by Debbie Dadey
The last thing I remember of that night was Elisi whispering to me in a weak voice, “It will be all right, brave girl.”
In the morning Elisi was dead.
I awoke first and touched her cold, stiff hand. It was Elisi, but it wasn’t.
“No! Wake up,” I whispered as I kneeled beside her, tears streaming down my cheeks. “I take it back. You can’t die. We need you. I can’t help Leaf alone. I need you.”
But it didn’t matter. She was gone. Gone, the person who’d always had a smile for me. Gone, the only grandmother I’d ever really known. Gone, the only person who’d always been ready to hug me. She was with her husband now, and her son, and Cobb.
I wanted to run fast and far into the woods and never look back. But in our prison there was no place to go. When Mama was sick, Elisi had come and made everything all right. But no one could make Elisi all right. I cried so hard my insides hurt.
When Leaf awoke she didn’t cry; she just held her grandmother’s hand. I tried to pull Leaf away, but she shook her head. “I killed her,” she said softly.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“If we had not run, she would not have been shot,” she said. “I killed her.”
“Don’t be crazy,” I told her. “You didn’t pull the trigger. It was Conners. He did it.”
“But I asked her to run.” Leaf paused. “She did it for me.”
“Because she loved you,” I said. “Don’t forget that.”
Leaf nodded and we were silent. I knew Elisi’s dying was my fault. I’d told her she could die. I’d promised her I would take care of Leaf. It wasn’t Leaf. It was me. I had killed her.
I didn’t understand how God could let so many bad things happen. My head hurt and my face was raw from the cold morning and my tears. I was so sad, I thought I would cry forever. But when I thought about how wasteful it was that Elisi had to die, hatred replaced my tears. Hatred such as I’d never felt before. I hated the soldiers who had done this to Elisi. It wasn’t God’s fault, it was these stupid men. It was Conners and Myers and Brownie and even Captain Reynolds. If I could have, I would have killed them with my bare hands. I stared at the ground, trying to figure out what to do.
“We have to tell the guards she’s dead,” I said finally.
Leaf shook her head. “No, we will say she is sick.”
“Leaf, they’ll know. Soon they’ll be able to tell.” I couldn’t let Elisi just lie there in the mud, but I didn’t want to see her dragged away and thrown in a wagon, either.
“I will not let them take my elisi,” Leaf vowed, clutching her grandmother’s hand. Leaf was my best friend. So I did as she asked and hoped the guards would not look too closely.
That night, sleeping beside Elisi’s body, was the longest, coldest, and darkest night I had ever known. I was startled when I realized that some of the moaning I heard came from me.
The morning brought more cold rain and coughing from the prisoners. Leaf still held Elisi’s hand.
I was surprised when a small white woman with gray hair appeared before us with an old, faded patchwork quilt and a green blanket. She took one look at Elisi. “Oh, honey,” she said to Leaf. “What’s wrong with your granny?”
“Nothing,” Leaf lied. “She is not used to sleeping in the rain.”
“I’m real sorry about this,” the woman said. “Maybe I could arrange for her to spend the night at my house. No one as sick as your granny should have to sleep out in weather like this.” She moved to put the blanket on Elisi.
Leaf quickly took the blanket. “Thank you. I will take care of her,” she said.
“Oh.” The woman rubbed her hands on her white apron. “If you change your mind, just ask the guard for Mrs. Rollins.” The woman paused a minute and whispered. “This isn’t right, I know. I’m . . . I’m sorry.”
Leaf nodded her head slightly. She waited until the woman walked to the other end of the pen before wrapping Elisi in the blanket.
“Leaf,” I whispered. “We should have told her everything. She was nice. Maybe she would have helped.”
“I do not want white help.” She spat out the words like poison.
“I’m white,” I pointed out. “If we tell Mrs. Rollins our story, she may help us get out of here.”
Leaf didn’t say anything; she just looked at Elisi’s still face in the green blanket. We sat silently for the rest of the morning. Leaf held Elisi’s hand the whole time. I felt empty. My head pounded so hard, I could barely think. When Mrs. Rollins came back I would tell her the truth about everything. How I was white and Elisi was dead. How I promised to take care of my best friend. Mrs. Rollins would have to help us. Somehow I would convince Leaf to go along. I had to. I had to get Leaf out of here.
I hugged my knees and rocked to stay warm as the rain trickled to a stop. Myers walked by, whistling a tune, and I hated him. I hated his happy song, just as surely as he hated me and Leaf and all the Cherokees. Elisi was dead because of him and his army.
Finally I could take it no more. I bolted past Elisi. Past Leaf. Past the moaning women. I couldn’t go far in our pen, but I weaved around the crying babies and wounded men. I needed to find Mrs. Rollins. She would help us. I searched, but it did no good. Mrs. Rollins was gone. And so were my hopes. I sank to the muddy ground and wailed, just like old Mrs. Bridge. All my hope was gone.
Then I remembered Mrs. Rollins’s words, “Just ask the guard for Mrs. Rollins.”
I grabbed hold of the fence and called. “Please,” I asked the guard. “Please tell Mrs. Rollins I asked for her.”
The guard was a huge man much more interested in his cigar than me. He took a drag, blew out the smoke, then looked at me. “Mrs. Rollins ain’t interested in the likes of you,” he said.
“But, she said—” I started.
“Shut up,” the guard grunted, waving his rifle at me, “and get away from the fence.”
I started to argue more, to beg, but I could tell it would do no good. The guard walked away and urinated on a fence post, close to old Mrs. Bridge. I turned away in disgust.
Dragging myself back to Leaf, I tried not to cry. There would be another chance. Mrs. Rollins had come once; she would come again. She had to.
At noon Leaf cried out when an empty wagon drove up beside our pen. “They cannot take her,” she said. We held tight to Elisi, burying our faces in her cold body. I couldn’t bear to let them drag Elisi away from us. We heard the guards talking and opening the gate of our pen. I squinted out of the corner of my eye to see what was happening.
But when the mud-covered boots stopped in front of us, no one jerked Elisi’s body from us. Leaf and I didn’t breathe until the boots walked away.
There was something familiar about those boots. I looked up and saw the back of a tall red-headed man. “Have you seen my daughter?” he was asking the Eastman boy.
“Papa?” I whispered, not believing it could really be him. “Papa!”
The man turned and looked at me. “Allie?”
I flew into his arms, crying.
“Oh, Allie. I’ve looked everywhere. I didn’t even recognize you,” he said. “I passed you by.”
“It’s me, Papa,” I cried, burying my face in his chest.
Papa rubbed my filthy hair and whispered. “I was afraid I would never find you, Sunshine. I found the little bead you left in your dress and I found a few along the way, but when a farmer told me he heard ‘Amazing Grace’ from the Cherokee village I had a feeling it was you.”
“I’m so sorry I didn’t mind you at the prayer meeting,” I sobbed.
Papa’s strong hands held me close, not caring that I was covered with mud. “I can take you to your mama and baby brother now,” he said softly, wiping the tears from my eyes. “Mama had the baby at the Eldridges’ farm. They’re just fine and waiting for you.”
I stopped crying. Mama had her baby. They were all right. And Papa still loved me. He hadn’t forgotten me. I was his sunshine, even with a new baby
boy. Everything was going to be all right. Then I looked down. Leaf still held on to Elisi.
“I can’t leave without Leaf and Elisi,” I told him, choking on the words. All I wanted was to get out of that horrible place, but I couldn’t leave Leaf alone.
Papa knelt beside Elisi, still wrapped in the rough green blanket. “Mrs. Sweetwater’s dead,” Papa said solemnly, touching her arm.
“I promised her I would help Leaf. I will not break my promise, even if I have to stay here.”
Papa looked at me, then at Leaf, then at Elisi. Silently he stooped and lifted Elisi’s body.
Papa carried Elisi past the old Mrs. Bridge, who had wailed for her son. Past the younger Mrs. Bridge with the baby and two boys. Past the wounded Eastman boy. Past many others I did not know. Leaf and I followed. Every Cherokee in our pen stared at us. I couldn’t bear to look at them. I was safe, but their nightmare would not end. Leaf touched Papa’s arm and pulled the blanket away from Elisi.
Leaf’s voice quivered when she spoke. “Elisi does not need this anymore. She would want this baby to have it.” Leaf wrapped the blanket around a baby.
Leaf had done the right thing. I wished we had more blankets to share. A guard reluctantly opened the gate. Good-bye, terrible man, I thought. Old Mrs. Bridge started wailing again as the guard slammed the heavy wooden beam over the gate. I shivered and walked straight ahead to our wagon, not more than twenty yards away.
Papa gently lowered Elisi onto the wagon bed. He was helping Leaf and me onto the wagon when Conners grabbed his shoulder.
“Where do you think you’re taking these heathens?” Conners yelled.
Papa spoke calmly. “Captain Reynolds said I could take my daughter.”
“Looks to me like you’ve got a whole tribe. Captain never said anything about that,” Conners snarled, and pointed his rifle at Leaf.
“I was wrong,” Papa said. “I have two daughters here.”
Conners grabbed Leaf’s arm. “You’re not taking this squaw anywhere.”
“Let her go!” a strong voice commanded.
Conners didn’t move. Captain Reynolds called from his horse a second time. “Let her go!”
“This man is taking an Indian,” Conners roared.
Captain Reynolds aimed his pistol at Conners. “I gave you an order. Let her go!” Conners pushed Leaf’s arm away and stormed off.
Papa climbed onto the wagon seat and saluted Captain Reynolds. Reynolds nodded and rode away.
I felt something on my mud-crusted hand and looked down. It was Leaf’s hand holding mine tightly. Her other hand was in Papa’s. She didn’t look at me or at Papa, but a big tear slid down her face. I had never seen my brave friend cry before. But there was no shame in her tears.
I followed her stare to the pens. Hundreds of brown eyes looked out from behind the poles. Tears burned tracks down my face, and the pain in my belly was so strong, it almost broke me apart. We couldn’t just leave everyone there. I heard a baby crying and looked at Papa.
He shook his head. To my surprise, tears rolled down his rough cheeks. “I’m sorry, girls,” he said hoarsely. “This is the best I can do.”
Leaf and I both nodded. Papa slapped the reins and together we went home.
Author’s Note
When I was a little girl, I visited the Cherokee reservation in North Carolina and saw a play about the Trail of Tears. The injustice of moving an entire nation of people from their homeland merely because their skin was a different color made a powerful story that I never forgot. Later I found out that I have Cherokee blood in me. Like Will Rogers, I felt “I am part Cherokee, and it’s the proudest little possession I ever hope to have.” Because of sketchy records, I don’t know if any of my ancestors walked the Trail of Tears, but they may have. And I feel a powerful connection to this sad story.
Most of the trouble between the Cherokees and white settlers started because Indians lived on land that white men wanted. When gold was found in Georgia, tensions got worse. In 1830 Congress passed legislation called the Indian Removal Act, forcing all Indians, including the Cherokees, off their land. During the next several years, the United States government tried to take all Indians from their homes in the eastern United States and move them to land west of the Mississippi River.
The Supreme Court said this law was illegal, but President Andrew Jackson refused to honor the Supreme Court’s decision, even though his life had once been saved by a Cherokee brave. In 1838 the Cherokees lost their legal battle to remain in their homeland. Four thousand Cherokee Indians died as they were forced to walk hundreds of miles to Oklahoma. The long, woeful trip of many months became known as the Trail of Tears.
Allie and Leaf’s story is fictional, but there are truths woven into it. Not all white people who lived in the 1830s hated Indians. Many were horrified by what happened and tried to help the Indians in small ways, like Mrs. Rollins in my story. Some Cherokees did escape the Trail of Tears by hiding in the mountains. Some may even have sought refuge with white families.
I wrote this story in tribute to my grandmother Lillie Bailey. I loved her very much. Just like Leaf and Allie in my story, I will never forget my elisi.
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