A knock at the door startled her out of her reverie.
“Yes?”
“Will you be wanting me to dress your hair for you, missus?” a young voice called.
“No. No, thank you. I can manage.”
“It’s no trouble.”
Annabelle opened the door to a maid she had not seen before. “That’s very kind of you—what is your name?”
The girl curtsyed. “Madi, missus. That’s Martha in English”
“All right, Martha. I’m afraid I’ve done all I can with my hair when it’s so damp. Perhaps you can help me dry it a bit more and then we can pin it up.”
“Yes’m. I can fetch some pretty combs if you’d like.”
“That would be lovely.”
The girl hid her grin behind a thin hand. “Do you be Mr. Charlie’s wife?”
“Yes, I guess I am.” Watching the maid giggle was a bit off-putting. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” Martha said, struggling to regain her lost composure. “We just never figured he’d pick him a girl from far away.”
“You mean you thought he’d marry a Cherokee?”
“Yes’m.”
Annabelle sighed and smoothed the pleated, voluminous skirt of the dress. “I suppose everyone is surprised.” She managed a smile. “Perhaps me, most of all.”
The parlor was buzzing with activity by the time Martha finished dressing Annabelle’s hair and pronounced it perfect.
Descending the stairs in the crisp, calico gown, Annabelle almost stopped, turned around and went back to her room. If she had not spied Charles, she might have done so. To her relief and delight, Johnny was by his side.
The man’s immediate smile of recognition warmed her far more than the close quarters in Harriet’s home. Elias and other gentlemen stood in groups, talking and smoking, while a few women who were clad much as she was occupied the chairs and settee. Besides Johnny, there were at least five children racing in and out among the adults.
Harriet came forward and clasped her hand when she reached the bottom of the stairway. “You look beautiful, my dear. Please, come meet a few of my friends.”
All Annabelle really wanted was to quietly rejoin Charles and ask him the details of finding Johnny but it looked as if she was not going to get her wish.
Man and boy stood side by side, once again attired in similar fine suits and looking as if they had been cut from the same cloth. Charles was hatless and had slicked back his thick, dark hair, making him look even more handsome, if that were possible.
Every time Annabelle let her gaze stray in his direction, she found him watching her. Was he judging her ability to conform to his society? she wondered. Or was he perhaps lamenting the sacrifice he had made when he’d agreed to marry her to protect her reputation? If she could go back, do everything again, would she allow him to forfeit his freedom for her sake? Annabelle was not sure.
Harriet’s grip on her arm tightened to draw her attention. “This is Reverend Samuel Worcester and his wife, Ann,” she said, introducing a tall, lean, frock-coated gentleman and a contrastingly tiny woman. “Samuel has been sent by the mission board to help Elias with Bible translations for The Phoenix and for separate books in Cherokee. He’s quite the linguist.”
“My pleasure to meet you both,” Annabelle said, with a slight curtsy. “I seem to recall having heard your name somewhere.”
“Probably due to my speaking out against some foolish law or other depriving the Cherokees of their rightful lands and possessions.” A smile softened his otherwise severe-looking features. “I have done my best to write the truth and have it published in The Phoenix as well as in many eastern papers.”
“Surely that was it,” Annabelle said. She had sensed an undercurrent of unrest in the room and until the missionary had spoken she had assumed the tension was due to her unexpected presence. Now she could see that there were plenty of other reasons for friction.
As Harriet led her from person to person, Annabelle spoke quietly aside. “I shall need to brush up on my local politics, I fear. Will you help me keep from putting my foot in my mouth?”
“As much as I can,” the other woman vowed. “Even among friends and family there can be serious disagreements. Some people want to take the tribe forward into a white man’s world while others see no advantage to doing so. No sooner is one treaty ratified than the government in Washington finds a reason to nullify it and declare it against the law.”
When she looked suddenly contrite, Annabelle was quick to reassure her. “I understand and commiserate. Really I do. Remember, it was that same unbending rule of law that sent me into exile.”
“I trust you did nothing to warrant it?”
“No. Nothing. But that did not keep me from being arrested and thrown in jail.” She pressed her lips tightly together before deciding to reveal more. “I thought my foster father would champion my cause but he failed me. Charles was right. We had no choice but to flee or face punishment we did not deserve.”
“Then I’m glad the Good Lord guided you here, to us,” Harriet told her. “Finding a friend like you will be akin to adding a fragrant rose to an already beautiful garden.”
Annabelle’s eyes misted. “I don’t know how to thank you—for everything.”
“Just be kind and follow your heart,” the older woman said. “That’s all the thanks I need or want.”
* * *
Charles had not argued with Johnny or berated him while they had cared for his late grandmother’s livestock. Now that he had had time to ponder the situation further, it had occurred to him that perhaps the answer to some of his prayers had already arrived—in the form of an empty house, furnishings and animals that needed looking after.
Clearly, the child was distressed, although Charles wasn’t certain whether he was mostly mourning or more out of sorts about being hauled back to Boudinot’s and made to dress in fancy clothing again.
When there was a lull in the parlor conversation he took Johnny by the hand and led him outside.
“I have been thinking,” Charles said as soon as they were alone.
The child kicked the toe of his boot into the dust and didn’t look at him.
“What would you say to staying in your lisi’s home for a while?”
Wide-eyed, the boy stared. “Me?”
“Us. I would be with you,” Charles said. “Since there are no women left to claim the land we should have no trouble.” He arched a brow and smiled. “If you were a girl, there would be no question of ownership. Since you are not, I think we should plan to stay there only as long as your distant kin allow.”
With a sly look and a quirky smile, the boy said, “You do not wish to return to your mother’s estate?”
The truth made Charles chuckle wryly. “I always knew you were smart. No, I do not wish to live at my old home. And I prefer to not cause Mrs. Boudinot any trouble by staying here with her family.” A sardonic grin spread. “It is better to have my mother and my aunts upset with me than with my friends.”
“What about the woman?”
“You can call her Annabelle, you know. You once did.”
“That was before, when she was oginalii.”
“She’s still your friend, Johnny. Remember how she cared for you and defended you?” His smile faded, his countenance darkening. “If she had not been trying to protect you, she would not have been down by the Potomac that night when she got into so much trouble.”
“It was you she was helping. So was I. If we had not, you might be dead.”
“Or, I might have gotten the better of the thugs and walked away without anyone ever being the wiser,” Charles countered. “The point is, she was there because of her concern for you.”
“And you,” the child insisted.
“We will
talk about that some other time. Right now, I want you to go upstairs to our room, pack our things and take them to the stable. We’ll leave right after we eat.”
“Can I take Golly?” His enthusiasm was evident.
“Yes. You can take him. He will be yours from now on and I will expect you to see to all his needs, just like you did on the trail.”
The child was fidgeting. “Can I go now?”
Charles laughed. “Yes. Go. But no racing through the house and disturbing other guests.” He reached for his pocket watch out of habit before he remembered it was long gone. “I suspect you will be fed in the kitchen with the rest of the children. Behave yourself, eat politely and report to me as soon as you see that the adults are finished with their meal.”
“Yes, sir!” he said, and then he was off.
Straightening, Charles was still smiling at the boy’s enthusiasm when he sensed something amiss.
He froze.
Listened.
Let his heightened senses explore his surroundings without giving any sign that he was more alert than normal.
Nothing out of the ordinary came to him, nor did he continue to feel threatened after a few minutes had passed.
Figuring he was merely more sensitive because of his conversation about Annabelle, he shrugged, turned and rejoined the others in the parlor.
* * *
Seated at dinner between Charles and the missionary’s wife, Annabelle had such a pounding headache she could barely force down any food.
The cook had prepared a meat stew with fresh carrots and potatoes. Side dishes were boiled greens, cornbread, beans and coffee that was so strong and bitter she pushed it away after the first sip.
“They love it with chicory,” the missionary, Ann, whispered behind her hand just for Annabelle’s ears. “I prefer sweet tea or lemonade.”
“That would be nice,” Annabelle replied, watching as the tiny woman signaled to a servant and ordered replacement drinks for them both.
“So, tell me about your wedding. Was it a large affair?”
“Um...” Annabelle nearly choked on a bite of stew.
Leaning forward to speak around her, Charles said, “It was, of necessity, rather hurried.” His smile seemed to soften his words when he added, “Since we were running for our lives at the time.”
“Oh, dear me.” The older woman fanned herself rapidly with an open hand. “I see. How tragic.”
“Only if we had not survived,” Charles said. “Since we are home and safe now, I think it’s time to thank the Lord, don’t you?”
“Absolutely. I will add you both to my daily devotions,” the missionary’s wife vowed. She patted Annabelle’s hand. “You must have been so frightened.”
“Perhaps at first,” she admitted quietly. “The rest of our trip was quite enjoyable. The wild country between Washington and here is breathtaking.”
“Were you able to find suitable accommodations? When Samuel and I made the trip from Boston, we were appalled by many of the so-called inns.”
“As was I,” Annabelle told her. “That’s why Mr. McDonald made camp for us every evening. Except for swarms of insects near some of the rivers and lakes, we had a very pleasant journey.”
“Well, I never.” Eyeing her own husband, Ann rolled her eyes. “I certainly do not understand these younger generations.”
Annabelle was relieved to see the usually somber older man smile as he patted his wife’s wrist. “Nor did your parents understand us,” he said. “So it always is.”
“I suppose you are right, dear.”
Worcester focused on Charles. “I would be delighted to perform a proper ceremony.”
Annabelle choked again. She pressed her linen napkin over her mouth and coughed into it. If Charles had not made her angry by laughing softly, she might have had more trouble regaining her composure.
“I think my wife is satisfied with our first marriage,” he said, grinning and giving her a wink. “If we decide on a Cherokee ceremony, however, we would be honored to have you as our guests.”
Having garnered undue notice, he raised his voice and gestured casually around the table. “All of you.”
Annabelle wished she dared slip from her chair and duck under the table. Anything but have to sit there and be the center of everyone’s attention. Her pounding pulse was worsening her headache and her breathing was shallow and rapid despite the lack of a tight corset.
Light from the kerosene lamps arrayed in sconces along the walls cast flickering shadows that made her head swim and her vision dance.
She was so weary, so confused by her conflicting emotions, she feared she might swoon for the second time in her life. If she had not felt so dizzy she might have jumped up and run from the room.
Before she could make up her mind what to do, Charles was at her side, pulling her chair away from the table, taking her arm and steadying her as he helped her stand. “I see my wife is not well. It has been a difficult day.”
“Really, I...”
“Are you arguing with me?”
“No.” Annabelle’s breath hitched, partly from his nearness and partly from the turbulence of her buried emotions.
She glanced at her hostess. “Please, excuse me?”
Harriet didn’t hesitate. On her feet in a trice, she bustled around the table and took Annabelle’s other arm. “Of course, dear. I kept this group small but I should have realized you’d need more time to rest before I entertained. It’s all my fault. I’ll help you up to your room.”
Although Annabelle knew the other woman was merely being supportive, she was reluctant to have anyone take Charles’s place. Truth to tell, she had not expected him to recognize her distress, let alone offer solace, and was still laboring to accept his solicitous behavior.
Together, the three paused at the base of the stairs.
Harriet ignored Annabelle and spoke to Charles. “I can take her from here. There’s no need for you to go up.”
As he started to step away, Annabelle raised her eyes to meet his gaze and saw both concern and hurt. His conduct had always been that of a perfect gentleman, so why was Harriet so intent on keeping him from escorting her upstairs?
Did the other woman know something Annabelle did not? The Boudinots had been friends with Charles and his family for years. Had he confided his aversion to his bride to them? Or was Harriet merely trying to protect him from further involvement with a person of questionable lineage, such as herself?
It didn’t really matter, did it? Annabelle mused. Her head was splitting, her stomach was upset and the room continued to spin, faster and faster, as she pondered the untenable situation.
Voices around her echoed, faded, thrummed in her temples like a swarm of angry bees.
She thought she heard Charles say something like, “Look out,” as her knees folded and her eyes closed.
The world tilted. She felt strong arms encircle her, lift her, hold her close and begin to carry her up the stairway.
Laying her cheek against his chest, Annabelle listened to the strong beat of Charles’s heart and realized one of her prayers had just been answered.
She was back in his embrace.
Chapter Eighteen
Harriet and one of the maids had taken over once Charles had laid his wife on the quilted coverlet atop the canopied bed in her room.
It should have been easy for him to walk off, to leave her to their tender ministrations, yet he could barely tear himself away.
A tug on his coattails finally broke in on his reverie. It was Johnny.
“Can we go now?” the boy asked.
One more moment, one last look at the wife he cherished, was all Charles permitted himself before turning to the child. “Wait for me in the stables. I need to tell Elias what we’re pl
anning to do before we leave.”
“But...”
Inclining his head and frowning, Charles silenced Johnny’s protests with a stern look and sent him on his way.
Resting his hand on the edge of the doorjamb he stood, waiting and watching for long seconds, until Annabelle begin to stir.
Relief flooded over and through him, made him so thankful that a flash of gratitude to God brought immediate, fervent, silent prayer.
Harriet bustled across the room toward him and started to close him out. “She’s fine. You should go.”
“Tell her...” Charles peered past the printer’s wife and saw the maid placing a damp compress on Annabelle’s forehead. She was in good hands. He could leave her. He just didn’t want to.
“Well?” Harriet was still acting the sentry and holding firm to the edge of the half-open door.
“Tell her the boy and I will be staying at his grandmother’s old place for a while.” When she looked puzzled he added, “For Johnny’s sake. He needs to be in a familiar home, and if I accompany him, there will be less trouble in the future.”
“I take it you mean less trouble from your kin.”
“Yes. It’s for the best. For everyone.”
Harriet stepped into the hallway, closed the door on Annabelle and laid her hand gently on his sleeve. “For everyone? Are you certain?”
“Truthfully? No.” He tellingly eyed the door. “I just don’t want her to feel pressured. You saw tonight how fragile she is.”
“I wonder. I understand she did very well on the way here. And from what Elias has told me about your adventures in Washington, she was far from a helpless victim.”
Charles’s frown deepened. “Then what’s the matter with her now?”
“I suspect she’s simply come to the end of her rope and needs rest more than anything,” Harriet told him. She smiled and patted his arm. “I will take good care of her. You just be careful out there.”
“Careful?”
Her Cherokee Groom Page 17
