A Man for Annalee (3 page)

“No, there’s no rush. I have much to deliberate.”

Cora slipped a brown bottle from her pocket. “Open wide, now. Doc says I must give you three drops of this, four times a day.” She held a tiny dropper full of amber liquid over Annalee’s mouth and squeezed the rubber bulb three times.

Annalee shuddered over its bitter taste. “Oh, that’s awful. As I was saying, I might return to Chicago as soon as I’m able. Right now, though, I’m just exhausted.”

“Of course you are.” Cora clucked her tongue some more and fussed with the blankets.

The older woman was mothering her and, for just a few minutes, she accepted her attentions like a flower leaning into the warmth of the sunshine. “I feel like I can’t think a complete thought. My mind flits from the past to the present to the future and back to the past. I wish I could make it stop.”

“Grief does that to you.”

“You mentioned taking me across the creek. How far away is my grandpa’s property?”

Cora sat on the edge of the bed. “Lee Tanner’s land is all around you. Think of this little town as an island.”

“An island?” She placed her palm over her mouth to cover her yawn.

“Yes.” Cora seemed pleased with her verbal imagery. “Cicero Creek is like a little island surrounded by your grandfather’s property. I think he decided to build the town for amusement after his wife passed away. While one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, I must say he was a strange duck, that one. Still, he didn’t deserve to die the way he did—shot in the back. Who could have done such a vile and despicable thing?” She shook her head and clucked her tongue. “I’ll be glad when the marshal makes an arrest.”

“Doc Lufkin said grandpa hadn’t been robbed. I asked him if he knew of any enemies he might have had, but he said most people liked him, even though he was cantankerous.”

“Yes, your grandfather would blither and bluster at the drop of a hat, but we all knew he was harmless. He was a lonely man after his wife died. Grief sometimes changes you.”

She yawned again. “Grandma Anna. I was named after them both.”

Cora’s face turned wistful. “We named our sons after their grandfathers. A sense of family history is so important.” She glanced at Annalee. “A large part of your family’s history is here. Before you make a rash decision to move back to Chicago, why not stay and learn some of your heritage?”

“I don’t know.” All she knew right now was she missed home and her parents, and the pain of her loss was unbearable. Everyone and everything she knew and loved was gone. Now she was alone in a strange land.

“Did your mother grow up here in Wyoming?”

“Yes, she left to visit her Aunt Martha in Chicago when she turned eighteen. She met my da when she got off the stage. He was earning money transporting people and their bags from the stage depot to hotels or people’s homes. Back then that was the only kind of work he could get, being Irish. Momma said with a flash of his smile and a sampling of his Irish blarney, he stole her heart. They were married a week later.”

Cora’s eyes widened and she pressed a hand to her ample chest. “Oh my! What did Lee Tanner say about that?” She held out her hand. “No, don’t tell me. One can only guess. Your grandfather never hesitated in offering an opinion, whether you were of a mind to hear it, or not.”

“There were bad feelings all around, until I was born. Momma used to say I was the peacemaker, but it was her choice to name me for both of her parents that broke the angry silence. I never saw Grandpa after Grandma died, but we wrote each other often. When Grandpa heard about the fire and my loss, he didn’t hesitate to ask me to come here to live with him. Even though he was grieving himself for the loss of my mother, his only child, he reached out to me.”

“I’m sure he loved you very much. You didn’t see Main Street as Marshal Hartwell drove the coach to Doc Lufkin’s place, but all the buildings are on one side of the street. Lee Tanner said he didn’t want to look on the backside of anyone. Said he wanted all the businesses built facing his property. He donated the land for the town of Cicero Creek.” Cora shot a glance at her. “With provisions, of course. He surely liked things done his way. Once he had plans in place for the town, he set about advertising for people to move here.”

Annalee’s eyebrows furrowed. “Advertised?”

“Yes, Franklin says it’s something many town developers do. They advertise in newspapers, mainly back East. My Franklin saw Tanner’s ad in the
Richmond Daily Dispatch.
We’d lost both of our sons in the war of the northern aggression, you see, and…well…Franklin felt the need to move to a new area.

“I wasn’t a bit pleased with his notion to pick up and move. Fact is I fought him tooth and nail for a week.” She looked away and sighed. “I’d raised my two sons in that house on Clay Street in Richmond. The thought of leaving all those memories behind nearly broke my heart.” She expelled an anguished sigh, and Annalee patted her hand. “So, Franklin resigned from the bank he worked at in Richmond, and we left Virginia. Moving here was a big change for us, but we don’t regret it. It’s beautiful in Wyoming. I must say I enjoy the quiet. It’s been a balm to my fragile nervous system.”

“I’m glad you’re happy here. I’m not convinced moving to Cicero Creek is right for me, with Grandpa gone. Everything has been happening so fast. Perhaps I should have thought things through a little more before I left Chicago.”

“Truthfully, I’m glad you came. I wouldn’t have had the honor of meeting you. Besides, this town is part of your heritage. I’m sure your grandfather would want you here.” Cora shook her head and chuckled. “He’d sit on the front porch of his cabin and watch the goings-on over here. Oh, he didn’t much like being a part of civilization, but he enjoyed watching it.”

Annalee breathed a long sigh, her eyelids getting heavy. “Will you stay with me while I nap? I…I don’t want to be alone.”

Taffeta skirts rustled and a cool hand rubbed her brow. “I’ll be here, child. Sleep.”

She snuggled under the blankets, wincing as the movement caused her burns to throb. Healing would come, she told herself, the physical healing, anyhow. The hollow feeling in her heart from losing her parents would take longer to heal, if it ever did. Her breathing deepened and her eyes closed.

She had been pinning a hem on Mrs. Weston’s green silk gown when a neighbor boy, Tommy Flannery, charged into her shop, panting, eyes wide with fright. “Come quick! Your parents’ store’s burning.”

“Emma Rose!” She called for her employee. “Take charge here! I have to go.” At Emma Rose’s nod, Annalee hurried out of her dressmaker’s shop.

As she ran for home, black clouds darkened the sky. Before she turned the corner onto Muldoon Street, the acrid smoke was choking her. People screamed and shouted. For a moment, she stilled, gasped, and stared into a blazing nightmare.

Building after building on her street and those on the block behind were on fire. The inferno was all-consuming, torching every building in its destructive path.

She ran toward the building her parents owned. Intense heat seared her skin. High temperatures carried by strong winds parched her lips. Heavy black smoke blanketed the sky, blotting out the sun.

People bolted, screaming and carrying to safety what few possessions they could hold. But where would they find shelter with the entire West Side in flames?

Two men, evidently blinded by fear, ran into Annalee, knocking her down. She barely regained her footing when she was nearly knocked down again. Mrs. Kearny ran by carrying her limp, badly burned child, her hair smoldering, her arms charred, and her eyes wide with terror. Mrs. Kearny’s mouth burst open in a silent agonizing scream.

When Annalee finally shoved her way through the crowd of frenzied onlookers, she found the large windows of Gallagher’s Market blown out from the intense heat. Flames curled from windows on all four floors of the wooden structure. She prayed there was no one inside. Were her parents safe?

She froze in horror as the roof of her home plummeted, filling the blackened air with a deafening crash. Her ears rang at the sound of finality. Sparks and flames shot everywhere, igniting other buildings. At that moment, anguished screams pierced her shock. A neighbor was holding Annalee’s mother back, for she wanted to re-enter the building. “Rogan! Rogan! No! Dear God, help him!”

For just an instant, her mind refused to accept what her eyes saw. Her mother’s clothes were nearly destroyed by the fire and her skin was a mass of blackened blisters. At the sight of her beloved mother, air whooshed from her lungs and pierced her heart so sharply she nearly fell to her knees.
What pain Momma must be in—unbearable and indescribable agony!

Annalee ran toward her, fighting the urge to retch at the sight and stench of her burns. “Momma! Sweet Momma, what can I do for you?”

Her mother, eyes vacant and mouth twisted in agony, appeared nearly mad with physical pain and the emotional shock of all that was happening.

Annalee’s eyes darted around the pandemonium. She didn’t see her father. Fear clenched her chest with its frigid fingers. “Momma! Where’s Da?”

“He went…he went back inside to help…to help Widow O’Riley. You…you know how slow she moves.”

Oh, no. Sweet Mary and Joseph, no!
“Did he come out, do you think? Is it possible he wasn’t inside when…when…” She couldn’t say it. Nor could she see her da in the confusion. Surely if he were able, he’d come to them.

When her childhood home further crumbled in front of her eyes, sparks filling the air like flaming snowflakes and the rumble resonating through the neighborhood like the strongest thunder of summer storms, the inevitable slammed into her heart. “Da’s in heaven now.”

“Leave…” Her mother’s voice had been so weak Annalee had to lean close to hear her rasping words. “Leave. Go to your grandfather. Go to Cicero Creek. There’s nothing…nothing here now.” Her eyebrows and eyelashes were gone, as was most of her hair. Lips that used to kiss Annalee goodnight were now blistered and swollen. Shallow breathing rattled. “Tell Father I love him. Rogan? Rogan, I’m coming.”

In a matter of seconds, her mother had joined her da.

“No! No, Momma…no!”

Something cool and damp pressed against her forehead. “Shh…shh…you’re dreaming, Annalee. Rest now, everything will be all right.”

Chapter Four

Boone Hartwell had a lot churning through his mind as he scanned the trail for clues. Not the least of which was one very appealing yet thorny redhead. The young woman was a contradiction in behavior. One minute she was prim and proper and the next she was fighting like a barn cat. Being around her was like standing in the center of a buffalo stampede. You didn’t know whether to run, duck, or stand still for the inevitable. In one way or another, she was going to leave her mark.

He chuckled and shook his head. Her and her Miss Feather’s Finishing School for Refined Ladies. He had no doubts she’d floundered quite a bit in the proper decorum department, with that temper of hers. A man would do well to stay clear of one redheaded burr under the saddle, no matter how cute she was with those flashing green eyes and that mulish chin she liked to jut out when she became riled—which was often.

“What are you grinning about, my brother?”

Boone glanced at the man riding next to him, leading the posse of five hoping to trail the robbers’ whereabouts. “Did you ever have a burr under your saddle?”

“What?” Two Bears’ dark eyebrows dipped. “Since when have you known Cheyenne to use a saddle?”

Boone shrugged. “I was just speaking figuratively.”

Two Bears, his long black hair waving in the wind, grunted. “Had you studied as hard as I, you would know the correct word is metaphorically.”

Both men chuckled and then rode on in companionable silence. Boone had been raised as Cheyenne from the age of ten. His parents and older brother had been killed by bounty hunters for hiding a runaway slave in their barn. He’d been wandering over the countryside, alone, scared, and hungry, when a scouting party found him. They’d taken him into their midst.

“You’re brooding again, Smiling Wolf.”

There was comfort in hearing his Cheyenne name. Boone gazed into the horizon, purple and orange with the setting sun. “I was thinking of how I came to be in your tribe. How good your parents were to me. I miss our mother.”

Two Bears nodded. “I miss her, too.
Nahko’eehe
…”

“English, Two Bears.” He was gentle with his reminder. They’d agreed to speak English in the white man’s world. Bitterness rolled in his stomach, and his jaw clenched. His decision to live as Boone Hartwell and not Smiling Wolf had not been made lightly. He and Two Bears had debated the issue long and hard. Once he’d seen and experienced how Indians were treated, his choice seemed the only logical one to make. Yet choices carried consequences, often painful ones a man had to live with every day.

His skin was white, but his spirit was Cheyenne. All totaled, he was a human being from two worlds. A conflict he had yet to resolve.

“I feel your thoughts.” Dark eyes regarded him. Two Bears had that uncanny ability.

Boone glanced at him. “At times my thoughts are in Cheyenne and at times in English.”

“And you feel as if your spirit is torn in two. I worry about you.”

“No matter which way I live, I’m only half a person.” He yearned for completeness in his soul, to feel comfortable in his skin and to lay to rest once and for all just who he was—a white man or a Cheyenne.