by Kari Bovee
The sounds of gunfire made them both turn to see Frank and Fancy running the mounted course. His face, grim with determination, fell when he only hit a few of the targets.
“He’s really losing his edge. I think he’s got a broken heart.” Lillie gave Annie a pretty pout and batted her eyelashes.
How could this girl be so kind one moment and so disrespectful the next?
“He’ll be fine,” Annie said, confident the great lothario Frank Butler would have plenty of pretty women and girls fawning all over him by the time they hit Kansas in two weeks.
Frank ran through the course again and missed every other target.
“That was a debacle!” LeFleur’s voice bellowed throughout the arena.
“Practice at oh-eight-hundred, sharp. Let’s be a little more on our mark, shall we?” He turned on his heel and left the arena, his arms stiff at his sides.
Annie sighed. She couldn’t disagree with Mr. LeFleur. Everyone, except her, missed their marks.
When she looked up a second later, Chief Sitting Bull was striding toward her, all of the paraphernalia hanging from his leather tunic swinging to and fro with each step. She hoped he wasn’t coming over to talk about Frank.
He reached her, slightly out of breath.
“Watanya Cecilia, it’s Nakota. He’s fallen ill. He is asking for you.”
CHAPTER 18
“Investigation into Murder of Dick Carver Continues, No Conclusive Evidence Found.”
St. Louis Times – April 20, 1885
Annie ducked inside the tipi to find Nakota wrapped in blankets, lying on a straw mat on the earthen floor. Michante, sitting on his heels next to him, rocked back and forth, singing a haunting tune.
Chief Sitting Bull came in behind Annie and gently pulled Michante to his feet.
“Come, Michante. We will go tell LeFleur and the Colonel about your brother, they will need to know.” He took Michante by the arm and ushered him out of the tipi.
Beads of perspiration dotted Nakota’s brow and the area above his chalky white lips. “Not the witch,” he said, his voice cracking, but they had already gone.
“It’s okay, Nakota, Twila’s not here. It’s me, Annie. The Chief said you asked for me.”
Nakota nodded, shivering in his blanket. Annie looked around the tipi and saw a goatskin bag with a cork on it hanging from a pole. She uncorked it and sniffed.
“Water?” She held up the bag.
Nakota nodded and Annie held the bag to his lips. He drank greedily, and then coughed, almost choking on the liquid he couldn’t get down his throat fast enough.
“I know—” Another fit of coughing took him.
“What? What do you know?”
“Kimi.”
“What about her?”
“I know what happened. That’s why I could not leave.”
“You know how she died? Why she died?”
Nakota’s teeth chattered and his eyes rolled back into his head.
Annie worried that he might lose consciousness. She looked around for a cloth and poured water onto it.
“Nakota, stay with me.” She swabbed his face with the dampened cloth.
“The trunk—” Nakota winced in pain and rolled to a sitting position as another coughing fit seized him. Annie pushed gently on his chest, trying to unfold him, make him lie down again, but his body remained locked. She rubbed his back while he coughed. Finally, he relaxed and slumped back against the floor mats.
“What trunk? What about the trunk?” Annie asked.
Just as Nakota tried to speak, Chief Sitting Bull entered the tipi, followed by LeFleur, Twila, and Michante. The Chief told Michante to lie down.
“He’s burning with fever, too.”
Annie risked a glance at Twila, who was either unaware of her presence or intentionally ignoring her. She kept her gaze focused on Nakota.
“How long has he been like this?” Twila asked Chief Sitting Bull.
“Michante came to me last night, when Nakota began shivering and mumbling in his sleep.”
Twila ran her hand over Nakota’s forehead.
“His fever is high. It may be a virus. Has he suffered from diarrhea or vomiting?”
Sitting Bull asked Michante the question in Sioux, and the younger brother shook his head.
“Do you have water?” Twila asked.
Annie held out the goatskin bag and Twila’s eyes met hers, but she looked right through Annie and quickly refocused her attention on Nakota, urging him to drink more.
“What’s she doing here?” Twila asked Sitting Bull.
“Nakota asked for her.”
“Keep giving both of them plenty of water and keep them warm.” Twila stood up, towering over the rest of them. “If you’re up to it, when the fever breaks, you can sponge them down. It should pass in a few days.”
“That’s all you’re going to do for him,” Annie said, looking up at her.
Twila planted her hands on her hips, gave Annie a pointed look.
“I will assemble some herbs to bring down the fever, but there’s not much more I can do. I cannot be expected to sit here and nurse them day and night. I have the baby who needs my attention.”
“But we have practice in a few hours.”
Twila shrugged.
“Witch,” Nakota whispered.
Twila smirked at him and then turned to Chief Sitting Bull.
“Have one of your women stay with them and make sure the give them water, lots of water, even if they’re vomiting. I’ll come back with herbs, but you should also send for a doctor.”
Chief Sitting Bull raised his eyes to her but said nothing.
With a flourish of her skirt, Twila left the tent, the tiny bells on her boots jingling.
“Nakota, what were you saying? About a trunk?” Annie leaned over Nakota, pressed her hand gently to his forehead.
Nakota looked over at the Chief, who was getting Michante settled with blankets, and shook his head, clearly relaying that he was unwilling to speak in front of the Chief, though Annie couldn’t imagine why. Still, she’d have to come back later, find a way to speak with him alone.
They waited in silence for Twila to return with the herbs. Nakota fell into a fitful sleep and tossed and turned so much the blankets around him tightened around his neck. Annie tried to loosen them, but Nakota batted her hand away.
Chief Sitting Bull watched over Michante, who began speaking in Sioux.
“What is he saying?” Annie asked.
“Something about Bobby and LeFleur, but I cannot make sense of it.”
Twila’s jingling boots signaled her return. She entered holding a pouch and teacups in one hand, and a teapot in the other. The noise woke Nakota out of his fevered sleep.
“No, no! Get her away. She’s . . . she’s a witch,” he murmured.
“It’s all right Nakota.” Annie gently shushed him. “She’s here to help you. We all are.”
Annie certainly understood Nakota’s reluctance to trust Twila, but she couldn’t imagine a reason for Twila to harm these boys, even if Nakota had information on Twila that pointed to Kimi’s death—giving them poison would be too obvious.
“Look, he can take the herbs or not. He’s already very ill and these herbs will help to break his fever.” Twila handed the pouch and teacups to Chief Sitting Bull. “If you want to help, sprinkle a pinch of these herbs into some tea, and have them sip it slowly. It should reduce the fever in a few hours.” Holding the handle, she thrust the scalding hot teapot at Annie, who reflexively reached for it, burned herself, and almost dropped it before she was able to set it on the ground. Twila gave Annie her usual close-lipped, feline grin as she left the tent.
Sitting Bull poured tea into a cup he placed at Michante’s side.
“No.” Nakota bolted upright. “Don’t, Chief, don’t . . .”
“Nakota, please lie back.” Annie gently pressed her hand to his chest.
“Don’t give him that witch’s medicine.” Nakota tried t
o rise when a fit of coughing again overtook him.
“Perhaps we should just give them tea for now, different tea,” Annie said to the Chief.
“Yes. I also don’t trust her medicine. I have tea and medicine I can give,” he said.
Annie breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t want to give them Twila’s herbs either, but she didn’t want to explain why, not yet anyway. She needed proof that Twila had been poisoning Buck, and maybe Kimi—proof she could take to everyone, including the sheriff.
“Very well, then. Make sure the women who come to care for them understand. Nakota is upset about something, and I don’t want him further disturbed.”
“I will see to these boys, Watanya Cecilia. I will send for the doctor and make sure they are cared for while you are practicing for your show. In the meanwhile, I will give my medicine. You will return later to check on them?”
“Yes, I will, thank you.”
She left with an unsettling feeling. The illness of the boys came on the heels of Kimi’s and Carver’s deaths. Was it coincidence, or something more sinister?
To Annie’s amazement, practice began on time, with everyone present, clear-eyed, and ready to shoot. Frank tipped his hat to her, but she turned away, unwilling to give him any hope of friendship. She tried to ignore the tug at her heart when his face fell in disappointment, but involvement with Frank would lead to nothing but more heartbreak. She had to keep her heart closed and her mind focused on doing whatever she could to keep the show successful. Annie had to think of her mother, Hulda, and John Henry, and how much they needed her financial support.
After practice, Annie volunteered to ride Isham back to the stable. As they neared the barn, she glanced over at the outside pen and saw Buck kick up his hind end and then trot in circles, tossing his head. He stopped, snorted loudly, and then cantered a circle, snaking his neck. Her heart lightened—Buck was playing.
Overjoyed, Annie jogged with Isham trotting behind her, and they headed over to the round pen. When Buck saw them, he let out a long, loud whinny, and then continued to prance around the corral.
Annie brought Isham to a stop and unsaddled him, placing the saddle and blanket on the ground before leading Isham into Buck’s corral. She slid the bridle off Isham’s head, turning him loose. The two horses circled each other and then stopped to sniff at each other’s noses. Buck reared up and Isham followed suit. The two chased one another, nipped at one another, and stopped occasionally to nuzzle each other’s withers.
Annie watched in rapt fascination. She’d often seen horses in the wild clustered together, playing together, and watching over each other. Her heart lifted to see Buck in such fine spirits, playing with a friend.
“Looks like your fella is feeling better.” Mr. Post came up behind her.
“Yes, sure does. Do you think the Colonel will mind that I put Isham in with Buck? Just for a few minutes?”
“Nah. Isham goes out with the Indian ponies all the time. It won’t hurt him.”
Annie looked over to the camp, trying to spot Frank to see if he was lingering nearby, waiting to corner her again. Instead, she saw Emma talking to a group of people.
“Mr. Post, could I ask you to put Isham away for me? I need to take care of something at the camp.”
“I’ll let them play for a little while.” Mr. Post winked at her. “You go on ahead.”
Annie started to lift the saddle to put it away in the tack room, but stopped.
“Does Buck have fresh water?”
“Just filled it myself.”
“Would you keep an eye on him, Mr. Post—I mean, more than normal? He’s feeling so good today and I don’t want anything to—”
“I’ll keep an eye on him personally, Miss Oakley. You have my word.”
“Thank you.”
Mr. Post took the saddle from her arms and told her to go on, he’d take it from here.
“Ah! Annie,” Emma said, departing from the group. “I was just asking where I might find you. I should have known you’d be in the stables.”
“Buck is doing much better today. What did you find out about his water?”
Emma glanced over one shoulder and then the other, making sure they would not be overheard.
“We found traces of oleander. It stems from the dogbane family, and it can be highly toxic.”
Annie’s mouth dropped open, then she collected herself.
“Twila gave Buck a sedative when we first arrived, and I suspected that she might still be sedating him from time to time, trying to do it every few days so no one would suspect her of trying to harm him, but actual poison?” Annie blew out a breath of air. “I saw her in the barn the other day, and she never comes to the stables. I thought it strange at the time.”
“Well, you will be fascinated to know that your snake charmer has had quite the past.”
Annie felt a zing of excitement.
“I want to hear everything you have to say, but I don’t want to discuss it here on the grounds. Could we go somewhere else?”
“We can use the carriage I arrived in to go into town, where I insist on buying you a very nice dinner at the Southern Hotel.”
Annie rushed back to her tent and pulled a green velvet dress out of her trunk. Lovely white lace trimmed the square-necked collar, and the elegant, billowing sleeves reached to her fingertips. Not used to wearing a collar cut below her neck, when she slipped the dress over her corset and looked into the mirror she wrinkled her nose at seeing her upper chest so exposed. The longer she examined her reflection, the more the look grew on her. Her breasts appropriately covered with no cleavage showing, she saw no reason why she shouldn’t wear the dress.
She pulled and twisted her hair into a tight bun and found a hat that suited the dress.
When she stepped outside, Emma waited nearby in conversation with Chief Sitting Bull. Emma sparkled when she spoke with the Chief, and Annie nearly laughed when she saw the Chief’s silly grin. Emma had charmed him as she charmed everyone.
“Chief, how are our patients?” Annie asked. If Nakota could talk, she would slip in to see him before they left.
“Both Michante and Nakota are sleeping. Their fevers are improved. You go have dinner with your friend. I will be with Michante and Nakota while you are gone.”
“They are in marvelous hands, then.” Emma smiled at him, showcasing her enchanting dimples. She held out her arm for Annie to take. “Well, Annie, our carriage awaits.”
Annie nearly gasped when she saw the gleaming black carriage pulled by two stunning chestnut horses, full white blazes down their faces, each with four white socks that gleamed in the sunshine.
They prepared to get into the cab when Frank appeared.
“Annie, please will you wait one moment? I must speak with you.”
His voice had an edge to it she’d not heard before.
“I’m sorry, Frank, but we are on our way to dinner, and it wouldn’t be fair to keep Emma waiting.”
“Just for a moment,” he said, his eyes pleading.
“Don’t be too long,” Emma said batting her eyes at Frank. Annie wondered if she’d flirt with any man, given the opportunity.
Frank took Annie’s hand and escorted her away from the horses.
“What do you want, Frank?” Annie didn’t bother to hide her annoyance. What was there to say? He’d broken her heart and she had other concerns, more important concerns.
“I want to know why you are so angry with me. Why you broke things off with me.”
“I think you know why.”
“I swear to you, Annie, nothing happened with Twila—not yesterday, not a year ago. How many times, and in how many ways, can I reassure you that I hold no feelings for her?” He reached to take her hand again, but Annie pulled it away.
“I don’t know what to believe, Frank.”
“Believe me, Annie, believe in what we had together. I know you felt the same about us as I do. What I don’t understand is what happened to change it. I did not hav
e any relations with Twila. Hell, I can barely tolerate the woman. It’s you I love, Annie, only you.”
“I am so confused.” Annie felt conflicting urges to run away from him and to fall into his arms. “I have so much on my mind—Kimi, Buck, my family, Mr. Carver’s murder, the show, and . . . us.” She straightened her shoulders and met his imploring gaze. “I can’t think clearly at the moment, Frank, I just can’t, so I am going to dinner with my friend Emma, and you need to let me be.”
“That reporter?” Frank slapped his hat against his leg. “The Colonel made it very clear we are not to talk to the press.”
“It has nothing to do with the murder. She’s become my friend.”
He gave her a dubious look.
“Well, goodnight then. I’ll see you at the performance tomorrow,” Annie said.
Frank pursed his lips, then tipped his hat to her. “Until tomorrow, then.”
Yes, Annie thought . . . until tomorrow.
When they stepped out of the carriage at the Southern Hotel, people on the street noticed Annie and formed a circle around her, shouting, “It’s Annie Oakley! May I have your autograph, please?”
After allowing about five minutes of Annie indulging her fans, Emma elbowed her way into the crowd.
“Sorry, folks, but Miss Oakley is late for a dinner appointment. She’ll step out again later.” Emma had to reach across people to grab Annie’s hand and pull her towards the dining room.
“You want to be accessible, but only on your terms. Remember that,” she said, once they were safely inside.
A maître d’ escorted them to a small but lavish Victorian room, painted ice blue and accented with white wainscoting and molding. A miniature crystal candle chandelier hanging from the ceiling provided a glowing ambiance.
“Champagne? Tea?” The maître d’ asked once they were seated on plush velvet wingback armchairs.
“Champagne.” Emma dismissed him with a dainty wave of her hand.
“I’ll have tea,” Annie said.
“Finally,” Emma said, after he left. “I was so busy prattling on about my family while we were in the carriage, I haven’t had a chance to discuss my findings with you. I am sorry.”