavy freight wagons crisscrossed the broad avenues, their chain traces clanking. Four-horse coaches passed, some carrying passengers and loaded with baggage, others temporarily empty.
Loose dogs barked and nipped at horses’ heels or paused to squabble over a morsel of food that had been dropped in the street.
Passing riders touched the brims of their hats in deference to Annabelle while women in fancy frocks and bonnets silently watched and assessed her from raised, board walkways.
As soon as Charles stopped at the front porch of a white-painted building, Johnny slid off the mule with a happy whoop and took off in the opposite direction.
Concerned, Annabelle looked after him. “Should we let the boy run wild like that?”
“He’ll be fine. His grandmother lives just down that side street. I’m surprised he stayed with us this long.”
“What about his mother? I’m ashamed that I never thought to ask.”
“Long dead. That’s one reason he was sent to Eaton, for a good education and to prepare him to take his place in a white man’s world.”
“The way you have.”
“Yes. I and Elias, and many others. Although we are of mixed blood we are still considered true Cherokee.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because, as I said before, inheritance comes down through our mothers. Women own the property and make all the decisions about family life.”
“Then what does a chief do?”
“The chief and the councils make laws that govern the whole tribe, although lately there has been much disagreement. Some say we have too many laws and others accuse men like me of consorting with President Jackson against our tribe.”
Charles swept his arm in a broad arc to encompass the neatly laid out plots in the town. “For instance, all these places were sold to the highest bidder, therefore they went to rich people. When John Ross was elected Principal Chief a couple of years ago, it caused a lot of unrest.”
“Was there war?”
“No. It never went that far.” Charles sobered. “White Path, Rising Fawn and others held meetings and listened to the predictions of shamans but their anger faded quickly. Various groups simply cannot agree on which laws they want and which they don’t. As long as they’re arguing among themselves, our elected government will suffer.”
“That sounds so much like something a Washington politician would say it amazes me. Apparently, it matters little who is in charge anywhere. There will always be dissenters.”
“Agreed.” Charles gestured toward the porch of the newspaper office. “After you, madam.”
It occurred to Annabelle to reach for his arm and slip her hand through the crook of his elbow as they had when walking together in the past. Now, however, she was no longer a damsel in distress and he was...
What was he, exactly? Stalwart? Yes. Handsome? Yes. Faithful? Of course.
And totally incomprehensible, she added, wondering if the problem was her lack of discernment or if Charles was simply acting the part of a stoic. She huffed. It was likely both.
The office of The Phoenix was built up off the ground on piers. A little stiff from hour upon hour in the saddle, Annabelle rested a hand on the railing and lifted her skirts to climb the steps to the porch. Her wrinkled, dusty skirts. She wished she had owned more than two dresses so she could have been more suitably clad for her introduction to Charles’s friends and family.
Since she had just come from a long, trying journey she hoped everyone would forgive the dirt on her hem and cuffs, not to mention her formerly white bonnet, though she had managed to rinse it in a stream a few days ago.
Lifting her chin to display fortitude she paused on the porch while Charles opened the door.
Then, she stepped through to meet her new challenge.
* * *
Charles saw one man working alone instead of the usual crew of two or three. Dark-haired and slim, the man was wearing an ink-stained apron and was seated hunched over a slanted bench while arranging neat rows of letters cast on tiny bits of lead. He belatedly looked up, puzzled until he realized who had appeared at his door.
“Hello, Elias,” Charles said.
The delight in the printer’s expressive grin warmed his heart. They shook hands and clapped each other on t
he back as if neither had expected to meet again.
“Tsilugi!” Elias Boudinot repeated again and again. “Welcome!”
Charles was moved by the overwhelmingly exuberant greeting. “It is good to see you again, too.” Clearing his throat he stepped aside to fully reveal Annabelle. “You remember this lady?”
“Of course.” Although Elias looked surprised to see her, Charles was glad there was no enmity in his demeanor as he smiled, bowed and said, “Welcome to New Echota, Miss Lang.”
“You may now refer to her as Mrs. McDonald,” Charles explained while Annabelle was making a slight curtsy. “We were married by a missionary early in our travels.”
“You were...?” Elias gaped, then recovered. “I see. Well, congratulations.” A dark eyebrow arched. “Are you planning to have a Cherokee ceremony, too?”
“We have not discussed it of late,” Charles said. There was no hint in Annabelle’s expression to tell him what she might be thinking, let alone what her plans for the future were.
Of course his family would want to attend the Cherokee wedding if there was one. All he had to do was figure out whether or not Annabelle was willing to marry him again, Cherokee fashion, or if she was planning to abandon him as soon as she found kin in Tennessee.
Elias seemed to be waiting for her answer so Charles did the same. Finally, he was relieved to hear her say, “Perhaps. When we are both ready.”
Although she had not sounded enthusiastic, Charles was willing to accept her opinion. His fondest hope was that his mother would not only approve but encourage their second wedding. There was nothing anyone could say or do that would keep him from remarrying Annabelle if she was willing, yet it would be a much more pleasant experience if his tribe was as thrilled about his bride as he was.
“Have you made arrangements for lodging?” the newspaper editor asked. He winked at the couple. “I suspect it would be best if you two didn’t take up residence at Sali’s. Not right away at any rate.” His grin widened. “Besides, she’s gone to visit one of your sisters in North Carolina.”
Annabelle looked puzzled. “Sa-li?”
“Sally, to you,” Charles explained. “My mother.”
“Oh.” She began brushing at her skirt as if that would somehow render it cleaner. “Your mother will not be pleased to meet me?”
“My mother is used to having her way,” Charles said flatly. “Since before I came of age she has vowed that I will take a Cherokee wife.”
He supposed he should have forewarned her. Then again, what would that have done other than cause her more distress? There were some opinions that could not be changed, particularly from a distance. Once his mother returned home, met and got to know Annabelle, he hoped her heart would soften. His certainly had.
“Then you will stay with us,” Elias said heartily. “I’ll send a boy to tell Harriet to prepare for guests.”
Charles thanked him while wondering how he could tactfully explain his and Annabelle’s arrangement.
“Until you decide about another ceremony, you’d best stay in separate rooms,” Elias added, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “Sorry about that. You know how strong our traditions are.”
Charles was greatly relieved. “I’m sure my wife will be delighted to have a room all to herself. I know she has missed the comforts of her childhood.”
As his glance went to her he was not at all surprised to see a bright flush to her cheeks and lowered lashes.
The most he could hope for was that she would eventually agree to a second marriage ceremony and then begin to think of herself as his true bride.
His heart kept insisting that she would have immediately refused to consider the Cherokee ceremony if she had been planning to abandon him.
It was that supposition, and it alone, which allowed him to hope. He had been praying for this dear woman’s happiness and well-being all during the trying weeks on the trail, and that had engendered a strong emotional bond. The more he grew to care for her, the harder it was to keep his distance and pretend he was merely her traveling companion and champion.
Truth to tell, he hadn’t dared get too near her for fear he might say or do the wrong thing and frighten her away. Despite all her outward bravado and strength, Annabelle was still as emotionally innocent as a newborn babe.
Thinking of his outspoken mother and aunts, he gritted his teeth. It was the task of older, wise women to instruct the young wives. Unless he could figure out a way to transfer that duty to someone more sympathetic, Sali was liable to scare Annabelle so badly that she would turn tail and run before he had a chance to convince her they had a future together.
Deciding to change the subject before Elias became too forthright regarding his personal affairs, Charles said, “The boy, Johnny, came home with us. We could not leave him in Washington under the circumstances.” He grinned wryly. “Besides, he wouldn’t have stayed. Not after everything that has transpired.”
Sobering, Elias stared out the window at the dusty street. “That is too bad.”
“I will present my reasons to the chiefs. They will have to understand. With both Annabelle and I suspected of murder and she being disowned by Eaton, there was no way the child could have gotten by, let alone flourished, in such a hostile household.”
“That is not what I meant,” Elias explained sadly. “It is his grandmother. She died shortly after I returned from Washington. He has no close family left.”
Charles felt Annabelle grasp his sleeve. Her eyes were filled with concern and empathy.
“You have to go after him. Stop him. Break the news to him gently before he finds out for himself,” she insisted.
“I will,” Charles told her. “But Johnny has had plenty of time to reach home and see that his grandmother is no longer there.”
“Just bring him back with you? Promise?”
“I promise.” He nodded toward his old friend. “Will you and Harriet look after Annabelle? I shouldn’t be long.”
“Of course.”
As Charles turned and headed for the door he heard her lamenting, “That poor, poor little boy.”
He was impressed and relieved by her sympathetic reaction. Even though Johnny had been sulking and ignoring her as much as possible during their travels, her heart was still open, still tender toward the child.
That was a good sign. A very good sign. Particularly because he was about to offer Johnny a new home with him and his family.
In Cherokee society he would have had to ask Annabelle’s permission before committing himself. Since she had been raised by Eaton, her expectations would thankfully be different from those of a person like his mother.
Charles smiled. There were definite advantages to being a husband in a white man’s world, weren’t there?
As far as he was concerned, that male role was far more advantageous than the one he had observed while growing up.
Chapter Sixteen
The dark-haired young woman who burst through the door of the newspaper office moments after Charles’s departure was balancing a curly haired toddler on one hip.
“So, this is Annabelle.” She offered her hand and a smile. “I’m Harriet Boudinot. Welcome to New Echota. I have heard so much about you already.”
Annabelle was overwhelmed by the warm show of hospitality. “I am very pleased to meet you, Harriet.” She let her smile drift to the child. “What a beautiful baby.”
“William takes after my mother,” Harriet said, kissing the child’s rosy cheek. “At least that’s what she said when she and Father visited recently.” Harriet laughed demurely. “I let her think whatever she wants as long as she accepts my family. There was a time when that was not so.”
“I believe I did hear some of that story when Charles was telling me about the mission school,” Annabelle said. “I’m thankful
your parents forgave you.”
“Was there trouble with yours when you took up with our Charles?”
Annabelle slowly shook her head and sighed. “No. I am a foundling. I spent most of my youth in the home of John Eaton, President Jackson’s secretary of war, but I am no one’s daughter now.”
“Ah, I see,” Harriet said.
Taking Annabelle’s arm, she called to her husband. “We’ll be at home if anyone wants us.”
Elias answered, “I’ll tell Charles.”
As Harriet guided Annabelle onto the porch she asked, “Where is he? I was told you rode in together.”
“We did. Mr. McDonald has gone looking for Johnny.”
“Who?”
“The little boy he took to Washington to give to my guardian.” She sighed. “It’s a long, complicated tale.”
“Well, we have plenty of time. My house is just down the street. You can freshen up and then have a cup of tea while we have a nice talk. You must be very trail-weary.”
That astute observation brought a wan smile. “There are times when I wonder if I can take one more step. It has been a trying journey.” In more ways than she wished to enumerate.
“A journey that is over, I trust.”
“God willing,” Annabelle said, pausing at the hitching rail in the street. “This is my horse. Is there a place for her nearby? She’s carried me faithfully and I want her to rest, too.”
“We have a stable behind our house. There’s plenty of room for her and for Charles’s horse.” She eyed the mule. “And for that beast, if you want to bring it.”
“I suppose I should,” Annabelle replied. “After we started letting Johnny ride, he named him Equa Gali, Golly for short. He’ll want him cared for.”
Harriet laughed. “That’s perfect. It means big ears.”
“I know. Charles finally told me—after days and days of laughing at my silly guesses.”
Her Cherokee Groom Page 15
