Darling Annie

by Raine Cantrell

  “Where’s your cap?” Hortense demanded. “Don’t know what gets into you young girls. In my day, a girl wouldn’t show off her crowning glory to anyone but her husband. ‘Course,” she added with a sniff, “you ain’t got a husband.”

  Annie didn’t defend herself. This was old territory that her aunt raked over yet again. It was better to let her have her say and then make good her escape as soon as she could.

  Peering up through her spectacles, Hortense wrinkled her beaklike nose. “Have you been fiddling with the devil’s temptation of tobacco? Don’t lie to me, Annie Charlotte. I know the smell of smoke when I sniff it.”

  “There was a fire, Aunt Hortense. The brothel burned down last night. That’s where the paying guests came from.”

  “Fire in a bottle? Whatever for? What fool tried to—”

  “No! Listen to me.” Annie dropped to her knees, sighing with weariness. There was no help for it. She’d have to shout so everyone in the boardinghouse would hear her.

  “The gambler’s place burned down!”

  “Oh, my. Girl, what have you done?”

  “Me? I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “You’re a good girl, Annie Charlotte. But why are you wearing that old faded gray gown of mine today? It’s not Monday. I’d know if it was, ’cause the papers would come in on the stage. And Monday’s the only day you do the laundry.”

  Cupping her forehead in her hands, Annie prayed for more patience. She had surely used up her store. “It’s not Monday. But I had to do extra wash.” Annie swallowed, her throat a little raw from yelling. She had to find a place where no one asked anything of her. Covering her aunt’s parchment-skinned hands folded over the silver head of her cane with both of hers, Annie forced a bright smile.

  “Would you like a nice cup of tea?”

  “You’re very late with it this morning.”

  “The guests … I’ll hurry and get it now.” But as Annie rose, the jingle of coins in her apron pocket made her aware that she had never put away the money Kellian York had paid.

  Annie glanced at the double door leading out to the lobby. She gazed around the room looking for a place to hide the coins. Eyeing the urn in the center of the mantel, flanked by the two silver branched candlesticks, she shook her head. Her aunt swore that that urn held the remains of her fourth cousin Josh, and Annie to this day had never felt brave enough to test the truth of the statement.

  She didn’t want to return upstairs to her room, where she kept the strongbox. That thought was reinforced, along with a shiver of awareness, when she heard Mr. York moving around in his room directly overhead.

  Heaving a frustrated sigh, Annie dismissed the clutter of vases and china boxes on the tables. Aunt Hortense was the only choice. Bracing one hand on the back of the rocker that her aunt sat in, Annie scooped the coins out of her pocket and placed the small pile in her aunt’s lap.

  Tucking the end of her shawl to conceal the money, Annie smiled at her aunt. “Hold on to this until I come back, dear.”

  With a crafty look Hortense lifted one of the coins and bit it. “Gold?” She glared from the coins up to the flushed cheeks of her niece. “What have you done, Annie Charlotte? Sold my home out from under me? Don’t be a-lyin’ to me. Your face’s redder than Tildy Means’s rooster’s comb. What’ve you been up to?”

  “Not now, Aunt. Please, not now.” Annie scrubbed her hand over her forehead. “Just hold on to the money and I’ll go get you a nice, soothing cup of hot tea.”

  “Key? What key? Come back here, girl! Thought we was all done lockin’ up gold from the Yankees.” She thumped the end of her cane on the floor, glaring over her shoulder at Annie. “Come back here.”

  Annie went to her side.

  “Your mama, Lord rest her, left you in my care. I’d be remiss in my duty, Annie Charlotte, if I didn’t ask. Now you tell me why you’re needing my key. You explain what you’re up to, girl.”

  Annie couldn’t swallow her moan. Once again she held her aunt’s hand and stared at the age spots, willing herself to be patient. Someday she would be old, if she lived through this mess.

  “Aunt, all I’ve done is rent every room in the house,” Annie explained with exaggerated care, leaning close. “Do you understand that? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  Hortense lifted her hand and smoothed it over the coiled braids of her niece’s hair. “Smart girl. Always liked that about you, Annie. Now, be off. It’s long past time for my tea.”

  Annie straightened slowly, trying to shake off her exhaustion. She made it to the double doors, waiting to be called back, as so often happened. But a glance behind her showed her aunt contentedly sitting and gazing out the window. With a quick twist, Annie set her apron to rights, then touched her hair. Opening the door to the lobby, she thought it strange that she couldn’t find her cap. She had left it on the chair in her room.

  “Oh, Annie,” Hortense called before the door was closed, “find Dewberry, dear. He so likes to curl up on the sill while the sun is hot.”

  “I’ll find him.”

  Dewberry? When had she last seen her aunt’s old cat? She closed the door, frowning as she crossed the lobby and went into the dining room. Annie realized she couldn’t remember when she had seen the cat. He had been in the kitchen while she brewed coffee and fried apple dumplings last night. She had been in and out bringing cups and plates to where Lucinda had set up a table. It wasn’t unusual for the old tom to disappear for hours at a time, but she couldn’t remember seeing him with all the confusion this morning. Aunt Hortense would fuss if she didn’t find him, and with a sigh, Annie added “Find the missing cat” to her mental list of chores to be done. Dark as the brush blackberries he was named after, Dewberry could be anywhere.

  A quick look at her watch pin showed that she had less than an hour before lunch would be served. Today should have been fried chicken day, but Annie had put a stew to simmer once her boarders were settled. And it was too bad if anyone didn’t like it.

  A look revealed the Fawn had already set the eight square tables that filled the dining room. Linen tablecloths, white, starched and ironed, lay smooth over each table. The matching napkins were rolled neatly. Teaching Fawn was a pleasure, for she leaned so quickly.

  Annie rolled her shoulders to ease her tension. She would be serving those people in here. She pushed one china plate back a little from a table edge, pleased with the gleam of the silverware. Cups and saucers were set precisely at the tips of the knives, with glasses alongside.

  As she walked by on her way to the kitchen, she trailed her fingertips over the backs of the chairs, making sure that no trace of the lemon oil used to polish them lingered. One of the stage customers had complained that her new short cape had been stained by an excess of oil and had made Annie pay for it.

  Although she was tempted to stay in the quiet, peaceful dining room, Annie moved on to the kitchen, stopping at the door. Men’s voices? In her kitchen? She yanked the door open and rushed in. “Fawn? What’s—”

  “Like so,” Li explained to Fawn, as if he were not aware of Annie. “You push with heel this hand. Turn with other. Now, again.” he said, as the girl worked the dough on the table.

  Annie glanced from Li’s tall, slim body, draped with a loose, square jacket and trousers, to Fawn’s slender shape. Li topped Fawn’s height by a few inches. Annie motioned for Fawn to continue when she stopped. Li’s bright, almond-shaped black eyes met Annie’s gaze before he, too, turned his attention back to watching Fawn knead the dough.

  “Just so,” he praised in his lightly accented voice, one golden-skinned hand pressing over Fawn’s to show her again how hard to knead.

  Annie noticed the calluses on the outward curve of his palm. But she was struck not only by the similar skin color, that of golden-browned biscuits, but also by the same black, straight hair that they both wore in a single braid. A shuffle called her attention to where Pockets leaned against the pie s
afe watching them. She returned his nod, thankful that he had not lit the cigar he was chewing. There were rules to be observed in her boarding-house, and no smoking within its walls was just one of them.

  Annie hadn’t had time to discuss the rules with her new boarders, an omission she intended to rectify as soon as possible.

  “Got the makings of a fine little cook there, Miss,” Pockets said, removing his cigar to speak, then sliding it back into his mouth.

  With a warm smile for Fawn, Annie agreed. “Fawn is quick to learn when someone is patient teaching her.” An image of the frightened, cowering girl that she had first known came to mind, but Annie dismissed it. For the moment she forgot that these men had no right to be in her kitchen.

  “Was there something you wanted, Mr. Pockets?”

  “Me? Nah. Couldn’t get to sleep this late. And it’s just Pockets. On account of the vest, you know.”

  Looking at the bright red, yellow, and green plaid vest hurt Annie’s eyes. She couldn’t imagine why he needed eight pockets, or why anyone would take his name from them. Each pocket bulged with hidden contents, but Annie was not going to pry by questioning him about them.

  She walked over to the stove, sniffing appreciatively at the enticing aroma rising from the simmering stew pot. Since Li and Fawn were making the biscuits, she could boil water for her aunt’s tea and steal time for herself.

  Annie tried to frame a polite but firm statement that she didn’t appreciate Pockets’ wearing his bowler hat in her kitchen. But when she went to the dry sink to prime the pump, he moved from his slouch to do it for her.

  “Allow me. You must be tired after being up all night.”

  Annie forgot about his hat. She held the kettle as he pumped a steady stream of cold water to fill it. “How did you know I’d been up all night?” she asked, heading back to the stove and thinking of the awful accusations his boss had flung at her.

  Pockets glanced at her back while she lifted the metal plate to poke the fire and exchanged a quick look with Li. Pockets shrugged when Li shook his head.

  “There was leftover apple dumpling sitting on the table, and I remember eating one once we had the fire under control. Then there was a pair of fancy ladies’ shoes as muddy as mine and a cloak that reeked of smoke. Stands to reason you were out there, all right.”

  “Thank you for not accusing me of starting the fire. I didn’t, you know. None of the women had anything to do with it.”

  Annie was unaware of the quick slicing motion Li made with his hand. Pockets shifted his cigar to the other side of his mouth, then took it out. “I’ve looked around some, and saw a fine upright in the back room off the parlor. Play it yourself?”

  “A little. Just enough to pick out a few hymns when we hold service here on Sundays. The doors to the parlor open and—” Annie broke off, flustered. What was the matter with her? She was explaining about Sunday service to a man who worked in a den of vice. She reached for the tin of tea leaves.

  “There was nothing to salvage of mine. Since the boss is planning to rebuild, I’ll be grateful if I can use yours.”

  The china cup and saucer rattled in Annie’s hands. She hated to say no, but it wouldn’t be proper. She turned, ready to utter the word, but Pockets, his heavyset body once more in a slouch, was shaking his head.

  “Wouldn’t do at all, I guess. We don’t want to cause you more trouble. Folks’ll be saying plenty ’bout you renting us rooms. If they find out I’m using your piano they’d likely figure it was tainted by the devil’s music.” He stretched out his long-fingered hands in front of him, wiggling, then shaking them. “Keeps them limber,” he explained at Annie’s puzzled expression.

  But Annie was thinking of what he’d said. After all, it was her piano. It was her boardinghouse. There was such a deep, wishful look in his light brown eyes that she was beside herself. The right thing, the most prudent thing, was to agree with him that it was improper and let it go. But he had been so polite, not at all like his boss. He hadn’t accused her of starting the fire, and the piano did sit idle during the week unless she managed to find time to practice.

  Before she gave it more thought, or weighed the very consequences he mentioned, Annie made him an offer. “I don’t have much time to use the piano on weekdays. There’s no real reason why you couldn’t use it. Not while meals are being served, of course, or in the early morning, since my aunt’s room is next to the parlor, but you are welcome to use it in between those hours.”

  “Well, thank you. Real pleased to accept your offer,” he said, taking off his hat and making her a sweeping bow. “And don’t worry none. I’ll tickle those ivories like I was—” Pockets stopped himself. He couldn’t tell a woman like her what he thought about the keys of a piano. Smoothing down his tightly curled brown hair, he replaced his hat.

  Once again he shared a look with Li, and he got the feeling that just as he was revising his opinion of Annie Muldoon, Li was as well. He beamed a toothy smile at Annie and was warmed by the one she returned.

  The kettle whistled in warning, and Annie grabbed a folded towel to wrap around the handle, pouring out the boiling water into the small china teapot. She measured out the precious tea leaves into the silver strainer that had been in her family for generations, then placed it into the pot to steep. It took her only a few minutes to gather what she needed to fix the tea tray for her aunt.

  But when all was ready, Annie remembered about the cat.

  “Since you’ve been in the kitchen with Fawn, Li, and you’ve been around downstairs, Pockets, have you seen a large black tomcat?”

  Fawn was shaking her head. Li looked up, his hands never still as he shaped the small round biscuits and set them on a tray for baking. “No cat.”

  “Pockets?” Annie asked. “He’s got one ear half torn off—”

  “And a pushed-out jaw with a mouth turned off to one side like he’s a cocky son of a—”

  “Yes! Yes, that’s him.” Oh, dear! She must speak to him about his language. If Aunt Hortense ever heard him, there would be a fuss to end all others. “Where did you see Dewberry? He’s my aunt’s cat.”

  “Ah, well, that’s hard to say.” He shot a look at Li, and with a sheepish grin around his cigar, Pockets found his boots needed contemplation.

  “I don’t understand. Where is the cat?”

  Li answered her. “A cat’s heart is wise, like a mirror it reflects all without being sullied by any.”

  Mulling over his words, Annie decided she was too tired to try and understand what he was saying. From the incredulous look on Pockets’ chubby-cheeked face, he didn’t either.

  “I’m sure those are wise words. Lovely ones, too. But I just want to know if you have seen Dewberry?”

  “The cat is with Kell.”

  “Oh. Well, I’ll just go fetch him.” Annie lifted the tea tray, then set it down with a rattle. “He’s with … the cat is up in … the room? The cat’s in the room?”

  “The boss has the cat or it might be the other way around,” Pockets helpfully supplied, but he didn’t look up at her, afraid his smirk would cost him the use of the piano.

  Annie smoothed down the sides of her apron. “Yes. Well, thank you for telling me. I’ll just bring this tea to my aunt, then retrieve our cat.”

  She made it out of the kitchen and halfway across the dining room before she realized what she had said. Dewberry was in Kellian York’s room. She was going to go inside to get him. She was going to do it or there’d be a tussle with Aunt Hortense.

  Annie, you are made of sterner stuff than you believe. You played the coward enough today. He is merely a boarder here. You are only going to retrieve the cat. Stop shaking as if you were going into the devil’s den.

  She stopped by the counter and reached for a key from the bottom row of pigeonholes. Years before, when Aunt Hortense kept losing the keys to rooms, Annie had the locks changed. No one knew that one key fit them all.

  Wearing
grim determination like a suit of armor while she served her aunt tea and reassured her that she would bring Dewberry to her shortly, Annie marched out of the parlor.

  Short and quick. Annie repeated these words to herself as she raced up the stairs and down the hallway to Kellian York’s room. She squared her shoulders. She took deep, steadying breaths. She released them shakily.

  Just do it, she told herself. Go in, get the cat, and get out.

  Annie stared down at the key. One last thing. Pray real hard that he’s asleep.

  Chapter 5

  Annie didn’t worry that the lock would give her away as she fitted the key into it. She was a good housekeeper who oiled each lock regularly to prevent rust from forming. Yet she hesitated, for she had never violated a boarder’s privacy by going into the room while they were inside.

  Her earlier encounter with Mr. York made her anxious not only for herself but for Dewberry. What if the man didn’t like cats?

  There was no help for it; she had to go in there and find out for herself.

  Kell was alerted to his unexpected visitor by Dewberry’s twitching his ears. His left hand continued stroking the twenty-pound coon-size cat, who purred his contentment with a steady rumble.

  His right hand, concealed beneath the sheet, closed over the smooth wood grip of his gun.

  Annie heaved a sign of relief as she inched open the door. She had given this room to him not only because it had a large double bed but also because it was at the opposite end of the hall from her room. But as the rooms were opposite, so were the placements of the beds. Mr. York’s, unfortunately, was set against the wall behind the door.

  “Dewberry?” she whispered, hearing the cat’s distinctive rumble.

  “Can’t be bothered to knock, Muldoon? Some boardinghouse you run, barging into rooms without an invite. But come in, I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  Staring at the barrier of the door, Annie fought the urge to stick out her tongue. A most childish temptation, one she had not had for more years than she cared to remember. She was furious that he was awake, and worse, that he had caught her.