“You wouldn't be the man I want for the job if you didn't.”
****
There was no fanfare the day the Cherokee arrived in their promised land. A solemn silence ushered them into their new home. The large group that had wandered for so many months joined the small contingency that had already laid claim on the land as part of the voluntary relocation. Together at long last.
Those who had already established themselves welcomed the Cherokee that had trudged through the winter months with open arms, taking the more serious cases — those sick and ailing — into their established homes. The season had started to turn and the weather became milder each day. Shelter was no longer the dire necessity it had been. Still, the Cherokee worked together to build tents and teepee homes.
Thomas, though exhausted and spent physically, emotionally, and spiritually by the journey, took much joy in this experience. He would not be parted from Adsila as she searched for Father and Tsiyi.
Their reunion was brief and sweet before their attentions turned toward creating shelter. Nothing more was spoken of Mother's absence.
This did not surprise Thomas. These people were survivors. They had proven that quite well. And they would continue to strive for their livelihood. Come what may.
Once things calmed somewhat, Thomas became eager to find solitude. After having been surrounded by crowds constantly for nearly a year, he needed time to think on all that had happened. Time to reflect on the impact to his faith. And whatever was between him and Adsila.
What would he do now that he had seen this thing through? Would he go east? Would he seek another mission field? Or was his future here?
The bright spring afternoon drew Thomas up a nearby hillside that overlooked the valley opposite the large settlement. This was his place. His refuge where he found solitude and peace.
Sitting cross-legged on the ground, he breathed in the scent of the coming spring. The fragrance of sweet grasses filled his senses.
Life from the earth, hope anew.
His eyes slid closed, and he raised his face toward the heavens.
But prayer would not come. Was he too distracted by his lack of faith? His doubts? Or that he hadn’t had the answers Adsila sought in her grief? Nothing for her pained heart in need of reassurance about God?
Didn't God call him to minister to these people? To be a light?
And in a moment of great weakness and need, Thomas had failed them, had failed her.
His head dropped.
It was not that God faltered. But that he, Thomas, doubted.
And so, after all this, where did he stand with God?
Or with Adsila?
The time they had needed to strengthen their bond and be sure of what they were to one another never came. It, too, had been taken, stolen when they were collected by the soldiers.
He never was assured of how she felt about him. And he feared his heart might soon be beyond repair, that he could find himself at her mercy. And that was a place he didn't want to be… completely lost to himself.
****
Lillian sat in Emma’s parlor, chatting about the changes she had made to the room. The curtains were a nice touch—sewn by Emma herself. And the furniture had been rearranged to take better advantage of the fireplace this winter. It also made more use of conversation spaces. All in all, Lillian overflowed with compliments for her daughter's good taste and homemaking skills.
The butler stepped into the room.
“Yes, William?” Emma set her teacup on its saucer.
“Mr. Greyson has arrived. He wishes to see Mrs. Greyson.”
Emma shot her mother a look.
So, he comes at last. Lillian nodded.
“Please, do show him in.” Emma set her teacup and saucer on a nearby side table. She stood then, running her hands along her skirt, smoothing down any creases.
Lillian mimicked her actions.
It wasn't long before they heard the twin set of footfalls coming toward them.
Lillian held her breath. How would Arthur be? Apologetic and pleading? Or perhaps angry, demanding that she return home at once?
Two heartbeats later, Arthur stood in the doorway. When his eyes met Lillian's, his eyes betrayed a sadness, his features an apology.
“Father,” Emma stepped to Arthur and embraced him.
He welcomed her affection.
As Emma pulled back, she glanced between them. “I'll leave you to speak in private.” She stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind herself.
Lillian and Arthur's eyes met again.
Then he looked away.
There was silence in that space between them. Arthur clasped his hands and twirled his thumbs.
Lillian sat down. Placing her hands firmly on her knees, her gaze was glued on Arthur, watching, waiting.
He glanced in her direction from time to time, but did not speak.
Was he waiting for her to say something? To make this easier?
She was not about to. Not after the way he had behaved.
At long last, he cleared his throat and shifted his gaze to meet and hold hers. “Lillian,” he started in a somewhat uncertain tone. “It seems I owe you an apology.”
Then came that silence again.
What was he waiting for? She refused to help him in this.
One of his eyebrows lifted. Then both furrowed. “That is, I have come to say… to admit rather… that I may have been a bit… harsh with Thomas.”
She nodded, blinking. The mention of Thomas's name caused her to well with emotion.
Arthur took slow, tentative steps toward her. He sat beside her, taking one of her hands in his. “You must know, Lillian, I am every bit as worried as you. I only hide my concern behind a perhaps too calloused exterior. And I apologize if that has hurt you.”
She felt moisture on her face. Yes, she was hurt. Hurt by him and pained by the fears of what may have befallen her Tommy.
Arthur lifted a hand to wipe away a tear. “It will be all right.”
“How can you know that?” Lillian's voice broke.
“Because I know who holds the future.” He offered her a half smile. “And He is capable.”
****
Adsila helped Salali stretch out inside their family tent. The small child was beyond tired, and Adsila was ready to have her rest for a couple of hours. Taking on the added responsibility of a young child had not been an easy fit, but it suited her. Taking care of Salali gave Adsila something to do, something to keep her mind off Mother, and more importantly, an excuse to keep Thomas at arm's length.
Since their arrival, she had successfully avoided being alone with him. It wasn't that she no longer cared for him. Quite the contrary. Her emotions overwhelmed her. He had become so much more to her in these last months. It almost seemed he was a part of her now. Was that possible? She didn’t like the way it felt to be so dependent on someone. Or what it might be like to lose him.
Between her thoughts of Thomas, her intense grief over the loss of Mother, and dealing with the hard work of re-establishing a community, she hadn't the time to sit down and sort it out.
How could she talk to him about her feelings when she could hardly think about it without bursting?
“Adsila?” Salali's sweet, but tired voice called.
“Yes?”
“Will you sing to me?” The girl's innocent brown eyes pled. How could Adsila say no?
Shifting her legs, she settled herself more comfortably and began a lullaby. Salali loved these lullabies, but they cut through Adsila’s heart. They were Mother’s songs. Not even a year ago Mother sang these words to Tsiyi.
The song came to a close. Adsila wiped at a tear and looked down at Salali.
Her eyes were closed and her breathing was even and deep.
Adsila slowly slipped free of the child’s body and crept out of the tent.
Once outside, she raised her arms and let the muscles have their release. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the feel of the su
n on her skin. Warm. Finally.
Where had everyone gone? Oh, yes. Father went to a council meeting, and Tsiyi was off causing some manner of trouble. She spotted Thomas several feet away, speaking with a young man she didn’t recognize.
His eyes caught hers, and he motioned for her to wait a moment.
Adsila moved off in the opposite direction, stepping as quickly as she could. She went between tents and small groups of chatting people until she broke free of the village.
Now alone, and only now, she could breathe. Taking in a deep breath, she closed her eyes. As she held the breath, she imagined it cleansed her body and renewed her strength. Then she pushed it out through her mouth fast and hard.
Eyes open again, she continued the few steps it took to reach the stream. The water was every bit as refreshing as the stream back home.
Home.
She shook her head. I have to stop thinking like that. When she had more time, she would explore this stream farther away from the village. This place was far too close for her to feel alone, but she dared not venture too far with Salali sleeping. Still, it would do.
She settled herself on the bank and listened to the sound of the water, allowing the simple glub-glub of the tripping water to calm her spirit.
Adsila had not thought much about the state of her spirit. But hadn’t she given up on faith? On God? After watching her people suffer and die… anyone would. No good God would allow that. What was out there in the spirit realm? Did she believe in anything beyond herself? Did someone or something control the earth and the great forces of nature? Even the ways of man? Of powerful men?
A loud cry rang out from the village.
Adsila startled, putting a hand in front of her, prepared to jump to her feet.
The cry rang out again.
A call for help.
She was on her feet in a moment and running toward the voice.
A small crowd had gathered by the time she arrived. People pressed in and spoke rapidly to try to assist the poor man.
Someone spotted her.
“Here is hope!”
Her? Hope?
The woman who had shouted about her grabbed her wrist and pulled her through the thick of people to the man.
He looked desperate, harried, scared. His hands went to her shoulders. “My wife… she’s in labor. So much pain!”
Adsila shook her head. “No.” She looked around at all the eager faces. “You don’t understand. My mother was a midwife. She died. I cannot help.”
“But you were with her when my youngest was born. I know you were,” the woman who first spotted her argued.
“Please,” the man begged. “I don’t want to lose my wife.”
“Where is the doctor?” As soon as she said it, she knew. He would be at the council meeting. Far, far away.
Someone pushed through the crowd. “What’s going on here?”
Thomas appeared, concern shone plain on his features. “Adsila, are you all right?”
She nodded.
The young man looked to Thomas and swallowed. “My wife is dying.”
Adsila put a hand to his upper arm. “You don’t know that.”
“Will you help then?” The man’s voice lifted.
“I will try. But, I don’t want you to have false hope…”
Thomas stepped to her side. “You are capable of more than you think.”
She met his gaze.
He loved her. He truly did.
“And I will be praying.”
In that moment, she wanted that. So very much.
Turning her attention toward the young man, she nodded. “Let’s go.”
He spun toward the collection of tents.
Just before she stepped after him, Thomas reached for her hand and squeezed it.
The simple contact ignited something in her. A fire. It traveled through her body, giving her strength and comfort.
She prayed that if God were there, He would help her recall what she had learned.
****
Chief Ross cleared his throat. He had gathered the men of all the village councils together. They were greater in number than he had dared hope. Although, still fewer than they should have been. It would be their job to establish a new governing council for the new land and give the people some sense of continuity.
“Gentlemen,” he said, standing. “I cannot tell you how honored I am to see every face present. We have endured much these last months, and there is not one among us who cannot speak of great loss. But I charge you now to put that to the side. Let it fuel your passion to continue on. For we must forge ahead and lead our people. We cannot remain in the past. Certainly not in a past as trying as the one we have walked through.”
There was a space of silence. He would allow anyone to speak that wished to.
No one spoke. No one said anything about their losses. No one spoke of the recent murders of the Cherokee men who had signed the much-opposed treaty. It came as no surprise though. Any Cherokee would have known when they signed it that they signed their own death warrants. This was just how things were done. And that's why no one questioned it now.
“It is up to us, men. We will once again be the strong people we have been for centuries. We will let the U.S. Government know that though they may take away our land, they cannot take away who we are. We are Cherokee. And we are united.”
****
Adsila had never been so tired. The intensity of the birth and the relief as the baby cried was beyond compare.
When she handed the small wriggling bundle to the woman who withstood more pain than Adsila could have imagined, she wanted to collapse against the wall.
Instead, she took a step back and watched.
A baby had been born. A new life had entered the world. And she had been a part of it. More than that, this was the first baby to arrive since they arrived in their new home.
Despite herself, it brought a smile to Adsila's face.
A blessed child, even, to have been born in the spring, when the earth brings forth fresh life.
The father was allowed into the room and he rushed to his wife’s side. It was as if he didn’t know where to look first—the face of his beloved, or that of his child. He kissed both with equal ferocity.
And all of a sudden, she became the intruder. She slipped from the room and, though her body ached, she walked toward the stream.
Spring had always been her favorite season… new life after a season of death.
She halted.
That was so. The earth moved in seasons, cycles. Perhaps that was true of life as well. None could stop it, none could tame it.
Maybe…
Maybe in a sense, the trail they had walked… was their winter. Now came spring, and new life. New life for Salali, for this baby, for her people, even for her.
Could it be that life was a rhythm? A time for winter, for death, for mourning. And a time for newness, for spring?
But why was there winter? Need there be such death? Such suffering?
Was there an answer? Or perhaps it just is. Is there is no answer for death? Maybe it, too, just is.
And that would make faith all the more important—faith in the winter knows that the spring will come. Trust that there is life after death. For what is faith without trust?
Thomas…
Perhaps, spring meant a new life, a new hope for her and Thomas, too. Her heart stirred at the thought of what that might mean. Yes, she could no longer imagine a life without him. And she had let that scare her. Scare her into pushing him away.
But fear was not the way. No, in this she needed to trust also. Trust in him. Trust in the love she felt for him.
Realization poured over her.
She loved him. She truly loved him. Where was he? She had to tell him!
****
Dusk had fallen. The sounds of the village were but a noisy din, somewhat muted, from where Thomas sat. He loved this spot, perched on the hill overlooking the valley where the villa
ge rested. But he couldn't bring himself to join in.
Did he belong?
It was no longer a certainty.
As much as the people became more welcoming since he walked the trail with them, Adsila had become all the more distant.
Wasn't it clear? She didn't love him.
And so he sat, deep in thought. So much had gone wrong. He was not the missionary he was sent to be. He'd had doubts. Adsila didn't love him. Perhaps because he'd failed her, too. Maybe it was time for him to pack it up and head home.
But where was home? Charlotte? That didn't seem like home anymore.
Gazing at the heavens, he longed for a word, for direction.
Nothing.
Sensing he was being watched, his eyes fell forward again. And there she was.
Adsila.
He was on his feet faster than he thought possible.
“Thomas, I—”
“Adsila, you don't have to explain. I understand.” He found it difficult to look her in the eye. “I've failed you. I wasn't there when you needed me. In the way you needed me. How can I ask for anything from you? I want you to know that I'm leaving tomorrow. I—”
“Leaving?”
“Yes, I just… I don't know where I belong.” Unable to show his pain any longer, he looked away.
She took a step toward him. “Don't know where you belong? A failure?”
“Please…” He wanted to beg her not to taunt him.
“Thomas, you have been my strength when I had none. My hope when all was lost. How can you even think—?” She choked on the word. “You belong,” she said, leaning forward, a breath away from his lips. “With me.” She pressed her mouth to his.
He responded but held something back.
Her hands found his and intertwined their fingers.
When they broke apart, he had great difficulty finding his voice. “But I have lost my way.” His voice was quiet, uncertain.
“Then we'll find it… together.”
Their lips met again. His heart swelled anew.
Yes, he was lost to himself. And she had become everything to him.
She was home.
He wouldn't have any more answers for her tomorrow than he did yesterday, but maybe, just maybe, that would be all right.
Trail 0f Fears (Native American Heritage) Page 24