“Oh.” It occurred to her that she had been promoted to kitchen helper. That was fine with her. As long as Johnny was cooking and needed to speak to her, at least she wouldn’t continue to get the silent treatment.
That was what had hurt the most. Rejoining him after coming out of the chapel had resulted in one of the most difficult moments they’d shared. He had behaved as if he’d been asked to hold getaway horses for a couple of bank robbers rather than for friends and family. It was only after Charles had added the pack mule to their possessions that the boy had seemed to mellow.
Of course, he did want to ride the mule so he’d have a mount of his own and was thus being more tractable. That was a normal reaction. Annabelle didn’t mind if he got his way once in a while. Children needed things of their own. Things that they did not have to share with adults.
Like my old doll, Rosie, she mused, smiling fondly. Now that they were on their way she was even gladder that she had chosen to stuff the precious relic into the bottom of her valise. It might be of no earthly use at present, but it had once meant the world to her. She could recall cuddling that doll and pretending it was her very own baby when she was little more than a babe in arms herself.
Myra had even made Annabelle and Rosie matching dresses and bonnets after embroidering AL and some floral decorations on the doll’s body. How proud she had been to carry Rosie when they were dressed alike. Truth to tell, she could not remember a time when her precious doll had worn anything else.
Johnny’s shout brought her back to the present.
“Hey! The biscuit.”
“Oh, dear. Sorry.”
She jerked the stick back. One side of the blob of dough was blackened while the other was still soft.
“You have to turn it,” Johnny said, sounding astonished that she wouldn’t know that.
“I wasn’t thinking. Of course it needs to be turned. Do you think we can salvage this one?”
He shrugged. “Cook the other side and see.”
“All right. This one will be mine, regardless.”
Adding to her first attempt with a fresh glob of dough on another stick, she held them both over the fire, then eyed the taciturn six-year-old, wondering if there was some way she could let him know how deeply she commiserated.
His real problem wasn’t this current situation, whether he realized it or not. She identified with Johnny because she knew what it was like to feel abandoned. The man he had counted on had first given him away, then had taken him back and let him accompany them on the trail—only to ostensibly replace him by marrying a woman. And a useless one, at that.
Although that was not precisely what had happened she could see how the convoluted circumstances might easily confuse a child.
That conclusion made her give a very unladylike snort. The boy was not the only person who was totally befuddled.
She was more mystified, more lost, than she had ever been in her entire life.
* * *
Because night under the forest canopy was very dark, Charles had inclined the lean-to so that its opening faced the fire. Then, he’d banked the flames to burn slowly, less for warmth than to increase Annabelle’s sense of security.
It had been all he could do to keep from laughing when she had proudly presented him with his ash-dusted supper biscuit. The memory made him smile, raise on one elbow and look over at her.
Lying between them on the bed of boughs, the boy was sound asleep.
Annabelle was not. Her head turned. “What? Is something wrong?” She sat up and clutched the coat she’d been using as a coverlet. “Did you hear something?”
“No, no. I was just checking to make sure you and Johnny were comfortable.”
“As snug as a bug in a rug,” she said softly, smiling. “This bed of branches is far softer than I thought it would be, especially with this new blanket thrown over it.”
“Good. You haven’t changed your mind about not stopping at inns?”
He saw her eyes widen. “Never. Speaking of bugs, did I ever tell you about the cot in my jail cell?” She shivered noticeably. “It was awful. When I moved the blanket they’d given me, hundreds of black beetles scattered. And the food...”
Charles had to chuckle. “What? Didn’t they give you a stick to cook with?”
“Hush.” Blushing, she grinned. “I think we all did better tonight than anyone expected. After I burned the first biscuit the others turned out all right.” Her eyebrows lifted. “Didn’t they?”
The flickering firelight made her rosy cheeks glow and her eyes twinkle. Seeking to help her forget their true plight, Charles drawled, “Well, except for the charred outside and the uncooked part next to the stick, they were wonderful.”
Annabelle made a face at him. “Thank you. I think.”
Somewhere in the nearby woods there was a cracking sound, as if a dry branch had snapped. Charles froze. Put a finger to his lips. “Shush.”
“What is it?” she whispered.
“I don’t know. Stay still.”
“You said there were lots of bears and skunks and raccoons and things like that out here. Will the fire keep them away?”
Charles nodded. It was true that the fire would repel marauding animals. It was also true that its light would attract the two-legged kind of enemy. Although he had oriented the canvas lean-to to mask their camp from the distant main road, that didn’t mean there was no escaping glow.
He pulled on his boots and got to his feet, holding out his hand to signal her to stay where she was and praying she would obey.
He’d propped the muzzle loader on the ground, next to his gear, when they’d unsaddled the horses. He grasped it by the barrel and swung it across his body, ready to raise and fire if need be.
A glance back at Annabelle told him she had heeded his warning. On further examination he saw the silvery flash from a new blade, its hilt fisted in her right hand. When he had bought her a knife and sheath he had hoped she would never have to draw it. Now he was glad he’d had the foresight to arm her and that she’d been clever enough to take the weapon to bed with her.
Standing as still as one of the pines, Charles waited and listened. A slight breeze was blowing from the north. On it was carried the sound of a horse’s nicker.
He saw the mule’s large ears immediately swivel and settle on the direction of the sound. The old horse’s head and that of the gray mare were drooping as if napping was more important to them than curiosity, so he concentrated on stopping the mule from answering the other equine’s call.
At that moment, the rifle was far less important than keeping their location a secret so he laid it aside. Holding the side strap on the mule’s halter he put his other hand on its nose and felt its nostrils flare, its upper lip twitch.
“Easy, boy. Easy,” Charles crooned softly. “That’s it. Settle down.”
A distant human voice shouted something unintelligible, was answered in like manner, then faded away.
Charles didn’t relax until the mule did. Even then, he waited awhile longer, just in case.
Although the mule didn’t alert again, he suddenly sensed that he was not alone. Every muscle tensed. Hair on the nape of his neck prickled. Could he reach the rifle in time or should he simply whirl and face his adversary bare-handed?
Ready for battle, Charles spun around...and saw Annabelle.
He frowned and blew out the breath he’d been holding. “You scared the life out of me, woman.”
“I’m sorry. When you didn’t come back or make any noise to tell me you were all right, I had to see for myself.”
“Well, you can put the knife away,” he grumbled, still agitated and more than a little annoyed. “Whatever was out there has gone.”
“Are you certain?”
“No, but the mule is and that’s
good enough for me.”
“Oh.” She nodded toward the lean-to. “Are you coming back to bed?”
He could tell that the moment she spoke, she regretted her choice of words because her face flushed. Highlighted by the glowing embers behind them, her cheeks were practically aflame.
Charles was almost as embarrassed as Annabelle, although as her legal husband he knew he should not have been.
Ah, but theirs was not a normal marriage, was it?
Facing her and hoping his expression was as guarded as he meant it to be, he simply said, “Not yet. But you’d better go back before the boy wakes and misses us. I don’t want him running around in the woods playing Indian.”
As he had hoped, that comment brought a smile back to her lovely face before she nodded and turned to follow his instructions.
Charles stood stock-still and watched her go. She was graceful as well as stalwart. Pretty as well as intelligent. Yes, she had a lot to learn and was very immature in many ways. Cherokee girls were usually mothers by the time they reached Annabelle’s age.
But they had had the advantage of being raised in families, with mothers and aunts to teach them, whereas she had been passed from servant to servant like the foundling she was.
If she proved willing in the long run, perhaps he could give her the home she’d never known, Charles mused. They would have to start again, from scratch, because her presence would probably result in his being disowned by the matriarchs in his clan, but he’d gladly face ostracism if Annabelle chose to stay with him. A bigger question was, could she stand against the animosity he knew she would be met with? Was it even fair to ask her to?
With that disturbing conundrum tumbling around in his brain he nevertheless managed to appear unruffled, took a seat near the horses with his back to a pine, and laid the rifle across his lap.
He would watch for a while longer. If he dozed there, so much the better. The last thing he wanted to do was go back to their shared shelter and make his bride think he had misunderstood her faux pas and returned for the wrong reason.
* * *
Stirring in the camp woke Annabelle at dawn. She yawned and stretched, then realized she was the only one still abed.
Fully clothed, she arose and stole off into the woods for a few minutes, then rejoined her traveling companions. The fire ring had disappeared. If she had not known better she might not have even suspected that anyone had cooked there recently.
Charles had the horses saddled and was packing the mule. He barely glanced at her as he said, “Untie the ropes holding up the canvas and bring all that to me. I need to cover the supplies.”
“All right.”
It was a bit puzzling to awaken to such a stern reception but since the man was under terrible pressure and had probably gotten little sleep, she was willing to let him grumble all he wanted. Particularly if that meant they would soon be underway again.
By the time she’d managed to loosen the ropes and drag the heavy canvas to the mule, Charles was ready for it.
Instead of thanking her, however, he merely accepted it and then pointed with his free hand. “See what the boy is doing? We need to scatter those branches among the natural falls in the forest to hide them.”
“All right. I’ll go help him.”
“And when you get back, circle the clearing so you don’t leave any footprints. I’ll be getting rid of them while you’re gone.”
Hurrying to where Johnny was gathering their pine bedding she smiled at him, hoping his reaction would be more pleasant than Charles’s. It was not. The boy didn’t even bother to speak to her, let alone make pleasant conversation.
Annabelle was a tad miffed. They might be taciturn by nature but they had both chatted with her before, so what was wrong with them this morning?
It occurred to her to ask—at least Charles—but she quickly set that notion aside. Her ineptness regarding cooking, and then her misunderstood comment about Charles coming back to bed, were the only things she could think of that might have cost her their good graces. Did she want to learn that she had made even more mistakes? Perhaps worse ones?
No, she did not. If her traveling companions wanted to brood, or whatever they were doing, she would let them. Remaining silent would be extremely difficult for her, but she would manage to hold her tongue somehow. If nobody down here on earth wanted to talk to her she’d just converse silently with her Heavenly Father.
That thought made her smile and put a bounce back in her step. Even as a lonely child she had known God would never leave her, never abandon her. When Myra had died, Annabelle had nearly lost her faith, yet in the years following, it had not only returned, it had grown.
And now I need it more than ever, Annabelle mused. It seemed illogical to attribute her current situation to divine guidance and wisdom—unless her trust in God was complete. And so it was.
Her smile grew. That was the key, wasn’t it? As long as she kept her faith and trusted her Heavenly Father, no matter what, she would eventually triumph.
Annabelle knew that was true. It was the waiting which accompanied the trusting that she found so difficult.
Stealing back through the trees as Charles had instructed, she saw him tighten the last knot on the mule’s pack saddle with a jerk, then press his forehead against the side of the load as if the weight of a thousand burdens rested on his shoulders.
Poor man. Her heart clenched. She wanted to go to him, to touch his arm, perhaps tenderly rub his shoulders and assure him she knew he was doing his best to help her. To help them all.
Instead, she brought her foot down hard on a fallen branch and made it snap.
Charles jumped, immediately standing tall and acting self-possessed. In other words, he was his old, stubborn, bossy self again.
“I have the mare ready to go,” he called to her. “Hurry up.”
Her initial reaction was to snap back, to insist that she had been hurrying. A vivid memory of the empathy and tenderness she had felt while watching him moments before helped her quell that urge. Whatever had possessed him to bring her along on this journey, be it his sense of honor or duty or even the influence of divine providence, she was grateful beyond words.
And that was how she intended to behave, Annabelle promised herself. Neither of her companions was going to get her goat. She didn’t care what they said or did, she was going to bite her tongue and respond with grace. With dignity.
And with love?
That was a whole other subject, wasn’t it? One she would have to deal with on a day-by-day, hour-by-hour basis.
All of a sudden, the journey that lay ahead seemed to have grown a lot longer and far, far more hazardous.
Chapter Fifteen
“This is still the Appalachian range,” Charles explained, pausing on a high ridge that looked out over a sea of green treetops. Birds soared above, wings spread, effortlessly making lazy circles above the canyons.
“It’s beautiful.” Annabelle’s casual smile warmed him more than the noonday sun. “Is this Virginia?”
“Probably not. I’ll know for sure that we’re in the Carolinas when we reach the Federal Road. My people cleared and widened an old Cherokee trail for the government right after the turn of the century.”
“What’s the route we’ve been following?” She was shading her eyes with one hand, the other holding the reins.
“Daniel Boone’s Wilderness Road, for the most part. I’ve kept to the trees as much as possible so we wouldn’t be seen, but we didn’t want to have to fight our way through dense forest, either.”
“I understand. Will you still see me to Tennessee after we have returned the boy?”
“If you still want to go there. You hadn’t mentioned it in so long I’d thought you might have changed your mind.”
“It does not weigh s
o heavily, that’s true. However, I do want to see where I came from and try to trace my family.” She began to blush. “I should say my roots.”
Did she mean that she now considered him and the boy as her real family? He hoped with all his heart that she did.
Gazing at Annabelle astride the mare, he was taken with her natural beauty and the grace with which she had accepted her fate. The more time they spent together, the more he admired her. She was not only lovely on the outside she was just as exemplary to the core; gentle yet hardy, benevolent yet resolute. Charles could think of few friends he would trust as much as he now trusted Annabelle.
His Annabelle, he reminded himself. His wife. Not the woman his mother or tribe would have chosen for him but a perfect fit just the same.
Could it be that Annabelle was actually beginning to care for him, to think of him as her husband? Although she had not actually said anything endearing, he had caught her looking at him more than once with what he imagined could be tenderness.
At least he thought it was. Considering the befuddled condition of his mind and the way their togetherness during the trip had worn on his conscience and taxed his self-control, there was no telling how much was real and how much the wishful creation of his mind.
He didn’t even have to close his eyes to see them as a family that included the boy, although Johnny had continued acting less than amiable.
Charles had allowed the child to withdraw and brood from time to time, assuming he would eventually get over being upset. If he hadn’t had such a taciturn nature to begin with, Charles would have had a better idea whether or not he had actually mellowed.
“How much farther is it to where you come from?” Annabelle asked, breaking into his thoughts.
When Charles replied, “Only two or three more days,” he was astonished to see her smile fade. Might she be enjoying their sojourn? Was it possible? She had seemed to be coping well but that didn’t prove anything other than that she was resilient and determined.
It occurred to him to delay their arrival in New Echota in order to eke out more time with her on the trail, but he decided that would be foolish. They had not encountered anyone who was definitively searching for them since leaving the inn that first day. To dally along the route would be to tempt the Lord their God.
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