Miss Annie And The Chief (3 page)

Annie begins to
sing.
 
"Silent night, holy
night, all is calm, all is bright."
 

With his last
bit of strength, Klaus sings along with Annie, the German version. “Round yon
virgin mother and child, holy infant so tender and mild.”

Roy, hidden in
the wagon listens; he is especially touched by the music.

Annie
sings with Klaus, “Sleep in heavenly peace.
 
Sleep in heavenly peace.”

Klaus,
weakening, manages to finish the song with her.
 
Then Klaus dies, with a peaceful smile on his face.

The next morning
the two wagons, heading west, roll away from Klaus' campsite leaving behind a
newly dug grave site under the tree.
 

*****

Rising high on
the horizon, the Rockies.
 
The
wagons ride toward the majestic mountains, they have reached the Colorado
Territory.

Emmet's wagon
leads Peter and Jenny's wagon.
 
Annie sits next to Emmet.
 
“Beaver Creek ain't too far up ahead.”
 
Emmet informs Annie.

“You've been a
dependable guide, Mr. Howes. You've behaved admirably and brought us safely to
our destination.”
 
Annie smiles at
Emmet.
 
Her cheer turns to concern
when she notices the panicky look taking over Emmet’s expression.

Emmet whoa’s his
horses looking to his left.
 
“I
ain't got us there yet, Miss Annie.”
 
Annie turns to sees what Emmet sees - a half dozen Indians on horseback
heading towards the wagons.
 

“Savages.”
 
Emmet gasps. He giddy-ups his horses,
trying to hurry them away from the approaching Indians.
 
Annie, terrified, watches the Indians.

Emmet, realizing
that he certainly can't outrun the Indians, slows the horses down as the
Indians reach the wagons.
 
He calls
back to Peter and Jenny.
 
“That
negra of yours better have his gun ready.”

The wagons come
to a stop. Roy peeks out from behind the canvas, his gun ready; no fear in him
to shoot if he has to.

The Indians
approach and stop to the left of Emmet's wagon.
 
They're just a few feet away - and blocking the passage.

One of the
Indians, Chief Red Hawk, dressed magnificently, is striking, commanding,
unforgettable.
 
He stares with
piercing eyes at Annie.
 
Which
rattles her.
 
It's unclear at this
moment if the Indians mean the travelers harm.

“We're just
headin' to Beaver Creek, that's all.
 
Won't touch no buffalo.”
 
Emmet states, trying not to sound scared.

A horse
approaches from the right, coming up along side Annie and halting just a few
feet from her.
 
Riding the horse -
Captain Mark Caldwell.
 
Mark is the
epitome of dashing heroism.
 
He is
ruggedly handsome with broad shoulders and kind eyes.
 
In his cavalry uniform he’s just as magnificent a sight as
Chief Red Hawk.

Annie looks
relieved to see him, which Mark notices. Their eyes lock for a brief moment, if
held any longer, sparks would surely fly.
 
Mark turns his attention to the chief.
 
“Chief Red Hawk. Aho.”

“Aho, Captain
Caldwell,” the chief responds in fairly good English.

The captain and
the chief regard each other, Annie between them.
 
Chief Red Hawk motions to his Indians and they ride
off.
 
Annie sighs relief.
 

Mark notices the
black mourning shawl she's wearing.
 
“No need to worry, 'mam. Those Indians are Arapaho. They've signed a
peace treaty and so far the peace has held.”

“They're all
savages.”
 
Emmet gasps, relieved to
still be alive and not butchered.

Mark appears not
to agree, which Annie notices.

“Where are you
headed?”
 
Mark inquires.

“Beaver
Creek.”
 
Emmet replies.

“I'll give you
an escort to the edge of town.”
 
Mark offers his eyes landing on Annie.
 
If he could, he would keep them on her.
 
He has never seen a woman so
extraordinary.
 
Not only in her
looks, but her eyes, her expression.
 
He can’t remember a woman touching his inner most being so quickly.

“Thank you,
Captain.” Annie says sweetly, feeling a flush in her cheeks, a feeling that has
lain dormant for years.

Mark rides ahead
of the wagons as the wagons follow.
 
In a short while, they reach a road heading into town.
 
Mark stops his horse, the wagons stop
near him.

“Follow that
road into town.”
 
Mark informs
Emmet and the travelers.

“Much obliged.”
 
Emmet thanks the captain.

Mark looks at
Annie, tips his hat to her and nods respectfully. “’Mam.”
 
She returns his kind gesture with a polite
smile that lights Mark on the inside.
 
He holds her gaze for a moment.
 
Their spark catches Annie’s breath quickening her heartbeat, a feeling
she hasn't felt since her husband.
 
And even then she didn’t remember the sensation being so consuming.
 
Embarrassed she looks down.

Emmet gets the
wagon going again followed by Peter and Jenny.
 
Mark doesn't ride away yet; he watches the wagons, focused
on Annie, head into town.

*****

The wagons head
down the Main Street of Beaver Creek - a bustling old west town with clapboard
buildings, wooden sidewalks, a dirt road, a lively saloon and a jail across
from it.

Emmet parks his
wagon in front of the saloon.
 
Peter parks his wagon next to Emmet's.
 
Emmet hops off the wagon.
 
He helps Annie down.
 
He breathes in the town air.
 
“Can't you just smell the whiskey? Heavenliest smell next to bacon.”

Peter and Jenny
join Annie and Emmet.
 
Peter
motions for Roy to join them. “Come on out, Roy. It's time to show everyone who
you are.”

Roy hops out of
the wagon.
 
He's dressed in a suit
and looking awfully dapper. Peter and Jenny head for the saloon.
 
Roy follows.
 

“You're asking for
a lickin' bringin' that negra into the saloon.” Emmet warns.

“We'll see about
that.”
 
Jenny retorts.

Peter and Jenny,
followed by Roy, confidently enter the saloon.
 
Emmet and Annie, curious, are right behind them.

The saloon is
bustling with poker players, cowboys and painted ladies.
 
The bartender, sporting a bowtie and
goatee, serves whiskey and beer.

One of the
saloon girls, Clara, young, sweet and innocent, looks out of place as she
serves the poker players whiskey.
  

As soon as
everyone realizes that a black man is in the saloon, the place goes quiet.
 
All eyes are on Roy.

“We don't serve
his kind.”
 
The bartender tells
Peter and Jenny.

Peter starts to
respond to the comment, but Emmet, surprisingly, is the one to speak up.

“You might wanna
reconsider. This here is Rapid Roy, one of the fastest guns around.”
 
Emmet says in Roy’s defense.

The bartender
gives Roy the once over.
 
“He's no
gunslinger.
 
Even if he were, we
still don't serve his kind.”

“Rapid Roy is
here to serve you, not be served.” Peter offers.

Jenny motions to
Roy.
 
Roy takes a seat at the
piano.
 
He starts to play.
 
Brilliantly.
 
This guy can tickle the ivories with gusto and rhythm.
 
Fast fingers.

Before the
saloon was quieted by the color of the skin, now the place is quieted by the
man's talent.

“This is why
he's called Rapid Roy.” Peter informs Emmet with a twinkle in his eye.

“I'll say. I
ain't never seen fingers move so fast on a peanna.” Emmet gasps.

Roy finishes his
ditty.
 
The crowd applauds for
Roy.
 
Roy plays another song.
 
The folks in the saloon resume their
barroom activities.
 
Roy is no
longer a bother or concern, he fits in thanks to his talent.
 
The bartender is duly impressed with
Roy. “He's hired.”

“Good, then get
these little ladies anything they want.”
 
Emmet tells the bartender.

“I'll have some
information, please.”
 
Annie says
to the bartender.

“Whiskey tastes
better.” Emmet quips.

“I'm looking for
Selma MacHattie.”
 
Annie continues.

The patrons within
ear shot gasp, share looks, then gawk inquisitively at Annie.
 
There's even a snicker.
 

“Do you know
where I can find her?”
 
Annie
inquires.

*****

Annie hurries
into the Beaver Creek jail.
 
She's
upset, confused.

The marshal sits
at the desk, his feet up, relaxed. He's quite the confidently casual fellow,
cocksure, commanding when he needs to be.

“Good afternoon,
'mam,” the marshal says to Annie.
 

“Is it
true?
 
Is Selma MacHattie in
here?”
 
Annie asks breathlessly.

“Sure as sugar
in gum drops,” he retorts.

“Did she really
help a killer escape?”
 
Annie can
barely ask the question she’s so upset.

“Sure as sugar
in gum drops,” he teases.

“Annie?” Selma
calls.

Annie turns to
see her Aunt Selma behind bars.
 
This sight horrifies Annie.
 
Her beloved, inspiring, "moral compass" aunt in jail?!?

Selma, around
40, exudes energy, vitality, earthly beauty.
 
She looks wise beyond her years.

“You helped a
killer escape, Aunt Selma?!” Annie asks incredulously.

“He killed in
self defense.” Selma responds calmly, surely.

“Which time?”
The marshal asks sarcastically.

“Jim Ringo is a
good man!” Selma asserts.
 

“Who has killed
at least fifteen people,” the marshal argues.

“In self
defense.”
 
Selma states with
conviction.
 
She looks at Annie to
further explain. “Once his reputation as a gunslinger spread, every young
upstart he encountered had something to prove.”

“You don't get a
reputation as a gunslinger unless you've used your gun,” the marshal drawls.

“Which he did
against outlaws.” Selma’s not backing down. She again turns her attention to
Annie.
 
“Annie, what are you doing
here?”

“I came to be
with you.”

“Why didn't you
send word?”

“Would it have
mattered? I never anticipated finding you here.”

“You should have
sent word. This town’s not quite ready for young families.”

Annie looks down
at the wooden floor. “I no longer have a family.”

Selma now just
notices Annie’s black mourning shawl.
 
“I'm so sorry, dear.”

Annie looks at
her aunt seeing a much different woman from her memory. “What happened to you,
Aunt Selma?”

“I fell in
love.” Selma sighs.

“With a wanted
man,” the marshal has got to get another word in.
 

“They think by
locking me up, Jim is going to ride back into town and rescue me.
 
But he won't.
 
He won't risk hurting anyone else. There's been enough
bloodshed. They'll let me go eventually.”
 
Selma relates to Annie.

“Don't count on
it. You've aided an outlaw.
 
That's
a crime in these parts,” the marshal informs.

“You'll at least
have to let me out for the performance.” Selma quips.
 
She smiles wide at Annie.
 
“I brought theatre to town.
 
In a few days the troupe arrives and we'll be putting on a
performance of Grimm's Fairy Tales.”