Nicademus: The Wild Ones (6 page)

“I won’t. I promise,” Annabelle repeated.

She lifted the young girl’s face and wiped her tears. “You know Henry has been asking after you. He’s a good man. Got his own land. Might even be sheriff of this town one day.”

“I don’t want him,” Annabelle frowned.

Cora sighed. “Red Sun’s been mentioning getting you hitched, and after today—”

“No, Cora! No, please. Talk to him. I want to be a nurse. Doc Samuel say I’m good. I’m learnin’. Please.”

Cora waved off her pleas. They both knew that the final say wasn’t up to either of them. She looked her and her hair over. “Clean yourself up. I need you singing tonight. And Ma Sweets been in the kitchen two days straight. Red Sun had to fix his own breakfast when he come down out of the mountains. You needed here.”

“Can I go home and lay down a spell? I still don’t feel well,” Annabelle said.

“What?” Cora frowned.

“I promise to be here early,” Annabelle quickly added. “Red Sun scared the hell out of me. And he broke up my things looking for the outlaw. I want to clean up and rest a bit.”

Cora looked her over to see if she was lying. She suffered a sharp pang of regret over striking her. She loved Annabelle deeply, and part of that love for her was the innocence Annabelle carried after being raised in Nicademus. The slaughter of Annabelle’s parents had surely left scars. But Annabelle still had hope. The kind of frivolous hope that she could one day be some Negress nurse.

“Go on,” Cora said with her hands to her hips.

“And Red Sun? He’s so angry. What about him?” Annabelle asked.

“I know what Red Sun needs. I’ll take care of him.” Cora winked. Annabelle got to her feet and hugged her. She ran for the door. Cora stepped out of her room. She walked to the edge of the top floor balcony and peered down at the saloon. Annabelle hurried down the stairs and out the front. Cora’s gaze switched to the sheriff and found he was once again staring at her with that hunger in his eyes.

She cut her gaze away.

“Jessiemae!” Cora said.

Jessiemae was coming up the stairs with folded laundry. “Yes, Ms. Kitty?”

“I want you to keep your eye on Annabelle, make sure she isn’t up to something. And the next time you find out she is, you come to me first. Don’t you ever go to Red Sun! Hear me?” Cora said.

“Yes, ma’am, Ms. Kitty. I’s hear you.”

**

Annabelle slipped back inside. She returned to find Jeremiah seated at her table eating from her pot of stew, his belly full. She blinked at him at first. She’d never seen a man other than Red Sun at her table for dinner. It was strange having him there. He looked up with that hairy face and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I hope you don’t mind? I feel like I haven’t eaten in weeks. I wanted more.”

“That’s ta be expected I suppose.” She closed the door. Reaching inside her dress pockets she removed a straight razor and a cherished bar of soap. “You ready for a shave?”

“Do I have a choice?” he smiled.

“Oh you gots a choice. But this here is the only one that will keep you alive. Or haven’t you figured that out?” Annabelle asked.

“Whoa, sorry, Miss. I ain’t trying to piss you off. It was a joke. Ain’t you got any humor left in you today?”

Annabelle studied him for a moment. Humor? Ms. Kitty nearly knocked her head off. Red Sun was furious with her. And she was still lying to them all to protect his ass. Humor went out the door the moment she dragged him inside. She sucked down a deep calming breath. She did itch to see what was underneath all that hair on his face: those green eyes were so damn compelling. “It’s been a bad morning. You better be worth the trouble.”

“I am,” he smiled, which she pretty much ignored. Retrieving a bowl she filled it from her water bucket and strolled over to the table.

Jeremiah tried to shift to a comfortable position. There was none. Annabelle stood behind him. Her hand rested on his shoulder for a moment, and his eyes dropped to her delicate fingers. But the contact was brief, leaving his shoulder yearning for more.

A rag went to his face, which she wiped down and then soaped up. He let his head fall back and swallowed twice through the first shave he’d ever had by a woman. Before the war he had grown accustomed to doing the trims himself. But he’d watched his ma give his pa the same kind of treatment. His stomach soured with anger over that fading memory.

“So why did you steal that gold?” she asked.

Jeremiah didn’t answer. Annabelle kept with his shave, dropping hair and suds as she went. His face cooled once free of the itchy hairs. When she looked at him she paused.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“How old is you?” Annabelle asked.

Jeremiah wiped his hand across his jaw. “Why?”

“I thought …” her voice trailed off. “I thought you were older.”

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Seventeen,” she quickly answered. “That’s what Red Sun tell me, but I feel I much older.”

“I was seventeen when I was sent to war. That was three years ago,” he mused.

“War? You a confederate?” she asked and he heard the bitterness in her tone.

“I was a boy forced into a war I didn’t understand. I’m a man now who wished I never had joined.”

“Mmhm,” she said. “You’ll ‘ave ta bathe at night so you won’t be seen. I’ll be back,” she said, taking the dirty water out. He touched his face. Picking up the razor on the table he eyed his reflection in the blade. He hadn’t seen himself in quite some time. His brow, around his eyes and upper cheekbones were scarlet red and pealing from sunburn. However, his jawline was clean and smooth, like a baby’s bottom. She had done a good job indeed.

Later –

Jeremiah couldn’t sleep. The naps were more frequent. But each time he woke he felt stronger. And that mattered most. He ached so much, but he couldn’t stand lying on his back another moment. So he sat up. He put his face in his hands. He tried to understand his restlessness and suppress the urge to get on his horse and ride for his life. It was his gold that kept him staying put. The gold and the girl.

From the only light source, on the other side of the cottage, he could hear the sweetest humming. Curious, he was up and walking before he realized it, drawn to the source. Thankfully the door to the room was cracked. A lantern sat on the floor bathing her in a yellow glow, next to a large tin tub. Annabelle stood in the middle of it bathing herself. She hummed what sounded like a familiar lullaby, but he wasn’t sure. All he knew to be true was that her lovely voice was similar to his mother’s when she had hummed to Mary and James when they were babies to put them to sleep. He felt that calm nurturing again, but her body became a distraction from the memory. His hungry gaze slid downward, unable to lift from the vision before him.

Her skin glistened, slick with soap water. She used a large sponge to run it over her curves and down to the delta between her thighs. The thatch of curly hairs over her pussy was lathered in suds. And her body, though built to be slender and petite, had full woman curves from her heart shaped hips that tapered down with thick thighs and shapely legs. When she bent down to soap the sponge in the bath water her breasts swayed a little. Her skin tone was dark, and even darker were her nipples, like ripe blackberries. She was graceful, and delicate in ways he knew of few women. Not a scar, a blemish, or any sign of imperfection. He wondered if she felt as soft as she looked.

With one eye pressed to the tiny slit between the door, he watched her. Riveted. Secretly he willed her to do a full turn, and display all of her beauty to him. But she did not.

Having stolen enough of her privacy he drew away. Instead of the trap of the cot he went to the door and stepped out into the night. He needed to cool off. His blood felt feverish in his veins, and his dick bulked between his legs. The night air was so crisp he almost turned to fetch his shirt. He rubbed his arms and walked the length of her porch.

Jeremiah looked east toward the town, again curious about how these people ran it. He wasn’t ignorant to all things, but he was raised to believe that people of color—brown people in particular—were inferior, unable to complete any task without be giving explicit instructions. During the war he ran across a few runaways, and even a few Negro soldiers, but never had any interaction with them. Never thought to.

Part of him itched to learn more. More about a world not trapped by ignorance, but one where a beauty like Annabelle was free to just be. Going over to the edge of the porch he held his side as he carefully sat down, and his head turned upward toward the full moon. He heard the soft creak of the door behind him open once more, and knew she was with him. Closing his eyes, he forced the image of her naked body that was emblazoned on his brain away.

“What’cha doin out here? Come inside. Now!”

“Just getting some air,” he said.

“Now!” she demanded.

Jeremiah smiled and struggled but managed to stand. He returned inside. But his smile soon faded. His beautiful songbird had changed.
She was dressed like a whore.
“What are you wearing?” he asked.

She frowned at him. “I have to go to work, stupid. I’m wearing a dress. You can’t go outside, Jeremy. Someone might see you!”

“What work do you do?” he asked, circling her. She wore a corset that lifted her lovely breasts, trapped beneath a bright red satin dress. The hem was inappropriately high to the front, with stockings with garters you could see. Her hair was out of the braids and very thick and crinkly about her face. She had put a small black-feathered hat in it.

“Are you a whore?” he blurted out.

She slapped him. Not hard, but her strike was fast and targeted. Violence from her lovely, healing hand startled him.

“I’m no whore! I ain’t neva done it with a man … I don’t do those nasty things. I … I sing. At Blue Moon, I’s the singer. How the hell do you think I can afford those potatoes and beans you done ate up?”

“I didn’t mean to offend, it’s just you look—”

“Never mind how I look. You stay on the cot and away from the door. I will be back before sunrise if’in I can. If not, you stay inside!”

She grabbed her sheer shawl and put it around her shoulders. What he wanted to say was that she looked beautiful. But he knew that wouldn’t be received the right way. Damn it. With no other way to object, he stood mute as she walked out of the door.

The outlaw’s words stung. During the long walk into town she kept hearing his question in her head. Why should she care what he thought of her? She couldn’t understand the answer. She had never felt anything like the interest she felt for that scoundrel. And that was dangerous. Hell, lying to Red Sun and Ms. Kitty was blasphemous. Annabelle had to figure out what to do.

“Hi, beautiful,” a man spoke.

She spun with her gun in her hand in the direction of the voice. She was jumpy. Had reason to be, on a night walk into town. More than once, one of the men had lain in wait and tried to be amorous. Most of the drunks of the town weren’t dumb enough to risk Red Sun’s wrath though. She didn’t take the outlaw’s horse for fear the soldiers might recognize the saddle.

“Henry? That you?” she asked

Henry rode up on his horse. Damn, the animal was as quiet as he was. He walked it by her side. “Thought I’d come and offer you a ride. Seen you under this moon and I had to just watch you a spell. Most beautiful sight is you, Annabelle.”

“Aah,” she smiled. “That sound like poetry.”

Henry grinned.

“Too bad I don’t like poetry,” she sassed and kept walking.

Henry laughed. He leaned on his horse and peered down at her. “Don’t be so mean. You get that pretty dress all dusty walking to the Blue Moon. Let me give you a ride,” he insisted.

She looked up at him once more. Several of the girls at Blue Moon wanted Henry. He was important, just being born the sheriff’s son. So she understood the fascination. He winked. She rolled her eyes heavenward and offered her hand. Henry was strong. He pulled her up effortlessly and she sat sideways in front of him. His arms went around her as he steered the horse.

“You know you sing like an angel. Why don’t you come to church and join the choir?” he asked.

“You know why,” she answered. She kept her eyes trained on the town.

“I don’t. I think if you come you will see worshiping the lord—”

“He ain’t my lord, or yours. He some white man lord taught to you through slavery. That’s what Red Sun say.”

Henry stopped the horse. Annabelle looked over at him, her face close to his. “That’s ignorant Annabelle, and it’s wrong. Read the Bible. It ain’t a book about color, it’s a book about salvation, and all of us need it. Red Sun is old and stuck in his tribal ways, so is my pa. But you and I are different. Our children will be different. And that’s because we know different. Do you understand?” he asked.

“I ain’t neva havin’ children with you,” she frowned.

He smiled. “Why, Miss Annabelle, neva say neva.” He clucked his tongue and the horse began to trot on. She managed to hide her smile. She liked Henry, and maybe if she was yearning for a family life she’d choose him as her man. But he was right: they were different. She wanted to see the world. Be a healer like her pa. And making babies and sitting on the church pew with him wasn’t in her plan.