Her Cherokee Groom. Valerie Hansen
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“All right.”
The rosy glow of her cheeks reminded him of the blush on a peach and her eyes mirrored the bright, clear sky. He didn’t know what her lineage was but the fact that she had been promised an education at the Cornwall School meant that she might very well have a part Indian heritage, whether she knew it or not.
Good thing this young woman resided in Washington and he lived down in Georgia, he mused, or he might seriously consider disappointing his mother by courting Annabelle Lang instead of choosing a full-blooded Cherokee bride the way his family wanted.
* * *
Annabelle wondered if her snug corset was the reason she could hardly draw in enough air to maintain her equilibrium. She gently stroked the hair of the little boy at her side. Perhaps someday she, too, would have such a beautiful son, although that dream was not likely to come true as long as the new Mrs. Eaton was in charge.
Being lied to about going to the Cornwall School did not sit well with Annabelle. All this time she had dutifully served the Eatons in the hope that her obedience and faithfulness would result in the education she had been promised.
And now? The mission school was gone. So where else could she study? What other institutions would accept an untutored, common girl like her? The Georgetown Academy for Young Ladies was far too elite for someone who had never been formally instructed, not to mention someone with questionable origins.
Charles had paused at the iron gate for a last word. “Perhaps the Eatons will provide you with a tutor since you are so determined to learn.”
Annabelle smiled. “I have gleaned some basic skills on my own, including how to read and write. When young John is given a tutor I will copy those lessons, as well.”
“Very wise.” He touched the brim of his hat once again. “I bid you a good evening.”
And good it is, thanks to your unexpected visit, she thought, blushing.
Adding sprigs of rosemary to her basket, she held out her hand to the boy. “Come. Let’s go back inside and give these to Lucy, the cook. Then I’ll show you around the house and point out your room.”
The child stood staring after his departing kinsman as if made of marble.
“John? Tsa-ni? Is that how you pronounce it?”
A slight smile teased a corner of his mouth.
“I said it poorly, didn’t I?” Annabelle asked with a benevolent grin. “Tell you what. Johnny sounds a lot like that so I’ll call you Johnny. All right?”
A simple nod was his only reply but it was enough. Better communication would come later, once the child was more comfortable with her. She would do all she could to hurry that along, even if it meant slacking off on her household duties. Dusting and mending would wait. The little boy’s broken heart would not.
“How old are you?” Annabelle asked as they entered the house and left the basket for the cook.
“Six summers.”
“What a big boy you are. I’ve always wanted a brother just like you.”
“Why?”
“Because I get lonely in this big old house. Mr. and Mrs. Eaton are not my parents, as you heard me say. The servants are nice to me but it’s not the same as having a true family.”
“You want blood kin,” Johnny said wisely.
“I suppose you could put it that way.” Annabelle bent closer to whisper. “I don’t complain, though, and you shouldn’t, either. It’s very good of the Eatons to take us in and provide for us.”
The boy tugged on her hand, then looked around as if making sure they were alone. “I will run away. You can come with me.”
“What? Oh, no. We can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s wrong. What would your uncle Charles say if you did something like that?”
“I am the son of a chief’s son. I will go.”
“Please, don’t talk like that,” she pleaded. “Think of all the trouble it would cause if you left.”
She could tell by the child’s stoic expression that he was beyond listening to the pleas of a mere girl.
There was only one thing to do. She would have to send word to Mr. McDonald to stop by again and have a stern word with the boy before he and the rest of the delegation left town. Until then she’d keep a close eye on Johnny. A very close eye.
“I think you and I should take our supper alone tonight and get to know each other,” Annabelle suggested.
“Will they not miss you?”
“No,” she admitted sadly. “The family usually insists I be present only for formal dinner parties.”
She reached down to gently smooth his hair. “I’m certain they will want to present you to their Washington friends soon. Mr. Eaton is a very important man. Being secretary of war means he works closely with President Jackson.”
The child did not look impressed. Smiling, she offered her hand. “Come. We’ll explore the house together so you won’t get lost.”
“I never get lost,” he insisted.
“Good for you.”
Grinning, Annabelle started up the spiral staircase, explaining as she went. “Down the hall at the end is the guest room. You’ll sleep there.”
Before he could ask she added, “My room is right next to that one,” and sensed him starting to relax.
Poor little thing. He acted so brave and put on such a grown-up front it was easy to forget how young he was.
No wonder he’d thought about running away. He had to be frightened nearly out of his mind.
Shivering, she realized she, too, was worried about his future. It was easy to put herself in his place because she shared it. Neither of them truly belonged in this stoic family and neither could depend on fair treatment from their so-called parents.
John Eaton had always acted preoccupied and distant toward her. His new wife, Margaret, was far worse because she paid attention to everything and could be very vindictive if displeased, which was most of the time. The older woman had had a sordid reputation in Washington before her marriage to Eaton. The more Margaret and Annabelle interacted, the more credence the rumors of perfidy gained. And the more trepidation they generated.
Margaret had already fired every young female servant in the Eaton household and had made it clear that Annabelle’s presence was barely tolerable. There was no foundation for such jealousy but it nevertheless existed. Perhaps, because Johnny was a boy, he would not encounter so much of Margaret’s malice.
Until the child got used to his new life here in Washington City, Annabelle vowed she would protect and guide him. It would be no chore to teach him city ways and household rules. Truth to tell, she was looking forward to the opportunity.
The fact that he was a smaller version of his uncle gave her heart an added prick and reminded her that she must contact Charles McDonald as soon as possible and entreat him to return and lecture the child about fidelity.
Annabelle’s stomach clenched. If Margaret even suspected that Johnny was planning to run away, the whole household would suffer her fits of foul temper, probably for weeks on end.
Moonlight gleamed on the rippling surface of the Potomac, making the water shimmer like molten silver. If not for the noise of the city behind him, Charles might have imagined that he was standing on the banks of the Chattahoochee, back home, listening to a cacophony of