Yes, it had been nothing more than a disturbing sleep.
Still, no matter how much he told himself that, something lurked on the edge of his consciousness. He pushed it as far to the back of his mind as he could. He must think on better things. What better than Adsila?
As he walked back toward his cabin, allowing his thoughts to settle on Adsila, an image of her appeared in his mind. It had been quite some time since they had been alone. They'd not had time to talk. Did she feel for him as strongly? It plagued him, but he was left without an answer until he could steal time alone with her. Perhaps, later today they could take a walk by the stream.
So much energy had been put into what would happen with the impending removals. Something had to give. She needed a break. And he could surprise her perhaps… take her away from all of this, if even for a few moments. If she would let him.
Maybe he could whittle her something new…
He neared his cabin, but something was amiss. There were men lurking outside. Five of them. With rifles. One preparing to break down his door.
What should he do? He alone couldn't stop so many armed men, neither did he want to stand by and let them tear into his home.
And what were they doing?
“Wait!” he called out. “Wait!” He rushed toward them.
The men turned around. It was easy to read the surprise on their faces.
“I will let you in.” Thomas quickened his pace to close the distance. “What authority do you have to go into my home?”
The man closest to Thomas turned his rifle toward him, and Thomas took a step back. “This is my cabin. If you'd like, I can let you in. Please, just don't bust down the door.”
The soldiers looked to the bearded blond-haired man at the door. He grunted and nodded.
Thomas moved to the door and opened it. They hadn't even tried. Without him being in the cabin, it wasn't locked. So, he simply opened the door for them to enter the one room structure.
The men exchanged looks.
“What does the army want with my cabin anyway?”
“We'll ask the questions.” The blond man by the door said as one of the others, a brown-haired man with a curious mustache stepped inside, rifle leveled, prepared to attack.
“What is a white man doing on Indian land?” The brown-haired man snarled as he walked past.
“I am a missionary to the Cherokee people,” Thomas said, offering nothing more.
“Missionary?” the blond man said, cocking his head to one side. He turned his attention to the soldier within. “Anyone in there, Smithers?”
“No one,” the man Smithers called back.
“Leave the cabin untouched,” the blond man yelled to Smithers.
“I'll give you fair warning, missionary,” the blond man said. “Though I'm not certain whether or not I should.”
The other men eyed him.
“We are here for the Indian removal. Starting with this village. But they didn't say anything about what to do with the missionaries. So, lay low. Get out while you can.”
“Removals?” The warmth drained from Thomas’s face.
Adsila… he had to get to Adsila. He nodded to the soldier, but he couldn't follow the well-meaning advice. No, Adsila needed him.
Dropping his bucket, he ran toward her house.
And prayed he wasn't too late.
****
Adsila picked at her food. She glanced around the table. None of her family members seemed any hungrier than she this morning. No surprise there.
Yesterday had been the day—their final chance to get out without repercussions. Now what? There had been some speculation as to what the government would do. But no one truly knew. One thing was certain: today began the waiting.
Would they have days? Weeks perhaps to change their minds? Or would the removals begin immediately? And if so, where would they start?
A hardness had formed in the pit of her stomach. Would it begin here? In their village?
She forced those thoughts to the side.
There were many places for them to go. The odds were against their tribe being first.
Pushing her plate forward, Adsila then scooted her chair back. “I'm going to work in my garden.”
Mother nodded but didn’t speak.
No one did as Adsila rose and walked to the door. Too much emotion had already been spent. Too many words already said. Was there nothing more to say then?
The air had become thick with anticipation. It was the fifth person in the house, always sitting, watching, bearing dreadful expectations.
A shiver slid down her spine as she opened the door. She could not step out fast enough. But as she shut the door on the reminders of what was, she turned toward the sun. Leaning against the hard wood surface, she basked in the early morning rays. The day was bright, full of life, and held every promise in the world.
Perhaps she might even find time to ask Thomas for a walk by the stream.
The thought warmed her core even more.
Then she frowned. She had avoided time alone with him of late. Why? He had become a source of joy and comfort. Their… friendship was a place of security and peace.
Why then?
But she needn’t bother asking herself. For she knew.
She didn't understand her feelings about him. And she feared he would seek to know them.
How could she put into words something that was still… so… indescribable?
Her heart fluttered when he drew near. Or even at the mention of his name. But her head and knees became weak when he held her. Was this normal?
She shrugged. There was no sense in it. Try as she might, she would no more be able to piece the myriad of emotions together now than the many times she had attempted before.
Pressing against the door, she pushed herself off and walked around the simple structure to the side of the house. Ah, her garden. If only life could be as simple as plants.
She opened the gate and stepped in. Breathing in, she imagined she could smell the vegetables and herbs. Some did have a subtle fragrance. And if she bent closer, she would certainly pick up their perfume. But she longed to take in a bit of the vibrancy, the strength and promise of new life coming forth.
Springtime always held such eagerness. She had planned and worked out a most bountiful harvest. Now, she could see it take form. Her efforts had not been in vain.
Dropping to her knees, she stuck her hands into the dirt. Was anything better than the feeling of earth between her fingers? No, nothing felt this good. She closed her eyes and gripped it. The land. It belonged to her and she to it.
But for how long?
Her eyes stung.
No.
Not today.
There had been enough of that.
She pulled her hands free and focused on the tender sprouts and what they required.
Working the rows of plants helped the time slip away. And, while she remained here, she could be encased in this world unaffected by the chaos. No government, no removals, no Indian Removal Act. Here she was just Adsila… and the life she’d brought forth.
Crunch!
The sound came from behind the house. It almost escaped her notice.
Still, something gave her pause. She jerked her head in that direction.
Nothing as far as she could see. “Tsiyi?”
No response.
“Tsiyi, I’m not in the mood to be scared today.” He’d best not jump out and frighten her. Not unless he wanted to end up in the creek.
He did not answer.
Perhaps a rabbit or something.
Shrugging, she turned her attention back to the tomatoes, humming a tune as old as her people. There, the tomatoes seemed much more content. She put a foot under her to rise.
Rough hands gripped her and jerked her up.
Who? What?
She fought the unseen attacker. Scratching and kicking.
His thick arm wrapped around her waist and another held her face still,
hand clamped on her jaw.
Twisting and trying to turn her head from side to side, she continued to thrash about.
The bayonet of a rifle appeared in front of her, the blade inches from her nose.
Drawing in a breath, she bit her lip to hold back a scream.
Her eyes sought the owner of the rifle. A man in a soldier’s uniform stood behind the weapon, sneering. Likely it was another soldier who held her.
“There now,” came a gritty voice, hot in her ear. “Be still. Don’t cause trouble.”
Dread rushed through her, and her limbs tingled with the desire to go, to run, to fight, to do something… but what? What would happen to her?
Her eyes shot from side to side. Other soldiers come forth from the shadows. She counted six in all.
“What do ya say, men? Shall we have some fun with this one?” the man holding her continued. His voice rasped as he spoke.
One of the soldiers off to the side gave the man a disgusted look. “Remember, Johnson, our orders are to treat them with kindness.”
“Oh, I'll be nice,” he snickered. “If she will.”
Adsila fought to draw in a breath. It wouldn’t come. She pulled against the man’s hand.
His body shook with laughter, and he clamped his hold tighter.
Her eyes widened. She couldn’t breathe!
She looked toward the sky. God, help me!
“That means no, Johnson. We have our orders.” The other soldier gave the man a stern look.
Johnson grunted.
Her breaths were ragged, but they were coming in and out again.
The soldier with the rifle in her face moved toward the one who seemed to be leading the group.
“If you scream,” Johnson said into her ear, his breath seeming to sear her skin, “So help me, I'll break your neck.” He then dragged her to where the soldiers gathered, behind the house.
What could she do? Her parents and Tsiyi were inside. What would the soldiers do to them? Could she warn them? Would Johnson make good on his threat?
She cut a glance toward the man.
He seemed sincere. But her family was more important than her life.
Bracing herself, she sent up a silent prayer. And screamed.
Johnson's hand clamped over on her mouth. Hard. And he jerked her body against his, knocking the very breath out of her.
She tried to gasp for air, but his hand covered her mouth.
Was she to suffocate?
Her vision blurred. Some of the soldiers ran around the corner. How many?
Had she just made things worse? Father would run outside to aid her, unaware of anything but her scream, and be captured.
A dark haze came around what she could see. Her breaths shallow, not able to fill her lungs.
Another voice spoke. Had one of the other soldiers remained? “Johnson, put her down and help the others.”
“But, I…”
“Do it!”
Adsila dropped to the ground. She landed hard. Had he thrown her?
She dragged air in. The breath of life had never been so glorious. Rolling onto her back, she closed her eyes and concentrated on bringing air in and pushing it out.
A few moments later, she remembered her family and jerked up.
She nearly struck the soldier squatting, crouched over her. Leaning back, he gave her room to sit fully.
“Are you well?”
She nodded. “Thank you—”
“Shut up!” the man snarled, rising. “You are not to speak to me!”
She nodded, looking down.
Sounds came from the front of the cabin.
What was happening? Adsila’s heart ached. Father had been a capable warrior. But he didn’t have a rifle. And he had Mother and Tsiyi to worry after.
She peered at the soldier.
His features were drawn. Was he, too, eager to know? Did he worry after his men? Or was it possible he was unsure what they might be doing to her family? As uncomfortable as he had been with what Johnson want to do to her?
A shot rang out.
Her heart stopped. “No!” she screamed. One of the soldiers must have shot at her family!
The man grabbed her arm, jerking her to her feet. He rushed around the house.
Vision blurred by tears, Adsila stumbled after, nearly falling as he pulled her along.
When they turned the corner, Adsila’s legs gave way at the sight and she fell.
Father was on his knees, hands tied behind his back. Two soldiers circled him. Johnson was one of them.
Mother and Tsiyi huddled together off to the side. Three more soldiers had rifles trained on them.
“Who fired?” the soldier dragging her demanded.
As she wailed, he released her, but remained at her side.
“I did.” The dark-haired soldier by Mother and Tsiyi lifted a hand. “The boy became… restless.”
Adsila narrowed her eyes, clawing at the ground. How could such anger and sorrow live together in her heart?
The soldier with her frowned, but he said nothing.
Nothing.
The only man here with any semblance of decency said nothing.
Adsila’s gaze was drawn to her proud father, forced into the stance of a prisoner.
His eyes met hers. There was such depth in that moment. A depth she could not read. Sorrow, regret, pride… even in the midst of everything, relief at the sight of her, and so much more.
“Go there.” The man pushed her toward Mother and Tsiyi.
She rose and did her best to put one foot in front of the other, tripping over her feet, her dress, random rocks as she went. It became impossible to see through the blurriness of her emotion.
“And what were you planning to do with him?” the man asked the two soldiers circling Father.
“Just teach the others about obedience,” Johnson said as he lifted his rifle and smashed the butt against the side of Father’s head.
Father landed hard on the ground, unable to break his own fall.
The man that had previously insisted Adsila be treated with kindness did not protest such treatment of Father. Why? Why was this different?
“Pick him up,” Johnson commanded.
The other soldier did so, lifting Father back to a kneeling position.
Johnson backhanded him across the face, but Father remained upright.
Johnson’s face reddened. He raised the rifle again. Over and over, he hit Father either with his fists or the rifle.
Mother whimpered and pulled Tsiyi's face to her stomach. She hid her own face in Adsila's shoulder. But Adsila could not look away. No, she held Father's eyes.
“Stop!” a voice called.
Who? Who would dare?
Adsila scanned the area. The voice had come from a distance.
Indeed a man ran up the path.
Her heart leapt. Thomas!
No… not Thomas. He shouldn’t be here. They would kill him for intervening.
Everything slowed as Thomas ran in between Johnson and Father. He panted and heaved. Had he run all the way from his house?
The soldiers seemed stunned into inaction. Were they so surprised that a white man would stand up for an Indian?
“If… you… want… to… beat… someone… give… me… a… try,” Thomas said as he caught his breath.
“What are you?” Johnson asked, now recovered from his momentary shock. “Some kind of Indian lover?”
Thomas held his chin up and met the man's gaze. But he remained silent.
Johnson walked to Thomas, not stopping until he was nose to nose with the missionary. “If that's the way you want it, that's the way it will be.”
He pulled his hand back, curling it into a fist.
Thomas did not flinch.
“Stop!” the lead soldier shouted.
All froze, but Johnson continued to hold his hand up, ready to strike.
“We are not here to lay a hand on a white man,” the lead soldier said.
�
��But he said—” Johnson started.
“Let's get on with our job,” the man in charge said. “We must finish and move on.” Turning his head toward the house, he stepped in that direction.
Johnson gripped his rifle and smashed the butt into Thomas's midsection.
Thomas crumpled.
“No!” Adsila wailed.
The lead soldier spun around. He took in the situation and narrowed his eyes at Johnson.
Johnson shrugged and moved toward him.
The four remaining soldiers gathered the family and Thomas together, all but dragging Thomas and Father to where the women and Tsiyi stood.
Adsila fell by Thomas’s side.
“Are you well?” she asked in hushed tones.
He nodded, an arm still on his midsection.
“Can you stand?” She brushed hair from his forehead. Letting her caress speak what she dare not.
He nodded.
She gripped his arms and did what she could to help him rise.
The lead soldier gathered all but one soldier, left guarding them. He motioned at the house and they moved toward it.
As Adsila watched with her family, helpless, the soldiers plundered her home. They smashed things that had been priceless, some of which had been passed for generations. Barbarians. Satchels appeared on the soldiers’ hips that she hadn't noticed before. And they put anything that could be considered valuable in them.
When she could watch no more, she huddled against Thomas's chest. His arm came around her shoulders. And his embrace anchored her. She closed her eyes and rested in the feel of him. It was perhaps the only sure thing in her life.
A great commotion shattered her daydream. She looked up, careful to not let her expression betray what she was thinking to these white dogs.
They had left the house. Now, they huddled and spoke rapidly to each other, motioning now and then to her family.
Johnson held up his hands, made a loud exclamation and walked back toward the house, reaching into his pockets.
He stepped into the small cabin and one of the other soldiers followed. Not long after, they came back out. They weren’t smiling. Or anything. It seemed as if they had become bored.
But there was a smell. What was it?
Smoke.
Then the dark gray cloud began seeping from the windows and door.
Trail 0f Fears (Native American Heritage) Page 18