Her Cherokee Groom. Valerie HansenЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Chapter Three

      “Were so many lamps burning in the house when you left?” Charles asked, pausing with his little group before escorting them back across New York Avenue.

      Annabelle shook her head. “No. Mrs. Eaton usually does needlework in the evenings and Mr. Eaton sometimes reads the newspaper or personal communications from the president, but the rest of the rooms are rarely lit.”

      “That’s what I was afraid of. I suspect they have missed you already.”

      “Oh, no.”

      “It may not be as bad as it looks. I suggest you and the boy go back inside alone, though. Being seen with me will probably not be to your advantage.”

      “We did nothing wrong.”

      “You and I know that. Others may be harder to convince and I’m not looking forward to being lynched on my first diplomatic mission.”

      “Surely, if I tell the family you have assisted me they will understand.”

      “To do that you’d have to admit to having gone out after dark. Alone. Are you sure that’s wise?”

      She looked so crestfallen he had to smile. “I’ll be fine. I’m going straight to my elders to report the attack by the river. You go inside and tell the Eatons you and the boy just stepped out into the garden. That won’t be a lie.”

      “All right.”

      As he reclaimed his coat she tilted her face up to him and he could see moisture sparkling on her lashes. Against his better judgment he gently took her hands, noting that she was trembling. “Don’t worry. I’ll wait right here until you’re safely inside.”

      “Thank you for seeing us home.”

      “I should be the one thanking you for saving my neck. I’m sorry about your cape. I’ll send a messenger to the dressmaker for you first thing in the morning.”

      “A cape was a small price to pay for our victory over evil.”

      Let her go, his mind insisted. Step away from her and forget you ever met Annabelle Lang.

      But he would not, could not, do so. Although he assumed that this goodbye would be their last, he also knew she would linger in his thoughts and in his dreams for a long, long time. Being so taken with this innocent beauty had not only been a surprise, it had left him questioning his future without her.

      That notion was beyond ridiculous, of course. Even if he happened to be sent to Washington again, chances were good that Eaton would forbid them to court properly, meaning he would be fortunate to encounter her at all.

      That was one way in which Cherokee courtships and marriages were better. All a couple basically had to do was share a meal and exchange blankets and they were considered wed. Many of his kinsmen partook of two ceremonies, the Christian one and the tribal one, thereby satisfying both factions.

      What was he thinking! Charles asked himself, coming to his senses. He barely knew this girl.

      I’m far from home and lonely, that’s all, he insisted. There’s nothing wrong with me that being back in Georgia where I belong won’t fix.

      He purposefully released Annabelle’s hands and stepped away while donning his coat. To his chagrin the fabric retained her warmth and a trace of a sweet scent like roses. Just like Annabelle’s hair.

      “You’d better go in,” Charles said, sounding more brusque than he’d intended.

      She bowed her head demurely. “That’s wise. Good night. And God bless you, sir.”

      “He did that when He sent you to my aid.”

      “Perhaps because in my prayers I had asked to be of help to you and the boy. Are you a Christian, then?”

      “Yes. I went to the missionary school.”

      Her smile was so sweet, so tender, all Charles could do was stand there and watch her walk away. And with her went a tiny portion of his heart despite his firm decision to remain stoic.

      * * *

      Lucy, the heavyset, dusky-skinned cook, was in the kitchen poking the ashes of the stove to get them to ignite fresh fuel when Annabelle and Johnny entered. She wiped her hands on her apron. “Land sakes, girl. Where you been? Mr. John is tearin’ his hair.”

      “I—we—stepped out into the garden to look at the stars.”

      “Then why didn’t you come when he hollered for you?”

      “I guess I didn’t hear.” Annabelle’s guilty conscience nagged at her to explain further. If she hadn’t had little Johnny to protect she would have confessed without delay.

      “Well, get in there and let the mister know you’re all right. After the trouble tonight he’ll surely be glad to see you.”

      “Trouble? Because of me?”

      “Mercy, no.” The cook’s coffee-colored forehead knit above graying brows. “Somebody done made off with that fancy silver tea set the missus got from them Indians.” Her gaze darted to the boy, then quickly back to Annabelle. “He be with you all the time?”

      “Yes. Of course he was.”

      “If you say so. But Mr. John, he was plum mad, ’specially when he couldn’t find neither of you.”

      “Thank you, Lucy. We’ll go right in and set his mind at ease.” She reached for the boy’s hand and held tight, urging him to follow as she admonished, “You let me do all the talking.”

      Both Eatons were in the parlor when Annabelle entered. Their expressions contrasted; John’s being one mixing anger with relief while Margaret simply looked disgruntled.

      “Where have you been?” John demanded.

      “Out in the garden, looking at the stars.”

      Margaret pointed at the boy. “Him, too?”

      “Of course.”

      Chewing the inside of her cheek to keep from breaking into tears of shame, Annabelle stood very still and waited to be dismissed. She had no idea what had become of the silver set but she was certain the Cherokees had had nothing to do with it. Washington was a bustling city, filled with all kinds of riffraff, as demonstrated by the incident at the river. Undoubtedly, a criminal element like that had robbed the Eatons.

      “I have the servants checking the carriage house and the stables,” John said. “Go upstairs to your rooms and stay there. Both of you.”

      “Yes, sir.” Annabelle curtseyed politely.

      She was more than delighted to take her leave. This current Mrs. Eaton might be a special friend of President Jackson but she wasn’t kind and loving the way Annabelle’s first foster mother, Myra, had been. Oh, how she had wept when that dear lady had gone to Glory at such a young age.

      Climbing the spiral staircase with Johnny, Annabelle realized she was actually happier being ignored than being watched too closely. That revelation was a surprise. A welcome one. It not only helped her feel less unwanted, it gave her a sense of freedom she had never before sought or even imagined.

      “A servant will assist you getting ready for bed,” she told the child. “I’ll call Adams. He helps our father.”

      “I have no father,” Johnny said flatly. “And I can take care of myself.”

      “All right, whatever you say.” Annabelle continued to hold his hand until she said, “Remember. You promised to be good and stay here.”

      “I remember.”

      She hated