by Kari Bovee
With the possibility of a coming storm, Buck’s nervous state, and the threat in the eyes of the strange woman, Annie suddenly doubted her decision to embark on the two-week voyage to the other end of the world. She hoped it did not prove to be a mistake.
Chapter Two
Once on board, Annie and the colonel walked their horses to the twelve-by-twelve-foot wooden pens that served as stalls, situated in front of the other horse pens, which were, indeed, smaller. Annie led Buck inside and slipped the halter off his head. She jumped out of the way as the horse started to pace, and scooted out the stall door held open for her by Bobby Brady, one of the show’s players and Annie’s dear friend.
Bobby had joined the Wild West Show a year before Annie. When Annie came on, she and Bobby had immediately formed a friendship, despite the fact that in the show’s shootouts and competitions, Annie beat him every time.
Bobby also held a special place in the colonel’s heart. The colonel had lost his only son at age six, and years later Bobby had stepped into the role. In addition to performing with Annie, Bobby often worked with the horses as a farrier, shoeing them and trimming their feet. He loved horses, especially Buck. Annie could see the concern on Bobby’s face as Buck stamped and snorted, kicked and reared in his stall. How would they ever make the long voyage to England?
“I ain’t never seen Buck so upset,” Bobby said, closing the stall door. “Not since you first boarded him on the train to St. Louis.”
“I know. He has a hard time in new environments.”
“I feel right sorry for the fella. I know how he feels.”
“Are you nervous, Bobby?” Annie used Buck’s halter to secure the gate latch, to prevent him from busting through it.
“I’m downright scared, Annie. What if the ship goes down in the middle of the ocean? I ain’t never learned to swim.” Bobby’s lips pressed together in a thin line, and Annie thought she saw his chin quiver.
She smiled at him. “Well, I know how to swim, and so does Frank. If the ship goes down, I promise we’ll seek you out.”
Just as Annie mentioned his name, Frank appeared, coming around the corner. Hulda trailed after him with a scowl on her face, her eyes trained on Annie’s dress. Annie looked down at the front of the garment, which was wet from Buck’s frothing mouth.
“They’re waiting for you to go to the railing for the sendoff celebration.” Frank came up behind her and set his warm hands on her shoulders.
“I’ll be there in a minute. I just want to see that Buck is settling. Even the big stalls are small compared to the pen he stayed in during the show in St. Louis.” Annie couldn’t keep the concern out of her voice. She swallowed another wave of nausea and rubbed a hand across her belly as she noted the billowing clouds flatten, turning a deeper shade of ash.
“The crew will take the horses out for walks around the deck daily,” Frank said, squeezing her shoulders. “You can’t take care of everyone and everything, my darling.” He smoothed his blond mustache, looking at her with the quiet compassion she’d loved from the moment she met him.
“I know, it’s just—”
“You mustn’t worry so, Annie,” Hulda said, scrunching her brow in adolescent disgust. “If you want to worry about something, worry about what people will think of the state of your dress.”
Annie ignored her sister’s scolding. “I suppose we must make an appearance.” Annie sighed. “C’mon, Bobby.”
Bobby stood frozen to the spot, his mouth hanging open like a barn door on a sagging hinge as he stared unabashedly at Hulda. Annie stifled a snort.
“Oh, forgive my manners. Bobby, this is my sister, Hulda.”
Hulda opened her blue eyes wide at Bobby. After twisting his hat completely out of shape, he took her hand.
“Delighted to meet you,” Hulda said sweetly. Annie knew Hulda had seen the awestruck expression on Bobby’s face and also knew she’d use his infatuation to her amusement. Poor Bobby. Annie hoped she wouldn’t have to intervene when Hulda broke his heart.
Frank wrapped his arm around Annie’s waist and pulled her away from the stall. Together the four of them headed to the upper deck to greet the thousands of fans waiting on the docks below.
From the ship’s railing, Annie, Frank, Hulda, the colonel, and the other players who had already come aboard watched as the American Indian players, their wives, and their children pushed up the gangway to board the ship. Someone touched her elbow. She turned around to see two white-turbaned East Indian men in crisp ivory suits. The man in front bowed low at the waist.
“Miss Annie Oakley, I am Amal Bhakta, loyal servant of Her Majesty Queen Victoria. She has sent me as a personal escort to your troop. She is particularly excited to meet you, memsahib.” His eyes never met Annie’s, but he bowed again and gestured to the man behind him. “This is my valet, Benoy Patel.”
“Oh, my.” Annie turned to the colonel. “A personal escort . . . well, I never.”
“Do you ever get tired of upstaging me?” the colonel said to her, his mustache twitching as his lips curved to a crooked smile.
She didn’t want to admit it to herself, but Mr. Bhakta’s words flattered her. Queen Victoria was the most powerful woman in the world, but Annie had been raised to view everyone as an equal, despite their talent or position. She also didn’t want to admit that she struggled on a daily basis with the notion, due to her newfound competitive nature and ambition. She loved being the best at her game, and she felt a respon-sibility—or was it self-imposed pressure?—to continue to be the best.
“And you must be the great Buffalo Bill, King of the Wild West,” Mr. Bhakta said, nodding his head to the colonel.
“Well, sir, I don’t know about ‘great’ and certainly not a king, but I am flattered by your exceedingly good manners. Pleasure to meet you.” The colonel stuck out his hand in greeting, but Mr. Bhakta only nodded once more.
“You always seem to cause a stir, Annie.” Emma Wilson, Annie’s friend and reporter for the Chicago Herald, sauntered up to the group, her hips swaying, drawing the eye to her wide-legged silk trousers. “May I get a few comments for the paper?”
“Hello, Emma,” said Annie. “It’s a long trip; can we catch up later?” The crowd on deck was becoming more animated and more excited as the people below bellowed and cheered. Annie could barely hear herself think. The cowboys, popping confetti-filled balloons and throwing streamers down to the crowd below, jostled the colonel on one side of her and Frank on the other.
“Of course, dear, but I promised my editor I’d wire your departing comments,” Emma yelled above the din. “So tell me, what is it that you want to accomplish during your two years abroad?” With one delicately gloved hand, Emma raised her small pad of paper in the air and with the other she poised the tip of her pencil against her red lips. The steamer horn blew again, making the deck quake with its ferocity.
“I’m surprised you have to ask, Emma. You know what I want to accomplish. I want to represent my country. I want to support the show, support the colonel.”
Emma raised an eyebrow. “Oh come now, that’s all? You’re the best sharpshooter in the Americas, Annie. There’s a world to conquer out there.”
She did want to excel, to prove her merit in another country. She just didn’t feel comfortable talking about it. To stall for time, Annie nodded at Mr. Bhakta, who finally made eye contact with her and smiled with glowing white teeth.
“How will this trip make the difference for you?” Emma pressed.
Annie sighed. “Well, if I’m the best in the Americas, then I want to show England what Americans are made of—grit and determination.” Annie hoped Emma would be satisfied with her answer. She knew Emma had a job to do, and she owed Emma a great deal for not reporting the story of McCrimmon’s death, but she didn’t appreciate the questions right now. The noise and the commotion made her want to go check on Buck. He must be out of his mind with terror.
“And your rivalry with Miss Smith; are you concerned she might outshine you? She
is right on your heels, is she not?” Emma continued. “She’s so brash, so brave, and her skills have improved.”
Now Emma was hitting a bit too close to the belt, giving rise to the nausea that had plagued Annie of late. “Really, Emma. Are you trying to provoke me?”
“A little competition is good for the soul, good for ticket sales, isn’t it?” Emma said, the corner of her mouth raised in mischief.
Although one of Annie’s dearest friends, when Emma got into journalist mode, she could come off as ruthless. Annie knew she couldn’t get away with soft answers. Emma wanted to needle her for the sake of a good story, and Annie had to admit that Emma’s words got under her skin. Emma knew mentioning the rivalry between her and Lillie would do the trick.
“Lillie wants fame. I want to make a difference in the world.” Annie couldn’t deny that Lillie’s skills had improved. And, if she were truly honest, she had to credit Lillie with getting her and Frank back together after a misunderstanding with Frank’s former lover, Twila Midnight— who happened to be Lillie’s adopted sister. But their rivalry in the show ring had grown stronger than ever.
Lillie had wanted to outshine Annie from the moment she was hired on. Annie knew this rivalry stemmed from Lillie’s own insecurities due to a deeply unhappy childhood, but it still rankled. Their relationship was complicated, but they had both been there for one another when the chips were down. Annie sometimes thought of Lillie as an annoying sibling whom she would never understand. Sometimes they got along, but mostly they didn’t. For the most part, they agreed to disagree.
“I want to empower women, Emma. I want to prove women are just as capable as men. After all, England is ruled by a woman.” Annie’s face flushed with the prideful declaration Emma had successfully dragged out of her.
“The queen rules Great Britain, but she was born into the role. She’s a traditionalist. She’s no suffragist,” Emma said, her voice flat.
“Well, perhaps I can change her mind,” Annie shot back.
Shouts interrupted their conversation. Down below, street children ran wildly throughout the crowd, clamoring to see the animals, props, and equipment still coming aboard. Several of the crew had trouble keeping the children off the Deadwood Stagecoach, a staple of the show, as workers prepared to load it on the ship.
“Thank you, Annie. Our readers will love this!” Emma stuffed her pad of paper and pencil into her pocket trousers. “I know these interviews make you cringe, but you are a sensation. You need to embrace it.” She strolled away, the fabric of her pants swinging against the curves of her long legs.
Not long after the boisterous farewell—with the steamer’s horns happily filling the air with bursts of noise, and confetti and streamers raining down on the onlookers—the State of Nebraska pulled away from the docks and slowly headed out of the harbor to the sea beyond. The sun had set amid dark clouds, and the summer breeze turned to a whipping wind so forceful that Annie, Frank, Hulda, and the others had to take refuge below decks.
After a steward showed Annie and Frank to their stateroom and Hulda to hers, situated right next door, the trio set about unpacking their trunks and settling in for the long voyage.
The stateroom assigned to Annie and Frank was of good size with a double bed, bureau, wardrobe, and a small desk. The wooden floor was covered with an elegant red, blue, and gold Persian rug, which helped keep out the chill of the sea air. Two porthole windows were covered with blue curtains, and gas-lit sconces illuminated the corners of the room, casting a warm glow.
While the wind howled outside, Annie and Frank unpacked their trunks, as instructed by the steward, so they could be stashed below decks as soon as possible.
After relieving herself of her dress and the dreaded corset, Annie pulled one of the wooden, shoulder-shaped hangers from the wardrobe.
“Hulda will never forgive me if the stain doesn’t come out of this dress,” she said, draping it on the hanger. She then placed it on the wooden rung in the wardrobe, tucking in the skirt.
“I’m sure she will forgive you, dear. Although impertinent, your sister has a kind heart.” Frank sat down on the bed to take off his boots.
Annie reached for a day dress from the trunk and stepped into it.
“What are you doing?” Frank asked, pulling off one of his boots.
“I’m going to go check on Buck, again. He was in such a state, earlier.” After the farewell, Annie had gone to find him pacing in his stall, which didn’t surprise her. He seemed to calm with her presence, and stopped only long enough to grab a bite of hay here and there. Satisfied he was eating, Annie then joined the others for an evening meal in the dining room. “I should have checked him after supper, but the steward wanted us to get unpacked.”
“You’re not going out there in this weather,” Frank said.
Annie stepped into her dress and pulled it up to her chest, sticking an arm into one of the sleeves. “Oh yes, I am.”
“Annie, please. You look exhausted. Let me do it,” Frank pulled his boot back on. He crossed the room and took her in his arms. “Rest. I will see to your horse.” He kissed the top of her head. She didn’t realize she looked so tired, although she felt it. The past two weeks getting ready for the tour had been taxing on her both mentally and physically.
Annie relaxed in Frank’s embrace. Somehow, he always made everything right with the world for her, although it hadn’t always been that way. When she had first come to the show, she was hired on as a rival to Frank—the most famous sharpshooter in the world. The arrangement worked well, and they inspired one another to shoot their best, until Frank accidentally shot Annie in the hand while performing his famous card trick. Coming hard on the heels of the misunderstanding with Twila, Annie had told him they were through.
“Will you stand with him for a while if he’s upset?” she asked. Annie knew Frank would deny her nothing, especially when it came to Buck. When Buck had gone missing before Annie left the show two years earlier, it was Frank, with the help of Lillie, who had found him, and then brought him clear across the country to North Star, Annie’s home. Frank had proved his love beyond measure, and Annie had taken him back, immediately and without reservation.
“I will. You finish here and get into bed. You’ve been so tired lately.” He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “I worry about you—always trying to make everything right for everybody else.”
“I’m fine, Frank. Really,” she said, laying her head against his chest. She loved hearing his heartbeat, steady and sure. “I have a fine Irishman looking out for me.” She pulled away from him. “How does it feel, sailing across the sea again? Do you wish we were going to Ireland instead, to your home?”
“Perhaps someday. I would have liked to attend Uncle Sean’s funeral a few years ago. He was so kind to me.”
“He was the last of your family still in Ireland, was he not?”
“Yes. I received letters from him often until the day he died. He refused to come with us when we left Ireland. Uncle Sean was so passionate and so public about his political causes he had to be right in the thick of things.”
“I’d love to see Ireland,” Annie said. “I’d love to see it with you.”
“I was so young when we left; I doubt I’d recognize anything. My parents built a better life for themselves—and for me—in America, and I’m eternally grateful.”
“Well, I’m glad they brought you to America, too,” Annie said. “If not, we would never have met.”
Frank kissed her temple. “I’d better go see to your horse.” He put on his coat and secured his hat squarely on his head.
As much as Annie wanted to accompany Frank, she couldn’t deny the bone-aching weariness she felt in her limbs. For the past couple of weeks, she’d passed the exhaustion off as anxiety due to the upcoming trip, and hoped it wasn’t a symptom of something worse.
Annie woke to Frank’s snoring and opened her eyes to see daylight peeking through the porthole curtains. Something pulled at her waist, a
nd she sat up to find she was still wearing her dressing gown, which was twisted around her body. A blanket had been placed on top of her. She hadn’t even heard Frank come in.
She wondered how Buck was faring. She knew it was silly, but if she could have had Buck in the stateroom with her and Frank, she’d feel so much better. Having suffered together at the hands of the McCrimmons, the two had found refuge in each other and formed a bond that Annie had never experienced with another living being—not even Frank. She and Buck had breathed life back into one another—and since then, they had felt each other’s pain and reveled in each other’s happiness.
Frank alone understood this about them, and he would have woken her if Buck had been in a bad state. He must have settled down.
Annie got out of bed and went to the desk where Frank had laid his pocket watch. She picked it up, and her mouth fell open to see she had slept till noon! She looked over at Frank, who had turned over and quit snoring. His breathing was rhythmic and deep, and she wondered how long he had stayed up.
A knock at the door startled her. Running her hands through her hair, she walked to the door and straightened her dressing gown. She opened it to find Mr. Bhakta standing there.
“Oh, excuse me, memsahib. Are you not well?” he asked, concern creasing his brow.
“I’m fine, Mr. Bhakta. Just overslept. How may I help you?”
“Did your husband not tell you? I have planned a luncheon for your party.”
“Oh, no! He didn’t wake me when he came in last night, and he’s still sleeping. Are you waiting for us?”
Mr. Bhakta shrugged, giving her a faint smile.
“I’m so sorry! We’ll get dressed right away. We won’t be twenty minutes.”
“That will be fine.” Mr. Bhakta bowed his head to her. “Please, do not worry yourself. I just wanted to see if you were well.”
Annie bid him goodbye and woke Frank. When she knocked on Hulda’s door, she found her sister had been up for hours, working on one of the costumes for the show. Annie told her about the luncheon and said she and Frank would be up to the dining room in minutes. Hulda put her things down and told Annie she would go there directly.
