Читать книгу Her Cherokee Groom - Valerie Hansen - Страница 13

Chapter Four

Annabelle took as long as she dared to dress and prepare to leave the house. Part of her mind was spinning while another part felt numb. There had to be some way out of this dilemma, yet no answers came to her.

Worse, she mused, if the authorities had recovered her note they not only knew her name, they knew to whom it had been addressed. That put Charles McDonald in jeopardy and made her hope he had not returned to the boardinghouse after leaving the Eaton garden.

Everything, all their troubles, pointed back to the boy, didn’t they? Too bad the opinions of children were not given credence, even under normal circumstances. Certainly Johnny would not be listened to in a Washington court. He might, however, make a good emissary to his uncle’s group.

Annabelle rapped on the wall between their rooms. An answering tap came quickly. All she said was “come” and he appeared at her door in seconds.

“Did you hear?” she asked.

The child nodded.

“I need you to go to the Cherokees, tell them what has happened here tonight and warn your uncle. Will you?”

Another nod.

“Good. Be sure you do it secretly. Don’t run up the street the way you did when I was chasing you. You must be very, very careful. No one must see you or catch you. Can you do that and sneak back into this house later?”

“Y-yes.”

Johnny’s lower lip was quivering so she bent to give him a hug of encouragement before adding, “God be with you.”

Placing a kiss on his cheek she straightened, tossed her braid to hang behind her and stepped into the hallway, knowing she was in the right and prepared to prove it somehow.

By the time she was halfway down the stairs, however, most of her courage had evaporated like a drop of water on a hot day. She was determined to hide her fear, though. The less she looked and acted helpless, the braver she felt, so she did her best to stand tall, to face whatever awaited.

* * *

“I have to go now, to make sure she’s all right,” Charles insisted after he had listened to the boy’s story and sent him back to Eaton’s with another member of their group acting as guardian.

Ridge shook his gray head. “You will stay here until morning when we will go together.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t. I’m afraid it may already be too late.”

“If you disobey you will cease to be under my protection,” Ridge warned.

Charles had not anticipated that severe a reaction but he accepted it. “So be it. The woman would not be in trouble if she had not come to my aid. She saved my life.”

“And now you will lose it by foolishness?” Ridge countered. “I had thought better of you.”

That was the last comment Charles heard as he left the boardinghouse and hailed a cab. The horse seemed to sense his urgency because it was prancing as he boarded. “The Eaton house,” he shouted to the driver. “Fast.”

He had to arrive, to intercede, before Annabelle was taken away. He had little doubt that she would be, given the attitude of the soldiers who had confronted his delegation, and his people were important diplomats. The young woman, by her own admission, was merely a ward, and one who was not wanted by the new mistress of the household. What chance would she have if the Secretary of War did not stand up for her?

Perhaps Johnny had misjudged Eaton. Charles hoped so, because otherwise Annabelle’s chances of escaping unjust punishment were slim.

If the party of lawmen and soldiers had not called his name and mentioned Annabelle’s lost note he wouldn’t have worried so much. Since they had, however, he assumed they had not only read his name but her signature, as well. They were both in trouble up to their necks.

Yes, necks, he affirmed. The part of a criminal where the hangman put the noose.

* * *

When Annabelle felt cold shackles close around her wrists she nearly fainted for the second time. Only pride and an immense desire to present herself blameless before her foster father and Margaret kept her on her feet.

The constable led her onto the porch by the short chain between her wrists, making her feel as if they considered her a dangerous animal rather than an innocent girl. Reality dimmed. If this was a nightmare it was the worst she had ever experienced.

Pausing to get her balance on the top step she lifted her gaze. A curious crowd had gathered and most were craning to get a good look. Some onlookers actually pointed at her and called out insults.

From the east, a cab was approaching at speed. The driver pulled hard on the reins. The horse reared. Women screamed. Men cursed and jumped out of the way.

The door of the cab swung open. Annabelle gasped. Charles! No, no, he mustn’t be here.

She saw him start to push his way through the crowd. There was no way he could hope to rescue her from all these armed men. However, he might be a good witness to her innocence in the future, if he survived and kept himself out of prison. John Eaton had promised to hire legal representation, yes, but she doubted he would be amenable to adding a Cherokee client to the venture.

Given so little time and so few options she took a deep breath, looked directly into the crowd where Charles was and screamed, “No!”

The instant he faltered and met her gaze with his, she shook her head and mouthed another, “No,” praying he’d take heed. She sensed his indecision and resisted being pulled down the steps.

Once more she spoke, this time calmly. “No. Not now.”

And this time he gave a brief nod in response.

Heartened, she stood tall and descended until she stopped in the midst of the cadre of soldiers and civilians. The best thing, truly the only good thing, was that Charles McDonald had not rushed into the fray and joined her in chains.

As soon as Johnny explained to his kinsmen and they understood her dilemma, she would somehow assure them she would not testify against any of them. After all, they were innocent, as was she. This was Washington City, where the law of the land stood strong. She would be fine. This was a mere glitch brought on by a mob. People who were not guilty did not end up staying in prison.

* * *

Charles considered going back to the boardinghouse but could not make himself give that order to the cabbie. Instead, they slowly followed the group walking alongside the wagon carrying Annabelle to the closest jail.

He had to clench his fists and grit his teeth to keep from jumping out again and rushing to her rescue. He huffed, disgusted with himself. She had been right to stop him. Such a rash act would have been too stupid to be heroic. And it would have accomplished nothing worthwhile.

Instead, he disembarked near the jail, paid the cabbie and sent him away while he infiltrated the milling crowd to listen to rumors. Clearly, a Cherokee presence at the river altercation was known and he was thankful his clothing fit city life. The only way he’d be identified was if somebody besides Annabelle happened to recognize him.

Knowing she was held inside those barred doors made him want to pound on them with both fists. The more irrational claims he overheard about her character, the harder it was to control his temper, so he slipped away and circled the stone building, hoping to calm down enough to think clearly.

Shadows absorbed him the way a placid lake smoothly covers her sunken secrets, and he easily reverted to instinctive oneness with nature.

His shiny black boots sank in mud and fetid odors assailed his nostrils. He ignored everything. Barred windows set high in the walls permitted sound to escape while denying direct sight. Since all the noise was concentrated at the front of the building where the soldiers were busy congratulating themselves, Charles took a chance and softly called, “Annabelle?”

All he heard was street chatter. He moved on to another window. Then another. Wait! Was that sobbing? “Annabelle?”

The weeping stopped.

Charles came closer. “Annabelle?”

“Y-yes.”

“It’s me.”

She sniffled. “Go away.”

“I can’t. I have to help you somehow.”

“That is the worst thing you can do. Secretary Eaton has promised to hire an attorney and have me released as soon as possible.”

“Why didn’t he stop them from taking you in the first place?”

Although her voice kept breaking, he heard her explain about the victim’s relationship with the president’s regiment and her suspicion that Margaret’s wishes had also prevailed.

“Then I will stay here until you are free.”

“And be caught? I would weep forever.”

“But you saved my life.” As he spoke he was casting around for something to climb up on. A wooden barrel provided a prop.

“I had to act for the sake of the child. He was counting on both of us,” she said.

Charles assumed that was her way of covering her revealing admission that she would weep if anything bad happened to him. So, she felt their emotional attachment, too. That was heartening—and worrisome.

One booted foot on the barrel, he pulled himself up until he could reach through the barred window. He still could not see her but perhaps he could take her hand and convey moral support.

Hearing her gasp he said, “You see my hand?”

“Yes. But I can’t reach it.” She paused. “Wait!”

The sound of metal scraping against stone echoed and Charles thanked God for background noise to cover it.

First he felt her touch his hand. He closed his fingers around hers. Willed her to draw strength from him. And then her damp cheek and wisps of her beautiful hair brushed the back of his wrist. Their connection was tenuous yet deeply moving as she held tight to the lifeline of his presence.

The words that came to him were in Cherokee and he whispered them tenderly, knowing she would not understand yet needing to express affection. Perhaps no translation was necessary, he mused, because when he spoke, Annabelle’s grasp tightened and her cheek pressed more firmly.

Then, suddenly, she broke away and was gone. Metal clanked and someone shouted, “Get away from that window.”

Charles jumped off the barrel.

His hand felt cool and he glanced down. It was glistening with Annabelle’s tears.

* * *

Annabelle did not even try to sleep. The cot she had moved under the window was so dingy she couldn’t bear to lie upon it, let alone unfold the blanket. Her eyes often drifted back to the tiny window Charles had reached through and she gave thanks he had escaped unseen. That he had tried to comfort her at all was a conundrum. After all, they hardly knew each other and any involvement with her while she was incarcerated was taking a terrible chance.

She sighed and leaned back against the cold wall, crossing her arms. The authorities had her note. Therefore, they also had his name. Although it didn’t sound Cherokee it might nevertheless lead back to him, partly because the whole delegation had attracted so much attention when visiting her father. Perhaps that was why soldiers had been sent to Plunkett’s so quickly.

Although she didn’t know how much time had passed, she had watched the movement of the sun across the sky. What was taking her foster father so long to come for her? Surely he would act. At least she hoped so. Given Margaret’s animosity and obvious bias against her, she was beginning to wonder if John was going to help her, after all.

It was late the next day when Annabelle heard the approach of footsteps. Her spirits rose the instant she recognized John Eaton’s voice. The sight of him brought her to tears again and she fought to stay stoic as the jailer unlocked the cell door.

The deepest urge was to shout, “Father!” but she refrained. There was nothing about his somber countenance that was encouraging. When he merely nodded to her and turned away from the open door, she wasn’t sure if she was free to follow. The jailer guffawed and gestured, “Well, go, girlie, or do you like it here?”

That lit a fire under Annabelle’s feet and she hurried after John Eaton. He had a carriage waiting. For a moment she thought he might climb in ahead of her as if she were unworthy of gallantry but he did pause and allow her to board first. He even offered a hand, which reminded Annabelle of the much more tender touch of another man through the bars of her window.

“Thank you,” she ventured as the carriage started off.

Eaton made a guttural noise that sounded like a growl. “There is only so much I can do when the president is set against you. You do realize that?”

“Yes, but I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“That is not what the evidence shows. There is a very good chance that you will be arrested again and tried for murder. If I could stop it, I would.”

“Can’t Margaret... I mean, she and President Jackson are friends. Isn’t there something she can do?”

“Ha! You will be fortunate to get her to tolerate you at home, let alone expect her to speak on your behalf. My wife can be headstrong, as you well know.”

“Even if you plead my case?”

The expression on her foster father’s face was stern and seemed almost wily. When he answered, Annabelle understood why.

“I had to fight other suitors to win Margaret Timberlake’s hand and I will not give her up, nor will I choose you over her. That should go without saying. I suppose, if you were older, affairs of the heart would not puzzle you so.”

The carriage had slowed and entered the Eaton yard before Annabelle was ready to ask, “What shall I do?”

“I haven’t decided. If I send you away, I will be abetting an escape. If I let you stay here and vouch for you, it will look as if I support what you have done. Either choice may pose a risk to my career. Since one of the Cherokee delegates seems to also be involved and is technically untouchable by our laws, you will take full blame.” He disembarked with a sharp, “You have shamed me.”

Annabelle was less concerned for herself than for Johnny as she followed. “What about the little boy? What will become of him?”

Eaton grimaced. “As if I didn’t have enough troubles with Indian affairs. I suppose I shall have to keep him for the sake of a temporary peace. As soon as the President and Congress decide against the treaty, however, I won’t care what becomes of him.”

“How can you be so cruel?”

“Self-preservation, my dear girl. Politics is a cutthroat business and it’s time I treated it as such.”

“You sound just like your wife.”

That finally brought a slight smile. “She will be delighted to hear that.”

“Should—should I come in?”

“Of course. You still live here. But I suggest you and the boy make yourselves scarce, particularly when Margaret is around.”

Watching the man she had once thought of as a father walk away, Annabelle felt so downtrodden she was dazed. Had he really changed so much? It was hard to fathom that the once mellow man had hardened his heart but his words backed up that painful conclusion. Perhaps the best parts of him had passed away with Myra and his marriage to Margaret had brought out his sterner side. To put it that way was to simplify, of course, but she was fast losing hope for her future. Any future. Anywhere.

Starting for the kitchen she took time to admire the flowerbeds and smell a pinch of fresh basil while she thought of the servants and how so many of her former friends and allies had been let go. She still had Lucy, the cook, and Adams, her father’s valet, but no one else had known her for long. No one else could be counted on to provide solace while she resided in the Eaton home.

That was where she would start, Annabelle decided. If she could find Lucy she would ask her for advice. If not, she’d turn to Adams. Truth to tell, the grandfatherly man had bounced her on his knee when she was small far more often than John Eaton had.

Thoughts of her friends brought a smile. She was still smiling when she sensed someone nearby. The whispered “Siyo” told her who.

“Johnny!” Crouching, she opened her arms for the child’s embrace.

“You are back.” His shrill voice was muffled against her shoulder.

She set him away and grinned. “Yes, I am. Are you all right?”

The child nodded. His sky-blue eyes glittered. “I took your message to my uncle.”

“I know. What did he say?”

“He was mad.”

“I am sorry for asking you to disobey. I just didn’t know who else I could trust.”

Johnny stood taller, proud. “Will you run away with me now?”

A tiny part of her conscience wanted to set aside responsibility and tell him yes, but she refrained. Knowing that Eaton didn’t plan to make a permanent home for the Cherokee child had changed things. What she wasn’t sure of was how she should behave and how much she should reveal from then on. If he did decide to leave she certainly could not allow him to travel alone, yet if she accompanied him she would be considered a fugitive.

“I need to speak with your uncle again,” Annabelle finally said, “but I don’t want you to get in more trouble by going to get him for me. Do you know when the delegation is planning to leave? Is it today?”

His ebony hair swung against his shoulders as he rapidly shook his head. “It was tomorrow.”

She sensed more to the story. “And?”

“They are gone.”

“What? Now? Already?”

The boy looked ready to cry. “Yes. All gone.”

“Are you certain?”

With a slow nod he assured her before beginning to sniffle and pointing to the uppermost dormer of the elaborate home. “I saw them pass. From up there.”

Bereft, Annabelle sank to her knees in the garden and embraced the child while they both silently mourned and the setting sun cast their shadows among the fragrant blooms.