by Kari Bovee
“Nope, it’s a gift . . . and don’t go bugging me about who because I had to promise I wouldn’t tell. Just someone who wanted to add a little spice to your gear.”
Annie‘s brow furrowed, but she knew Mr. Post was a man of his word—and wouldn’t tell. She slipped Buck’s bridle from his shoulder, noting that it, too, had been decorated with silver bars and conch seashells laid in floral patterns, just like Isham’s bridle. It had to be the Colonel.
“Come on Mr. Post, tell me who did this?”
“Sworn to secrecy.” He raised his chin and gave her a wink.
Annie ran her hands over the beautiful silver decorations on the saddle. It did enhance the beauty of the leather, and Mr. Post had worked hard to make it look just right.
Once he’d saddled Buck, Annie climbed on and headed into the practice arena, deciding to put her thoughts of murder on hold. She had some information to work with; she just needed to put the pieces together—but first things first. The show, lacking its usual luster, needed competent, focused shooters.
When she arrived at the arena, only a few of the cowboys were sitting around smoking and talking. No sign of Lillie, Frank, or Bobby—though this practice was optional. Not surprised at Lillie’s absence or Frank’s, she did find Bobby’s nonattendance strange.
Annie tightened her gun belt around her waist and urged Buck to a trot. He moved steady and sure underneath her, his gait so full of impulsion she had to post to keep balanced, but she let him move out. With slight pressure from her left calf, Buck stepped into a right lead lope. When he stretched his neck down, she felt his back rise into her seat. The lope elongated into an easy canter. Annie steered him along the rail of the arena, delighted to experience the sense of freedom she had longed for in the last several days.
After a few easy laps, Annie decided to practice hitting the targets. She collected Buck into a more business-like lope and started through the course. They easily made the turns to hit the targets dead on, and then for the final line, she switched pistols and urged him forward to a full-on gallop.
Shooting on one side of Buck’s head, and then the other, in perfect rhythm, Annie smashed all the glass balls into colorful shards. Once she holstered her pistol and brought Buck to a stop, she leaned down and wrapped her arms around his neck. Buck was himself again. Everything would be all right. She would get through this difficult time with the show, with Frank, and with her family. She suddenly felt an enormous sense of comfort. God had thrown Buck, the Wild West Show, and her together, and this is where she belonged.
CHAPTER 20
“Colonel Buffalo Bill Cody to Perform Today in Hopes That Dwindling Ticket Sales Will Return to Normal Numbers.”
St. Louis Times – April 22, 1885
The Colonel told Annie there would only be one performance that afternoon. He and LeFleur wanted to make sure the stands would be filled to capacity for one performance, as opposed to having too many empty seats for both the morning and afternoon shows.
The Colonel opened the show “hunting down the buffalo.” A dozen bison thundered into the arena to the whoops and hollers of the crowd. After a few minutes of watching the buffalo run around the arena in frantic circles, Buffalo Bill entered in all his famous splendor riding Isham, like a knight in beaded deerskin armor, firing his gun over his head.
Annie watched from the back gate, marveling that the man christened Buffalo Bill for his renowned feats of killing hundreds of the vanishing species now would only kill one or two of the herd to give the audience what they craved. He strove to preserve the proud beasts by starting his own breeding program.
Annie and Frank were up next for the mounted course. Annie looked around for Frank and Fancy, but couldn’t see them anywhere. In fact, she hadn’t seen Frank for the last two days.
She turned around in her saddle and strained to see what was going on in the barn, and sighed in relief when she saw Rusty holding Fancy, helping Frank to mount. When she turned around again, she spotted Lillie and Bobby in conversation, comparing their weapons. At least everyone showed up. Annie hoped they would all give their best performances today. The show needed to be a success to keep the numbers coming in.
After the Colonel’s act, as the buffalo and the Colonel exited the arena, several of the crew ran in with a flatbed cart to haul the two slain buffalo away. The announcer kept the audience entertained with tales of the famous Buffalo Bill and the time he scalped Yellow Hand in a major act of revenge for the murder of General George Armstrong Custer.
Finally, Annie and Frank took the arena. Frank hadn’t even so much as looked at her while they waited for the gates to open. Annie tried not to let it get under her skin, but his indifference made her heart heavy, and she had to swallow down a lump forming in her throat.
The gates opened and Buck exploded beneath her as if he knew exactly what to do. Annie and Frank took turns running the course, both managing it with perfect marksmanship. The stands were completely full and the crowd roared their appreciation. When it was time for the horses to depart, Rusty Post and another cowboy came out to gather Buck and Fancy.
“I won’t take my eyes off of him,” Post said, as Annie handed him the reins. She smiled, secure in the knowledge that he would make sure no harm came to her horse.
The crowd cheered loudly as Lillie and Bobby came running into the arena, guns blazing, their show smiles plastered on their faces. They opened with Bobby shooting at targets while standing on his head, another crowd favorite. Then it was Lillie’s turn to shoot a dozen pigeons with her stout rifle. Annie performed the mirror trick, and then Frank stood in as her target for the cigarette trick. The shooting exhibition ran much more smoothly than it had in some time, much to Annie’s relief.
Annie handed Lillie a deck of cards, and Lillie held up the ace of diamonds. Taking quick aim, Frank shot the heart out of the middle of the card. Lillie held it up for all to see. Frank took his hat off and bowed with a great flourish. Lillie then handed Annie the deck of cards. Annie drew a card from the top of the deck and held it out to her left side, facedown. A hush fell over the crowd as they awaited the famous trick that had made Frank Butler the best sharpshooter in the world. Annie pinched the card tightly between her fingers.
Frank took aim and shot.
Everything went dark.
When Annie opened her eyes, her left arm lay stretched out to the side of her—covered in blood. An ice cold stabbing traveled from her fingers to her shoulder. Her body trembled and then convulsed, made worse by the sight of her crimson-soaked hand. The ace of spades lay next to her, perfectly intact.
Annie heard shouts and screams coming from the stands and the thunder of feet as the crew raced toward her, but she felt glued to the ground. All she could do was stare at her blood-soaked, maimed hand . . . as consciousness faded in and out. When she had the strength, she opened her eyes to see what appeared to be hundreds of faces staring down at her. She recognized Lillie and Bobby. Bobby had scooted his body under hers and held her shoulders and head in his lap. Lillie shouted at the crowd, “Step back, give her some air!”
Frank shouldered his way in through the crowd and knelt beside Annie, his face fraught with terror.
“I’m so sorry, Annie, I’m so sorry.” He brushed his hand gently against her cheek. “I would never hurt you, ever.”
“What the hell happened here?” The Colonel’s voice boomed overhead.
At the sound of the Colonel’s commanding voice, everyone except Lillie, Bobby, and Frank stepped back.
“Frank shot her in the hand,” Lillie said.
“Get back, everyone!” The Colonel shooed onlookers and fellow performers away. “Someone go get the doctor. He’s with Chief Sitting Bull, in Michante and Nakota’s tent. Hurry.” The Colonel pulled Frank away from Annie’s side. “Annie, you hang in there, girl. You’re going to be all right. We’re going to take good care of you.”
Annie tried to respond, but nothing came out. A damp coldness settled into her bones and
her eyes rolled back in her head.
“Someone hand me a kerchief,” the Colonel said.
“She’s bleeding pretty bad,” Bobby whispered.
Annie tried to lift her head, but everything spun. She could see familiar faces looking down at her, but they swirled in and out of focus. Her teeth began chattering and she had to fight to keep her eyes open. Where was Frank? She wanted only Frank.
As if he’d read her thoughts, Frank appeared next to her.
“You’re going to be all right, Annie. I won’t let you go. I promise.”
Annie smiled at him, but when the Colonel lifted her hand to wrap it in a kerchief, pain shot through her hand and up her arm, and she let out a yowl like an injured animal.
“Hang on, girl. I know it hurts, but I’ve got to stop the bleeding.” The Colonel’s eyes implored hers.
The faces surrounding her faded out and coldness settled on her like a shroud. Annie could feel herself losing consciousness, her body floating toward the clouds. Mama. She wanted to apologize to her dear mother for having failed her. How would her family survive if she couldn’t work, or worse, went off into the sky?
Acutely aware of her steady breathing, Annie tried to orient herself. Warmth and soft light surrounded her, and she felt as if she floated among the clouds in a perfectly cerulean sky. The fragrant aroma of roses washed over her. Is this Heaven?
Annie opened her eyes to discover that she lay in a stately, four-poster bed with luxurious bed linens soft as a kitten. She opened her eyes wider to see gold velvet wallpaper and furniture upholstered in burgundy satin. LeFleur sat in a formal wingback chair next to her bed, his eyes fully focused on her face.
“Annie?” He grabbed her uninjured hand.
“Where am I?”
“You are in a room at the Southern Hotel. The doctor has been to see you several times. You’re going to be fine.”
Annie wrinkled her brow. The room and LeFleur faded in and out of focus.
“The doctor has given you morphine, for the pain.”
Annie looked down at the bandaged hand at her left side and tried to wiggle her fingers. A staggering pain shot up her arm. She held her fingers still and the pain slowly subsided, but its echo reverberated through her arm and into her shoulder.
“What happened?” she said, although she knew very well what happened. Frank had shot her. She blinked, letting the realization sink in.
“Frank missed the target and struck your hand,” LeFleur said, his voice cool and measured. “He swears it was an accident, but—”
“But what?” Annie looked into LeFleur’s eyes.
“People are of the belief that he did it on purpose.”
“Why would you say such a thing?” Annie shook her head back and forth on the pillow. “Frank wouldn’t shoot me on purpose, even if he was mad at me, he wouldn’t hurt me.” He’d held her in his arms and told her that he’d lost his heart to her.
“I just wanted you to know the truth.”
“You mean the truth of what people are saying. Who are these people? Name them for me, because they are telling lies.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you.” LeFleur leaned closer, ran a hand down her cheek.
When she flinched, he pulled back, clearly disappointed.
“It doesn’t matter who thinks what,” he said, straightening his shoulders. “The Colonel has decided that Frank can no longer shoot well enough to perform in the show. He’s been given a few days to get his affairs in order. We brought you here to avoid publicity and to prevent Frank from knowing your whereabouts. He is forbidden to step one foot into this hotel. We’ll make sure he won’t be able to hurt you again, Annie, you have my word.”
Annie’s heart sank. Obviously, LeFleur had the upper hand in this situation and further protesting would serve no purpose. Still, she longed to see Frank, to at least let him know that she didn’t believe he’d intentionally hurt her—he would never . . .
“Are you ready for a few visitors?”
Annie offered a slight nod.
Bobby came in first, a shy smile on his face.
“I’m so glad you came, Bobby. I’ve been meaning to talk with you.” The words came out of her mouth, but at the moment she couldn’t remember what she wanted to talk with him about. She blinked her eyes, trying to focus.
Bobby pulled his hat off his head and sat down. He folded his hands around the brim of his hat and placed it between his knees.
“I’m sure glad you’re okay, Miss Oakley.” His eyes briefly met hers, then flitted to the bedspread.
“Annie, Bobby. Please call me Annie.”
A blush crept across his freckled cheeks. Annie smiled at his reaction.
“I remember you comforting me, Bobby. Thank you.”
Bobby’s eyes finally met hers. She thought she read confusion and a sort of desperation in them, but she couldn’t be sure. His face moved in and out of focus.
“It all happened so fast. I couldn’t believe it,” Bobby said.
“Do you think Frank did it on purpose?”
“Mr. Butler? Shoot you on purpose? No, he wouldn’t do that.”
Annie drew in a deep breath and studied Bobby’s hands as they twisted his hat between them. They reminded her of writhing snakes. Twila’s snake. Bobby seemed terribly nervous about something. Suddenly, in a moment of clarity, it dawned on her what she wanted to say to him.
“Bobby, I’ve been meaning to ask you—” With her good hand, Annie reached into her dress pocket and pulled out the gold coin. She held it up to him. It shimmered and wavered before her eyes. “Does this mean anything to you?”
He stopped twisting the hat in his hand and stared at the coin, his mouth hanging open.
“N-no. I ain’t never seen so much money.” Bobby swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat.
“Are you sure?” Annie pressed, trying to gage his reaction, trying to see through the haze of her gauze-filled mind. “You see how the face of it, and the back, have been filed down? Don’t you think that strange?”
“Yes. Very strange.” Bobby let out a nervous laugh. In Annie’s drugged state, his voice sounded heavy, slow.
Annie licked her lips, her mouth dry. She reached for the water glass next to her table and drank, stalling for time, trying to remember. Finally, it came to her.
“The other day, when you were filing Isham’s hoof, you dropped the file. I picked it up and handed it back to you. Do you remember?”
“Yeah, I s’pose.”
“There were gold flecks in that file.”
The air hung pregnant with silence, but Annie could still hear her own words echoing in her ears. She shook her head, trying to clear it of the fuzziness.
“I don’t see what you are getting at Miss—uh, Annie.”
Annie laughed. “I’m not sure I do either. Um, had you used that file before?”
“Well, heck. I don’t know. We use all kinds of files. I usually grab one from the barn. What does this have to do with me, Annie?” He seemed genuinely confused. “I really do need to get back to Forest Park. The Colonel is waiting on me.”
“You seem upset.”
He pressed his lips together, quickly stood up, snapped his hat back on his head, and thrust his hands into his pockets.
“I’m fine Miss . . . Annie. Truly.” He flinched when the door opened.
“Okay, Bobby,” LeFleur said, entering the room. “Miss Oakley needs her rest and the Chief wants to see her.”
When Bobby drew his hands out of his pockets, Annie thought she saw something fall from one of them—but her head still felt so wobbly she couldn’t be sure. Bobby tipped his hat to Annie and left the room.
Chief Sitting Bull entered and lowered himself onto one of the wing chairs, holding his spine perfectly straight, not touching the back of the chair, in the proud, regal manner he always displayed—even around a campfire.
“I am pleased that you were not more seriously injured, Watanya Cecilia, I could be
ar no more grieving today.”
At the sorrowful expression on the chief’s face, Annie snapped out of her daze.
“What’s happened, Chief?”
“Nakota passed into the night sky.”
Annie gasped and raised her good hand to her chest.
“I didn’t want him to tell you,” LeFleur said, stepping closer to Annie’s bed. “I didn’t want you further upset, but he insisted that you’d want to know, that you’d be strong enough to bear the news.”
Annie looked briefly at LeFleur and then focused on the Chief.
“The Chief was right, I do want to know. I am so sorry, so very sorry. I thought the fever had broken.”
“The doctor finally came and said Nakota had slipped into the dream world, that he would not return—and then Nakota stopped breathing.”
Annie held her uninjured hand out to the proud Chief. Sitting Bull lay his warm, leathery hand on top of hers.
“You tried to save him. You did your best. And what of Winona? How is the baby?”
“I have heard nothing about the baby. I believe she is fine.”
Good. She couldn’t bear to have to worry about Winona on top of everything else. Her mind started to clear. Things came into sharper focus.
Emma and another man stepped into the room.
“What? How did you . . . what are you doing in here?” Mr. LeFleur’s voice blustered, his face flushed with anger. “You do not have my permission to write a story about this incident, Miss Wilson. No reporters. No story. No press is permitted to speak with Miss Oakley.”
Emma removed her gloves with a flourish and artfully draped them over her upturned palm.
“First of all, Mr. LeFleur, I don’t need your permission. It’s a free country. Secondly, I’ve only come to see my friend. The news has already spread about the . . . accident, and I’ve merely come to personally check in on Annie.”
“But you brought the detective with you—this is an outrage.”
Detective Jonas stood by the door. Emma gazed at Mr. LeFleur directly.