Her Cherokee Groom
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“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.
Chapter Five
A trip back to the jail where Annabelle had been held had proved fruitless, so Charles had returned to the Eaton estate and stationed himself across the street to watch, as before.
Now that Major Ridge had released him as a diplomat, he had to be even more cautious. Ridge had kept him out of jail once. That would not happen again.
And now? Although he had sent most of his belongings home with Elias, he had kept enough provisions to sustain him a few more days or weeks, if need be. And he had rented a saddle horse rather than keep hiring cabs and take the chance there might not be one available when he next needed it.
What he wanted to do was spirit Annabelle away to safety in Georgia. To do so, however, would not only be dangerous, it would be insane, and he was no fool. How their lives had become so entangled in such a short time was an unsolvable puzzle. Perhaps, if his assumption were correct and she did have Indian blood, that was part of the reason they’d been so drawn to each other.
A bigger question was, what did Annabelle want? He knew she had aspirations of an education but there had to be more to her future plans than that. Most young woman her age were already thinking of marriage, yet she had never mentioned suitors, probably because she was trapped between the servant class and the snobbish elite of Washington City and didn’t fit into any social strata.
Charles swung a leg over the horse’s neck and slid to the ground beside it the moment he saw activity in the Eaton garden.
He was about to call “Annabelle!” when she spotted him. He made it across the street just in time to receive her headlong rush through the gate and fold her into his arms. To do so in broad daylight was to muddy her already sullied reputation, yet he could not stop himself.
“What happened?” He set her away and feasted his eyes on her natural beauty. “How did you get out of jail?”
“John Eaton came for me. The things he said on our ride home were frightening. It was awful. He said I had shamed him and, and...” Tears began to brighten her eyes and she sniffled. “I thought you were gone. Johnny said your party went home.”
“They did.”
“What about you? Aren’t you in danger of arrest, too?”
“No. Since I’m a Cherokee and an emissary to President Jackson, Major Ridge convinced them that the tribe would mete out my justice.”
“But, they all left. Why did you stay?”
Charles gazed deeply into her eyes. “I had to stay after I saw them taking you away in shackles. We know we are not guilty of killing anyone but if we cannot prove it, I will pay a visit to the powers that be, tell them the whole story and throw myself on their mercy.”
“No! What if they don’t believe you?”
“All I care about is convincing them that you are innocent. After that it doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does. You mustn’t do that.” She sobered even more and glanced toward the house. “There is more to tell. Secretary Eaton was very angry when he came to get me out of jail. He admitted some terrifying things.”
“What things?”
“For one, he’s not going to keep Johnny as a son, the way you thought. He’ll only let him stay until the treaties with your tribe are finalized in some way. I don’t know the whole story but I fear there will be nothing of benefit to the Cherokees when all is said and done.”
“As many of us have suspected,” Charles murmured. “Was there anything else? Any details you can give me?”
“Only that President Jackson is not to be fully trusted.”
“What do you want to do now?” Charles asked, unsure of anything other than his concern for the young woman.
Annabelle shook her head and sighed. “I wish I knew. I had thought to escape unhappiness by being sent off to boarding school but with Margaret having such a strong influence on my future, I do not see that happening. Not even if we manage to prove our innocence.”
“Then rethink everything. Start from the beginning. Let yourself dream.”
“What possible good can that do?”
When she lowered her head in despair, Charles lifted it with one finger under her chin. Tears were trickling down her cheeks and he brushed them away with a gentle touch. “Don’t give up.”
“But...I have no hope.”
He placed a light kiss on her forehead as he said, “You have me.”
“For how long?” she asked in a shuddering whisper.
Because he had no idea when he would have to follow the rest of his party back to Georgia, he didn’t answer.
* * *
Given a choice, Annabelle realized she would just as soon remain right where she was, in the company of Charles McDonald. That, of course, was unacceptable no matter how much she wished otherwise.
His suggestion about her dreams for the future made her pull herself together, step back and look up at him. “There was a time, when I was much younger, that I used to imagine returning to see my grandmother and finding the happiness I once enjoyed. The only way I will ever do that, of course, is when she and I are together again in Heaven.”
“You were living in Tennessee, you said?”
“Yes. Sometimes I recall little pieces of those times. They come and go like the flash of a firefly. When I try to remember details, I fail.”
“Did you bring any possessions with you when you came to live with the Eatons?”
She paused to think. “There was an old doll I named Rosie. And of course my clothes, although Myra insisted on having a new wardrobe made for me.”
“No papers? Letters? Anything like that?”
“No. I have asked. Why?”
“Because they might tell us who your people are.”
“I have no one. I told you.”
Charles’s brow knit. “No, you told me exactly what you have been told all your life. As you recently noted, that does not mean it’s the truth.”
“If John Eaton is hiding secrets, he will never reveal them at this point. He’s furious with me. I think he almost hopes I’ll be convicted and sent to prison so he won’t have to deal with me anymore.” She made a face. “At least Margaret does, and she has the ear of the president.”
“How is that possible? She can’t be that influential.”
“Yes, she can.” Annabelle was nodding. “Before she was widowed she ran a boardinghouse here in the city. John Eaton used to stay there. A lot of politicians did, including Andrew Jackson. Margaret is supposedly the reason why Emily Donelson, the president’s niece, moved out of the White House and he has no hostess in residence. Emily refused to entertain the Eatons.”
“The president sided with Margaret against his own family?”
“Yes. So you see my dilemma.”
“That I do.”
Annabelle cast a surreptitious glance at the rear door of the mansion. “I should go back in.”
“Why did you come out in the first place?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I have always preferred to be outside, and this morning I was particularly loath to encounter anyone other than Johnny.”
“The authorities are no longer bothering you?”
“Not at present. My freedom is legal, although that could change in a heartbeat.” The instant Annabelle mentioned hearts, she felt hers leap and placed her fingertips at the base of her throat. Such an intense fear of the unknown was new to her and gave her palpitations.
“If it would not cause tongues to wag, I would invite you and the boy to join me for a picnic lunch.”
“There is no way I dare ride out with you, sir, especially now,” Annabelle said. “Surely you understand.”
“Of course. It was a foolish notion.”
“I am sorry. Breaking bread together can be a good way to get better acquainted and I would like that. Diplomats share sumptuous dinners to help facilitate conversation.”
He eyed the house. “I hope you are not suggesting that I publicly darken the halls of Secretary Eaton’s home without being asked.”
“No, of course not. We will just have to hope a suitable opportunity arises someday. If your party was still in the city, perhaps they would be invited for lemonade and sweets again and we could spend a little time together without raising eyebrows.”
Johnny appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and ran up to them. Charles scowled at him. “Where have you been?”
“Exploring. I found another garden. Much better than here.” He started to tug on his uncle’s hand. “Come see.”
Giving Annabelle a questioning glance he resisted. “Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?”
“I think so. I’m told an old retainer and his wife used to live in an apartment of sorts at the rear of the carriage house. When the Eatons moved in, they filled it with stored possessions. The yard is not much to look at but you can tell they enjoyed their privacy.”
“Privacy? Can it be seen from the street?”
Annabelle shook her head. “I don’t think so. I really didn’t pay much attention when I first looked.”
He bowed slightly and swept an arm in the direction the boy was going. “After you.”
Raising her skirts above her shoe tops, she circled the far end of the carriage house and stable, pushing aside bushes as she went. She paused in a tiny garden surrounded by overgrown foliage and pointed to the remains of a small corral beyond. “I had forgotten this was even here.”
She could tell he was thinking because he was half frowning, half smiling. “It can’t be seen from the street. Do you realize what this means?”
“Not really.”
“We could meet here later for the picnic we dare not have in a park.” He hesitated. “That is, if you are willing.”
“With Johnny, of course,” she added, blushing.
“Of course. I would not have suggested otherwise. The boy will chaperone us and we will be meeting in broad daylight. Nothing could be more socially acceptable.” He grinned. “At least in our peculiar circumstances.”
“All right. I’ll ask Lucy to pack us a basket lunch. She does not have to know where Johnny and I have gone or who else will share our meal.”
“When shall I return?”
“Margaret meets with a sewing circle for tea today and John will be leaving for the Capitol earlier than that.” Annabelle grinned. “Will you wait until Margaret’s gone?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
He tipped his hat and gave another bow. On most men such actions might have looked effeminate, but not when Charles McDonald made them. The strength and power of his physique were impressive indeed, enough to warm her cheeks all the more.
Annabelle rested her hand beneath her throat and felt her heartbeat accelerating. And this time it was not due to trepidation. It was definitely a result of watching the Cherokee emissary walking away.
The only thing better was going to be his return.
* * *
Charles knew that every additional hour he spent in the city after the departure of his kinsmen increased his risk. Nevertheless, he was not going to just ride off and leave Annabelle. Nor Johnny. If what Eaton had told her was true, the boy’s days of good care in that household were numbered. In that case, it might behoove him to allow the child to flee as he’d wanted all along.
Unfortunately, the timing was off. If Johnny stayed until the treaty disagreements were settled, one way or the other, many months could pass. By then, chances were good that Annabelle would have been tried and probably wrongly convicted due to outside influences.
Charles grimaced. She wasn’t the only one who could end up in prison. He was in the same boat. With Ridge and the rest of the diplomats gone, there was no one to assure Washington authorities that Cherokee justice would be carried out. Charles had lost his primary defense.
He saw to the needs of his rented horse, loosening the saddle girth and watering the animal at one of the livestock troughs shaded by poplars along Connecticut Avenue. Grass there was thick and kept trimmed by sheep. Too bad he couldn’t bring Annabelle here for a picnic instead of lurking in an overgrown, abandoned garden, but he could see the problem of being seen together in public. Word would surely get back to Margaret Eaton, one way or another, and she was a force to be reckoned with.
It was not hard for Charles to accept that a woman could be in charge because that was the way his tribe functioned. His own mother ran a successful plantation. Inheritance and authority passed down through women and so did clanship. It was because of her that he was numbered among the Wolf clan.
Rows of soldiers marched by in the street, rifles on their shoulders. Uneasy, Charles tightened the saddle girth, mounted up and headed back toward New York Avenue. He didn’t know why he kept imagining that he and Annabelle Lang belonged together, he simply did, and mental arguments against such feelings failed repeatedly. Truth to tell, the closer he got to the secret garden, the more anxious he was to see her again.
He left his horse hitched to a rear portion of the wrought-iron railings that surrounded the entire property rather than bring it through one of the distant gates. As soon as no one was watching, he vaulted over the fence and ducked into thick shrubbery. It was debasing to have to skulk around. His pride would not have allowed it under other circumstances. But this time? This time was different.
Pushing through the leafy branches, he spied her. Ringlets of her hair reflected the sun’s glow as they peeked from beneath a small bonnet and she was waving boldly, a far cry from the shy way she had behaved when they had first met.
“I am so glad you didn’t change your mind,” she said as soon as he was closer.
“Never. Margaret’s gone?”
“Yes.”
“You had no problems?”
“None worth mentioning.” She tugged Johnny out from behind her. “I did have difficulty convincing this little man that we weren’t going to get into trouble by doing this.”
“I pray you are right.” Charles laughed and tousled the boy’s dark hair.
“Where did you leave your horse?”
“I tied him out behind. It’s a lot easier to hide myself than a full grown mount.” He eyed the basket. “The servants didn’t suspect anything?”
“No. Lucy has been the family cook for longer than I can remember and nobody else saw me leaving.”
“Good. Where shall we set the food?”
“I brought a cloth and swept the ground a little while I was waiting for you,” Annabelle said. “There is a lovely place over there beneath the honeysuckle.”
“Perfect.” Charles helped her lay the cloth, then recruited the boy to keep watch for a bit, just in case.