Wheezer and the Golden Serpent: Book Three

By Kitty Sutton

1843 in Indian Territory, an historic, never-before-done peace council is held at the capital of the Cherokee Nation, Tahlequah. Chief John Ross invites all Indian tribes within running distance, even their long-time enemies, as well as the plains Indians. Thousands attend this "Uniting of Nations". Why would the Chief invite so many t

• Language: English
• Publisher: Little Buffalo Arts Publishing
• Release date: May 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9781732149656

Kitty Sutton

Kitty Sutton was born Kathleen Kelley to an Osage/Irish family. Both sides of her family were from performing families in Kansas City, Missouri and Kitty was trained from an early age in dance, vocal, art and musical instruments. Her father was a Naval band leader. During the Great Depression, her mother helped to support her family by tap dancing in the speakeasys even though she was just a child; she was very tall for her age but made up like an adult. Kitty had music and art on all sides of her family which ultimately helped to feed her imaginative mind and desire to succeed. Kitty married a wonderful Cherokee artist from Oklahoma, in fact the very area that she writes about in her Wheezer series of novels. After raising her family, Kitty came to Branson, Missouri and performed in her own one woman show there for twelve years. To honor her father, she performed under the name Kitty Kelley. She has three music albums and several original songs to her credit and is best known for her comical, feel good song called, It Ain't Over Till The Fat Lady Sings. Kitty has been writing for many years and in 2011 we accepted her manuscript of a historical Native American murder mystery. First in a line of stories featuring Wheezer, a Jack Russell Terrier and his Cherokee friend, Sasa, it is called, Wheezer And The Painted Frog. Kitty lives in the southwestern corner of Missouri near Branson with her husband of 40 years and her three Jack Russell Terriers, one of which is the real and wonderful Wheezer.

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"In WHEEZER AND THE PAINTED FROG Kitty Sutton has penned the first of a delightful series of novels set against the Cherokee removal. Orphaned and exploited in a new land, a young Cherokee girl seeks justice for the murder of her brother-and to her aid comes Wheezer, a small white dog with the charm and sensibility to both ferret out the bad guys and bring a sparkling cast of characters together .

We consider Kitty Sutton ‘s novels a tantalizing hook to reel young readers into the magic and enjoyment of our nation ‘s history ."

-W. Michael Gear and Kathleen O’Neal Gear - New York Times bestselling authors of People of the Morning Star.

"Once again Kitty Sutton has spun a magical tale in WHEEZER AND THE SHY COYOTE. New villains are preying on the Native peoples’ struggling to build new homes in Oklahoma. Wheezer’s beloved ‘People’ are drawn inexorably into a dangerous web of intrigue as they struggle to stop the insidious whiskey trade. With ‘his ‘people ‘s’ lives on the line, it’s up to Whee zer and his curious new friend ‘Yellow Eyes, a shy coyote, to break the case open.Steeped in Native American history and lore, WHEEZER AND THE SHY COYOTE is a worthy successor in the ‘Mystery from the Trail of Tears’ series."

-Kathleen O’Neal Gear and W. Michael Gear - New York Times bestselling authors of PEOPLE OF THE SONGTRAIL.

"Wheezer and the Painted Frog is at once joyous and heartbreaking. You will ache for the suffering, be outraged by the wrongs fascinated by the way of life, identify with Sasa and above all you will love Wheezer. You will look for his spirit in every dog you meet!

Good luck and all best wishes Anne"

-Anne Perry, Author of Acceptable Loss

Wheezer and the Golden Serpent

by

Kitty Sutton

Illustrated by Kitty Sutton

Published by Little Buffalo Arts Publishing

© 2018

Cover art: Kitty Sutton

© 2018 Kitty Sutton and Little Buffalo Arts Publishing

ISBN-13: 978-1-7321496-4-9

ISBN-10: 173214964X

All rights reserved.

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Acknowledgments

A grateful acknowledgement to the following people who supported, and assisted in the research for this book.

Christine Case-Leng

Pico Triano

Denise Sinn

Susan Welker

Sanja Koteska

Hanna Asfour

Also, I wish to extend my gratitude and admiration for the artists which contributed illustrations for this book.

Sanja Koteska

Hanna Asfour

Rich Truong

Natasa Berec

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my three wonderful Jack Russells, Wheezer, Bridget and Happy, who keep me on my toes and watch over me while I research and write. Without them I would not be able to put pen to paper or digits to keyboard.

Letter to my readers:

In writing this story about the great 1843 International Peace Council, I endeavored to give you the reader all of the information that I could. To accomplish my goal, I was forced to take some literary license. The recorded history of this event is somewhat sketchy. There was a second council, hosted by the Creeks, though not as well attended. We know that Pierce M Butler, the Cherokee Agent, had been asked to transcribe the speeches for both the 1843 and the 1845 councils. I was able to locate the actual transcription of the speeches at the 1845 council, but not for the 1843 one. So to give you the best picture of the magnificence of such a meeting, I combined the two. You may read more about these councils by checking out the files at Oklahoma Chronicles online.

It was a necessity to use the famous personages who actually attended these councils, however again I was forced to take license and create conversations. All of the conversations, other than the speeches at the council itself, are a product of my own imagination, trying to deduce the most likely occurrence, such as the meeting called by Ross when he found that a Cherokee was helping the Mexicans. Historically, Chief Ross was told about such a man and his reaction was to hold the conference. Since the Cherokee mode of government is closer to a democracy than a dictatorship, I surmised that he would call a meeting of his head men to discuss a course of action. Again, those conversations were fiction. All of the non-famous characters were composites of the people of the tribes that I know and are therefore fictitious. I tried to be as authentic as possible in their speech and actions.

I found it very difficult to stick close to the historical references when there were wide gaps of information. I try very hard to make my books heavy on the historical and light on the fiction. As one of my readers once told me, Your books are actual history that you have told as a mystery and where the fiction in no way interferes with its historical value. Much historical fiction is actually fictitious stories placed in historical places or times and are light on the history.

I hope you come away from my books with some knowledge of the events of that bygone time. And, I hope if you are Cherokee or any of the tribes that attended the councils, you will remember this information and pass it along to your children.

One fact I would like you to come away with after reading this book is that Chief John Ross saved the Republic of Texas from a full scale invasion by Mexico. He did it using statesmanship. Words, not bullets. He effectively took the weapon of starting a civil war in Indian Territory away from the invaders and crippled their plan. He never received any commendation of his very skillful handling of a bad situation; one that could have cost the tribes their newly found homes and land. History would record Sam Houston as the hero of the day. At the time, Indians were not thought to have those types of skills.

So now you know, the rest of the story!

Kitty Sutton, Author

Sasa As A Young Lady

Prologue

In the warm glow of a lowering sun, Fernan picked his way over the bodies strewn on the ground in every direction and pose. The stench of burned flesh clotted his nostrils and choked his throat. Flies covered wounds and the pools of life’s liquid seeping into the dry ground. The devastation was enormous: everywhere he looked, there were burned buildings, ruined statues, broken bodies and silence, except for the relentless buzzing of the flies. That silence was so thick, Fernan wanted to scream just to break up the deafening non-sound, but he did not feel like screaming. He had screamed enough over the days and weeks it took to destroy this city. Somehow, a scream now seemed inadequate for the ruined new world city he saw before him. A land desolated after months of fighting.

Was it not only a few months ago that Moctezuma was giving Cortez and his men a feast in their honor? Had we not all been relaxed and friendly with these new people, he thought? He walked on, taking care to show respect for these defeated people, not actually having a place to go. Cortez and all of the other men–those still alive–had moved on, presumably to the next of Moctezuma’s cities, looking for more gold, and they had probably given him up for dead. Gold was what glowed in their eyes and ran in their veins now.

Within the vast stone room, Moctezuma had lovingly revealed the art of his people. Not just gold, but also a beautiful blue gem-stone of some kind which adorned masks and ornaments of all description. For some of them, their use could only be guessed at. Moctezuma had described for Cortez the mines in faraway places which had yielded those blue stones, their color as turquoise as the blue-green oceans that surrounded the islands off the eastern coast of these lands. He had also shown Cortez a red stone that was no stone at all, but a breed of lovely coral divers risked their lives to harvest. There were also pearls and polished shells, the beauty of which he had never seen before, but Cortez had eyes only for the yellow metal, and he became blind to anything else. As a show of friendship, they were allowed to go into Moctezuma’s palace and within a week, Cortez had his men kidnap Moctezuma, holding him for months. Once they had glimpsed the vast wealth that adorned every surface and wall of the king’s inner chambers, their plans had changed. Instead of diplomacy and treaties, they began to rain down terror on the city. He doubted that Cortez had ever seen that much wealth in all his life, in spite of his comings and goings to the royal palaces of Spain.

It seemed most of the conquistadores, except for himself, Fernan Agustin Lorencio D’Villanueva, had no reservations about slaughtering hundreds of the inhabitants of this great city, by the command of their leader. Tenochtitlan had been the greatest city of the Aztecs and Fernan had been forced to participate in the slaughter of a people and their culture. The memory was like bile in his mouth.

The sun was getting lower, but he had no will left to think of his own needs. Who was left to bury the dead? Cortez had not paused in his headlong rush for more to even give his own fallen men, more than 700 of them, a Christian burial. Fernan knew that by midday tomorrow, the bodies would begin to bloat and give off an unbearable putrid smell, and it would be impossible to stay. He also knew that Cortez would come back to make sure they had gotten all the gold before melting it all down, forming it into ingots and sending it back to Spain.

Where was he to go? No matter what the cost, he had no intention of following Cortez and take part in another slaughter like the one he had witnessed. No, better he take a different route, fade into this land and never see another Spanish face evermore.

A sound, small and barely audible, broke the overburdening silence. Whatever it was, it was close. Maybe there was at least one soul left to help, one person to plead forgiveness from. It would make all the difference. He hurried around a stone monument and found a door standing open. The sound came again, it was coming from inside the monument. Fernan placed his hand on the stone wall outside the door, but something rough and sharp stung it and made him draw away quickly. Gazing up, he could see there had been some kind of ornament on the outside, but someone had taken a knife to pry it off, leaving the wall rough and naked.

A soft moan erupted from inside, and Fernan hurriedly crossed the threshold, opening the door wide. The lowering sun was shining directly into the previously concealed room. On the floor, leaning against a rock wall, was his friend Adalberto with an arrow sticking out from his chest.

Fernan bent down quickly. Adalberto was saying something.

Yes, my friend, I am here. I am afraid I have no medical supplies to help you, but I have water, said Fernan.

Adalberto nodded. After a small sip from Fernan’s water skin he motioned his friend to come closer.

Fernan, my friend. This was my last day of fighting. I am going to my ancestors today, but before I go I need to make amends for this terrible thing we have done to these people, whispered Adalberto.

Ah, I too wish for absolution, my brother, but there is no priest here. The soldiers have followed Cortez to the next town, looking for more gold, as if they did not find a lifetime’s treasure here, purchased with blood. I am afraid we will have to approach God without it, Fernan sadly replied.

"Let me do one small act of penance with you as my witness, dear compadre," Adalberto replied.

My friend, you are dying, what can you do for penance in the time you have left? Do you not think that I am not a fit one to be your witness, for I too have much to ask forgiveness for from our Savior? asked Fernan.

"But you must do this, for us both. I know I will be gone soon, and who knows how long you have, yourself. If you did not follow Cortez, you are already a marked man. Is this not so, compadre? Look Fernan, look where my finger points. Before I was shot, I covered it with my cloak. It is a beautiful thing, is it not?" said Adalberto.

Fernan had not noticed the cloak covering something protruding from the inside wall of the small room. He quickly whisked the cloak away and for a moment his eyes were blinded by the glinting sun rays reflecting off the object. Fernan had never seen anything so exotic and strange. Indeed, it was better than any of the items Cortez had stolen from the King’s chamber. His quick gasp of breath betrayed his appreciation. It was a large sculpture of a golden serpent atop a green mottled golden Aztec head. It was attached to the wall, but was also sitting on a ledge. It was at least as tall as the distance from his elbow to the tips of his fingers. And it was a beautiful thing.

Yes, you see it, whimpered Adalberto. I heard what Cortez planned to do months ago, and I could find no way out of it. Then today I could not stand to kill one more woman, or one more child. So when the slaughter started again, I looked for a place to conceal myself. I do not want to burn in hell for what has been done here my friend. I threw my cloak over it, so that none of the men would see it. But, before I could close the door, I was wounded. Now, my friend, you must pry it from the wall, wrap it in my cloak and take it far away from here. Do not let Cortez take it from this place. It is my only way to show God where my heart is. Not with riches and glory, pleaded Adalberto, as his breath began to fail him.

It is so big, where could I take such a thing? But, I too see what you are saying. This may be the only thing you and I are allowed to do, for these people will be no more and there will be no one to say who they were or how they lived. Yes, I will take it, agreed Fernan.

Quickly Fernan pried the large golden serpent and the head from the wall and wrapped it all up in the cloak. He was surprised to find how heavy it was, but then, it was gold. He turned to see if his friend needed more water, but it was too late.

Poor Adalberto. Alas, I cannot stay to bury you either. If you wanted me to take this away so that Cortez cannot find it, then my friend I must leave now, for he will come back, and I do not intend on being here when he does. Goodbye my friend. You could not prevent what happened, no more that I could have, but preserving the Golden Serpent will be our penance, which I will do for the both of us, yes, finished Fernan.

And so, Fernan began to walk north since he knew Cortez had gone west, and as he went, whenever he encountered any tribal nations, he would show them the Golden Serpent, and they would immediately allow him passage, food, shelter and whatever else he needed on his journey. And the Golden Serpent disappeared, except for the stories women told their children, at night, and the rumors of the beautiful Golden Serpent of the Aztecs. And a story began to form that whoever possessed it, would have wealth and good fortune, but that if anyone gained it by stealing, as Cortez had done, their fate would be death. And the legend continued to grow. No one knew how far Fernan had walked or where he had hidden the Golden Serpent. Over the years, people thought they knew where it was. Some of them walked into the forests never to be seen again, and some came back empty handed, but this never stopped the story from growing and spreading until it became the thing of legends and myth.

Chapter 1

Life as a Young Lady

Sasa rode wide eyed and alert to all the new sites before her. Boston was enormous, with so many people all in one place and with buildings made of stone and bricks, not a log house to be seen anywhere. At least, not in the main part of the city. Some of the buildings were breathtakingly high. One of them, called the Custom House, was not finished yet, but would be soon; people stood around its perimeter just to watch the construction. Sasa had no idea of its exact height, but Jackson Halley, her guardian, told her he believed it to be the tallest building in Boston. It even had a dome being built over the top, partly made of glass to let in natural light. It was a wonder to behold.

She rode in a fine white open topped carriage drawn by four speckled grays with purple red plums attached to their bobbing heads. The seats were red velvet, with gold buttoned tufts along the back. There were smells, too, which she did not recognize, but made her mouth water all the same. She noticed little places where to eat, with tables and chairs sitting outside on the sidewalks. People sat and ate while passers-by waved to them. Everything was bright, busy and exciting. She had waited for this promised trip for the last four years, and now the promise had been honored. She relished her reward for passing all the final exams. Now, her education was finished, and she could begin the real work of helping the Cherokee people.

Anna and Jackson sat on the opposite seat, while Wheezer sat anxiously next to her, which would be natural for any Jack Russell Terrier. Jackson had found that out personally when Wheezer, then named Jack, had been sent to him as a gift from the Rev. John Russell, the breeder, who lived in England and who had invented the breed. That meant Wheezer was the first Jack Russell Terrier to come across the ocean to America. There seemed to be no end of new things Jackson, Anna and Sasa were learning on a daily basis. Wheezer was just as delighted with the trip, so much so that Sasa found she had to keep a good hold on his collar, for he was apt to jump out to chase a small animal seen across the street or up in a tree. He loved to run and bark, his favorite activities, but he also loved people too.

Wheezer had been with her since soon after the Trail of Tears; she was then at the point of despair when she found him close to death in the forest, and he needed someone to care for him after a snake bite. Wheezer had been the one to help her solve the murder of her little brother, Usti Yansa, or Little Buffalo in English. They had had many adventures since then, and he always stayed true to her, but in a city as large as this one, he could easily get lost. The year after Sasa met Wheezer, Rev. John Russell sent them another specimen of that unusual breed. This time it was a female. They named her Penny. She was back in Van Buren, Arkansas on the mule breeding ranch the Halley’s owned. Penny had just had puppies when they had to leave, so they left her to do her motherly duty while they were gone. The ranch hands and Jackson’s partner would look after Penny and the pups.

The air was warm and fresh with the smell of cherry blossoms from the trees lining the streets on the large thoroughfares; it filled her with sheer joy. Many people waved to the party in the carriage with her, but at the same time they took a good, long look at the dark skinned beauty dressed in fashionable clothes riding with Jackson and Anna Halley. Sasa smiled back at them, her excitement bubbling over so much that Anna placed a calming hand on her slender arm.

As a small child, Sasa had spent her early years in the Cherokee homeland near New Echota, Georgia. Her family had farmed tribal land, and raised stock to sell at the market in the town nearest their home. Remembering those times was difficult, it felt a world away. New Echota had seemed a big city to her then, even if it was a Cherokee town. Now she was a young woman, seventeen, tutored by the finest money could buy, regardless of the fact that she was a full blooded Cherokee who only a few years before had walked the Trail of Tears. She had done her duty, studied hard learning the white man’s law, always knowing that effort and money were being spent so that she could be of some practical help to her people, and maybe to all of Indian Territory.

It was funny, her reaction to the pictures of Boston she had seen in a book at home, were nothing near her reaction to the impact of the real thing. Now she was realizing she had not known the half of it.

I see you are enjoying your trip, Sasa, observed Anna, with a slight grin.

It is much more than I could have ever imagined. So much bigger than the pictures we studied in class. I did not think I would be so impressed. One day my people will hopefully have nice cities as well, said Sasa.

I rather like the towns of the Cherokee, only it’s a different style of living. I don’t think you can really compare it. You must admit your people lived many millenniums without the finery you see here. Don’t be fooled, Sasa. This wealth is an illusion, replied Anna, who then leaned forward to whisper into Sasa’s ear, All of this land you see, once belonged to many different tribes and was taken in a similar way as your own was taken. Sasa’s eyes grew large, her face solemn, knowing firsthand the pain and loss of upheaval and war.

Anna was like a mother to Sasa, and she had been her first teacher. Since Sasa had lost her own mother after the Trail of Tears, Anna had helped to guide her, educate her and give her the benefit of her womanly wisdom. She also had several elders of the Cherokee who took an interest in her education, and she was encouraged by Anna and Jackson to learn all she could from the Cherokee and the whites. They felt it would make a difference to helping her people someday.

Jackson had taken Sasa’s education seriously. When Sasa came to live with him in 1839, however, Van Buren, Arkansas had no teachers. Jackson asked his father, Andrew Halley to help him find a suitable tutor to move to Van Buren until her education was as complete as it could be. Jackson was adamant that she learn as much about the white man’s law as possible, so Andrew hired Professor Enger from Boston, a law professor, to tutor her as if she were attending a first rate college back east. It was evident that Professor Enger was not so pleased to be there.

It had only been three and a half years since she had walked the now famous Trial of Tears with her family. Sasa had been thirteen, almost fourteen years old. She had lost her parents and her brother, but that same year she met Jackson Halley, who would become her guardian, and his dog, Wheezer, would be her best friend. It was true that Jackson was a white man, but he had many friends among the Cherokee and his business partner was Archibald Flint, a Cherokee who brought his family to Van Buren, Arkansas before the dreaded march from their homeland. They all had a share in Jackson’s mule breading ranch.

Sasa looked down to make sure her silk walking gown was not wrinkling. She spread out some of the folds with her snow white kid gloved hands. It had been difficult to fashion her hair as white women did. Her hair was long, board straight, and thick. But with a curling iron and patience, Anna succeeded in getting it up and into the newest mode for a young lady of high social circles. Sasa was seventeen and therefore younger than normal for what Anna had set in motion, but she did it because Sasa was so much more mature than most of the white young ladies who were even three years her senior.

Anna had plans of introducing Sasa to all of society, as well as her own social circles, for not only Sasa was her student, but Anna was also married to her guardian, and had therefore decided to make Sasa her protégé. Sasa remembered the discussion they had had about what to do if her reception to Boston society was not well received. It had taken place one night in the State Room on the steamer they took up the coast. They sat on the bed while Anna brushed Sasa’s hair.

Sasa, are you nervous about meeting so many white ladies of society? she asked.

I have been trying not to think of it, Anna. I truly want them to like me, but I must confess that maybe I should prepare somewhat, in case it does not go well, replied Sasa.

Remember that you have had the training of a lady. Always keep your deportment with slight interest, and if anyone tries to goad you into a heated response, just become imperious, look down your nose at them and sniff. Just sniff and look away, as if they had not spoken. If some society lady says something snippy, show total disinterest to their jabs. As long as you act every inch a lady, you will win the admiration of those looking on, and the aggressor will end up looking a fool. However, if you are the one to get heated and give a smart remark back, it may sting them a bit, but they will have won the day. Then they will say, behind their hands, ‘see, she is only a red Indian, just as I said she was’, explained Anna.

I see what you mean, but it is hard to know what to expect. I have no real experience in white society. For example, the Cherokee people do not say cutting remarks to anyone, it is considered in bad taste and it would make our elders ashamed, observed Sasa.

Oh, it is just as much in bad taste in society as well, but that does not stop some superior society matron from trying. She may even be someone from whom everyone expects to hear sour notes, so it is best for you to plug your ears up and clamp your mouth shut, nod and . . . ? Anna prompted her.

Sniff, and then sniff again, laughed Sasa, then she turned to silently take in the daunting view that seemed like the fairy tales Anna read to her sometimes. She wondered… if she closed her eyes and opened them again, would she be back close to her own people in Indian Territory?

Abruptly, Sasa was jolted out of her reverie by Wheezer, who had placed his rough paw on her arm. He gave her a quick warm lick on her cheek. She noticed that the carriage was slowing to a stop in front of a large stone building that occupied a long area down the road which, as Jackson had explained, was called ‘an entire city block’. The front door had two huge tall white pillars in front, as if guarding the front entrance. It looked formidable and cold, not welcoming at all.

Jackson saw the puzzled look on her face and smiled with wry humor, while his eyes quickly glanced over to meet Anna’s equally humorous expression.

This is The Tremont House Hotel, Sasa. It is relatively new and boasts modern amenities. They say it has the first indoor toilets. I myself have been looking forward to seeing this modern wonder of architecture. It was designed by Isaiah Rogers in 1829, and since then he has designed many large and wonderful buildings in New York. We are almost ready to disembark. There’s nothing to fear. Jackson gently patted her hand. Once we stop, the carriage driver will dismount and open your door to hand you down to the sidewalk. He will have our luggage brought in, so you needn’t worry about anything. Just follow me into the building, we will check in and receive the number of the suite of rooms we will be occupying, he explained, just as the carriage came to a halt.

It happened just as Jackson had said it would. She held onto Wheezer’s leash while he obediently trotted next to her as if he had done this before, many times. The front of the building was impressive and presented four tall stone pillars. They came through the entry, and the room widened out into a huge foyer with a high ceiling, brightly lit by gleaming chandeliers. A plush red patterned carpet greeted her feet, and she smelled fresh lemon polish and candle wax. The entry also boasted large comfortable furniture in plush velvets and side tables in dark walnut. The lamps on the tables carried shades of glass from which dangled many prisms, cut crystal jewels sending rainbows of color around the room. She felt she could sit in this room alone and be happy doing nothing at all except looking.

Jackson had received their allotted room numbers and the party swept up a grand marble staircase which curved elegantly up to the second floor. It was wide enough to allow the entire party to climb the stairs abreast; instead, a porter led the way, then Jackson Anna and Sasa with Wheezer followed. The porter kept looking back at Wheezer with puzzlement and apprehension, but Wheezer paid no mind. Sasa found herself holding her breath and had to remind herself to breath naturally, but it was difficult because she found it all too exciting.

On their way up they encountered two young gentlemen, both in gray striped pants and black cut-away coats. Just as one young man placed his black beaver felt top hat on his sandy haired head, he saw Sasa. Briefly, she glanced at them, but he had stopped on the stairs to watch her in obvious awe. At the top of the stairs, surreptitiously she looked again to find him still staring while his friend tugged at his sleeve, trying to get him to hurry. She felt a curious, pleasant feeling. She would have to remember to talk to Anna about it later.

The porter paused in front of large, dark double doors. He opened them, allowing them to enter. At once, they were bathed in soft muted light filtered through sheer cream curtain panels, framed by heavier dark maroon silk drapes. The room looked like a sitting room, with several doors leading off from it.

I think this should be your room, Sasa, said Anna, standing by an open door. This room faces the main street and has the most light. Plus the decor is not as dark as in the other rooms, more feminine I think.

Sasa walked into the large bedroom, but stopped midway inside.

"Anna, my bags are here already. How did they do that