Walks Alone Page 23

  “You dief!” she cried. “And look what you’ve done. My pictures are ruined!”

  He strode toward her, determination in his stride.

  Every part of her trembled, and she stepped back as he neared. “I don’t even know who you are anymore. I never knew you!”

  “Be quiet.” His gaze bored into hers.

  “I’ll never forgive you for tis White, Jean, whatever your name—”

  Quick as lightning, he raised a hand. Blackness enveloped her.

  ~*~

  Jean-Marc caught Anna in his arms before she hit the ground. She had every right to be angry. But it could have cost them both their lives had he not silenced her.

  He laid her gently on the ground.

  Thankfully, he knew just how to hit a man in order to render him unconscious. Black Kettle, Cheyenne chief, had taught him most everything he knew. Jean-Marc just never dreamed he’d have to use that technique on a woman—the woman he loved.

  What was she doing here? Had she planned on leaving him? But if so, would she enlist Mountain Jack’s help? Pain sliced through him.

  Still, he ached at the thought of hurting her. “Forgive me, Morning Sun,” he whispered, despite the fact that she couldn’t hear him.

  His face went cold as he looked upon her still form, and his hands trembled. He hoped and prayed he hadn’t struck her too hard. He reminded himself that he had done it for her safety, and his. He hated leaving her, but she was just a couple of hours from Denver City, and he knew Jack would take care of her. He rose and headed toward the other side of the coach, but a part of him remained with Anna.

  Billy saw Jean-Marc coming and made a move for her. Jean-Marc checked him up. “She’s in her time. You don’t want that.”

  “Yuck! No way!” Tom, Billy’s older brother shouted. “Let’s ride.”

  Tom mounted up with the stage horses ready to go. The boys and Jean-Marc followed, and they galloped away.

  ~*~

  “Miss Anna? Wake up, girl.”

  Anna felt someone patting her lightly on the cheeks.

  Slowly, she opened her eyes. Jack and his scraggly beard hovered over her. Her head throbbed.

  “You all right?” Jack asked.

  The horror of what just happened swept through her mind. She sat up and held a hand to her head to keep the dizziness from taking over.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  Her hat hung lopsided over her head, and some of the pins had fallen out of her hair. When she noticed the dirt covering her dress and a tear in its seam, she wept.

  He helped her to her feet.

  “Now, now,” Jack said, patting her shoulder. “Please, don’t cry.”

  She cried, not because she was hurt, but because she was furious. How dare White Eagle hit her! He was a thief! When in the world had he become a thief? How long had he been doing this? What was she to do?

  In a daze she pulled free of Jack, wiped her nose on her sleeve, and marched toward her carpetbag. She stood over her belongings. Her carpetbag lay empty and tossed aside, Cheyenne clothing sprawled out in the dirt, and her broken pictures reflected the pain in her heart. The frames were damaged, but thankfully the pictures themselves were unharmed. She stooped to gather the frames and cradled the pictures of her parents in her arms as she collected her other belongings.

  She gathered her Cheyenne dresses, including her lovely wedding dress, folded them neatly and wrapped them in their packaging. Who was this man she married? She sniffed and wiped the tears from her eyes.

  Jack and the men tried to help her, while the driver ranted and raved about losing his horses. “Confounded bandits!” he shouted and kicked the dirt.

  “They took the horses?” she asked Jack.

  “’Fraid so.”

  She wanted to cry harder, furious that she would have to walk. Now it would take them twice as long to get to Denver City. Thank goodness she didn’t pack a trunk. Otherwise she’d have to leave it behind. With a deep sigh, she snatched up her carpetbag.

  The banker handed her the torn package of dresses, once again bound securely with the leather strap.

  “Thank you,” she said, sniffing. She turned on her heels and marched down the road.

  Jack caught up to her. “Where are you going?”

  “Denver,” she snapped. “And don’t try to stop me.”

  Jack tried to reach for her things, but she pulled away and hugged the packages. He dropped his hands at his sides as they continued to march along.

  “Kind of like a fly bangin’ against a windowpane,” Jack said, breaking the silence. “You see what you want but can’t get to it.”

  Anna glanced over at Jack and saw compassion in his eyes. His gaze swept over her packages and he held out his hands to help. Reluctantly, she gave in and handed him her belongings.

  Jack motioned with his chin to the carriage. “Miss Anna, that, those there—”

  Anna held up her hand and stopped. She was in no mood to hear it. Besides, the humiliation of it all was too much. How much had Jack witnessed? Had he seen what that man did to her, attempted to do to her? Had he seen White Eagle? She couldn’t bear to think about it.

  Jack shrugged.

  She continued in silence, her boots kicking up dust as she walked.

  Lord, did You see what happened? What could have happened? She wanted to lift her hands and cry out, “Why?”

  And what about Jack? How must he be feeling? She cast a side-glance in his direction and swallowed. “I’m sorry that you lost your friend.”

  He looked at her, surprise in his eyes, and he nodded.

  After that, she focused only on the road and on her destination.

  Hours later, a couple in a wagon heading for Denver offered them a ride. Anna and the others climbed in, worn out from the robbery and long walk. Anna rode in silence as the others told the couple what happened.

  Later as the wagon crossed the wooden bridge over the Platte River and the boxed buildings of Denver City came into view, no sparks flew. No bolts of excitement and no great feeling of accomplishment assailed her.

  Instead, numbness swamped her veins as they rumbled onto the first street. Buildings perched on both sides of the wide dirt road, dogs barked in the streets, and before one shop, barrels and boxes stood outside ready to be loaded onto a wagon. An ox hitched to a wagon lay in the dirt, enjoying the shade of the building; she would never have witnessed such a beast on the streets of Amsterdam, except at a farmers market perhaps.

  “Thank you for the ride,” she said to the friendly couple who had brought them this far. Jack helped her down from the wagon.

  “Anytime, ma’am,” the man said, tipping his hat, and they rode away.

  Cowboys lumbered around in their chaps, boots, and spurs, striding by with their bowed legs. None looked as vicious as the ones who’d just robbed her. Other men looked like the gentlemen she was used to seeing in New York, wearing neat trousers and vests. Three Union soldiers tipped their hats as they strode by. Noise carried up from the street, while horse-drawn carriages trotted along, kicking up dust.

  What was she going to do? All thanks to White Eagle, she had no money and no job. Unbelievable. He was a complete stranger. And finally, she’d made it to Denver, but her thoughts were in too much turmoil to enjoy the city’s splendor. She walked down the wooden sidewalk in a daze.

  Jack took her by the arm. “We need to find the marshal and report what’s happened.”

  In Marshal Dell’s office, Anna shared her version of the events. She told him everything, from the trip out of Cheyenne to the robbery. Though she glossed over some of the more lurid details, such as the wedding and that she had gone unwillingly with the Indians. As much as she hated White Eagle, she didn’t want to get the others in trouble. For all she knew, he wasn’t really an Indian at all.

  As she told her story, the marshal’s brown eyes sparkled, and his red mustache twitched over his lip as though it might be hiding a smile. He seemed to be amused by her tal
e, though he never smiled—not that she could see anyway.

  Still, his whole demeanor bothered her.

  “It’s a good thing you went willingly,” he placed emphasis on that last word as if he didn’t believe her, “with those good Indians, Miss van Stralen.” He shifted in his seat. “We found the settlers between Cheyenne and Denver; they were all dead.” He shook his head and frowned, looking at his folded hands. “Never made it to Denver City. It’s a sad, sad shame.”

  Dead? Her mouth fell open. Suppose she had remained with the settlers? She would be dead too.

  He glanced at her. “You get used to hearing about Indian raids when you live out West, ma’am.” He raised his brows and nodded toward her. “You’re a lucky woman.”

  The blood drained from her face. She could have been killed. “They murdered the children too?” She swallowed hard. White Eagle had unwittingly saved her life.

  The marshal nodded then stood and escorted her out of his office to the street where Jack waited.

  “I wanna talk to you,” the marshal said to Jack.

  Jack disappeared inside, leaving Anna waiting on the platform.

  Visions of what must have happened to the settlers kept playing through her mind. Kept playing over and over again until she couldn’t see anything around her.

  Later, Jack stepped outside of the marshal’s office. He ambled right up to Anna, gaily smashing his hat on his head. For a man who’d just been robbed, he seemed in awfully high spirits. “Well, that’s taken care of.”

  “Joe, round up the men!” the marshal shouted from inside.

  A man flew out the door and down the street. Anna watched him go. Where had she seen him before? Something about the way his shoulders slumped seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place him. Besides, she didn’t recognize his face at all.

  “What are we going to do?” she said to Jack. “We have no money, no place to stay. Nothing.”

  Jack offered Anna his arm. “You just follow me, Miss Anna. We’re gonna take advantage of Jean-Marc’s pocketbook.” With a chuckle, Jack escorted Anna down the boardwalk.

  Anna frowned. What pocketbook? Perhaps he had one as a result of thievery.

  The streets bustled with life, mostly with men hurrying home, mothers pulling their children along, and some stopping before windows to admire goods.

  The shop windows displayed ready-made dresses and fabric. If they hadn’t been closed, Anna would have gone in and bought something. Then she remembered she was penniless, robbed by the man she loved.

  Jack stopped in front of a beautiful six-story building.

  The Grand Palace Hotel towered over her with windows stretching along the sidewalk in both directions. A porter took her carpetbag and other items as he escorted Anna and Jack inside. The lobby took her breath away. Crimson curtains draped from tall, arched windows, and thick red carpet lined a grand staircase in the center of the great room.

  Jack motioned for Anna to wait as he crossed the lobby to a dignified man behind the check-in-desk. She couldn’t imagine how they would be able to afford such a fancy place.

  “Jack? What are you doing here?” the man behind the desk said with a thick French accent. He greeted Jack heartily. Jack spoke in hushed tones while Anna admired the tapestries and sashes draped from the ceiling.

  Finally, Jack and the dignified man walked up to her. Two men couldn’t have been more opposite, with Jack’s rough mountain-man appearance, and the other’s suave demeanor.

  “This is Hervé Dubway,” Jack said introducing Anna to the tall elegant man.

  The man cast Jack a sharp look. “Dubois,” he said. “The name is Hervé Dubois.” Mr. Dubois raised Anna’s hand to his lips and bowed gallantly. “Bonsoir. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Madame Charvet.”

  “Why, thank you.” She had never been treated with such charming respect. “But the name is Anna van Stralen.”

  Both Jack and Mr. Dubois exchange glances.

  “Hervé can show you to your room and you can—uh, you can take a nice hot bath. How’s that sound?” Jack said.

  “But we can’t stay here,” Anna said, pulling Jack aside, then in a low whisper added, “We don’t have any money.”

  Jack grinned and patted Anna on the arm, escorting her through the lobby. “You don’t worry your pretty little head about that.”

  “We are obliged to have you stay with us for as long as necessary,” Mr. Dubois said.

  “What do you mean, ‘obliged?’”

  “Jean-Marc will be covering all expenses. It is the least we can do to reimburse you for what he’s done.”

  “I don’t understand? How can White—Jean-Marc afford this? He’s a thief.”

  “Hmm, oui, madame, I suppose he is. That is why he must reimburse you for your loss. Jean-Marc is officially the owner of this hotel, and I manage it while he is away. It is a minor expense to have you stay with us, madame.”

  White Eagle owned a hotel? Why didn’t he tell her? Yet, why didn’t he tell her he was half-white, a thief, and who knew what else—what more might she discover?

  “Do you also know Jean-Marc as White Eagle?”

  Mr. Dubois nodded. “Bien sûr.”

  “Then if Jean-Marc owns this hotel, why is he out robbing carriages? He obviously has plenty of money.” Her voice rose with those last words. Was it normal to be a part-time thief and part-time hotel owner, not to mention a part-time Indian? No wonder Colorado wasn’t yet a state.

  “I am not at liberty to give out that kind of information, madame. You will have to speak with Jean-Marc himself.”

  Anna shot Jack a pointed glare. “Where have I heard that before?”

  Mr. Dubois and Jack continued to escort her into a hall. They each had an arm, as if they feared she might run away. Something she certainly felt like doing. And she probably would if she had money.

  “Voici, Madame Charvet. Your room. If you need anything you won’t have to go far.” Mr. Dubois held the door open and motioned her in.

  “Thank you.” She went into her room then stopped and pivoted before Mr. Dubois could close the door. “Please stop calling me Madame Charvet.” She looked at Jack. “I assume that’s White Eagle’s surname?”

  Jack nodded.

  “Seeing as how I know so little about Mr. Charvet, I’d rather you just call me Anna.”

  Hervé and Jack exchanged concerned glances.

  “Oui, madame—er, I mean, Miss Anna.”

  Anna closed the door on them. She envisioned White Eagle standing before her in his bandits’ clothes. Her only desire was to way-lay him just like he’d done her.

  An hour later, Anna sank into a porcelain tub. The steam and warm water enveloped her, and her body finally began to relax. The moment she had been waiting for. She just hadn’t expected it to be so luxurious. Here she sat in a magnificent hotel, one very much the equal to any she’d find in New York City and never be able to afford. On top of that, Mr. Dubois had treated her like a queen, bringing food to her room, among other necessities. She didn’t deserve such treatment—she ought to get robbed more often.

  The events of the day turned over in her mind. She never even had a chance to use her fake jewelry to mislead the thieves. No. Instead, they took all her money.

  And it was White Eagle who had done it. Who was he anyway?

  A sick sensation turned in the pit of her stomach. She had loved him. But one thing was certain, she wanted nothing to do with anyone who was like Uncle Horace.

  Still, something wasn’t right about all of this. It made no sense. The stories she had heard about White Eagle from the Indians had to be true; they couldn’t all be liars. White Eagle was indeed Indian. But was there anything else she knew about the man, other than he was Indian, white, a thief, and also a hotel owner? His being half-white explained his associations with Mountain Jack and those thieves. But if he was part white, then why did he hate the idea of coming to Denver City? And why did he dislike white people if he was one of them?

&
nbsp; Shaking her head in frustration, a sudden wave of nausea came over her. She’d just spent several months of her life with a man she knew nothing about.

  Despite the warm water, she shivered. She loved him; or thought she did. Worst of all, she’d given herself to him. To a complete stranger! What had she been thinking? She’d thought they were married. Were they even really married? Her nose burned from tears as she thought about the tenderness White Eagle had displayed when she’d been wounded, when he rescued her from the water, his words about her God. Had it all been a farce? How could anyone pretend such feelings?

  Tears streamed down her cheeks. She wanted answers. She wanted to understand. Why had he left her? Why had he hit her? Why had he robbed her? Who was he?

  Here she sat, finally in Denver City, and it didn’t matter anymore. She had worked so hard to get here, fought with everything she had, and what did she have to show for it? A broken heart—and no money.

  What was she going to do? She really didn’t want to sell her mother’s jewels. And she couldn’t stay in this luxurious hotel forever. Especially since it was owned by White Eagle. It made her feel trapped all over again. Would she ever be free? Would she ever not be somebody’s captive? But if she left, where would she stay? How would she buy food? Without her mother’s jewels, she had absolutely nothing. And the last thing she would be able to buy was a new dress.

  All she had ever wanted was a decent dress, ever since her uncle had burned the ones her father had given her so long ago. One at a time, all her lovely gowns disintegrated in the fireplace.

  Her eyes welled with tears all over again. She shouldn’t be so silly. She had a beautiful Cheyenne wedding gown, and a nice traveling dress. Of course, the wedding gown would look out of place in civilization. She’d just have to wear her traveling clothes.

  It was time to think sensibly and quit crying over dresses. Or was that really what she was weeping about? White Eagle’s face flashed through her mind: his boyish grin; his passionate, blue-green eyes; his laughter when he discovered her fear of snakes.