was less concerned for herself than for Johnny as she followed. “What about the little boy? What will become of him?”
Eaton grimaced. “As if I didn’t have enough troubles with Indian affairs. I suppose I shall have to keep him for the sake of a temporary peace. As soon as the President and Congress decide against the treaty, however, I won’t care what becomes of him.”
“How can you be so cruel?”
“Self-preservation, my dear girl. Politics is a cutthroat business and it’s time I treated it as such.”
“You sound just like your wife.”
That finally brought a slight smile. “She will be delighted to hear that.”
“Should—should I come in?”
“Of course. You still live here. But I suggest you and the boy make yourselves scarce, particularly when Margaret is around.”
Watching the man she had once thought of as a father walk away, Annabelle felt so downtrodden she was dazed. Had he really changed so much? It was hard to fathom that the once mellow man had hardened his heart but his words backed up that painful conclusion. Perhaps the best parts of him had passed away with Myra and his marriage to Margaret had brought out his sterner side. To put it that way was to simplify, of course, but she was fast losing hope for her future. Any future. Anywhere.
Starting for the kitchen she took time to admire the flowerbeds and smell a pinch of fresh basil while she thought of the servants and how so many of her former friends and allies had been let go. She still had Lucy, the cook, and Adams, her father’s valet, but no one else had known her for long. No one else could be counted on to provide solace while she resided in the Eaton home.
That was where she would start, Annabelle decided. If she could find Lucy she would ask her for advice. If not, she’d turn to Adams. Truth to tell, the grandfatherly man had bounced her on his knee when she was small far more often than John Eaton had.
Thoughts of her friends brought a smile. She was still smiling when she sensed someone nearby. The whispered “Siyo” told her who.
“Johnny!” Crouching, she opened her arms for the child’s embrace.
“You are back.” His shrill voice was muffled against her shoulder.
She set him away and grinned. “Yes, I am. Are you all right?”
The child nodded. His sky-blue eyes glittered. “I took your message to my uncle.”
“I know. What did he say?”
“He was mad.”
“I am sorry for asking you to disobey. I just didn’t know who else I could trust.”
Johnny stood taller, proud. “Will you run away with me now?”
A tiny part of her conscience wanted to set aside responsibility and tell him yes, but she refrained. Knowing that Eaton didn’t plan to make a permanent home for the Cherokee child had changed things. What she wasn’t sure of was how she should behave and how much she should reveal from then on. If he did decide to leave she certainly could not allow him to travel alone, yet if she accompanied him she would be considered a fugitive.
“I need to speak with your uncle again,” Annabelle finally said, “but I don’t want you to get in more trouble by going to get him for me. Do you know when the delegation is planning to leave? Is it today?”
His ebony hair swung against his shoulders as he rapidly shook his head. “It was tomorrow.”
She sensed more to the story. “And?”
“They are gone.”
“What? Now? Already?”
The boy looked ready to cry. “Yes. All gone.”
“Are you certain?”
With a slow nod he assured her before beginning to sniffle and pointing to the uppermost dormer of the elaborate home. “I saw them pass. From up there.”
Bereft, Annabelle sank to her knees in the garden and embraced the child while they both silently mourned and the setting sun cast their shadows among the fragrant blooms.
A trip back to the jail where Annabelle had been held had proved fruitless, so Charles had returned to the Eaton estate and stationed himself across the street to watch, as before.
Now that Major Ridge had released him as a diplomat, he had to be even more cautious. Ridge had kept him out of jail once. That would not happen again.
And now? Although he had sent most of his belongings home with Elias, he had kept enough provisions to sustain him a few more days or weeks, if need be. And he had rented a saddle horse rather than keep hiring cabs and take the chance there might not be one available when he next needed it.
What he wanted to do was spirit Annabelle away to safety in Georgia. To do so, however, would not only be dangerous, it would be insane, and he was no fool. How their lives had become so entangled in such a short time was an unsolvable puzzle. Perhaps, if his assumption were correct and she did have Indian blood, that was part of the reason they’d been so drawn to each other.
A bigger question was, what did Annabelle want? He knew she had aspirations of an education but there had to be more to her future plans than that. Most young woman her age were already thinking of marriage, yet she had never mentioned suitors, probably because she was trapped between the servant class and the snobbish elite of Washington City and didn’t fit into any social strata.
Charles swung a leg over the horse’s neck and slid to the ground beside it the moment he saw activity in the Eaton garden.
He was about to call “Annabelle!” when she spotted him. He made it across the street just in time to receive her headlong rush through the gate and fold her into his arms. To do so in broad daylight was to muddy her already sullied reputation, yet he could not stop himself.
“What happened?” He set her away and feasted his eyes on her natural beauty. “How did you get out of jail?”
“John Eaton came for me. The things he said on our ride home were frightening. It was awful. He said I had shamed him and, and...” Tears began to brighten her eyes and she sniffled. “I thought you were gone. Johnny said your party went home.”
“They did.”
“What about you? Aren’t you in danger of arrest, too?”
“No. Since I’m a Cherokee and an emissary to President Jackson, Major Ridge convinced them that the tribe would mete out my justice.”
“But, they all left. Why did you stay?”
Charles gazed deeply into her eyes. “I had to stay after I saw them taking you away in shackles. We know we are not guilty of killing anyone but if we cannot prove it, I will pay a visit to the powers that be, tell them the whole story and throw myself on their
